'There is a fear.' Students at Sullivan give thanks in gathering political gloom

Evelyn Levin

     Just because your family flees their home doesn't mean the usual griefs of adolescence give you a pass. Years in a refugee camp don't lessen the heartbreaks of youth. Walking for miles through hostile territory, dodging bandits, won't make school any easier when you finally get there. You can reach your goal, America, and yet feel out of place and alone. And then your father, whom you adore, dies.
     "My family had to move from Syria and go to Jordan when I was 4 years old because of the civil war," said Sebba Saad Allah, 16, standing before assembled classmates, teachers and community members Wednesday evening at Sullivan High School. "I was raised in Jordan for six years with my parents and my two brothers ... In 2019, I moved to the U.S. with my family and I was very unsure if I wanted to be here or not. I wasn't ready for new beginnings ... It was a hard year for my family and I ... I started learning English and helped my family, translating. When I was only 11 years old, COVID hits, and I stopped my education because I didn't know how to use technology to study; 2022, I was back to school, but it was the most challenging year for me because I lost one of the most important people in my life. I lost my father because of cancer. A truly remarkable person for my family and I, who touched the lives of everyone fortunate enough to know him. I miss listening to him saying the prayers before we break our fast..."
     Here the sophomore started crying. People clapped, encouragingly, calling out, "You've got this!" 

     Enfolding teens as they struggle to be who they are and become who they will be, moving from strangers in a strange land to seasoned Americans, has long been a specialty at Sullivan, in Rogers Park, famous as Chicago's immigrant high school. Two-thirds of Sullivan's 724 students are refugees, immigrants or enrolled in their "English Learners" program. As many as 10% live in unstable housing situations.
     Add to that an ever more threatening political climate. The event Sebba Saad Allah was speaking at was Sullivan High School's 8th Annual Thanksgiving Celebration, begun in 2016 after Donald Trump was first elected president on a wave of xenophobia. This year feels even more ominous.
     "There is a fear," said Evelyn Levin, the English language program teacher at Sullivan. "There's a lot that is unknown right now. There have been a number of students who just dropped out. There's no way of tracking them to see if they're still living in shelters."
     More parents are reluctant to tell the school where they live.
     "Being listed in any sort of database is frightening to them," Levin said.
     The school is trying to be proactive, to simultaneously assuage student fears while preparing them for whatever might occur next month — Trump has promised to begin deporting immigrants, including legal citizens, "on Day One."
     "We have given students and families information about legal services that are available," Levin said. "There was a legal clinic here right before Thanksgiving break."
     ‘Their resilience is unbelievable’
    As winter arrives, difficulties mount.
     "We have kids living on the train," said STLS advocate Cindra Hart. "I've got kids living on the street. When it first got cold outside, I had to get coats, boots, hats, gloves."
     How?
    "I'm begging," she said, adding that gift cards, such as from McDonald's, are helpful for impoverished students trying to get through Christmas break. "I need to be able to feed a kid while they're gone from me for two weeks, because I know they're going to eat while they're here."
     Hart said the city's aid to her students was abruptly shut off.

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Sebba Saad Allah, left.