Collaborative on Global Children's Issues

“Aquí si encajo, pero en esa escuela nunca/here I fit in, but never in that school,” said Zulma energetically when I asked her about her participation in a GED program where she was working on completing her secondary education. Zulma dropped out of high school in 2018, only a year after migrating to the United States from El Salvador. “I never fit in that school, not the best place,” she said again, this time switching to English from Spanish. Interestingly, Zulma felt similar to many other young people whom I observed and interviewed for two years during my doctoral dissertation research: school never felt safe for them. In fact, many of the young people explained that school caused them harm in various ways. Immigration and youth scholars have highlighted the importance of educational spaces in immigrant youth’s development of a sense of belonging. Yet, Zulma and others completely contradict the idea that schools are safe spaces which allow young undocumented people to feel welcomed and included into the social fabric of their communities. Lauren Berlant tells us that “cruel optimism” represents the idea that whatever one most desires ironically becomes the obstacle to obtaining it. In the case of the youth I worked with, many wanted to come to the United States for better educational opportunities. Instead, they found that schools became an obstacle to their safety and inclusion.

What follows is a brief perspective on the youth experiences of leaving school and why school was not a place they thought to be helpful in developing a sense of belonging. In other words, I highlight how schooling for undocumented youth exemplifies Berlant’s idea of “cruel optimism.” I will also underline several practical ideas that can benefit undocumented or newly arrived immigrant youth based on my participant’s experiences.

My research centers the experiences of ten youth from Honduras, Guatemala, and El Salvador who migrated to a suburban, progressive, and often characterized as “sanctuary-like” locality near Washington, DC. I examine the ways in which undocumented youth are able to negotiate a sense of belonging despite facing multiple challenges as a result of dropping out of school and their immigration status.

Scholars have argued about the importance in understanding the “context of reception” and how different laws and policies impact undocumented students at the local, state, and federal level. In the suburban locality where I did my research, most of the discourse around immigration is understood as inclusive and progressive. One great example of the inclusivity merit from local officials is a recent county allocation of five million dollars aiming to serve newly arrived immigrant youth and families by creating navigation networks, enhancing community-based supports, and strengthening educational resources for this population. However, many young people, including the participants in my study, fall through the cracks and face marginalization because of their experiences in school. Their voices are often unheard.

The young people I worked with all dropped out of school in order to avoid harassment by students, faculty, and staff. The participants mentioned various experiences of being bullied by peers, threatened by School Resource Officers (SROs), and inadequate social and educational support from teachers.

Zulma, for example, left school as a result of an incident that stemmed from being bullied and having no adult or staff support. In her words, “they would never do anything. I would be next to them when they [students] bothered me and insulted me, and they would not do anything. It is as if they were scared of the students.” She was bullied for her physical appearance, specifically facial paralysis as a result of a medical condition. Tired of the negative treatment, she reacted on one occasion and punched the person verbally bullying her. Zulma was charged with assault and, as a result, never returned to school.

Eduin spoke about SRO harassment because he wanted to skateboard in the school parking lot during lunch hour. On more than one occasion, this landed Eduin in detention. He mentioned the threats he received from SROs when he skated saying, “Every time, man! They didn’t have anything else to do? He [SRO officer] would say, ‘Next time we’re charging you with trespassing and locking you up so you learn.'"

In another example, Miguel shared about his need to work during school hours to pay for housing, migration costs, and remittances. However, instead of inquiring about his absenteeism, school personnel withdrew him from classes. He missed about three weeks of school, and on his return, his teacher informed him to go to the office because he was no longer on their roster. Miguel noted, “Man, I flipped out at my counselor. I threw all his papers off his desk. They could call me and ask me, like they didn’t have my consent, my authorization. How can they just say ‘you’re not coming to school and you’re not gonna graduate on time so we expelled you.’” Miguel used “expelled,” but in reality, it was a tactic that relied on his absenteeism to legitimize school officials’ decision to withdraw him. His experience closely relates to what education scholars conceptualize as “pushing out” students from school.