By Lea Ramos | Programs Director - Mediation Services
A father and son arrived at the mediation carrying the quiet weight of survival. Raul and Kevin are refugees from Venezuela, living in a shelter, trying to build a life from scratch in a new country. Even so, what stood out most was not what they lacked, but what they had: resilience, tenderness, and an unwavering commitment to one another.
Kevin came in frightened but earnest. He had gone to a store simply to buy something he needed. He didn’t steal—but in the chaos of others running, he was the one who got stopped. He tried to explain himself to the security guard, tried to tell the truth, but wasn’t given the chance. When the police arrived, a friend lied and allowed him to take the blame. Through it all, Kevin didn’t tell his story with anger so much as confusion and hurt—trying to understand how doing the right thing still led him here.
In his words were signs of how much he is still learning, and how hard he is working. When he shared that he didn’t know his birthday when the officer asked, it wasn’t defiance—it was vulnerability. When Kevon said, “I’m still learning it,” he revealed something deeply human: a young person trying to put the pieces of life together under pressure most people never face. Kevin also admitted, choked up, that he can’t read or write yet—but he is learning in school, even though it exhausts him. That determination, that willingness to keep trying, is its own kind of courage.
Raul sat beside him as both protector and witness. The father’s love was steady, fierce, and heartbreaking in its simplicity. When asked what he hoped for his son, he said, “I only hope he has a better life than me,” and broke down sobbing. He wasn’t performing emotion—he was letting the truth show. This is someone who has sacrificed everything for the chance that his child might be safer, freer, and more whole.
Raul’s story carried its own ache. He told of walking for two years to get here, of coming with his wife and four children, of one child already deported to Colombia, and of leaving adult children behind in Venezuela who were just beginning their lives. And then, in the cruelest echo, he explained that the same thing that happened to his son had happened to him when he was young: friends stole, and he took the blame and went to prison. After everything they endured to escape and start over, the son’s arrest didn’t just feel unfair—it reopened an old wound.
Yet despite the trauma they carried, their relationship was full of trust. They looked after one another naturally, like teammates. They had already talked about what happened; they weren’t avoiding the hard parts. When Raul said he wanted to approve Kevin’s friends going forward, it could have sounded controlling in another context—but here, it came across as protective and deeply invested. Kevin didn’t resist it. He agreed his father was a good judge of character and described how, if a new friend asked him to go somewhere after school, he would either decline or call his dad first. What came through was not fear, but confidence: his father is someone he can rely on.
Even the details around the truck revealed who they are. During the mediation session, Kevin kept returning to the urgency of time—insisting they only had an hour—because he was watching out for their survival in real time. They were borrowing a friend’s truck only until 5 p.m., using it to collect scrap metal to make money, and they hadn’t paid for parking. He worried about losing the truck, losing time, losing income. Raul was less anxious, but the son stayed vigilant anyway—like someone who has learned that small risks can become big disasters. And still, when pressed, he kept pointing back to his dad: “My dad got it.” That loyalty—his belief in his father—was constant.
What emerged in the mediation was a portrait of two people who have been tested by fear, poverty, displacement, and prejudice, and who still choose each other every day. They protect one another, trust one another, and keep going even when they are exhausted. They cried, they told the truth, and they left with a smile—because being seen and understood matters, especially to people who have had to fight so hard just to be believed.
By Lea Ramos | Programs Director - Mediation Services
By Lea Ramos | Programs Director - Mediation Services
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