"Mrs. g., is my mom gonna get deported?": the aftermath post-election for the latino community & the margin dwellers in k12.

Just days after the election, and even before, many school buildings were turning into spaces that were catching stories of terror, concerns of deportation & pure worry for those of us who already felt at the end of education's priority list, feel the impending doom of being pushed out altogether. I'd be dishonest if I said I wasn't feeling it too.

Kids are starting to pour open their hearts to us as the educator, the practitioner, school admin, and it's gut wrenching.

"Mrs. G., is my mom gonna get deported? I have nowhere to go. I guess I can get a job and try to keep paying the apartment," says a 16 year old child who had the courage to stay after class to break open angst, terror, and helplessness. "They're gonna come for her, they're gonna come for her."

I closed the door, as my heart started beating wildly in my chest, knowing there was little I could do for my school child in the moment but hold space, offer comfort, and express my care and deep concern. My eyes studied her as the tears glided down her gorgeous face, full of youth and promise. She's one of my hardest workers, she's got grit and sass and heart. Before she left, I hugged her tight and assured her that I see her and I'm with her.

I started making moves after she left with school leadership, counseling, and social work as I batted off the numbness that was starting to fill my cheeks, and the knot in my throat that was threatening to burst forth with an avalanche of sobs and melancholy. "Ahi, mi Dios," I whispered, "Ayúdanos."

This is going to be one of the many stories that will continue to surface in the days ahead. Heavily populated school districts with communities of color will be experiencing copious amounts of stress and anxiety due to policy changes and what that means for their communities.

As far as the Latino community, whose US student population makes up close to 30% and climbing, according to National Center for Education Statistics, is going be facing major disruptions in learning, mental health, and homelife. There are too many unknowns and variables, but the mass media doesn't help any of this for us. With rhetoric like mass deportations, mobilizing ICE and military forces, being called criminals, aliens, and rapists, this has deepened the gripping anxiety at the epicenter of our communities.

With the current flux of newcomers from places like Venezuela and Guatemala, families are reeling and grappling with the implications of their status and pathway to citizenship.

Most of us agree that education is important and is the cornerstone of our communities and a reflection of democracy. Yet, we need to pause and take a good look at what is happening, and what might happen, and assume collective responsibility if we are going to find a path forward with human decency. The problem is, that we all don't agree on what is deemed sacred, worth saving and protecting.

The emotional and mental strain that it is going to put on the educator...the education activist is enormous. Now more than ever, we must band together, take good care, and lean on our affinity spaces and networks for healing and next steps.

To all my advocates, leaders, and lovers of education spaces and what goes on in here: You can't forget us. You can't forget that many of our kids of color are and will be struggling to find meaning and their place in this society that is communicating the taring down of their worth and value.

Don't forget the teacher of color, those of us who are fighting every day and remain proximate to the issues that you discuss at large and have since been removed from because of other exploits of yours and professional opportunities. I'm not mad at that, I just need you to remember. Remember the work you promised to make our spaces more equitable, safe, just, and transformative. Remember our faces, our stories, and our lived experiences in a system that doesn't seem designed to see us flourish.

I'm asking you to grab my hand because I'm not going anywhere. Find me in room 240 wiping tears, ripping off labels, crushing stereotypes, finding resources, and washing my room clear of colonization and oppression both for myself and my school babies.

Will you...will you remember us? Time will answer that question.

-In solidarity,

Mrs. G.