When you meet Dawn Steele, it's immediately clear that her work in multilingual education is more than just a profession—it’s a personal mission. Her journey began not in a classroom, but at home, watching her younger brother struggle in a system that failed to scaffold learning within his special education needs. While not an English learner himself, Dawn saw firsthand how a deficit mindset and lack of access can derail a student’s future.
“He couldn’t read or write past a third-grade level by the time he graduated high school,” she recalls. “And I knew that diploma didn’t mean what it should have. That moment became a cornerstone of my philosophy in education: this cannot happen to any other student if I have anything to do with it.”
Today, Dawn is a leader, educator, and advocate for English learners (ELs) across the country. Her passion for equity and access has guided a decades-long career dedicated to ensuring that every multilingual student—regardless of their background—has the tools, support, and belief systems in place to thrive.
Dawn’s early years as a teacher were marked by contrast. Teaching at a well-resourced school, she saw students with access to tutors, travel, and educational support systems flourish. Meanwhile, students from socioeconomically disadvantaged backgrounds—especially English learners—struggled with limited resources and inconsistent support.
“I realized very quickly that the kids who had access would succeed with or without me. But my EL students—many of them newcomers—needed an advocate,” she says. “They needed someone to push open the doors that were quietly closed to them.”
It didn’t take long for Dawn to gravitate toward English learners as her primary focus. She learned by doing—often without resources, mentorship, or a clear roadmap.
“We were handed classes with no curriculum, no coaching, and expected to create everything from scratch,” she says. “I had students with vastly different English proficiency levels in the same class, and I had no idea how language development really worked. I just knew something wasn’t right.”
That early recognition of what felt wrong—even when she couldn’t articulate why—was a formative part of her growth as an educator. It’s also something she now teaches others to pay attention to. “Trust that feeling. If you sense something is inequitable, it probably is. Then go learn what to do about it.”
One of the most powerful takeaways from speaking with Dawn is her unflinching rejection of the “deficit mindset” that still persists in how English learners are treated.
“English learners aren’t broken. They don’t need to be fixed,” she says firmly. “They bring an entire world of experience, language, and perspective into the classroom. It’s our job to leverage that—not erase it.”
Too often, she notes, schools unconsciously isolate multilingual learners. Teachers who don’t speak a student’s home language may instinctively “send them to someone else” rather than engaging with the student directly. To Dawn, this signals a missed opportunity—not just to support the student, but to enrich the entire classroom community.
“It’s not just about scaffolding instruction. It’s about changing the narrative—from one of limitation to one of possibility.”
Access. That’s the word Dawn returns to over and over again when describing what effective English Learner programming looks like.
“Access for students, yes—but also access for teachers, access for families, and access for administrators. Everyone has to understand the plan and be part of the process,” she explains.
She also emphasizes the importance of communication, trust, and culturally responsive engagement with families—especially those who have historically been marginalized by school systems.
“Too often, we stop parents at the school door once their child hits middle school. Then by the time we want them on decision-making committees in high school, we’ve never shown them how to be partners,” she says. “With our EL families, that’s even harder because we haven’t communicated in ways they understand or prefer. That’s on us.”
Dawn no longer works directly in the classroom, but she doesn’t see this as a loss of impact—far from it. Instead, she views her work supporting teachers and school systems as a ripple effect that reaches more students than ever before.
“I used to only be able to influence the kids in my classroom,” she says. “Now, I get to work with schools across the country, helping them transform how they support English learners. The reach is exponential.”
She lights up when she sees the “aha” moments in educators—when they start asking how to support bilingualism, celebrate biliteracy, or earn the State Seal of Biliteracy for their students. “That’s when I know things are changing—when teachers and leaders are advocating themselves, not just reacting.”
When asked what legacy she hopes to leave, Dawn doesn’t hesitate.
“I want students to be able to advocate for themselves in ways my brother never could,” she says. “To walk into a room and say, ‘I know what I need, and I know how to get it.’ That’s not just academic empowerment—that’s life empowerment.”
She’s already seen that legacy in action. One of her former students—once an EL struggling to graduate—has returned to her community as a school board member, now shaping the very policies that once held her back.
“That’s the ripple effect. That’s the full circle,” Dawn says with quiet pride.
Dawn is hopeful about the direction of multilingual education. She sees increasing interest in dual immersion programs, growing awareness of the value of biliteracy, and a cultural shift toward seeing language as an asset—not a barrier.
But she also knows there’s more work to do—especially in reshaping the language we use.
“I’d love to see us move away from terms like ‘EL’ or ‘ESL’ and embrace terms like ‘bilingual scholar’ or ‘multilingual learner,’” she says. “Those terms empower. They tell students, ‘This is a strength. You belong here.’”
Dawn Steele’s story is one of personal conviction, systemic change, and unwavering belief in the power of education to transform lives. Her voice is one of clarity and courage in a field that desperately needs both. Whether in a classroom, a district office, or a policy room, her message remains the same: Every student deserves access—and every student deserves to be seen as capable.
And that, perhaps more than anything, is the heart of her legacy.
Written by: Marlin Navarro