Three months into his first year as an American high school student, Juan Rodríguez-Ramírez stopped doing his work. Arriving in Los Angeles from Guatemala in January 2021 amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, the 17-year-old Tz’utujil Maya had online classes. A teacher noticed his absence and asked Guadalupe Carrasco Cardona, an intervention coordinator, to check in. Aware of the school’s concern, Juan’s father, Mariano, did something Carrasco Cardona said is rare: He wrote a letter explaining their circumstances.
Those circumstances were extraordinary, yet not uncommon for migrants from Central America’s Northern Triangle — Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador. For reasons of work and safety, Mariano left San Pedro La Laguna in Guatemala to go north to the United States in January 2020. In his absence, Juan’s mother was raped. Mariano returned eight months later with a plan to take his son, Juan, with him to the U.S. The rest of the family would follow after.
At the border, migra separated father and son — Juan was placed in a youth facility in Kansas and later Arizona while Mariano pleaded for asylum in Texas. After they were reunited 20 days later, Mariano brought Juan to MacArthur Park, Los Angeles’ Maya enclave. Just a few months later, mother Clara attempted to join Mariano and Juan with the couple’s younger sons, only to be stopped at the border between the United States and Mexico, ensnared in an extortion attempt and later abandoned in the mountains outside Tijuana.
Desperation compelled Mariano to share his family’s story, first with school staff, then with Spanish-language newspaper La Opinión. Later, a playwright turned those words into a play soon to debut in San Francisco.
Unlike his father, Juan doesn’t like to discuss what happened. Not yet 18, Juan has suffered multiple traumas in Guatemala, during the journey through Mexico and in the U.S.
Such trauma, which is recognized by the American Psychological Association, can have lasting consequences on intellectual and emotional development. One established method of measuring trauma is the Adverse Childhood Experiences survey, or ACEs. Forms of trauma recognized by the survey include abuse, neglect and violence; witnessing drug and alcohol abuse; and losing a parent to separation, divorce or death.
In California, where the survey was first developed, more than 60% of adults suffered at least one traumatic experience as children. However, youth of color, particularly Black and Latino children, are more likely to have experienced four or more traumatic events than their white peers: 20.6% and 18% to 16.4%, respectively. The number of youth suffering trauma is likely higher when considering young immigrants like Juan. A study conducted by researchers at the University of California, San Francisco found that ACEs surveys may not adequately recognize trauma suffered by immigrant youth.
In Juan’s case, the trauma wasn’t detected by a health care provider utilizing the ACEs survey but by a teacher. This echoes the UCSF study authors’ recommendations: that immigrant youth be assessed for trauma by teachers and other trusted adults rather than by doctors and nurses.
California’s first surgeon general, Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, has made it a priority to recognize youth trauma and prevent its legacy. This summer, the California Surgeon General’s Office is set to debut part of that effort with a trauma-informed training video for early childhood educators and K-12 teachers.
Juan attends the Edward R. Roybal Learning Center, located west of downtown Los Angeles in the Westlake neighborhood. Roybal faculty and staff serve Los Angeles’ Central American diaspora, among other students. Incarceration, family separations, children raised by extended family members rather than biological parents, immigration, detention and, now, COVID loss are all common issues that are brought into each classroom, explains Guadalupe Carrasco Cardona, the intervention coordinator who assisted Juan and his family. Working in that environment requires teachers to acknowledge community and student experience. That is reflected in carefully crafted lessons and thoughtful choice of words as well as discreet support of family needs. These strategies allowed the campus to pivot to create a racial justice task force when the Black Lives Matters movement exploded after the murder of George Floyd. Today, Carrasco Cardona notes much of the task force’s work involves addressing basic needs such as food and clothing.
Adjusting the day’s lesson plan to address student needs isn’t simply a matter of policy or professional development, but recognition of the fact that trauma impacts intellectual development — learning.
“If our pedagogy isn’t trauma-informed, without understanding the student and community context, we perpetuate the trauma,” said Carrasco Cardona, now an ethnic studies teacher at Roybal.
When Carrasco Cardona saw Mariano’s letter seeking support for Juan, she was able to connect the family with a school psychologist and counselors. Carrasco Cardona sought food and clothing donations. In addition, the family trusted her to share their story and set up a gofundme account.
Carrasco Cardona’s professional responsibility ends with linking Juan, a student, with school resources. She went beyond those responsibilities to assist Juan and his family. She also warns her example is not a fair or realistic expectation of other teachers.
Today Juan is in his junior year at Roybal. He wants to go to college, a tech school, he says, to study a trade. He mentions becoming an auto mechanic, an electrician or plumber. He says he is grateful to his teachers at Roybal for all their support. In particular, Juan is grateful someone asked why he wasn’t participating in class.
“I was focused on the problems with my family,” he says matter-of-factly.
Many of Juan’s friends and their families, like him, are undocumented. Some recall their journey to the United States. But even among friends, he says they don’t like to share those stories.
By discussing Juan’s story, Mariano invited support from Roybal teachers, staff and, later, readers of La Opinión as well as community members. He risked a simple but uncommon act of trust. Mariano shrugs off the action as something typical of parents in Guatemala.
Carrasco Cardona emphasizes it is not typical at Roybal and wishes more families would trust educators with their stories and seek help. In addition, she notes the importance of simply paying attention to students, families and the community.
“I don’t treat students like victims, but I’m aware there could be trauma we don’t see,” Carrasco Cardona says. “I’m aware [trauma] comes out in behavior.”
The state’s trauma-informed training may encourage more teachers to help. To support teachers that immigrant youth trust, implementing policy that addresses youth trauma is a beginning. Teachers will also need to be empowered with additional resources like trusted, culturally competent professionals; improved access to basic needs like food, clothing and shelter; as well as classroom leeway that holds students’ social and emotional well-being in tandem with academic success. Otherwise, the burnout and exodus of teachers will hasten under additional expectations turned burden, however well intentioned. That’s just realistic.
