Pedagogies of Silence

In many classrooms today, educators serving immigrant children are caught in an impossible bind. They want to honor students’ lives and stories. They also know that those same stories can expose children and families to risk in a climate of heightened surveillance and anti‑immigrant sentiment. The result, as I describe in my newest book Now We Are Here, is what I call pedagogies of silence.

In my research, teachers repeatedly described moments when a child began to share something personal—about a border crossing, a parent in detention, a relative “who had to go back.” Instead of leaning in, these teachers gently re‑routed the conversation: “Let’s talk about that after class,” or “Why don’t we focus on the text right now?” They weren’t indifferent. They were afraid—afraid of mandatory reporting, of parents’ fears being confirmed, of school records being used against families, of saying the “wrong” thing in front of administrators or colleagues.

At the same time, students have become acutely aware of what is dangerous to say out loud. They lower their voices when mentioning ICE, omit details about who lives at home, or reduce traumatic experiences to a joke or a single word. Teachers sense the weight behind these silences but lack clear guidance on how to respond. Professional development rarely addresses what it means to teach when students’ migration histories might be criminalized or weaponized.

Pedagogies of silence are not acts of neglect; they are defensive strategies in an unsafe environment. Yet they carry their own cost. When students learn that their most important experiences are unspeakable at school, they also learn that their full selves do not belong there. Classrooms lose opportunities for genuine connection, critical thinking, and solidarity when immigration becomes the “untouchable” topic everyone is secretly thinking about but no one names.

Breaking this cycle requires more than individual bravery. Educators need explicit protections, clear protocols, and collective practices that make it possible to center immigrant children’s humanity without exposing them to harm. Until then, many will continue walking the tightrope I saw so often in Now We Are Here: caring deeply for their students while quietly steering around the very stories that define their lives