I don’t teach like a machine. I teach like agave.
Slow. Intentional. Fierce when necessary. Rooted in love and resistance.
Hola
Chicana educator. Community college professor. Sour-dough whisperer.
I’m Fabiola Torres (she/ella), and I teach with memory in my bones and resistance in my blood.
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My ancestors — the Caxcanes, Tecuexes, and Guachichiles — didn’t farm for empire. They protected their land and grew agave. Their resilience didn’t come from policy. It came from the earth.
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I created Agave Pedagogy not in a think tank, but in the in-between:
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In a classroom where my students juggled homework, healing, and graveyard shifts
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In the middle of midterms and masa, when my dad was in chemo
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In moments where I realized the system wasn’t built for students like mine — or teachers like me
So I decided to stop asking for permission to teach with heart, and I started teaching from the root.​ Because agave doesn’t bloom every season — it blooms when the roots are strong enough to carry transformation. Because agave grows in harsh terrain and still finds a way to give sweetness. Because like agave, I don’t teach to survive. I teach to multiply — knowledge, joy, healing, and voice.
My Story
Before I called it Agave Pedagogy, I just called it surviving.
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I didn’t grow up dreaming of learning management systems or faculty meetings. I grew up surrounded by mujeres who stirred beans while telling stories, who healed with laughter and limpias, who built entire worlds from scratch — and I paid attention. That was my first classroom.
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I became an Ethnic Studies professor not just to teach history, but to challenge whose stories get told and how. My teaching is grounded in my ancestry — the Caxcanes, Tecuexes, and Guachichiles — people who didn’t farm for empire but protected their land, grew agave, and resisted assimilation with every fiber of their being.
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Today, I teach at Glendale Community College and lead professional development on equity-minded pedagogy across California. I specialize in culturally responsive teaching, AI literacy through an Ethnic Studies lens, and redesigning assessments that honor student voice and agency. But let me be clear: I’m not here to play by systems that were never made for my students — or for me.
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Instead, I root my work in what I call Agave Pedagogy — a teaching practice that is:
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Ancestral: Lessons don’t begin with objectives; they begin with memory.
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Equity-Centered: Justice is the foundation, not the extra credit.
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Culturally Rooted: Spanglish, playlist pedagogy, and community knowledge belong in the classroom.
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AI-Conscious: I teach students to coexist with AI — not surrender to it.
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Joyfully Resistant: Rigor doesn’t exclude rest, and protest can come with a smile.
This isn’t just pedagogy. It’s a refusal to teach without roots.
And through it all, I carry this mantra in my heart:
Every student belongs. Every story matters. Every classroom is sacred.
That’s why I teach like agave — slow, intentional, and fierce when necessary. I don’t bloom every semester. I bloom when the roots are deep enough to carry transformation. And I invite others to do the same.