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| This Tuesday, Oct. 4, 2016 photo Ahad Al Haj Ali, 10, a sits in a class for refugee students at Cajon Valley Middle School in El Cajon, Calif. According to the U.S. State Department, nearly 80 percent of the more than 11,000 Syrian arrivals over the past year were children. Many of those children are enrolling in public schools around the country, including Chicago; Austin, Texas; New Haven, Connecticut; and El Cajon, which received 76 new Syrian students the first week of school. |
EL CAJON,
Calif. (AP) -- Seated at his desk at a suburban San Diego middle
school, 12-year-old Abdulhamid Ashehneh tries not to let his mind wander
to the painful memories of his life in civil war-torn Syria.
His
father disappeared suddenly four years ago and, the family believes,
was killed. Months later, Abdulhamid's mother boarded a bus with her six
children, the youngest 2, and fled to Jordan, the sound of bombs
ringing in the distance.
"I think about my Dad
a lot," Abdulhamid said recently after practicing English at Cajon
Valley Middle School, which has received an influx of Syrian children.
"I wish he would come back."
Abdulhamid is
like many of the Syrian refugees arriving today in the U.S. Nearly 60
percent of the more than 11,000 Syrian arrivals over the past year were
children, according to the U.S. State Department.
That's
a larger percentage than some refugee groups, in part because Syrians
tend to have larger families and many have managed to stay together
despite displacement, according to resettlement agencies helping the
families acclimate to the U.S.
Many of those
children are enrolling in public schools around the country, including
Chicago; Austin, Texas;
New Haven, Connecticut; and El Cajon, which
received 76 new Syrian students the first week of school.
Syrian
children face many of the same challenges as other young refugees -
limited English, an interrupted education - but they are somewhat
distinct in the level of trauma they have experienced, school leaders
and resettlement workers said.
"The truth is, a
lot of them have seen some pretty nasty stuff," said Eyal Bergman, a
family and community
engagement officer for the Cajon Valley Union
School District. "But I also see incredible resilience."
In
response to the influx, school districts are beefing up English
instruction and making extra efforts to reach out to parents unfamiliar
with the U.S. school system. In El Cajon, one-on-one orientations
introduce families to the school's teachers and staff and show them
basics like how to read the district's academic-year calendar.
Some
refugee students are enrolled in "newcomer" classes where they are
provided intense English instruction before being placed in mainstream
classrooms. Others go directly into classes with English-fluent peers
but are assigned to smaller groups for individual instruction. Teachers
are trained in identifying trauma, and on-site counselors help students
who need extra attention.
"I've had students
tell me that maybe some of their family members passed away," said
Juanita Chavez, a second-grade teacher. "But I think a lot of them just
want to focus on here, on learning. A lot of them don't focus on the
negative things that have happened to them."
At
night, Arabic-speaking staff and teachers hold a "parent academy" where
newly arrived moms and dads are given bilingual children's books in
English and Arabic and guided on how to help improve literacy at home.
The
rising number of Syrian refugee students comes amid a heated
presidential campaign. During the second debate, Donald Trump called
Hillary Clinton's plan to expand the Obama administration's refugee
program and accept 65,000 Syrian refugees the "great Trojan horse of all
time."
Last November, in response to the
deadly Paris attack believed carried out by operatives who fought and
trained in Syria, nearly 30 states vowed to deny entry to Syrian
refugees.
Resettlement agencies and school
staff worry inflamed rhetoric about Muslims and Syrian refugees will
trickle into the classroom. A report last year by the California chapter
of the Council on American-Islamic Relations found 50 percent of Muslim
students surveyed were subjected to mean comments or rumors because of
their religion.
"This is a concern of ours, to
be watching that they do not feel shunned or stigmatized because of
their national origin," said Ellen Beattie, a senior director with the
International Rescue Committee.
El Cajon, a
city of roughly 104,000 people 15 miles east of San Diego, has become a
melting pot of refugees from Uganda to Afghanistan. The first Middle
Eastern immigrants were Chaldean Christians fleeing persecution in Iraq
in the 1970s. Those earlier, now established waves of migrants are
playing a role in helping settle the new arrivals from Syria.
"Most
of them tell us the only reason they accepted the whole immigration
process is really for their kids," said Anas Kayal, who emigrated to the
U.S. from Syria in 2001 and is a physician in San Diego. "They are OK
with their own lives being disrupted by the war and crisis, but they are
hoping their kids can have a better life."
Watching
her children learn English and adapt to U.S. schools has been redeeming
for Abdulhamid's mother after two years in Jordan, where she often
struggled to feed them and at one point lived in a feeble tent that
would blow apart in the wind.
"We're still
trying to cope with this emotionally," said Amena Alshehneh, 37. "But
it's the reality. We have to face the reality and get on our feet."
As Abdulhamid assimilates, he still pines for his homeland and the life he left behind.
He
remembers the Damascus home where he wrestled and practiced reading
with his father. He remembers playing soccer and hide-and-seek with his
best friend, and wonders what happened to him.
He also thinks about his computer and a remote-control car - cherished toys his father gave him and that he had to abandon.
"I
feel so sad I left Syria," said Abdulhamid, whose expression quickly
shifts from joy to grief. "Because it's my country. My home."
