life as of late.

LAST SEMESTER OF LAW SCHOOL PEOPLE!

Thirty-three days and counting!

I always fall into the trap of thinking that every semester will be less crazy than the previous one, but I have a problem saying "no" to all the LATINO things. 

This post has a little bit of family birthdays, a little bit of Dilley, TX, a little bit of Latino concerts, a little bit of supporting Latino youth, and a whole lot of Mexican love. 

^^The eerie detention center in Dilley, TX. I thought it looked like an alien, X-files, type discovery sight.

^^Our BYU Law Dilley crew

^^I was REALLY upset when Natalia LaFourcade cancelled on the church's Luz De Las Naciones event last minute. I mean, I guess I somewhat understand because she left us for the Grammys, but I was still bitter. I opened Spotify one day and saw that Las Cafeteras & Flor de Toloache were performing together at the University of Utah and knew I had to go! My friend Nicole hooked me up with student discount tickets. I have been a big fan of these bands for a while now and their performance almost healed the sans Natalia LaFourcade piece of my heart, almost.

^^I was asked to present at Latinos In Action's FIRST EVER conference at BYU. I jumped on as an honorary panel member with some other super boss Latino grad students, and then hosted my own workshop to highschoolers from Granger high (my Uncle Job's Alma matter) about the good that Latino students can do for their community. I appropriately titled it Para Mi Gente.

^^Family dinner with the Swartz, our former 97th ward 1st counselor

Lessons In Love: February 2018

At the end of last year, I felt strongly that 2018 would provide me a case study in love, not love of the whirlwind romance variety, but true love--pure, undefiled and Christlike in nature. This month, my lesson in love came from the examples of the Women currently detained in the South Texas Family Residential Center, more appropriately known as baby jail.

You can’t find Dilley on a standard map. It’s a blink of a town with a population of just under 4,000 residents. Its claims to fame are (in no particular order): a Men’s prison, petroleum wells, the family detention center, and Bobby’s Taco Truck (for the record, not a huge fan, see my review on Yelp for more details).

I traveled to Dilley two weeks ago to volunteer with the CARA Family Detention Pro Bono Project with fellow law students and alumni to prepare the women and children detained there for their credible fear interviews—the first step to claiming asylum in the United States. The women in this facility either presented themselves at our nation’s border while claiming refuge or crossed without authorization—all were fleeing incredible danger. An individual cannot claim asylum from outside our borders, she must be present physically in our country before doing so. In many cases, these women were trying to immigrate the "right way.”

The “facility” is really a conglomeration of bungalows, evidence that this solution was at one point considered temporary. No picture taking is allowed on the premises, and if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’re sure to miss the entrance. The "welcome sign" is conveniently hidden well of the main road. Incredibly, the complex is staffed predominantly by Latinos! I mean, a job is a job, but there was something wickedly cruel that nuestra raza is participating in the detention of those who represent our ancestors. It's something I haven't been quite able to wrap my head around. While sheltered bungalows may prove a welcome change for the women fleeing horrors south of our border, family detention is wrong. No victim, no child should have to live like a prisoner.

Every day, I was subjected to a TSA-like security inspection; I used a clear backpack during the week to make the process go smoother. As I entered the visitation trailer each morning, I was greeted by women dressed in standard issued colored sweats and beanies. These women would wait patiently, sometimes for hours on end to share their horrific stories with us.

For five days 12/hr a day I’d listen to each of these women share with me the worst experiences of their lives: rape, extortion, extreme gang violence, government corruption, domestic violence—in some cases, all of the above. And yet, every single woman would at some point in her meeting with me say, “Yo se que Dios ha estado con nosotros,” I know that God has been with us. Each woman would also tearfully explain that the horrible journey she undertook was not a planned one, but rather a desperate last measure resort to protect the child she had brought with her.

Very early on into the experience, the spirit brought to my remembrance a passage from the Book of Mormon, the testimonies of the Army of Helaman who could say so confidently, “We do not doubt our mothers knew it” (Alma 56: 48). I know that the children, the babes, the toddlers, the tweens who accompanied these mothers will not doubt that their mothers had incredible faith in God.

Say what you will about immigration reform, but one thing I know for sure is that for every woman I met, her primary motivation in making the perilous journey north was love.