by Sarah Bernadette Ottow

My friend Emily Francis is one of my heroes. She tells her immigration story loud and proud. Her story of bringing her sisters to the US from Guatemala as a teenager not only helps her students but it also inspires audiences across the world. Over the years, I’ve marveled watching Emily captivate more and more people, from being on The Ellen Show, to getting featured in People Magazine and to sharing her biography on The Teaching Channel. I had the chance to interview Emily recently about her new book, If You Only Knew: Letters from an Immigrant Teacher and I’d like to share some of that experience here with you. When explaining why she wrote a book about her life through letters to her students, she proclaimed:

“I put myself in my students’ shoes and think, ‘What did I want as a 15 year old sitting in that classroom?’ I longed for a teacher who would come and say, ‘What is it that you’ve been through? What are you going through right now? How can I support you? You’re doing a good job. Can you write this in Spanish? Let me see what’s going on in your mind.’ I longed to have someone like that and I never did. And that’s exactly what I want, the idea behind the book is for teachers to say, ‘I can be that one hero that this immigrant student needs.’ Immigration happens every day…It’s not political, It’s dealing with humans, developing humanity. They are coming here. They have already lived an experience. They are not starting over. They are continuing their lives. And I’m hoping that this book will open some eyes and say, ‘Hey, I can be that one instrument. I can help the student move through their path in the school system in the US.’”

Reflections of Our Own Stories

Hearing Emily speak her truth and the truth that countless immigrant students and their families also experience brought tears to my eyes, as you may see in my visceral response starting at 4:30 in the video interview above. It’s not the first time Emily has brought me to tears unexpectedly. You see, over the years, I learned so much from her, I have gotten inspired and re-inspired by her, and I have seen glimpses of my former students’ stories mirrored in her story. Yet each time I listen to Emily, and now, as I read her story now memorialized in her beautiful book, I get closer to excavating my own story, to touching my own truth, too, as Emily has modeled for us in her work. This is what Emily wants us to do. She wants every educator to see that they have something in common with their students new to the country, new to the English language, new to the culture of US schools. Emily wants us, as educators and as people, to see how pieces of her story and her students’ stories can be reflections of our own struggles and triumphs. By finding core truths and themes around identity, well-being, trauma and love, we can build bridges with immigrant students and families—as educators and non-educators alike, as people, as humans.

With students, we call this kind of empathy-building using texts as mirror, window or sliding glass doors, conceptualized by Dr. Rudine Sims Bishops. In fact, several years ago, Emily and I wrote about how to do this in the classroom (I’m excited that that piece, along with this one about building empathy are both included her book’s teachers guide). Just like we can use text with students to teach about other perspectives and to find common threads between students’ experiences, as adults, we can use Emily’s text to find our own connection to her experience and to those of our students. Even if we, as teachers—and most of us in the US are white, English-as-a-first-language—haven’t personally experienced the harrowing immigration journey and culture shock that Emily and her students have. No matter our life experience, teaching others starts with us and our identities, since our world view colors and shapes how we perceive others and ultimately foster student growth.

Centering Students

After the interview ended, Emily and I spoke more in-depth about this goal she has with her book to help others connect their own humanity to those from other countries, languages, cultures. Now, keep in mind that I’ve been in the field of multilingual and bilingual education for over twenty years. The concept of making education personal isn’t new to me, nor is Emily’s story. However, given what Emily said about being a 15 year old and needing the hero that she is now, suddenly struck a chord and brought me back to a place deep inside. As Emily and I debriefed the interview, I couldn’t help but let my memories flow. I told Emily about being scared and lonely during critical times in my life and needing that hero, as she explained in the video and in her book. You see, Emily is not just a kindred spirit, but she is a role model of authenticity and a bright beacon showing us all how to stand in our truth confidently knowing that you matter, your story matters, and those you represent matter. What a generous gift Emily brings to us all! A true teacher, a true leader.

Now, I’d like to stand in solidarity with my friend Emily Francis and share two of my stories here. While I do integrate some of my life experiences into my work currently, I can do better, as Emily has inspired me to do. Like Emily, I can be more vulnerable and more authentic as the teacher and leader I am. By standing in solidarity with Emily, I also stand in solidarity with the students that my story represents. I, like Emily, strive to center the voices and stories of the kids who don’t fit in, the kids who feel left out, the kids lost in shuffle at school.

Nurturing Strengths to Help Address Needs: Mrs. Simonitsch

One story I’d like to share is about my elementary art teacher, Mrs. Simonitsch. When I was in 2nd grade, my youngest sister was born with unexpected birth defects, hearing impairment, and learning disabilities. My world went into a tailspin as my parents spent at lot of time at the hospital with my “unique” and “special” sister. I felt like I had to grow up very quickly to help take care of my other younger siblings. I developed anxiety and panic attacks having seen several emergencies up close with my sister’s life in the balance. Plus, I became an advocate for my sister on the playground when kids made fun of her, stared at her, and called her the “r” word. I learned basic sign language to help me and my siblings communicate with her until she gained hearing through surgeries. I learned so much by standing in solidarity with my sister and I am still so lucky to learn so much from her.

I loved art as a kid and I found it to be a helpful way to ground myself and escape from the chaos around me. My art teacher, Mrs. Simonitsch, saw this artistic strength in me. She made a point to reach out to me and help me cultivate my skills and interest in art. I won “Artist of the Month” beamingly. In 3rd grade, Mrs. Simonitsch asked my parents if I could join her for English tea at her house. She showed me paintings she made and art from her travels and from living in England. Years later, I went on to earn a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and to study art in London and Paris. I tracked down Mrs. Simonitsch in my twenties to thank her for being a lifeline for me at a time I came to understand was a very traumatic and formative time in my life as a child. This teacher saw me, saw my needs but also my strengths. She helped me tap into my love of art and culture to navigate through the scary time I was going through. I am forever grateful and I take these lessons into my work everyday.

Personalizing Pathways from “Gifted and Talented” to “At Risk”: Mr. Stone

Another story I’d like to share is about being in 10th grade when my family moved across the United States from a small, seaside town on Cape Cod to what felt like The-Literal Middle-of-Nowhere, Wisconsin. I felt completely uprooted and unanchored. I went from being a “gifted and talented” star student who loved school and who had many friends and interests in a class of less than 50 students to being an anonymous number in a class of over 250 students without knowing anyone. It felt like sink or swim. I had to eat lunch by myself for a while, I would get lost trying to find my locker in the giant school, and the confidence I had back on dry land had slipped away. I withdrew to a dark, lonely place, feeling disassociated from these new surroundings, new cliques, and new culture. Like Emily, I didn’t have that one educator to be my hero, to let me know they cared, and to help me understand my experience. There was no Mrs. Simonitsch in sight, there was no ocean. Just cornfields and a strange accent. I certainly didn’t feel gifted or talented anymore.

Furthermore, in 11th grade, I experienced the compounding trauma of sexual assault. I didn’t know how to name what I was going through, I didn’t know how to ask for help, and I slipped further and further away into depression. By senior year, I was labeled “at risk” even though school would have been easy for me if I had actually applied myself. Instead, I skipped as many classes as I could and I fought endlessly with my parents feeling misunderstood and unable to advocate for myself or share my truth. Eventually I ran away from home to escape this scary reality.

Understandably, my parents panicked. The police got involved. I eventually came home on my own accord after this break from it all. When I did come home, some friends that I did manage to make gathered around me at my house for an intervention of sorts. What I remember the most was how surprised I was that my assistant principal, Mr. Stone, was there, too, with my friends. Mr. Stone, the administrator who patrolled the hallways and seemed to be too important to bother with someone like me, came to my house that morning. He sat right across from me and he looked me in the eyes. He told me how much he cared about me finishing high school. From there, Mr. Stone set me up with a job in the high school office as a way to keep me from skipping school during my free periods when I was supposed to be studying. He checked on me often and told me I could do it. Through all of this support, Mr. Stone sent me the message that I mattered and that I had a future to move towards. A huge weight lifted off my heart and I could see finally a path forward for myself because he believed in me. I could then start to tap back into myself and my original love of learning, of the arts and of culture. I eventually become an educator myself, now teaching teachers and leaders how to help kids know they matter at school and how to help kids find their own version of success in this world. This past year, I’ve been trying to track down Mr. Stone to thank him for the huge impact he made at a critical time in my life. I am forever grateful for the lifesaver he provided for me when I was trying to tread water and swim through hard times.

Being Authentic and Vulnerable in our Shared Experiences

As Emily said in her interview and as she explains so gracefully in her book, as educators, we are dealing not just with children or with students, but we are dealing with humans, we are helping to develop humanity. Emily urges us, as adults, to see our own vulnerabilities, fears and struggles in the ones we are privileged to teach and care for. I believe this lesson, as I’ve written about here, is for ALL of us. Not just for educators but for all people. At a time when immigration continues to be politicized, can we all simply remember that we are all united by migration? Emily’s story is a story of migration. My story is a story of migration. If you don’t have a story of migration in your lifetime, reach back to the not-so-distant-past to find one in your family. If you can’t find that story, simply start with when you needed a hero when you were younger. And be that hero for someone else. Be that hero without being a savior. Be a co-equal. Learn from those who have struggled or are struggling. Learn from those who are different from us.

Leaders like Emily who I look up to are authentic and vulnerable. They model how to be real and how to learn and how to grow for the rest of us. I aspire to be like that, too. Let’s all be that for our students and for each other. Let’s find the similarities between our shared human experiences. Let’s build those bridges that connect us and unite us in our shared human experience.

To Further Your Learning:

• If You Only Knew: Letters from an Immigrant Teacher by Emily Francis

• Honoring Students’ Stories from Confianza (Written by Emily Francis & Sarah Ottow 🤓)

• Identity Matters: Standing in Solidarity with Students from Confianza

• Migration as a Shared Human Experience from Confianza

• Texts as mirrors, windows and sliding glass doors from Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop and this helpful video:

• Emily on The Ellen Show: