On the top floor of a Spanish-immersion elementary school in St. Paul, a fifth-grade class gathers around small tables for a lesson on Don Quixote. The ceiling is strung with flags from Latin American countries; most students are Latino. Their teacher, identified only as Ms. A because staff fear federal scrutiny, walks them through the idea of “enchantment,” steering the conversation toward what it means to want to do good even when mistaken.
That ordinary classroom scene follows an extraordinary winter. For nearly two months, a large federal immigration operation swept through Minnesota. Families went into hiding, neighbors dropped off groceries, and some nonwhite residents began carrying passports in case of stops. Protests in the streets were met with tear gas and pepper spray. Many children stopped coming to school.
The enforcement wave has faded, but its effects persist. The school offered a virtual option during the operation and more than a third of students chose it. Ms. A says those who went online were quieter and less engaged: “In person, they would talk and participate and ask questions. They went online and they didn’t say a word. Their faces were not the same.”
Developmental experts say that reaction is expected. Hopewell Hodges, a researcher at the University of Minnesota who studies children’s resilience, compares a child’s world to tree rings: the child at the center with caregiving systems, classrooms and neighborhoods layered outward. When those systems are disrupted, the impact moves inward. “The young ones are often developmentally bearing the brunt of conflicts and tensions and stresses that originate in the adult world,” Hodges says.
Not every family returned when in-person classes resumed. Some left the state or the country; the principal, Amanda, noted moves to El Salvador, Mexico, Nebraska, California and plans to go to Venezuela. Other children stayed away because parents feared being taken while they were at school. “Levels of stress are just really spiking in our kids,” Amanda says. The fear is personal for many staff: Amanda, originally from Mexico City, began carrying her passport, and Ms. A, who is Puerto Rican, had to explain to her seven-year-old what to do if a parent was detained.
Even after the surge subsided, ICE agents were still spotted in neighborhoods. During an NPR visit, a district security vehicle idled outside after a community member reported an ICE vehicle nearby. That ongoing sense of threat has prompted neighbors and school staff to set up protective measures: volunteers in neon vests patrol the playground at recess, and one classroom has been converted into a distribution hub overflowing with cereal, beans, masa, cleaning supplies, diapers and backpacks filled with books and stuffed animals.
Katherine, a parent volunteer who helps run the pantry, describes the work as simple community responsibility: “It’s the right thing to do. I mean, it’s our community. These are our friends, our neighbors. And they need help. So we help.”
Hodges says that kind of community support can buffer children from trauma: “Kids are going to be alright if our community is able to be alright.” She adds that stronger adult systems and policies are needed to prevent future disruptions and protect children’s development.
There were bright signs of relief when students returned to classrooms. On the first day back, children poured into the hallways excited and eager. Ms. A remembers one child running down the hall with open arms toward her. Eleven-year-old Ellah, the principal’s daughter who remained in school during the closure, said it felt better to have more classmates around: “It feels a lot better. Like, there’s a lot more people in our class and it feels like how it was.”
Camila, another 11-year-old who returned after weeks of virtual learning, says she had been scared during the surge, worried especially about her parents going to work. “It felt good because I got to see my friends again,” she said. “They help me feel safer.”
Ms. A’s focus now is to make the classroom a place of normalcy and care. “You know, we’re good. I love you. I care about you. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. I think that that’s the way we move forward,” she says.
The school’s response—combining outreach, material support, visible community protection and an emphasis on emotional safety in classrooms—shows how one neighborhood is trying to mend the disruptions left by immigration enforcement. Even as fear lingers, returning to shared routines, relationships and the small reassurances of school is a crucial step toward rebuilding stability.