The Newcomers

by Helen Thorpe

  BEHAVIOR CONSEQUENCES (CONSEQUENCIAS DEL MAL COMPARTIMIENTO)

  1. First warning.

  2. This is your final warning. If you continue to disrupt the class, then you will need to sit outside in the hallway.

  3. Dean’s Office (officina del director).

  Mr. Williams remained philosophical, however, even about the obstreperous boys and the letdown of an election. He was disappointed the country had voted into office a leader who did not appreciate the value of his life’s work, but he viewed every obstacle as an opportunity to improve, and that’s what he was focused on—becoming a better teacher. He had nothing bad to say about Trump; he simply reported that the outcome of the contest had made him want to pour himself into the classroom with redoubled force. “It gives me solace, working with the kids,” he said. I knew what he meant, for I felt buoyed up every time I returned to South. A few hours with students struggling to learn English served as a reliable tonic; as soon as I stepped inside an ELA classroom, I could imagine a completely different future ahead. What was happening around the globe, which was invariably reflected at South, called for us to redouble our efforts, called for us not to let ourselves be defined by the last election. At least while I was at the school, I could envision what it would be like for the United States to realize its true potential—for my country to become what the world needed it to be.

  As Mr. Williams and I were speaking, we were interrupted by Lisbeth, who dropped by to visit her old teacher. She hung in his doorway, her hands on the doorjamb, her feet out in the hall, and her face peeking inside the room.

  “Hi, Mister!” cried Lisbeth.

  “Hi, Lisbeth,” Mr. Williams said warmly.

  She had become one of those former students who liked to visit, so that she could remember the sense of security she had felt in his presence.

  “Do you miss Mr. Williams?” I asked Lisbeth.

  “So much!” she said dramatically.

  “Lisbeth! When are you coming back to newcomer class?” Mr. Williams teased.

  “Right now!” sang Lisbeth.

  And then she danced out of view. She had not used a single word of Spanish during the entire exchange, even though Mr. Williams and I both knew that language. Mr. Williams had done his job, despite everything—despite the traumas the kids had lived through, despite the tumultuous political backdrop, despite Lisbeth’s incessant socializing and Methusella’s tremendous need to be challenged and the days when Jakleen and Mariam had hunkered down at home with their cell phones instead of showing up at school. He had taught them all English.

  There were several quotations near the school’s front door, and as I walked out of the building, I noticed another one: BEFORE SCIENCE THE BARRIERS OF FEAR AND SUPERSTITION VANISH AND THE MYSTERIES OF THE UNIVERSE UNFOLD. That’s what I took away from the year and a half that I spent at South High School. Meeting people whose life trajectories were so different from my own enlarged my way of thinking. Outside the school, arguments over refugees were raging, but the time I had spent inside this building showed me that those conversations were based on phantasms. People were debating their own fears. What I had witnessed taking place inside this school every day revealed the rhetoric for what it was: more propaganda than fact. Donald Trump appeared to believe his own assertions, but I hoped that in the years to come, more people would be able to recognize refugees for who they really were—simply the most vulnerable people on earth.

  Inside this school, where the reality of refugee resettlement was enacted every day, it was plain to see that seeking a new home took tremendous courage, and receiving those who had been displaced involved tremendous generosity. That’s what refugee resettlement was, I decided: acts of courage met by acts of generosity. Despite how fear-based the national conversation had turned, there was nothing scary about what was happening at South. Getting to know the newcomer students had deepened my own life, and watching Mr. Williams work with all twenty-two of them at once with so much grace, dexterity, sensitivity, and affection had provided me with daily inspiration. I would even say that spending a year in Room 142 had allowed me to witness something as close to holy as I’ve seen take place between human beings. I could only wish that in time, more people would be able to look past their fear of the stranger and experience the wonder of getting to know people from other parts of the globe. For as far as I could tell, the world was not going to stop producing refugees. The plain, irreducible fact of good people being made nomad by the millions through all the kinds of horror this world could produce seemed likely to prove the central moral challenge of our times. How did we want to meet that challenge? We could fill our hearts with fear or with hope. And the choice would affect more than just our own dispositions, for in choosing which seeds to sow, we would dictate the type of harvest. Surely the only harvest worth cultivating was the one Mr. Williams had been seeking: greater fluency, better understanding.

  Acknowledgments

  All thanks to my family for their support during this project. My parents, Marie and Larry; my sister, Lorna, and her husband, Marcos; and my brother, Brian, and his wife, Donna, have provided a lifetime of great company and constant inspiration. To my delightful nieces and nephews—Devin, Siobhan, Daniela, and Gael—thank you for being such a source of joy. My son, Teddy, occasionally had a forgetful mom during the creation of this book. Sometimes we didn’t have milk in the fridge and sometimes I forgot to put money on his debit card and sometimes dinner wasn’t ready on time. Teddy, about all of this, you were quite patient. Thank you for letting your mom work so hard and for being willing to share me with all these other kids. Thanks also for your sunny disposition and your amazing self-sufficiency and for making me laugh so much.

  To my wonderful literary agent, Alia Hanna Habib, I’m blessed by your belief in narrative nonfiction and in me. You gave me great counsel and you made this entire journey a lot more fun. Being named a finalist for the J. Anthony Lukas Work-in-Progress Award provided welcome support and confirmation of the importance of this subject at a critical time, and I want to thank Linda Healey, the Nieman Foundation for Journalism, and the Columbia University School of Journalism for this honor.

  Eddie Williams allowed me to observe his classroom for an entire year and that cannot have been entirely easy. I am deeply grateful. Alan Gottlieb, formerly of Chalkbeat, suggested that I visit South in the first place. Principal Kristin Waters granted me permission to spend time inside the high school, and her successor, Jen Hanson, enhanced my understanding of language acquisition. I’m also indebted to Denver Public Schools superintendent Tom Boasberg for his confidence in allowing me to report on DPS students. I want to express my gratitude to many additional teachers: Noelia Hopkin, Jenan Hijazi, Ed DeRose, Jason Brookes, Ben Speicher, Rachel Aldrich, John Walsh, Steve Bonansinga, and Wilson Vadakel. Thanks to the following staff: Beth Strickland, Karen Duell, Stephanie Onan, Lisa Kelly, Tony Acuna, and José Espinosa-Santiago. Ruthann Kallenberg, Pauline Ng, Carolyn Chafe Howard, Jaclyn Yelich, and Greg Thielen also shared keen observations. Finally, I want to thank the many paraprofessionals at South who broadened my understanding of the cultures represented in that building: Rebecca Aweit, Batoul Ali, Sushantika Bhandari, and Fatuma Yusuf.

  Many people in the refugee resettlement world and immigrants’ rights community shared their insights. I’m thankful to Steven Manning and Anna Greene at the International Rescue Committee, Jennifer Gueddiche at the Spring Institute, Robin Finegan and Tim Bothe at Red Cross, Alejandra Acevedo at Rocky Mountain Immigrant Advocacy Network, Camila Palmer and Phil Alterman at Elkind Alterman Harston, Joe Wismann-Horther at Colorado Refugee Services, and Meg Allen at Colorado Providers for Integration Network. I’m also indebted to everybody at the African Community Center (Melissa Theesen, Erin Efaw Frank, Troy Cox, Hussen Abdulahi, and Barbara Guglielminotti) and Lutheran Family Services (Jaime Koehler Blanchard, Yasir Abdulah, Whitney Haruf, Eh Klo, and Katherine Koch) who helped me understand resettlement in action.

  Seve
ral families took me into their homes and I will always be thankful. Gratitude to Ebtisam, Tchiza, Beya, Peh Reh, Taw Meh, Christina, Martha, and Steve for their time and their confidences. I could not have written this book without the help of the many interpreters: Hugo Rivas (Spanish), Nabiha Hasan Hussain (Arabic), Julius Amicho (Swahili), Berhane Kassa (Swahili), Cacilda Nunes (Portuguese), Ephirem Tesfamichael (Tigrinya), Komi Camille Seshie (French), Shen Meh Elena (Karenni), Lydia Dumam (Kunama), Deven Chhetri (Nepali), Valeriy Stuban (Russian), Georgette Kapuku Mabi (Swahili, French). Heartfelt thanks to everyone at Spring Institute and the Colorado African Organization for such amazing interpreters and for all the good you do in the world. Asaad Ibrahim has been a wonderful resource about Middle Eastern culture, especially in regard to the Qur’an. Bernadette Zars translated Jakleen’s letter. Linguist Andrea Feldman explained language structure and annotated passages in this book. My copyeditor, Cynthia Merman, vastly improved this manuscript and augmented passages about language structure.

  The following books helped me understand refugees and the parts of the world that they come from: City of Thorns by Ben Rawlence, King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hochschild, Dancing in the Glory of Monsters by Jason Stearns, The Democratic Republic of Congo: Between Hope and Despair by Michael Deibert, Back to the Congo by Lieve Joris, East Along the Equator: A Congo Journey by Helen Winternitz, Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder, What Is the What by Dave Eggers, Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo, For Us Surrender Is Out of the Question by Mac McClelland, and Undaunted: My Struggle for Freedom and Survival in Burma by Zoya Phan. I’m also a big fan of Immersion by Ted Conover, an essential guide for how to do this sort of journalism.

  My trip to the Democratic Republic of Congo was made possible thanks to Jamie Van Leeuwan, Ryan Grundy, and their staff at the Global Livingston Institute. All thanks to the Air Force instructors who allowed me to join their trip. Jason Niwamanya was a superb driver and noticed many things that I failed to see. Conversations with Yazan Fattaleh, Amy Grace Austin, and Bahati Kanyamanza enabled me to better understand North Kivu and Kyangwali.

  To all the friends who buoyed me up, heartfelt thanks. Fellow writers Peter Heller and Lisa Jones provided accompaniment every step of the way. Peter, I can hardly imagine going through a long project without your kindhearted encouragement; Lisa, you told me to keep going when I thought I should give up, and then plowed through an extremely rough draft. Some of the best moments in this book are thanks to your suggestions. John Hockenberry wrote many letters of encouragement. Mary Caulkins provided refuge at her studio, as I wrestled with sometimes tough subject matter. Gillian Silverman, Ed Wood, and Betsy Hollins marked up early drafts with spectacular improvements. Ana Maria Hernando and Kat Jones played key roles in helping me be ready to write this book; Emily Mandelstam enabled me to write differently about material that is grim; and Belle Zars got me up into the mountains for many welcome respites. My neighbor Cindy Paulin had my son over on innumerable occasions when I was busy working and allowed me to talk with her about all aspects of this book. At a certain point, I started chauffeuring Jakleen to and from school, which threatened to impede my ability to finish this project; after I spoke about this at Mountain View Friends Meeting, Charlotte Miller, Susan Bailey, and Judy Danielson took over driving Jakleen. Jeff Hobbs and I discussed our respective reporting efforts during a yearlong series of phone calls that made me feel I had a comrade-in-arms. John and Robin Hickenlooper, I’m grateful for your friendship and support. To all at the Tattered Cover, you remain my favorite place to be outside my own home.

  I am indebted to everyone at Scribner for the chance to become the kind of writer I have always wanted to be. Nan Graham, Susan Moldow, and Roz Lippel—your stalwart support over many years means a great deal. Kate Lloyd, Jessica Yu, Sarah Goldberg, Emily Remes, and Elisa Rivlin, I’m thankful for your help. My editor, Colin Harrison, poured an extraordinary amount of energy into making sure this book came to fruition. He listened to me search for this idea, encouraged me to spend time in Room 142 when I felt doubtful about what it might yield, and expressed enthusiastic interest about all aspects of these kids’ lives. He also lifted my spirits when I felt overwhelmed. Then, he edited this book, salvaging what was important and encouraging me to let go of the rest. I am tremendously grateful for the chance to have worked on three books together over the past decade. Colin, thank you for everything—gracias, shukraan, asante sana.

  About the Author

  © MAREA EVANS

  Helen Thorpe’s journalism has appeared in the New York Times Magazine, The New Yorker, Texas Monthly, and Slate. Her radio stories have aired on This American Life and Soundprint. She is the author of Just Like Us and Soldier Girls. Her work has won the Colorado Book Award and the J. Anthony Lukas Work-in-Progress Award. She lives in Denver, Colorado.

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  Also by Helen Thorpe

  Soldier Girls: The Battles of Three Women at Home and at War

  Just Like Us:The True Story of Four Mexican Girls Coming of Age in America

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  First Scribner hardcover edition November 2017

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-1-5011-5909-1

  ISBN 978-1-5011-5911-4 (ebook)