My high school students are targets in Trump’s cruel deportation spree. It can’t be allowed to continue.
By Jennifer Dines, Current Affairs
I am a high school teacher in the Boston Public Schools. I teach English to new immigrant students. I have done this work for nearly two decades. This year, my students come from Cameroon, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Haiti, Venezuela, and Vietnam. In prior years, I’ve had students from Afghanistan, Brazil, Cape Verde, Chile, Guatemala, Honduras, Portugal, Russia, and Tibet.
I not only teach in Boston. I live there, two miles from work. My daughters also attend a Boston Public School that’s a six-minute drive from where I teach. Many of their classmates and their families have come to Boston from other countries. On the first day back at school after winter vacation, I gave my students an assignment to write about their goals for 2025 and beyond. A lot of students wrote about learning more English, improving their grades, exercising more and eating right, and getting an after-school job.
I collected their notebooks at the end of class, and I enjoyed reading each teen’s response. “I want to fix my attitude problem.” “I want to be a rich man.” “Help my sister with her homework.” Funny. Ambitious. Sweet.
And then there was Pierre’s resolution. Pierre is well over six feet tall. He has a dazzling smile, top grades, and a solid group of friends. Pierre came to Boston from Haiti by way of Mexico. His resolution: “Help my friends when they are not doing well and take my mind off of bad people to improve my own happiness.”
I know one friend of Pierre’s who is not doing well. One day after class in late December, Pierre’s friend Ami told me: “Miss. My best friend in Haiti. Today is the day they killed him.”
“Ami, what? I am so sorry. Why?”
“I don’t know. They just shot him. BOOM! BOOM! That’s it. In Haiti right now, the gangs will shoot anyone.”
I try to maintain a calm face in front of my students, always. But I must’ve had a look of concern.
“But don’t worry about me, Miss. I’m okay. I’m really okay,” Ami reassured me as her eyes became glassy. “I really am okay.”
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