Wilmer Chavarria, superintendent of Winooski's tiny school district in Vermont, made a choice when the Trump administration pressured schools to abandon diversity efforts and cooperate with immigration enforcement. He refused to bend.
The district, nestled along the Winooski River outside Burlington, has become the most diverse community in a state that ranks among the nation's whitest. Nearly 60% of its 800 students are people of color. More than a third are English learners whose families speak Arabic, Nepali, Spanish, Somali and dozens of other languages. For over three decades, Winooski has served as a federal refugee resettlement zone, absorbing hundreds of immigrants fleeing conflict in Bhutan, Somalia, Bosnia and Syria.
Last spring, when students in the high school's multilingual class answered a simple writing prompt, their answers revealed the weight on their minds. "Do you feel safe in school?" the teacher had asked. One student wrote about locked doors. Another was direct: "ICE can't come in."
That sense of security did not arrive by accident. Since January, the federal government has investigated schools for diversity programs, rescinded protections for students on school grounds from Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrests, and threatened districts with funding cuts. Administration officials have also encouraged challenges to a decades-old Supreme Court decision guaranteeing undocumented students' right to public education.
While many districts retreated into silence, Winooski moved forward. Last year, it became Vermont's first school district to pass a sanctuary policy explicitly protecting students from immigration enforcement during school hours. The policy prevents staff from sharing student data with federal agents and restricts their access to campus without a signed judicial warrant. In May, Vermont's legislature passed a statewide law modeled directly on Winooski's framework.
Chavarria, a naturalized citizen born in Nicaragua who did not learn English until high school, refused to sign the Trump administration's document confirming compliance with the federal ban on DEI efforts in schools. His defiance carried real personal cost. Last year, immigration officials detained him for several hours at Houston airport while he was returning from a family visit. Over Thanksgiving, a second-grader in his district was detained by federal agents alongside his mother.
The stakes escalated in early December when a video of a student raising the Somali flag on school grounds went viral on right-wing social media, three days after the president had made derogatory remarks about Somalis. Death threats poured in. The district took down its website and social media accounts. Staff unplugged school phones. Chavarria and his husband fled to a hotel for several days.
Yet the Somali flag stayed flying beside the American and Vermont flags, a deliberate message to the roughly 9% of students who are Somali. "When kids feel seen and heard and valued in our district and community, it shows up in the work they're doing," said Caitlin MacLeod-Bluver, a high school teacher and Vermont's teacher of the year in 2025.
The district's federal funding accounts for only 6% of its annual budget. When asked whether he feared losing it, Chavarria posed a stark question to himself and his community. "When somebody wants us to lose funding, we're going to lose it anyways," he said. "The difference is, did we lose it while bending the knee, or did we lose it while standing up for our values?"
The human toll extends beyond policy. In November, a second-grader was detained in a facility in Dilley, Texas. Teachers wrote letters appealing to immigration officials. Staff organized a fundraiser for legal fees. A multilingual teacher, Erin Hurley, asked to send the boy's schoolwork. Detention center officials refused. After seven weeks, the family self-deported rather than continue the legal fight.
Since December's death threats, hallway doors at the school now lock throughout the day, requiring staff to escort students between sections. Resource tables offer "Know Your Rights" documents translated into more than a dozen languages. Several staff members have volunteered to serve as temporary guardians for students whose parents fear detention.
Chavarria's stand has built him widespread local support. "Wilmer has been a brave voice in a time in our country where that's being punished," said Robin Merritt, a parent of three children in the district. Research backs the approach. A 2022 study found that children from families with mixed citizenship status earned higher grades and reported fewer peer conflicts when their schools had policies restricting immigration enforcement on campus.
As for the students themselves, even in a school building now designed with security doors and protective protocols, moments of normalcy break through. One recent afternoon, a teacher pulled up images from Artemis II astronauts on the moon. The class erupted with questions about artificial intelligence, internet access, and why no one had landed. For a few minutes, their minds traveled 250,000 miles away from the daily pressures of living in America as immigrant families.
Author James Rodriguez: "Chavarria's refusal to capitulate isn't just principled leadership, it's a direct challenge to how many other districts have chosen cowardice over conscience."
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