On the top floor of a Spanish-immersion elementary in St. Paul, a fifth-grade class is reading Don Quixote. The teacher, identified only as Ms. A because staff fear federal scrutiny, uses the novel to bridge literature and daily life, asking students what it means to be ‘‘enchanted’’ and to act with good intentions even when the world seems confusing.
Most of the students are Latino. Flags from Latin American countries hang from the ceiling, a reminder of cultures and families that shape the school community. But this winter, a large federal immigration operation upended those classrooms. Families hid, neighbors left groceries at doorsteps, nonwhite residents began carrying passports in case of stops, and many children stopped going to school. Protesters faced tear gas and pepper balls in the streets. The enforcement surge has ended, but its effects are still felt.
During the height of the operation the district offered a virtual option, and more than a third of students took it. Ms. A noticed an immediate change: kids who were chatty and engaged in person went online and became quiet and withdrawn. Faces that used to light up in class looked different on a screen.
Hopewell Hodges, a researcher at the University of Minnesota who studies children’s resilience, explains why. A child’s world is concentric rings — family, school, neighborhood — and when those systems are disrupted, stress ripples inward. Younger children often absorb tensions that start with adults, she says, and that can affect learning, behavior and emotional health.
Not all students returned when classrooms reopened. Some families left St. Paul or the country; the article’s reporting found families who relocated to El Salvador, Mexico, Nebraska, California and Venezuela. Many still fear enforcement: sightings of agents in neighborhoods continue, even if less often than at the operation’s peak. During a recent visit to the district, a security vehicle idled outside after a community member reported an ICE vehicle nearby.
About half the school staff are Latino. The principal, Amanda, who is originally from Mexico City, began carrying her passport. Ms. A, who is Puerto Rican, rehearsed safety plans with her seven-year-old daughter in case adults were detained. Amanda says some children refused to return to school because they feared their parents could be taken while they were in class. For many staff, it felt as if half the school year had been erased.
The community responded quickly to support families. Volunteers stand guard at recess in neon vests. One classroom has become a grocery hub, stocked with cereal, beans, masa, cleaning supplies, diapers and backpacks filled with books and toys. Parents and neighbors pitch in to keep the pantry running as long as they can.
Those efforts matter, Hodges says, because community support can serve as a protective buffer for children. Kids are more likely to recover when their caregivers and neighborhoods are stable and supported. The grown-ups’ most important job, she argues, is to prevent future surges and reduce the conditions that make families feel unsafe.
On the first day back after weeks of online learning, many students were visibly happy to return. Children ran into hallways to greet teachers. Eleven-year-old Ellah, the principal’s daughter who stayed in school throughout, said it felt better to have more classmates around and closer to how things used to be. Camila, an 11-year-old who spent weeks learning from home, described lingering fear for her parents who still go to work, but she also said being with friends in school made her feel safer.
In class, Ms. A aims to restore normalcy and care. She tells students, simply, that the classroom is a place where they are loved and supported and that adults are there for them. The school posts notices asserting limits on federal access — agents are barred from entering without a judicial warrant — and staff and families keep up volunteer efforts, mutual aid and neighborhood vigilance.
Rebuilding routines won’t erase the disruption, but teachers, parents and volunteers are working to restore stability for children whose worlds were unsettled by the enforcement operation. The small, everyday acts — a stocked pantry, an extra set of hands at recess, a teacher’s steady reassurance — are the community’s way of helping students find their footing again.