Reflexivity

Constructivist approaches prioritize the data collection and interpretation processes as the result of the mutual influences and experiences of researcher and participants. Since my research was qualitative in nature, it required a constant process of reflection. During the study I

continuous considered my positionality and my relationship with both my participants and the context. I examined my own experiences, assumptions, and preconceptions, and assessed the manner in which they influenced my decision-making throughout the research process. I made sure to constantly reflect on my relationships with the respondents, trying to remain attentive to the way in which our interactions shaped the dynamics of the study. Giddens (1984) has

convincingly demonstrated the necessity of constant reflection and self-scrutiny among

qualitative researchers. According to the prominent sociologist, researchers—just as much as the objects of research—are socially and historically situated agents; consequently, the way in which we conduct research and the methods we choose to apply are very much conditioned by the socio-historical moment in which we are embedded and our own situated reality.

The male Mexican immigrant.

Whenever I remember them, I picture them as the pioneer, the forerunner, the Mexicano who became a Latino, the lonely dreamer, the vulnerable hero, and the unnoticed martyr…(From my reflective memos)

Beginning in 2006, I had the opportunity to work and learn for over a year with a group of undocumented male Latino workers in Austin, Texas, an experience that represented my first approach to this “so far away from me group”: foreign-born Latinos living in the United States. My brother-in-law had come to the U.S. to work with some of his cousins. These primos had a

big roofing company, and at the time this company had been fixing and building roofs on several Texas sites. I worked with a group of seven male undocumented Mexican immigrants. The work was excessively hard and sometimes without proper hydration, under the Texas weather, one could easily faint. As a college student, however, the pay of six dollars per hour was very tempting—and the hard work was healthy. Of course, I came from a more fortunate background and was living in a very different reality than the other workers. Our workday would begin by 5am, before the roof began to get too hot; we would work for eight or sometimes ten hours with one-hour break (unpaid, of course) for lunch. It was a full day of arduous physical activity accompanied by Mexican folk songs or norteñas, continuous laughter, and the most obscene jokes I have ever heard. At the end of the day I would go back to a nice warm bed while the magnificent seven would stay in a trailer home waiting for the next day, a day that might take them closer to their loved ones. After a year, I went back to Mexico and quickly forgot about them. It would take me five years and a second experience of living in the U.S. (this time on my own) to understand the importance of the situation in which these overlooked people were living.

The FBL student in the U.S. public educational system. My own experience as an FBL student in the public educational system of the state of North Carolina has considerably informed my understanding of my research. Three years ago (2011) I moved to North Carolina from Mexico City to start my doctoral studies at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Because of my professional experience working in Mexico City as a media labs manager, when I initially arrived I thought that my research would be about mobile learning. While immersed in the Mexican context, I had learned a lot about different media equipment and software. After some months within the doctoral program, however, a variety of factors began reshaping my research interests. My first semester was extremely difficult, as I was learning about very

complex topics in a foreign language. I experienced feelings of inadequacy and frustration deriving from my inability to express myself in the classroom. Despite the fact that I could understand what the other students and professors were talking about, I was unable to

communicate my ideas in a successful and compelling manner. I was instantly blocked. This made me believe that I was at a very different level—an inferior level—than the rest of my classmates.

“What is wrong with me?,” I thought; “I am well-educated, I come from a middle class family, I have high self-esteem, I am healthy, and there is nothing to complain about.” After months of inner struggle I decided that I needed to make a change in order to better myself. I needed to study harder, yes, but I also needed to realize that I was navigating a different language, a different culture, and a different reality. Only then did my real research interest emerge: if someone with a privileged upbringing could experience such migration stress, what about the Latino youth who come from very poor families and are thrown into this shocking experience without any tools whatsoever? Who can help them? How do they cope with this uncertainty?

For many of these children, this is the first time that they have had to deal with migration stress. This was not my experience. I was born and raised in Guadalajara, Jalisco, but moved to Mexico City when I was 18 because my twin sister entered a television reality show and did not want to live by alone in such a big city. I moved with her and finished my studies in

Communication in Mexico City. I never really liked it there, but if you want to become a well- recognized television producer in Mexico, living in the capitol city is a requirement. When I was 22, because of some financial difficulties my family decided to move to San Antonio, Texas for a year. In the beginning everything was an adventure and a novelty; months later we realized that

the lower quality of life and the loneliness we were experiencing were not worth the effort. We all moved back to Mexico City. For immigrant Latino youth and their families, the option of moving back and forth is much more limited. Like these families I migrated in the pursuit of economic opportunities, but unlike these families, I belong to a privileged class with the social, educational, and economic resources to secure the option of going back.

In addition to these resources I have a solid grounding in the use of educational

technologies, and these skills played a key role in my academic and personal development—and thus in my agency. This helped me cope with the migration stress that I experienced during the first year of my doctoral program. For instance, I was able to look up the meaning of words and phrases on my phone. I kept an online diary of the “word of the day” so that I could increase my vocabulary. I used online libraries with access to thousands of journals related to my field. I used these technologies to broaden my informal education: I learned how to send a letter through the U.S. Postal Service, how to mount a television, how to get directions to certain places, and even how to play the guitar. I learned other seemingly insignificant things that collectively made a change in my daily life; regardless of the task, idea, or concept, the Internet could offer me an insight or an opinion. I began to wonder whether working-class Latino students used these technologies to their advantage. Do they even know about them? What kinds of technologies are available to them? Do they care about improving their skills? These are the kinds of questions that prompted my interest in the current research, and I hope that my work can make a positive impact, if only among the FBL students I with whom I worked.