The Right to Remain Silent

I had been working once again with Daniela, learning about fractions. I was delighted to get to work with her again. We continued to build our relationship from the previous week. She told me about her weekend to Park City, her three brothers, and her parents’ nationality. Just having lost a tooth, she even taught me about the Mexican tooth fairy. She spoke to me in velvet Spanish, showing off her fluency. I highly enjoyed our session together.

More kids kept arriving at the South Franklin Community Center. The director asked if I would double up, tutoring two students at once. That is when I met Isabel. She entered the room, dropped her backpack at the door, and started weaving between the tables and chairs, wandering aimlessly. The director tried to introduce us. Isabel stumbled away, shoving her face on the wall. We finally convinced her to sit down next to me. She stared blankly ahead.

“What’s your name?”          

Silence.

“How old are you?”

Silence.

“Do you have homework you want to work on?”

Silence.

Feeling a little confused, I opened up her backpack and pulled out her homework packet. She ripped it out of my hands and began to work on her addition problems. I tried to help her, gently correcting her when she made a mistake.  She tried to get me to sign off on her assignments for the rest of the week, even though she has not completed them yet. When I refused, her silent frustration burned through me. After a few minutes, she got up and left the room. Torn between my two pupils, I left Daniela alone to finish her homework to find Isabel. She had found a comfy chair in one of the faculty rooms and refused to leave. I grabbed some books from the library, hoping she would let me read it to her.

“Are these books okay?”

Silence. Then a shake of the head. That was a step.

I convinced Isabel to accompany me to the library to pick out her own books. We returned to the faculty room, with her lounging on the reclining chair. I read the stories out loud. She put up three fingers.

“You want me to read it three times?”      

Silence. Then a nod. We were making progress in our communication.

I repeated the shorts stories about princesses and pool parties multiple times until Isabel was satisfied. Another book depicted different shapes. Each time I stated a shape name, she would use her finger to trace it in the air. I would praise her for each correct shape drawn. Even in her silence, I could tell she was pleased at her knowledge. Daniela joined us in the room, reading quietly to herself. It was just the three of us, separated from the rest of the group. I reveled in that moment with those two beautiful girls; it was perfect—silent, but perfect.

I will never know what motivated Isabel to remain mute that day, but the experience has been on my mind since then. Isabel had the right to remain silent, but I hope that one day she finds her voice. If not, I hope that someone speaks up for her. There are millions of refugees and oppressed people around the world who need someone—who need me to speak up. I will scream and shout if I have to. Through my blog, Facebook, my journal, and my South Dakota accent, I will be their voice. 


*Names have been changed.