About a year ago, during early brainstorming sessions, the founding members of the editorial board agreed that our aim was to create a new journal for two primary reasons: to challenge the idea of what counts as scholarship in education, and to create a structured space that allowed multiple, diverse voices about pressing contemporary issues to be heard.  Dialogues was born out of this latter objective.

Dialogues is a collection of critical, reflective essays on a single theme from individuals with different expertise and experiences. We were deliberate in choosing the word dialogue to name what we are doing. A dialogue is exploratory and allows participants to examine the complexity of an issue in a deeper, more subtle way. Importantly, a dialogue is not an excuse to give space to illegitimate perspectives that dehumanize; rather, a dialogue is a space to put multiple voices rooted in justice on equal footing.

Dialogues authors make their voices clear to the reader. They consider the topic in relation to themselves, and they write about why issues are important from their perspectives. These perspectives might stem from professional expertise or from lived experiences; often they will stem from both. Although each piece can stand on its own, it functions best as part of a whole. We intend for these essays to be read together so that you finish with a more nuanced and fuller picture. In other words, we hope you experience a dialogue.

As you read this collection of essays you will notice the authors write in a broadly accessible and distinctly personal way. This is, in part, due to our specific request that authors write from their experiences, define specialized terms, limit the use of academic citations, minimize references behind a paywall, and hyperlink references to help contextualize issues for readers. We came to these decisions by discussing who our favorite public intellectuals were, those people who we learn the most from, and who we feel are present in their words.  

Citizenship and Migration

For the inaugural Dialogues section, we invited authors to share their experiences and knowledges about issues of citizenship and migration as related to schools and schooling in the United States. While issues of citizenship and migration have always been relevant topics in United States schools, the racist, anti-immigrant rhetoric and actions of late have increased danger, fear, and insecurity for many people and their families.

This first collection of critical essays brings together the voices of academics, graduate students and teachers. Here we present three critical essays written by professors, graduate students and a teacher who all work closely with youth in schools. Referencing Mohsin Hamid’s , in EXIT East. The fight against US anti-Muslim racism, Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher and Thea Abu El-Haj share how the stories of Muslim youth and their sense of citizenship and belonging are entangled with United States imperialism. Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher and Thea Abu El-Haj explore issues of citizenship particularly as it relates to Muslims in the United States and they offer examples of how educators and activists are responding to Islamophobia. In Mi Todo Para Los Estudiantes Inmigrantes, Alethea Maldonado, a third-year teacher who teaches English as a Second Language (ESL) at the high school level, writes about her students, their experiences coming to and in the United States, and their impacts on her as an early career teacher.  Alethea shares her own immigrant history and her journey as a teacher of immigrant children. Finally, in Climate Change, Unnatural Disasters, and the Second-Class Citizen, Astrid N. Sambolín Morales and Molly Hamm-Rodríguez discuss their work with children and youth from Puerto Rico who have enrolled in United States schools in Central Florida in the wake of Hurricane Maria. They argue formal citizenship does not lead to rights nor a sense of belonging for Puerto Ricans who moved to the mainland as a cause of the hurricane.

For our Spring collection of Dialogues, we are accepting submissions on two topics: Educator Advocacy for Queer Students and Being Bilingual in Colorado Schools. We encourage submissions from students, teachers, community activists, and other members of the public whose voices are underrepresented in educational research.  

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Within the current anti-migrant milieu, the issue of migration from Muslim majority countries has become a flashpoint in sociopolitical arenas worldwide. Consequently, there are renewed questions regarding citizenship for Muslims communities living in the “West”. We understand citizenship to be the enacted everyday practices through which people forge a sense of belonging and engage as public actors in civic and political life within and also across borders, regardless of their juridical status. In the United States, conversations regarding citizenship are couched in language about borders, security, illegality, and terrorism along with the usual discourses around race, class, religion, and what it means to be an “American”. It is worth repeating that these are not new conversations; what is new is how these issues are being played out in an increasingly hostile environment for migrants across the world—particularly migrants from Muslim majority countries. Can these Muslims “assimilate”? Can they be “American”? Are they worthy of refuge?

“Plus que ça change”: The more things change, the more they stay the same

These questions and conversations about citizenship - particularly as they relate to Muslims - presume that Muslims are a newer population in the US and increasingly “a problem”. What is perhaps not acknowledged is that the Muslim presence in the Americas predates the US itself.^[1]  Moreover, in the post-Cold War era, the US flipped from against the Soviets in Afghanistan, to positioning political Islam as the new enemy of democracy. Thus, while anti-Muslim sentiment—what is commonly known as —seems to be a recent phenomenon, in fact, Muslims have been discriminated against throughout the history of the US and prior, albeit in varying degrees (Mamdani, 2004). However, without a doubt, 9/11 was a watershed moment for Muslims in the US bringing them into the public eye in a way that was unprecedented, reinvigorating a narrative about Muslims and and hence citizenship (Abu El-Haj, 2007, 2010, 2015; Ghaffar-Kucher, 2012, 2015; Maira, 2009).

Whereas following 9/11, the US had two presidents who gave lip service to the idea that, “” (Bush) or that, “” (Obama); today, the surge in Islamophobia is fueled by the tweets and taunts of another president, who has clearly decided that we are at war with Islam since, “,” and that all Muslims are the same (and are therefore all potential terrorists). However, despite this shift in rhetoric, the policies under all three presidents have been more similar than many would like to admit. US military invasions into Afghanistan and Iraq; Bush’s Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001 (better known as the USA PATRIOT Act); Obama’s covert drone wars against “terrorists” (where military-aged male in a strike zone is considered a combatant) in Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia; and of course, the recent executive order, titled, , otherwise known as “” have effectively fueled the public imaginary about Muslims, and about Islam in the US and elsewhere. All three presidents have used national security and the threat of “Islamic terrorism” as impetus and justification for their actions. These acts of government are a stark reminder that what we are witnessing today is not a radical break from the past: Muslim communities (as well as many other immigrant communities) have long been targeted by policies that threaten their access to basic civil, political, and human rights.^[2]

During the post-9/11 period, hate crimes and acts of discrimination against Muslims have undoubtedly increased dramatically. The advent of social media during this period intensified narratives around the incommensurability of Islam with the US way of life and the trope of the Muslim terrorist. However, according to Pew Research (2017), . This more recent surge in discrimination and hate crimes against a large cross-section of the US populace is noteworthy for three reasons: 1) it impacts all communities of color, as well as non-Christian religious groups and LGBTQ people, not just Muslims; 2) hate crimes and micro-aggressions have increased in frequency and severity, especially for Muslims; 3) the increase can be largely attributed to the words and actions of the 45th US president, who announced his candidacy along with public disdain for Islam in June 2015, and has since then. This surge in anti-Muslim sentiment, rhetoric, and actions are mirrored by the. These acts of discrimination, bias, and hate occur both within and outside of educational settings (see Bajaj, Ghaffar-Kucher, Desai, 2015).

Beyond anti-Islamophobia: Developing anti-racist, anti-imperialist education

Educators and activists have been responding to this increase in Islamophobia through educational interventions, such as workshops about Islam to highlight the religion's virtues, or encouraging individuals to “make a Muslim friend”, or displaying posters with women wearing US flags as hijabs. Unfortunately, these interventions do not tackle the issues of racism and imperialism that actually undergird Islamophobia. Rather—while perhaps well-intentioned—these approaches are founded on a thin understanding that the root of Islamophobia is simply misinformation about “true Islam.” More perniciously, these efforts reinforce the idea that there are “good Muslims” (who are just like the rest of “us”) and “bad Muslims.” This suggests that if we can recognize the distinction, we might include the former, and exclude the latter, from our society.

In a broader political context that demonizes Muslims as some kind of alien humans who are violent, oppressive, and more, (the sharing and celebrating cultural diversity) can feel like an important corrective (Abu El-Haj, 2002). In fact, Muslim groups are at the forefront of these interventions. The problems with the banal multicultural approach are numerous: It foregrounds an ethic of “tolerance” for diversity and pluralism, which on the surface seems a positive virtue, but in actuality is an inadequate response to structural racism. Moreover, in stressing the idea that “good Muslims” are just like the rest of “us”, who may practice their religion differently, but who do not question the basic goodness and virtue of the US, this approach leaves no room for productive conflict and dissent. Banal multiculturalism requires Muslims (or any minoritized group) to conform; further, it encourages characterizations of any political critique of the “Western world” as disloyal and potentially dangerous. Finally, too often, education about “true Islam” glosses over the vast diversity of Muslim communities, both within the US and across the world. Obscuring this diversity feeds a discourse that there is a fundamental fight between the “West” and the “Muslim world.”

What is needed is a shift from educating about Islam to critical engagement with systemic racism embedded in US national and international policies. These relations at home and abroad need to be made visible and understood. Social Studies is a clear venue for such an endeavor but currently, it teaches a , leaving little room for engagement with the limits of American exceptionalism. Seventeen years into the most recent US military invasions and interventions in numerous Muslim majority countries, a generation of students remain ignorant to the devastating in too many places. Rather than more workshops about what Muslims really believe, children and adults in the US need systemic and serious education about the racism Muslims face within the “West”^[3], and the effects of imperial policies on lives across many Muslim countries.

Hope is in the new solidarity

The silver lining to this otherwise dismal picture is that, as we are witnessing an attack on civil liberties and human rights, we are also seeing a concurrent . For example, there were no notable demonstrations following the passage of the USA PATRIOT Act; contrast that with the scores of demonstrations following each of the iterations of the Muslim ban. Thus, in parallel to the increased animosity towards Muslims, there is also growth in support for Muslims the likes of which have not been seen before. This can be partially attributed to the collective disdain for the current president by White liberals and their awakening to Islamophobia. Furthermore, there is a clear generational shift among young people who recognize that there is no hierarchy in oppression, and that solidarity is the best way forward.

Muslim youth are no exception to the current wave of activism and solidarity. In the midst of a we are leading in collaboration with Arshad Ali, Michelle Fine, and Roozbeh Shirazi, we are seeing echoes of these broader shifts in terms of young Muslims’ self-perceptions and attitudes toward their rights, citizenship, and feelings of belonging. Often taunted and told to “go back to your country”, these youth—the children of immigrants and US citizens—are willing to speak up more than previous generations of Muslim immigrants. They have come to recognize themselves as people of color and hence are showing more solidarity with various marginalized and minoritized groups (POC, LGBTQ, etc.). They are also more cognizant of Whiteness, and of issues of colonialism and imperialism worldwide.

Many youth today recognize the and how it impacts their own sense of citizenship and belonging. Instead they see the ways in which their stories are entangled with the legacy of, and struggle against, US imperialism^[4]. As such, we are witnessing a proliferation of anti-racist and anti-imperialist movements led by youth from Muslims communities who are demanding recognition as full citizens and fighting for justice within and across affinity groups and national borders. Exit east? No, the Muslims are here to stay.  

References

1. Abu El-Haj, T. R. (2002). Contesting the politics of culture, rewriting the boundaries of inclusion: Working for social justice with Muslim and Arab communities. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 33(3), 308-316.
2. Abu El-Haj, T.R. (2007). ‘‘I was born here, but my home, it’s not here’’: Educating for democratic citizenship in an era of transnational migration and global conflict. Harvard Educational Review, 77(3), 285–316.
3. Abu El-Haj, T.R. (2010). The beauty of America. Nationalism, Education, and the War on Terror. Harvard Educational Review, 80(2), 244-274.
4. Abu El-Haj, T. R. (2015). Unsettled Belonging: Educating Palestinian American youth after 9/11. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
5. Bajaj, M., Ghaffar-Kucher, A., & Desai, K. (2016). Harvard Educational Review, 86(4), 481-505.
6. Boggs, C. (2003).  Introduction: Empire and globalization. In C. Boggs (Ed.), Masters of war: Militarism and blowback in the era of American empire, pp. 1-16. New York: Routledge.
7. Ghaffar-Kucher, A. (2012). The religification of Pakistani-American Youth. American Educational Research Journal. 49(1), 30-52.
8. Ghaffar-Kucher, A. (2015). “Narrow-minded and oppressive" or a “superior culture”? Implications of Divergent Representations of Islam for Pakistani-American Youth. Race Ethnicity and Education, 18(2), 202-224.
9. Gregory, D. (2004). The colonial present. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing.
10. Khalidi, R. (2004). Resurrecting empire: Western footprints and America’s perilous path in the Middle East. Boston: Beacon Press.
11. Maira, S. (2009). Missing: Youth, citizenship, and empire after 9/11. Durham: Duke University Press.
12. Mamdani, M. (2004). Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror. New York: Random House.

^[1] Estimates suggest that between 15-30% of enslaved people brought to the Americas were Muslim.

^[2] Even prior to 9/11, both the Reagan and Carter administrations had their own “Muslim boogeymen” whom they used to galvanize public fear to support their policies against Muslim countries and communities. Carter’s ban on granting Iranian visas was different from the current Muslim Ban; however, Regan’s failed proposal for Muslim internment was quite similar to the Muslim ban and in fact more extreme.

^[3] We acknowledge that racism against Muslims does not only occur in the West but also many other countries in the world, for example, China.

^[4] By U.S. imperialism we mean the range of strategies of global dominance this country leverages that are characterized by explicit and more invisible forms of power exercised through economic, military, cultural, and politics means (Boggs, 2003; Gregory, 2004; Khalidi, 2004; Maira, 2009)

About the Authors

EdD () is a senior lecturer at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education. Her work examines themes of migration, citizenship, belonging, with a special focus on South Asian and Muslim immigrant communities in the US. She is on the advisory board of MTV’s anti-bias “” public awareness campaign. Follow her on twitter:

j, PhD, is an associate professor at Barnard College, Columbia University. Her second book, Unsettled Belonging: Educating Palestinian American youth after 9/11 (2015, University of Chicago Press) offers an ethnographic account of young Palestinian Americans grappling with questions of belonging and citizenship in the wake of September 11, 2001.

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Student artwork celebrating the Puerto Rican community at a student-led holiday event in a Tampa, Florida high school. Los Boricuas somos el adobo que Dios ha rociado por el mundo para darle sabor a esta tierra (We Boricuas are the seasoning that God has sprinkled throughout the world to give flavor to this land).

What happens when students are forced to leave home unexpectedly due to disaster? Do schools serve as spaces of refuge, or do they inadvertently deepen trauma? Our education system can no longer afford to ignore these questions. Natural disasters that were once perceived as isolated incidents . As a result, more communities will receive populations displaced by disasters, ultimately revealing pre-existing social inequalities and exposing human-created causes and effects. Last year, Hurricane María wreaked havoc on Puerto Rico, a U.S. colony already suffering from high unemployment and poverty rates. Some scholars, including ourselves, argue that the aftermath of Hurricane María is best described as an unnatural disaster whose effects were compounded by colonialism and its relationship to the island’s natural resources and citizenry. Even though Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens, to the mainland U.S. since Hurricane Maria (including thousands of K-12 students) has revealed the limits of citizenship for racialized subjects in the wake of disaster.

            As children and youth from Puerto Rico began enrolling in U.S. schools to avoid long-term disruptions to their education, we carried out to examine the effects of displacement on students arriving to Central Florida. While programs and policies were put in place to assist students and families with the transition, participants repeatedly shared how they were met with unfulfilled promises when “welcomed” by the government. For example, families who arrived on humanitarian flights and were given FEMA hotel vouchers endured significant duress as the government regularly threatened to terminate the program with as little as one month’s notice. Teachers shared that many students “came with the hurricane effect”: they were “traumatized”, “didn’t want to be here”, and “their heart [was in] going back to Puerto Rico”. Not only was the abrupt disruption to their lives painful, but the inequitable recovery process on the island and the lack of supports available in receiving communities made the choice of staying or returning complicated. Although many would highlight U.S. citizenship as an advantage that has enabled Puerto Ricans to move back and forth seeking better conditions after the disaster, less attention has been paid to the second-class nature and limitations of that citizenship.

            The U.S. government has repeatedly demonstrated reluctance to confer the full benefits of citizenship to Puerto Ricans given the island’s status as a U.S. colony. Hurricane María laid bare this reality. For example, Puerto Rican residents than states recently affected by hurricanes, and more than half of FEMA applications for assistance made by Puerto Ricans were rejected. Scholars in the field of disaster studies often note that disasters do not create inequity but simply reaffirm and deepen structural problems that already existed. Systemic inequities contribute to families with fewer resources being more likely to live in areas that are most vulnerable to the effects of disaster, while also being less likely to receive assistance. The inability (and indifference) of the U.S. government to sufficiently respond to the needs of Puerto Ricans—both those who stayed on the island and those who arrived to the mainland U.S.—reinforces this fact. In fact, throughout the past year, Puerto Ricans in Florida have continually been framed by politicians, media, and the public as foreigners undeserving of short and long-term recovery benefits. What are newly arrived students to make of this sentiment? The message is clear: Citizenship on paper does not automatically confer rights nor a sense of belonging.

            What did this second-class citizenship mean for the educational experiences of Puerto Rican students displaced by the hurricane? Although most of the students arriving to Florida were primarily Spanish speaking, they found themselves in a new school system that denies full access to learning in their home language. While individual schools provided language support to newly arrived students, the pressure of taking standardized tests in English was particularly difficult for both teachers and students alike. One teacher, referring to her students, said, “sometimes they’ll think ‘what is wrong with her? Why doesn’t she understand?’ And it’s not what’s wrong, I have to move you forward, and I know you can do it...but it’s as stressful for them as it is for us because we have these standards and accountabilities and all this stuff sitting in the back of our heads”. Even the practice tests leading up to the high-stakes exams presented major challenges. As another teacher shared, “the test does not count for them, per se, but the stress counts for them...and that lives inside of them”. Acknowledging these challenges, the district advocated to the Florida Department of Education to request that students be allowed to take the tests in their home language. Although this option is available and encouraged by the federal Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), the district’s efforts were unsuccessful. In fact, Florida was the last state to receive approval of their plan under ESSA, and the plan does not provide the option to test in languages other than English. For those who chose to pursue a Florida high school diploma, the required standardized tests ultimately assessed not only their content knowledge but their English language proficiency as well. Thus, hundreds of Puerto Rican high school students who arrived at an English-dominant system in their junior and senior years—some only temporarily—could not fully demonstrate their knowledge on these exams.” In some instances, students doubted their ability to pass the exam and chose to receive a Puerto Rico diploma, foregoing access to in-state college tuition opportunities as a result.

The educational effects of Hurricane María are not limited to students in the mainland U.S. More than 200 schools on the island have been closed, and teachers in Florida are expecting what they deemed “another tidal wave of students from Puerto Rico”. Continuing to invoke hurricane imagery, these teachers guessed that their district--home to a pre-established Puerto Rican community--would be “the first spot that’s going to be hit”. There are, of course, striking parallels to what happened to schools in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. An influx of white-led organizations as well as white volunteers and aspiring reformers , not only displacing residents of color in affected communities but taking over local institutions and privatizing the school system through charter schools. As author Naomi Klein argues, disaster capitalism often and shock after crises to move corporate initiatives forward. Puerto Rico has been no exception. Beyond the economic crisis that has burdened the island and caused significant out-migration long before the hurricane, the disaster has opened space for investors to buy up land, private companies to profit from recovery efforts, and charter schools to be introduced into the public education system. Disaster-induced migration is far from over. 

These examples demonstrate that there are indeed limits to citizenship and full inclusion in society for racialized, colonial subjects. These limits have affected the demands that Puerto Ricans have been able to make on the government to assist with recovery efforts, to provide for families that are displaced, and to support the needs of culturally and linguistically diverse students. Formal citizenship, in other words, has never been enough. We must resist imagining citizenship as a legal document that automatically confers rights to individuals and instead question the ways in which some are systematically excluded from accessing those rights regardless of documentation status.

About the authors 

Astrid N. Sambolín Morales is a PhD candidate in the Educational Equity and Cultural Diversity program at the University of Colorado Boulder. Her research interests include translanguaging, bilingual education, critical theories of race, and culturally sustaining/responsive pedagogies.

Molly Hamm-Rodríguez is a PhD student in the Educational Equity and Cultural Diversity program at the University of Colorado Boulder. She is interested in community-based research with youth and families focused on histories and experiences of migration, place, language, and social identity.

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I am second generation Mexican American. My Great Grandfather Macario immigrated from San Luis Potosi, Mexico during the Mexican Revolution in the early 1900s. During the Mexican Revolution, he worked as a clerk for the Mexican government, and he feared for the life of his family because of his association with the government of Mexico. Because of the violence happening there, he sent my Great Grandmother Lazara and his five children on a train to Crispen, Texas. He knew that he could send them to this area because he knew of distant cousins and other immigrants in a town nearby that would help them. Eventually my Great Grandfather joined them, beginning his life in Caldwell, Texas. My grandfather Francisco received up to a fifth-grade education. Despite not receiving a complete education, he continued to be a self-learner and spent his own time educating himself. For instance, he read the Bible cover to cover four times in his lifetime and read the newspaper religiously. When a salesman knocked on his door in Caldwell to sell him an encyclopedia set, he could not afford an entire set; however, he was able to walk away with one book out of the set. He cherished all the information regarding the letter “P”. He pushed all of his eight children to complete high school, and they did. His daughters even convinced him to dress up in an orange Caldwell High School graduation gown when his youngest son Paul graduated from Caldwell High School. For Francisco, education was a gift. And for his son Thomas Maldonado, he helped me appreciate my education growing up and granted me the gift of pursuing my education after high school. And so, the gift of education has led me on my academic journey in becoming a teacher, but little did I know that I would be a teacher to our immigrant youth.

At the school where I teach, we have a population of over 60% Hispanics, and we support over 200 English Language Learners (ELLs) at our school. More specifically, I work with up to 30 students who are placed in the English as a Second Language (ESL) classes that I teach. I teach anywhere from Long-Term ELLs, who have been in the country for five or more years to Newcomers, who are just arriving into the United States. Up until this year, I have had only Spanish-speaking students, and they have taught me so much about themselves, their culture, and their resilient backgrounds.

I have students who have spent time in refugee camps and escaped violence. I have students who come here alone. I have students who come with their families under temporary citizenship.  Some students were born in the United States but moved back to their home country for most of their life. I have students who dream of college but worry about how they will afford it. I have a student who is worried that the father of her child will be deported because he was recently arrested. I have a student who was kidnapped by her father for 12 years but was recently reunited with her mother in the United States. So many of my students have sacrificed and endured just to be in the United States, and I have learned that my job as their teacher is to give them a quality education, but also to make them feel safe in my classroom.

I want to highlight two students who have made a huge impact on me as a budding teacher:

Sola*

Sola was in my ESL section of Practical Writing. She was considered a Long-Term ELL student. She had come to the United States when she was in elementary. She knew that she was in my class because she needed to pass that state exam to graduate. She was so close when she retook it in the spring, but she was focused to pass the upcoming retake exam in December. She was a soft-spoken student, but she took pride in her work. When she wrote something as simple as an Exit Ticket or extensive as an essay, she placed so much thought and voice in her writing. She shared with me that her biological mother was not present most of her life, but her stepmother was always there for her from a young age. Towards the end of the school year with me, she found out that her mom was hiding the fact that she had cancer. Her mother did not want to burden her children with worry, but Sola wanted to know because she just cared so much about her. Sola ended up successfully passing her English state exam, and she was able to graduate that year. As the next school year rolled around, I frequented a convenience store on my way to work every morning. At the cashier counter was always a sweet, quiet-spoken young lady. As I talked to her more and more every day, she shared with me that her sister was Sola. Sola had mentioned to me during the year that her older sister read a lot. As the new school year began, my ESL classes were reading It is a written verse novel about the experience of a young girl whose family immigrated from Mexico to the Texas. In the story, the young girl finds out that her mother has cancer. The story revolves around the young protagonist discovering who she is and pursuing her dreams despite the hardships in her life. As I began reading this book with my class, I felt a need to give a copy of the novel to Sola’s sister because I knew what her family was going through because of what Sola shared with me at the end of the school year. I never shared why I shared with Sola’s sister why I gave her that book. I simply gave the book to her because Sola’s sister had said in passing that she loved to read. I even told her to share the novel with Sola, too. Sola later shared that her mom was reading the book, too.

Yari*

Yari was a student from El Salvador. She had only been here for one year, but she was never afraid to practice the English that she knew. She was very diligent and polite. She was the one student who was not afraid to ask questions in class. She happily worked with every student in the classroom, and she was respected by her peers in class. She was the first ESL student who was able to successfully complete an online credit for a class she needed. She completed this class on her own time in addition to maintaining her regular school schedule. She had mentioned in her writing notebook that she liked to play softball, and that she used to play in El Salvador on the playground with her friends. At my school, I am an assistant softball coach, and I asked if she would be interested in trying out for the school’s softball team. With encouragement and persistence from me, she tried out for the softball team and made the team. She was a natural athlete, and she was not afraid to get hurt. One time she took a line-drive hit to her shin, but she finished the play and got the out. I loved seeing one of my ESL students participating in an extracurricular activity and enjoying herself. The softball team grew very fond of her as well. The girls on the team were not afraid to ask her questions about her life, and she happily shared where she was from and the home language she spoke. I believe having Yari on the team opened the eyes of her teammates. Having Yari on our softball team spread an awareness about our ESL population at our school, and she definitely made a presence.

My story of immigration is a part of my family history and in part connected to the students I have the opportunity to teach. My grandparents immigrated here to make a better life and to give their children opportunities that they felt could only be offered here in the United States. However, this came with a loss. In living in the United States, my grandparents pushed their children to learn English because they knew that speaking English would give them more opportunities. Although my dad recalls speaking Spanish to his parents at home, at school he would only speak English. And as he pursued a higher education, his Spanish was mostly used when his parents were alive. In having children, he raised a household that only spoke English. To this day, I cannot say that I am a fluent Spanish speaker, but I often wonder what my life would be like if I grew up in a household that maintained both languages interchangeably. And even this idea makes me wonder if my students will be able to maintain a new language without losing their home language.

Right now, my students just finished a writing project. They created about their life and culture online through an online book-making platform. I received a grant to have their books published in hardback form. Their books will be on display at a local cultural community center for their annual Día de los Muertos event. They are also creating a classroom altar for the event that will reflect and feature their published books.

What I do know is that I will keep celebrating my students’ diverse cultures while sharing with them my experience living in the United States, being a Mexican-American, and what that means to me. I strive to open their minds to their experience of immigration (and their peers) by giving them a foundation of the English language and a platform to share their story.

About the author

My name is Alethea Maldonado, and I teach English as a Second Language (ESL) at the high school level. This is my third year teaching, and I am also a coach for volleyball and softball at my school.

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