This blog is part of a collaboration with Headstream’s Youth Collective Program, which aims to uplift the voices of creative young leaders and nurture a future generation that can confidently shape a safer and more responsible digital world.

Research on immigration has shown that, paradoxically, immigrants are often physically healthier when they arrive in a host country than native populations. This phenomenon is known as “The Healthy Immigrant Effect.” When my sister and I immigrated from Nicaragua to the U.S. in 2018, our high school physical exams confirmed that we were indeed physically healthy. However, our mental health did not receive the same attention. Scholars have tested “The Healthy Immigrant Effect” in relation to mental health and found the opposite: empirical evidence reveals a decline in emotional well-being among immigrants over time.

A significant factor contributing to this decline in emotional health, particularly among Latiné immigrants in the U.S., is not only the language barrier but also access to research. My sister and I arrived with limited English proficiency; Spanish was, and remains, the language we speak at home. As I started high school in the U.S., I met many Latin American peers, and I was fascinated by the diverse lingo spoken by Venezuelans, Cubans, and Colombians—distinct from the Nicaraguan Spanish I knew. My Guatemalan friend’s parents, who immigrated at a young age, experienced cultural shock and identity detachment when their tribal Garífuna language was not available on Google Translate, and few people in the U.S. even knew of its existence. This reminded me of my community in Nicaragua, where both Spanish and Mískito, a tribal language, were spoken in my neighborhood.

Years of mental health advocacy and engaging with some of the brightest minds in the world have led me to reflect on a question I once posed to Darren Walker, President of the Ford Foundation, during a guest lecture in my Philanthropy and Just Societies course at Columbia University. I asked, “Do you think new initiatives, especially those led by youth, should be prioritized, or should young people focus on working within existing organizations?” His response was illuminating. He emphasized the importance of understanding the specific needs of the communities we aim to serve.

I took Darren Walker’s insights very seriously. As a young scholar, I have been fortunate to receive an education that has deepened my understanding of philanthropy, Hispanic/Latiné studies, and, importantly, behavioral health research. However, I am aware that many instructional approaches to mental health and the methods used to measure mental health issues remain inaccessible to individuals like my mother, my aunt, or my Guatemalan friend’s parents. How do I convey the importance of research to my grandmother in a way that resonates with her lived experience? How do I demystify complex concepts and methodological approaches for my mother? These are the questions that preoccupy my thoughts as I conduct research with my professors at Columbia or engage in discussions on Bayesian inference or Cohen’s D in a research seminar.

In an effort to bridge this gap and make quality information more accessible while also encouraging more Hispanics like myself to take an interest in research, I co-founded a project called Khipú with my sister, Maydeling Caballero. A khipú is an ancient artifact created by the Inca civilization in Latin America, used for recording stories and financial transactions that consist of various knots.

At its broadest, Khipú is a project dedicated to translating scientific literature and mental health resources into languages spoken in Latiné communities, including Spanish and Mískitu. On a more intimate level, though, Khipú serves as a translator not only of knowledge but also of hope and possibility. I believe, in many ways, the Latiné community resembles an actual Khipú: intricately knotted together by our shared cultural wealth, yet often trapped by the afterlives of our history and ancestry. As a youth-led project, Khipú is driven by a pivotal question: In a community knotted with intergenerational trauma and collective memory, how can we find pathways to healing? I believe we start with the interchange of knowledge and ideas.

In our first visit to community members in Nicaragua and Miami, many stated a lack of knowledge of Hispanic/Latino mental health data and research, especially those living in rural areas. As of August 2024, Khipú has engaged over 700 people who identify as Latiné/Hispanic and translated more than 2,000 words of crucial research findings. These translations, done by native speakers, are not merely statistics—they are vital tools for advancing knowledge within our community. We have partnered with two schools in rural areas to share translated mental health information and host community-building activities.

While these efforts are still in their early stages, they highlight the immense potential of on-the-ground community engagement, combining linguistic capital with cultural wealth. As a young scholar and aspiring doctoral candidate, I’ve witnessed firsthand the transformative impact that research and quality information can have. It’s vital that more communities recognize and access the rich body of scholarship that originates from within their own cultures, attitudes, and behaviors.