Jeff Sorensen's students are wary of strangers.
A mix of sixth-, seventh- and eighth-graders from impoverished and war-torn countries, they thrive on routine.
"Fire drills terrify them," said Sorensen, taking pains one afternoon to explain why a newspaper reporter had dropped by. As if on cue, a student asked, "La migra?"
"He thinks you're an immigration officer," Sorensen explained.
Sorensen's "newcomers" program at Glendale Middle School is meant to ease non-English speaking refugees and immigrants into their new surroundings. Students of the school within a school are segregated from the regular student body most of the day, enjoying specialized instruction and smaller class sizes.
But a community activist alleges the program isolates kids and constitutes a form of "institutional racism."
Michael Clara filed a complaint with the U.S. Department of Education's Office of Civil Rights, which Glendale is working to remedy. He's specifically concerned about the school's decision to house newcomers outside the main building in portable classrooms.
But Glendale isn't alone in grappling with how to best teach newcomers more than 50 years after the landmark Brown v. Board of Education ruling in which the U.S. Supreme Court declared segregated classrooms unconstitutional.
Newcomer schools started popping up in California and Texas more than a decade ago, but just recently gained critical mass in Utah. The special schools raise questions that have long dogged special programs: Do they help at-risk children or risk harm by isolating them from the mainstream?
It's unclear whether they're a source of legal angst for Utah education officials, who won't divulge specifics about racial discrimination complaints.
Though few in number, so-called "Title VI" filings have nearly doubled in recent years. The Utah State Office of Education reports eight such complaints midway into the 2009 school year, up from five complaints in 2006.
Those numbers don't include reports filed directly with the federal government, but likely reflect a regionwide trend tied to the economy and cutbacks to school programs, said state civil rights coordinator Richard Gomez.
Park City School District officials confirm that segregated programs at two of their elementary schools, McPolin and Parley's Park, have hit snags.
The schools offer full-day kindergarten, which weren't designed with immigrants in mind. But with limited spots available, the district gives preference to children with lower-than-average test scores.
By default, 80 percent to 90 percent of those kids are Hispanic non-native speakers of English, said the district's curriculum director Lori Gardner. "When we first promoted the program, there was no issue. It wasn't until parents saw the complexion of the classes."
Parley's Park has agreed to combine its all-day and half-day kindergarteners. McPolin has settled on pulling the full-day kids out for art and gym classes.
"We mainstream them as quickly as we can. It certainly was never the intent of the district nor the principal that students be segregated based on their ethnicity," said Gardner. "We've seen some real gains with these kids, because teachers have been able to target instruction to their needs. We consider this early intervention."
Gary Orfield, co-director of the Civil Rights Project at the University of California in Los Angeles, knows of no good review of the educational merit of newcomer programs.
"The idea is reasonable. But, by in large, segregation is a bad thing," said Orfield, a professor of education, law and political science.
Legal guidelines in other cities dictate such programs should be optional and temporary. And they should be restricted to kids who need remedial help, not offered just to students "with a certain last name or who come from a certain country," said Orfield.
Racial profiling happens in other states but hasn't been alleged in Utah -- at least not by Clara.
"My objection," he said, "is Glendale's segregationist doctrine, saying 'You can't come in this brand new $14 million school. You have to be in a trailer.' "
Clara, a Poplar Grove resident and member of a mayoral task force on gangs, doesn't have a child at Glendale. But as a scout leader, he said he's seen first-hand how "marginalizing these newcomers chips away at their self-esteem and makes them more susceptible to recruitment by gangs."
Clara said the recent shooting outside Kearns High has caused tension between Latinos and Polynesians to spill into other schools. He fears more gang violence.
Glendale has since moved its newcomer programs inside -- one into a regular classroom and Sorensen's into a retrofitted teachers station.
But Clara isn't satisfied.
He wants Sorensen's class swapped with a drama class or one of the revolving programs for gifted students.
"That way no one will be stuck out there all day," said Clara.
Glendale principal Betty Valenzuela said the drama classroom, its auditorium seating, and proximity to band practice wasn't a suitable alternative. And disrupting classes this late in the school year is unfair, she said.
Sorensen said he was happier in the portable buildings, because they were roomy, comfortable and more accessible to parents, many of whom shy from school authorities.
"They could just drive up and get status reports on the kids," said Sorenson, a veteran who has taught Utah's first newcomer program for 15 years.
He appreciates Clara's concerns, but cautions against making one-size-fits all decisions about the best placement for students.
Glendale pushes newcomers into regular schoolwork as quickly as possible, but some will stay in Sorensen's program a full three years.
"Some of these kids came directly from refugee camps where there was no running water or toilets," said Sorensen who spends a lot of instruction time on basic cultural courtesies.
About half his students are undocumented immigrants from Mexico. The rest were uprooted by war or genocide from homes in Tonga, Somalia, Burma, Kenya and Burundi.
Some have never been to school before, and many won't finish out the year at Glendale; the program has a 50 percent turnover rate.
"You come in and really work hard every day with these kids," said Sorensen. "And when it's goodbye, I tell them, 'You never know when you're going to be back."
