Late summers have felt different to me since I started teaching English to adults about 20 years ago. They’re still sweltering, and I’m still dismayed when I see stores start to stock their shelves with Halloween candy already. But now, some August afternoons find me thinking about lesson plans.

This year, I’m also thinking about safety. Not mine, but that of my students, who are all immigrants. In the current political climate, I fear that most of them might as well have targets painted on their backs, or carry signs reading “Not white!” “Not born here!” “Probably illegal!” “Possibly trying to take your job, your tax dollars, maybe even your pets!”

I’ve rarely heard students express this fear. As far as I know — they don’t talk about it much — most fled Africa, Asia or Central America to escape from grinding poverty, terrible loss or real or threatened violence. A president who panders to hate and prejudice and fear doesn’t register on their radars quite as profoundly as it does on mine. But some have nodded sadly when I’ve expressed my opinions.

Some have hinted at the problems that drove them here. Some have come out and told my colleagues that they aren’t leaving home as much as they used to. Last spring, some simply stopped coming to school.

It shouldn’t be this way. Regardless of our politics, we Mainers all benefit from the presence of immigrants in our state. Without them, it seems likely that our population would be declining and that some essential jobs in areas like health care, hospitality and corrections would go unfilled.

Beyond that, imagine how boring our state would be if we closed our doors to people, customs and foods from far away. A hundred years ago, French Canadians were perceived by some to be too foreign. Now they’re just a part of every level of society, from police officers to teachers to (in one case) governor.

One of immigrants’ first and most important jobs after they arrive here is to learn English. We lack the kinds of large ethnic neighborhoods common in states like California and Florida where it’s possible to conduct most of your life in Spanish or Arabic. Families have no choice but to adapt to English, usually led by their children.

Like the children and grandchildren of Quebec transplants my students’ kids understand their parents’ Portuguese or French or Arabic but have little or no trouble speaking English like natives. It’s harder for adults. Spend an hour or two in an adult education ESL class and you’ll be reminded of your early days of learning to read and write.

Imagine being faced with the challenge of pronouncing, spelling and understanding this list of common English words: tough, though, thought, through, thorough. My students have my everlasting admiration for how hard they try, how long they persist.

Unfortunately, admiration isn’t what they receive from the federal government these days, nor from some of their native-born neighbors. They’re viewed sideways, or they’re called “illegal” for following the legal process of seeking asylum. At best, they’re just thoroughly misunderstood and underestimated.

I’ve taught lawyers who were working on assembly lines, doctors who were cleaning houses, bank managers who were stocking shelves at Walmart. When they come here, they lose their status as adults. Studying English is one way for them to begin the long process of rebuilding.

One phrase many students pick up early, and use frequently, is “step by step.” That’s how they’re learning and improving their lives. I’m afraid that too many people and institutions right now are intent on tripping them up and preventing them from taking their next steps, whatever those may be.

I’m worried that on the first day of school this year, I could look at a room full of chairs, emptied by fear, distrust and a basic misunderstanding of what it means to live in a country of immigrants.