A School Leader's Acompañamiento : Identity and Belonging With Immigrant Families

Critical Caring

Several scholars have focused on the importance of care for marginalized students, including immigrant families in schools. Rolón-Dow (2005) develops a critical caring praxis that “seek[s]to understand the role that race/ethnicity has played in shaping and defining the sociocultural and political conditions of their communities” (p. 104). Similarly, Antrop-Gonzalez and De Jesús (2006) put forth a theory of critical care that pushes school faculty to create intentional structures and curricula that mirror cultural practices within communities of color. DeNicolo et al. (2017) expand these notions as they outline cariño conscientizado—critically conscious and authentic care—to reconceptualize notions of school belonging for immigrant and immigrant-origin youth. This approach to care is especially relevant to DCISM's context as, DeNicolo et al. contend that “relationships, curriculum, and pedagogical practices that engage immigrant students and their families as valued partners play central roles in disrupting inequality and creating opportunities for students to experience a sense of belonging in school” (2017, p. 521). Other scholars have highlighted the unique position of power school principals are in as they are able to influence the development of this critical care (Crawford, 2017; Rivera-McCutchen, 2019, 2021, Wilson, 2016).

I draw from these concepts of critical care in school leadership and immigrant communities to recognize why DCISM's school leader's actions to disrupt inequalities and shape opportunities for belonging become acts of humanization. To help me theorize how this is being done, I turn to key concepts from Borderland theory.

Borderland Theories

Ventura's (2020) study on the work of bilingual support staff in schools builds on previous critical care work to “recognize that as youth cross back and forth across different boundaries, they develop new border identities, sensibilities, and understandings that are not recognized in schools” (Valenzuela, 1999; Ventura, 2020). This school staff identify as ‘borderlands subjects, those who have experienced physical and cultural border crossing and marginalization” who then “recognize, validate, and build on this subaltern knowledge with students” (Ventura, 2020, p. 650). In other words, Ventura explicitly connects how critical care is present in the actions of those educators who have crossed borders. To further analyze how this critical care can develop belonging in these borderland spaces, I draw extensively from pedagogies of acompañamiento, which Sepúlveda (2018) defines as the “organic emergence of a communal, dialogical, pedagogical, and cultural practice of making space…and address [youths’] most pressing existential concerns related to belonging, identity, community, and learning” (p. 57). Through Sepúlveda's (2018) conceptualization of this term, I theorize some of the practices that educators employ to forge relationships with families and create humanizing spaces, even amid structural constraints. In the case of DCISM, I found that efforts to build trust and community often incorporated cultural identities and acts, which can operate as forms of “resistance against oppression and hegemonic thinking in the form of music, stories, art, and dialogues” (Sepúlveda, 2018, p. 57). I describe and theorize how a Latino principal at DCISM rebuilds trust with parents through his role as a border broker who as a migrant subject:

learns to maneuver, make do, create new ways of being, and improvise complex cultural negotiations of oppressive, racialized bordered spaces embedded in multiple, contrasting linguistic systems and spaces, all the while searching for family, community, and dignity. (Dyrness & Sepúlveda, 2020, pp. 36–37)

Study Site

The site of this study—DCISM—is a school of choice and has innovation status, which signifies that the school has autonomy to make decisions surrounding “personnel, calendar, and budget decisions” (Marsh et al., 2021, p. 127). The school is in the heart of Montbello and is located in the building of the previous Montbello High which was closed in 2014, resulting in protests as community members fought to save their beloved high school. In turn, this closure led to the opening of several small schools, including DCISM which is a combined middle and high school of about 900 students. Similar to the neighborhood, it is a largely Black and Brown school (National Center for Education Statistics, 2019). In 2019, the school enrolled 80 Black students (around 8% of total students) and 784 Hispanic students (around 84% of total students). The school serves many immigrant families and is designated as a Transitional Native Language Instruction (TNLI) school. This designation allows the school to offer a variety of services to English Language Learners, including providing Spanish supports in core content classrooms. Additionally, the school has a Newcomer Center for both the middle and high school, which is designed for students who are new to Denver Public Schools and new to the United States. The school serves mostly immigrant families from Mexico and Central America; however, there are also families from French-speaking African countries and the Marshall Islands. As a result, Principal Silva geared parent engagement towards building community with immigrant parents.

Methodology

In this study, I draw from a three year critical ethnography that explores the contested relationships between DCISM and its parent and community stakeholders. My study draws from a variety of qualitative data sources, including participant observation, interviews, and document and artifact analysis, and participatory methods. In designing this ethnography, I was informed by findings from a pilot study in 2018 where I explored the DCISM's efforts to build parent and community engagement. Through volunteering and observing school events, I also noted how the identity of the principal, a Salvadoran immigrant in his second year as administrator of the school, and the school population (more than 80% Latino/a students), affected the dynamics of building trust.

Because of my relationship with the principal (which I detail more below), I was provided access to the school's public events (e.g., open houses, parent meetings, and award ceremonies) as well as more private events (e.g., professional development sessions and planning meetings). From 2018–2021, I attended school events and public meetings at DCISM, attended parent advisory committee meetings and school advisory board meetings, participated in planning meetings for parent engagement events, volunteered in everyday activities in the school, and attended professional development sessions for teachers. I also attended community events in Montbello, such as festivals and town halls as well as school district board meetings. I documented these activities and nature of the stakeholder's interactions in these spaces through writing extensive field notes on a notepad, phone, or laptop, which I later transcribed. My attendance at these events and the collection of field notes were—on average—around 1–2 times a week and I spent at least 5 h a week observing activities. In total, I conducted over 100 h of participant observation time. During Covid-19, many of these events were canceled, yet some events such as parent forums, district meetings, and research meetings were held through Zoom or Google Meet. Overall, my field notes include entries from over 70 separate meetings, events and observations: totaling 294 pages of written notes.

I conducted two interviews with DCISM's principal. In the first 30-min interview (January of 2019) I focused on asking questions about his understanding and beliefs about situations occurring during school events and activities and his plans for future engagement opportunities. In the second hour-long interview (December of 2020), I asked about his experiences as an immigrant and school leader—and the intersection of these identities—as well as his experiences in building trust and relationships at DCISM. Because of the key role of Principal Silva—and his centrality in my findings—I also often wrote up memos after other informal conversations with him (which are included in the field notes noted above).

I also conducted and audio-recorded a total of 24 semi-structured interviews with school administrators, teachers, parents, and community members. Four of these interviews were administrators, six were teachers or staff, eight were parents, and three were Montbello community members. Because of Covid-19, all interviews, apart from the interviews with Mr. Silva, were conducted through Zoom or Google Meet. The interviews generally lasted from 30 min to an hour, and I focused on asking questions about the role of parents in education, relationships between schools and community in Montbello, and their sense of belonging in the community.

Many of the participants in this study were Spanish-only or bilingual speakers; I conducted and transcribed these 13 interviews in Spanish and only the quotes included in this written product were translated ³ to English. In addition, I conducted a focus group or plática with the research group, Madres de DCIS, that conducted the participatory research component of this research (Guajardo & Guajardo, 2013). These interviews allow me to understand their perspectives on relationship-building, trust, and how they view their role in educational contexts in Montbello more fully.

As part of my research, I co-designed a participatory action element of my study. Torre and Ayala (2009) argue that participatory action research (PAR) collectives create new spaces and forms of relationships that run counter to traditional social hierarchies; these spaces create passageways to new ideas and consciousness, or entremundos—“that by crossing you invite a turning point, initiate a change” (p. 389). In my study, I contend that using participatory methods contributed to a richer ethnographic account of education in Montbello, but also offered ways to make my research more “relevant and applicable to the local community,” and to have more potential for transformational change (Fuentes, 2013, p. 306). Guided by these aims, I sought to explore contested narratives of parent and community engagement in partnership with our research group, Madres de DCIS. This group consisted of 6 Mexican and Central American immigrant mothers who lived in Montbello and had children in DCISM. The last individual in the core group was a staff member at DCISM who is a bilingual, Spanish-speaking Latina that has worked on the Montbello campus for more than 10 years. Our work included analyzing obstacles to parent engagement and possible ways to strengthen school-community relationships, as well as advocate for the Latino community in district decision-making spaces.

I analyzed the data using qualitative coding methods, specifically the extended case method, a qualitative, ethnographic coding method (Burawoy et al., 1991). According to Burawoy et al. (1991) this methodology of analysis allows me to connect methods/techniques to theory and turn observations into explanations, as well as data into theory (p. 5). I also engaged in categorical and connecting coding to find patterns within data (Maxwell, 2013). These methods allowed me to sift through data searching for patterns in everyday interactions and allowed me to build on existing theory. I triangulated my data sources by conducting observations, interviews, and analyzing district engagement policies (Maxwell, 2013). I also searched for disconfirming-- and not only confirming – evidence.

Positionality

As a daughter of Central American immigrants with similar life experiences as many of the Latino families I am collaborating with, and even more importantly as DCISM's principal's daughter, my positionality is central to my study. My positionality demands that I critically reflect on my own multiple identities and how these identities enabled me to both see and miss aspects of this community. Some scholars may argue that my positionality—and particularly my family relationships to the community—might mean that I am “too close” to the research to produce reliable results; however, my positionality offers insights others would not have of the situation under study. Brayboy and Deyhle (2000) explain that all ethnographers—whether “inside” or “outside” of the community—are part of the collection and part of the data, and any researcher, however close to the community, needs to address their positionality with care, intentionality and integrity. In my study, I came to see my positionality as more than being an insider/outsider; my intersecting identities provided several lenses through which I was able to interact with others and see myself through different eyes. In a borderlands tradition, allowing myself and others I am working with to be nos-otras (Anzaldúa, 1987)—or to hold multiple, even opposing, identities—allows researchers to remain complicated and seek “knowledge at the intersections of everyday lived experience and intricate social systems” (Torre, 2009, p. 118).

One of the most influential aspects of my positionality has been my relationship to the principal. I see my use of ethnographic approaches that situate and contextualize data as a resource for my reflection on this relationship. For example, I embedded the words of my father within the larger context that shapes his work as a principal. I analyzed the principal's responses to reforms in the context of social and political factors that have affected this community. Furthermore, my close relationship has allowed me more insight into the delicate decisions that must be made and the many pressures he faces as a school leader. This perspective potentially adds complexity to my interpretations of situations that may be seen as simple from the outset.

As I have reflected on these dynamics, I am inspired by Villenas’ (1996) call for a positioning beyond the researcher-as-colonizer and calls ethnographers of color to “recognize their position as border-crossers and realize they are their own voices of activism” (p. 711). Villenas helped me to reflect on how my own identity as the principal's daughter adds another layer to the context of researcher-as-colonizer; my closest relationship is with the person who holds the most traditional form of authoritative power in the school. Therefore, limitations in my study could include a lack of trust and openness from parents and other stakeholders. As a result, building politicized trust (Vakil et al., 2016)—a process that requires political or racial solidarity—with parents becomes a substantial priority. At the start of the research process, I became worried that my status as principal's daughter would make parents uncomfortable or not trust me. However, as the project continued, I noticed that this aspect of my positionality, in reality, allowed for more trust to develop. For example, during a school meeting, one parent thanked me for attending. She said, “Gracias por apoyar a su papá y gracias por apoyarnos a nosotros” [Thank you for supporting your dad and for supporting us] (fieldnotes, October 7, 2019). Contrary to my fears, I have found that my participation with parents has often facilitated the development of trust, between parents and myself, and, interestingly, with parents and my father. Through various interactions like the one above, I have found that Latin parents see my collaboration as a family endeavor and a sign of dedication from my father and myself to the community. In turn, my collaboration served as a catalyst for trust-building among Latino families. Although not the focus of this research, my collaboration led to the creation of Madres de DCIS, a participatory research group that held bimonthly conversations where the mothers were able to share their vulnerability and obstacles they faced as we analyzed the challenges they faced together. To balance this trust-building, I continuously reflect on how my participation in a collaborative project with parents may still reify power dynamics that position the principal and school faculty as a powerful audience, and parents as “consultants.”

Marginalization of Latino/a Immigrant Families in Montbello

Local experiences of immigrant parents mirror the struggles of belonging outlined in the introduction of this paper. These struggles around documentation status, lack of knowledge for navigation, and sense of being ni de aqui, ni de alla can lead to feelings of uncertainty and insecurity in their own neighborhood. Many Montbello immigrants are undocumented and afraid of approaching schools. One Mexican mother shed light on this issue:

La mayoría de personas con las que frecuentemente hablo y que tienen niños en las escuelas tienen miedo de ir, pero no es tanto porque les teman a los maestros, sino más bien temen que llegue ICE por ellos. Entonces viven con miedo. [The majority of people that I speak with frequently and that have children in schools are afraid to go, but it's not because they are afraid of teachers, it's more because they are afraid that ICE will come for them. So they live with fear.]

These larger societal barriers become obstacles for parents to become engaged in their child's school. In the participatory research conducted by Madres de DCIS, we heard parents and DCISM faculty describe parents’ work and home lives as limitations to their participation in schools. For example, in our PAR group-disseminated survey, the majority of parents cited their work schedules as the primary barrier in participating in engagement opportunities; other barriers included appointments, events for their children, transportation difficulties, and language barriers. Additionally, a DCISM administrator explained that, “schools tend to be very acronym and curriculum heavy,” possibly discouraging families from participating in conversations they may not understand. Even when Montbello immigrants engaged in activism to improve local schools, they still faced obstacles that impeded their progress. Several members of our PAR group participated in several school district activities to advocate for the needs of Latino immigrant families by participating in school district forums and in decision-making committees. However, they often found that the district sponsored meetings impeded their full participation because they relied on translators, and the meetings were often not structured in ways that allowed time for adequate participation. In one district meeting, I witnessed how the translators were placed in separate break-out groups from those who needed translation. Denise, a mother in the research group Madres de DCIS, described this experience as a “frustrating” one:

Te ponen gente que solo habla inglés y luego te mandan a una sala sola, y termina la reunión y solo estuviste 15 minutos y ya entendiste 5 minutos porque no había intérprete. [They put people that only speak English and then they send you to a [zoom] room by yourself, and then the meeting ends and you only spent 15 min and understood only 5 min because there was no interpreter]. (focus group, February 19, 2021)

These experiences of national and local marginalization contribute to immigrant families’ struggles to belong in this community. However, many immigrant families have felt welcome at DCISM, in large part because of the actions and practices of Principal Silva. In the following section, I describe how his experiences and identity influence his understanding of the community and the actions he takes to engage families.

Principal Silva as Border Crosser

During a 2020 December interview held in his living room, Principal Silva retold his migration story. ⁴ Mr. Silva spent most of his childhood in San Salvador, El Salvador during the 1970s. He remembers his childhood as a happy time, playing soccer with friends in the street, and going to school at el Externado where he learned to use a typewriter from his teachers, Jesuit priests. He has told me of how he would ride the bus home and would stop to buy pupusas on the side of the road. However, by the time the Salvadoran civil war began in 1979, he routinely witnessed violence and often heard explosions and skirmishes between the government's army and guerilla groups. He tells of one searing day in particular, when he walked to the bus stop after school and saw three Jesuit priests—one of them his former teacher—assassinated on the side of the road. He ran back towards the school and teachers helped him to call home.

My dad's family saw the need to leave El Salvador urgently and unexpectedly in January of 1981 as they felt the threat of the government's death squad. They arrived in New York with what my grandmother recalled as just one suitcase and light jackets. They struggled to make a living and find a place they could call home in New York, and eventually left for Louisiana. A fellow factory worker invited my grandmother to live with her mother in Louisiana, emphasizing that they might enjoy the warmer weather and slower-paced living. My dad's family then lived in Louisiana for around 35 years, before relocating to Colorado. He says that his experience in Louisiana may have been harder than if they had stayed in diverse New York. He explains that he did not fit in culturally and there were no other Latinos in that small Louisiana town at the time. He spent most of his high school years playing soccer and reading in the library. Most of his accounts from high school include misunderstandings and mistreatment from his classmates and teachers. He was able to attend university after he obtained his U.S. residency and only decided to obtain citizenship after he met my mother in college; she was a Salvadoran with a student visa. After my younger brothers and I were born, my mother chose to be voluntarily deported, so that she might eventually obtain legal residency in the U.S. My younger brother and I lived with my mother in El Salvador for two years, separated from my father. When I was about to start school, my parents decided to send me to the U.S. to live with my father, and the two of us lived apart from my mother and brother for a year. Finally, in 1997, my mother returned to the U.S. and we were able to live together once again.

I share his story to uncover how Mr. Silva's experiences shape him as a leader. Scholars have demonstrated that BIPOC school leaders draw upon their childhoods and educational histories to inform their equity leadership practices (Rodela & Rodriguez-Mojica, 2020) I argue that his experience as a border crosser led him to be a border broker within the DCISM community. First, as a border broker, his experiences have led him to counter traditional notions of assimilation and success in school that ignore immigrant students’ strengths. According to Sepúlveda (2018), border brokers address the bonds between people with shared lived experiences of border crossing as they accompany each other through marginalizing experiences with schooling and in their own neighborhoods. His story is a necessary one to write to help others understand how a leader, with similar experiences to other border crossers, can play an essential role in transforming school spaces. In Mr. Silva's quote in the introduction, he elaborated on the role his identity plays in connecting with immigrant families since he can connect with others “through a personal manner and based on personal experience,” and that this border-crossing experience strengthens bonds and the ability to walk with others. Knowing more about how his experiences might shape Mr. Silva's ability to be a border broker may unfold how trusting relationships might be developed between marginalized families and school leaders (Rivera-McCutchen, 2021). These experiences of violence, separation, and mistreatment are common to many immigrants arriving in the U.S. However, my father highlights many positive experiences within his migration story. In his 2020 interview, he listed several skills and values stemming from his border-crossing: his ability to speak several languages, an appreciation for different world cultures and perspectives,and an expanded vocabulary and worldview. He was able to name these positives even as he recognized that his lack of English created barriers to his formal academic achievement. This ability to perceive his challenges as opportunities for growth, and his ability to quickly adapt to new situations and environments is a characteristic of border brokers (Dyrness & Sepúlveda, 2020; Sepúlveda, 2018). Border brokers are powerful because they can see the potential for transformation in bleak situations. Where others see weaknesses and trauma, border brokers often see strength, resilience, and a possibility for change. In the following section, I turn to the ways in which Mr. Silva uses his power in ways that enact pedagogies of acompañamiento. I describe how Mr. Silva uses his identity as a border broker to engage in acompañamiento, where he provides the space for belonging in an otherwise closed and cold school system for many immigrants.

Mr. Silva as Engaging in Pedagogies of Acompañamiento

Throughout my time participating and observing events at the school, I witnessed multiple acts of cultural solidarity with parents and students, especially in interactions between the principal and Latino immigrant parents. I interpret these acts as pedagogies of acompañamiento, which are communal and cultural practices of making space that address belonging, identity, community, and learning (Sepúlveda, 2018). These acts of acompañamiento can be seemingly small moments. Some examples include speaking Spanish openly and unashamedly in large school gatherings and events. Mr. Silva routinely started meetings in Spanish, even when many others in the room only spoke English and spoke to parents in Spanish, allowing families to feel at ease, instead of alienated.. In an interaction documented in my fieldnotes, Salvadoran students playfully quizzed Mr. Silva about whether he really knew about El Salvador:

They teased, “Usted no sabe [You don't know]’ and Mr. Silva replied, “Sí sé. Yo conozco todo El Salvador. [I do know. I know all of El Salvador.]” Mr. Silva asked where they were from and they gave a location and Mr. Silva said, “Oh, cerca de Ilopango. [Oh, close to Ilopango.]” And the boys exclaimed, “¡Sí, ahí! [Yes, there!]” And they looked at each other impressed.

However, acompañamiento can be present in larger actions. Because of the power inherent in a school leader's role, principals can mediate and shape a school space—its practices and policies—in ways that help others better navigate that space (Crawford, 2017; Rivera-McCutchen, 2021; Wilson, 2016). In one example, Principal Silva guided parents through knowledge stemming from his own experiences during a parent meeting. The school leadership team—including the principal—had decided to abandon uniforms for the new school year and many Latino immigrant parents were unhappy with the decision. Mr. Silva was able to guide parents through an American understanding of uniforms, and some of the dynamics of the school system, when a Mexican mother asked why he took away the uniforms. Mr. Silva explained that the year before, administrators sent kids home for uniform infractions with the expectation that students would change to better follow the dress code and return to class. However, many students would not return to school. Mr. Silva shared his realization that, because of the school and community environment, fighting for the continuation of this dress code policy was unreasonable. He expanded: “Si estamos perdiendo esta batalla, mejor nos enfocamos en las que podemos ganar. [If we are losing this battle, it would be better to focus on battles we can win.]” Mr. Silva then described the environment in which he grew up and his experiences in a Salvadoran school, “donde yo iba a la escuela uniformadito [where I went to school suited up in a uniform].” As he stated this, he made a gesture with his hands as if he was pulling down on a coat jacket and stood up very straight. He said, “Era otra época, [It was another time].” Several parents nodded in agreement. Mr. Silva returned to the current school context and shared that administrators conducted a survey for students and found that students were, “casi unánime en contra de los uniformes, [almost unanimous against uniforms].” He asked, how could he go against the students if it was almost unanimous? Mr. Silva finally assured the parents that there was no problem with students not wearing uniforms; conversely, he understood that sending students home over their uniforms would be an obstacle to their education.

There are various reasons why uniforms could be seen as unnecessary and an obstacle for students, especially if students were sent home for a lack of appropriate dress code. However, Mr. Silva was able to quickly read the underlying concern of parents in the room and connected that concern to immigrant parents’ values surrounding a quality education. In this interaction, Mr. Silva referred to his background as an immigrant when he recalled his experience as a student in Latin America and the values of education there. Uniforms were valued parts of a structured education and—as he learned that this was not as valued in DCISM's context—he learned to adapt. The values and concept of education of the principal and many Latino parents include a culturally different idea of what education traditionally means in the U.S. Of course, the context of the United States is important to think about when implementing school practices because of the racialized practices schools use with minoritized students (Noguera, 2003). However, it is also important to contextualize the values that many Latino immigrant families bring with them into this new environment. Many parents appreciate the emphasis on behavior, on dress code, etc. This reminds them of the environment they have left behind, and highlights some of the more explicitly moral purposes of education in their former countries (Villenas, 2001). In this conversation, Mr. Silva guided and accompanied the parents in navigating this unfamiliar context. Immediately after his remarks, Sra. Aguilar, a Mexican mother, demonstrated appreciation for this form of guidance for the parents and students and added, “Yo estaba un poquito en desacuerdo con esa decisión [I disagreed a little with that decision],” and clarified that she wanted her daughter to continue using a uniform. However, she trusted the principal's decision because, “así como el director se abre a los padres, también se abre a los muchachos y a los maestros, [just like the principal opens up to the parents, he also opens up to the youth and to the teachers.]”

Here, the parents had a concrete example of how much the principal could relate to their educational values; however, they also understood why this had to change in this new “American’ context. I contend that Mr. Silva's leadership in listening to the students, as well as being able to use his own cultural identity and past immigrant experiences to guide parents through this system, was a form of acompañamiento. As parents negotiated global and transnational borderlands in their seeking a quality education, Mr. Silva's acompañamiento was a cultural practice of solidarity, foregrounding how both he and parents had to adapt to their new environment. He engaged in what Dyrness and Sepúlveda (2020) refer to as “complex cultural negotiations of oppressive, racialized bordered spaces” (p. 36). Through such negotiations border brokers both navigate and accompany others through that same fragmented space (Dyrness & Sepúlveda, 2020).

Although in the example above, Mr. Silva guided parents through the school's environment, there were other times where he adapted the environment of the school around parents’ needs and ideas. One of these cases focused on the dates for assessments, where Mr. Silva listened to and acted upon suggestions from parents on the School Advisory Board. In this meeting, a translator could not be present due to snowy conditions; Mr. Silva therefore translated conversations between the white, English-only speaking teachers and the Spanish-speaking parents. Ms. Danvers, an assistant principal, introduced the topic, noting that she wanted to ensure that parents understood the importance of standardized state testing and college entrance exams for the school's evaluation of academic achievement. Ms. Paez, a Mexican mother, who worked in the school cafeteria and had a child at the school, said she agreed because many parents leave for spring break and celebrate Semana Santa (Holy Week), a Catholic holiday. She explained that she always saw low lunch counts—which meant many student absences—during that time of the year. Intently listening, Mr. Silva put the dates for testing back on the television screen. Then, Juana, ⁵ a Central American mother, asked if those dates could change; since the test dates were so close to spring break, she didn't want to see students miss out on taking the SAT. As she looked at a calendar on her phone, she said, “Es justo cuando nuestra comunidad Latina celebra el feriado en estas fechas en nuestros países. Coincide con (las fechas de los exámenes) [It's precisely the Latino community that celebrates the holiday during those dates in our countries. They coincide with the testing dates].” Ms. Paez added, “Les dije. Viernes Santo es esa semana. [I told you. Holy Friday is that week.]” Then, Mr. Silva translated those comments to the teachers present at the meeting, and concluded his translation: “Let's look at the dates then.” Abruptly, directing her gaze at the teachers, Juana said, “No es que uno sea religioso, pero es esa época de feriado y la gente se reúne en familia. [It's not that I am religious, but that time is a holiday and people gather as a family.]” Mr. Silva related, joking a little, and replied, “Sí, y se va a la playa a disfrutar… [Yes, and one goes to the beach to have fun…]” Ms. Paez's daughter, who was sitting at the table—although not actively participating in the meeting—laughed and told Mr. Silva, “¡Ya está pensando en lo que va a hacer durante el break! [You’re already thinking about what you’re going to do during break!]” Mr. Silva smiled at her. The teachers seemed lost at this turn of the conversation and one teacher asked if this problem with the testing dates occurred last year. Mr. Silva explained that the dates always change since the dates for Semana Santa are based on the lunar calendar. The teacher responded with an: “oh,” and the rest of the teachers nodded. Mr. Silva returned to the deliberation on when to move the dates and agreed that this conflict was a factor that outweighed others on which they based their testing date decisions. Finally, the group of parents and teachers decided to move the testing date. Then, Ms. Paez said in Spanish and English (so the teachers would understand), “Por eso es bueno que hablen con papás antes de tomar decisiones, for more input. [That is why it's good for you to talk to parents, for more input.]” Juana added, “Créanme que en otra escuela ni toman en cuenta nuestra opinión. Pero en esta escuela, como hay tantas familias Latinas, se toma más en cuenta. [Believe me that in another school, they wouldn't even take our opinion into consideration. But in this school, since there are so many Latino families, our opinion is more heard.]”

In this example, Mr. Silva uses his influence as school leader to move the testing schedule for the whole school, in order to accommodate the Latino community's customs and traditions. ⁶ He not only listened to the parents; because of his actions in moving the dates, he demonstrated that he took their contributions seriously. Moreover, he understood what the parents were concerned about, as he knew about and had participated in those same customs. He also—like a border broker—shared in the knowledge of Semana Santa customs with other Latino parents and helped to explain these customs to other teachers who could not directly relate to these concerns. Mr. Silva's actions opened the space for parents to advocate for their own community and children, as well as the well-being of the school since they knew that this testing was important for the school itself. Through critical care in creating intentional structures that mirror cultural practices within communities of color (Antrop-González & De Jesús, 2006), Mr. Silva provided space for parents’ needs and shaped school practices in ways that allowed for parents’ belonging in the school, as well as more opportunities for student achievement. As evidenced by Juana's comments, parents demonstrated gratitude for being listened to, treated as valued members of the school community, and influencing school decisions.

Acompañamiento also serves to build trust through solidarity and a deep human understanding of each others’ struggles. This moment—from a parent advisory meeting—demonstrates the developing trust between parents and the principal. During a parent meeting, parents took turns providing ideas for DCISM parent engagement efforts, and one Mexican mother nervously raised her hand. Shakily, she said that she was undocumented and that it was harder for her to do many of the things other parents do to be more engaged in their child's education, partly because of transportation difficulties. Mr. Silva immediately thanked her for voicing her opinion and assured her that her story inspired him and the other parents. He acknowledged it was “su realidad y estoy seguro que muchos de nosotros nos identificamos” [your reality and I am sure that many of us can relate]. Many of the parents in the room nodded and smiled at her as Mr. Silva spoke. Another parent chimed in: “¡Por supuesto! [Of course!].” The principal then addressed her comments about undocumentation: “Esta escuela tiene que tener un mensaje firme que no trabajamos con ICE y, al contrario, aceptamos y celebramos nuestros estudiantes indocumentados. [This school has to have a firm message that we don't work with ICE and, on the contrary, we accept and celebrate our undocumented students.]” Mr. Silva then criticized the institution of ICE and added: “Nosotros no vamos a participar con prácticas que vienen de una historia de discriminación, y sinceramente de practicas de una época colonial [We won't participate with the practices that stem from a history of discrimination, and frankly, from practices from a colonial era.]” A man exclaimed “¡Eso! ¡Eso! [Yes, that's it!]” and subsequently turned to the woman who shared and said that he had resources to help her with transportation in Montbello. Mr. Silva's first response—underscoring a common reality—opened the floor for others to support the mother and build community. These actions become even more powerful when school leaders take up these forms of resistance (Crawford, 2017). His response embodied politicized trust (Vakil et al., 2016), as he called out marginalizing policies and demonstrated to other parents that this was a safe space for them, one where they belonged. Furthermore, he embodied critical care and acompañamiento in expressing solidarity and knowledge of the struggles of these migration experiences. As a leader demonstrating resistance to larger societal barriers that affect families, these actions inspired a sense of community and potentially belonging, inspiring others to follow his lead.