Anthony Romero, Executive Director of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), recently spoke at the annual Honorable Nelson A. Diaz Professor in Law Lectureship at Temple Law. He shared invaluable insights on how advancing advocacy can thrive through litigation and public engagement even in challenging times. While his advice was informative and practical, what resonated most with me was his story about his father’s experience with discrimination and how that shaped Mr. Romero’s perspective. His account prompted me to reflect on my own motivation for pursuing law.
Mr. Romero, having just completed his first year at Princeton, went home for the summer to assist his father at the hotel where he worked. Upon clocking in, Mr. Romero was handed his father’s name tag, which read “Chico” instead of his father’s actual name, Demitrio. Confused, Mr. Romero asked his father about the mislabeled name tag and was shocked to learn that his father’s boss had misnamed him on his first day 30 years ago, leading that to become his name at work. Mr. Romero pushed back at his father about the unfairness and implications of being misnamed and encouraged his father to stand up for himself. He was met with a stern response from his father, “You keep Princeton out of the hotel, and I’ll keep the hotel out of Princeton.”
Most of us can probably think back to a time of injustice and relate to feeling like Mr. Romero—justice must prevail. But how often have we stopped to consider the actual cost of upholding justice? Mr. Romero’s story evoked my own experiences with discrimination and inspired me to think mindfully about my family, privilege, and role as a future lawyer and advocate.
I emigrated from Mexico to the United States when I was very young, having heard English only. Spanish had always been my first language, and while being in an English-speaking environment was exciting, it came with anxiety and required constant alertness and learning. My parents understood the need of learning English quickly to the point that they did not want my brothers and me to speak Spanish at home. Despite these obstacles, my parents made every effort to ensure I was always supported and felt part of the community. They enthusiastically attended every school event, encouraged my involvement in extracurricular activities, and nurtured my relationships with teachers and classmates. Along the way, my parents instilled in me the importance of engaging with my communities and, whether they knew it or not, a vision of the American Dream.
Eventually, I was confronted with the cost of my parents’ dedication and sacrifices after I began my undergraduate studies at Haverford College. At the time, my mother experienced a wrongful termination after sustaining a workplace injury, from which she has fully recovered. Filled with youthful optimism and a deep-seated belief in fairness, I urged her to pursue legal action against her former employers. Rather than confronting me with harsh realities, as Mr. Romero’s father did, my mother gently accommodated my idealism. However, witnessing her navigate a challenging and emotionally taxing legal process made me cognizant of the ordeals individuals often face when seeking justice. Although my mom’s attorney explained that she had a strong case, the thought of enduring further hostility from the adversarial nature of litigation compelled her to settle. It seemed so contrary to my naïve notions of justice that her words were burned into my memory: “Son, I can’t deal with all the stress and attacks on my character anymore. I just want to move on and live my life” (Translated from Spanish).
I wish I understood then what Mr. Romero learned years later from his conversation with his father: our parents and ancestors have gone through so much so that we can go on to achieve. Our role as future lawyers is not to lecture those who have already sacrificed to get us where we are today—that’s unlikely to solve the systemic issues many face today. Instead, we should reflect on the hope and aspirations many of us had when we began law school: to empathize with others, provide thoughtful advocacy, and make legal support more accessible. Thus, as we contemplate how to give back as loud and proud advocates, we should remember Mr. Romero’s words, “hope is not the precursor to action. You take action, and I promise you—you will find hope.”
At Temple Law, I’ve had the privilege to continue to reflect on these lessons through meaningful interactions in diverse communities. At an Iftar dinner this year, I recall hearing Professor Jaya Ramji-Nogales read an affidavit submitted by Noor Ramez Abdalla, the wife of Mahmoud Khalil, a green card holder threatened with deportation for exercising his First Amendment rights. Mr. Khalil bravely went forth, organizing his community to support and amplify the voices of those facing injustice despite knowing his actions would place him at risk of unjust retribution. While attending the screening of the documentary “Unseen” hosted at Klein Hall, I was able to learn how others use their platforms to engage broader audiences and amplify the voices of marginalized communities. These are not isolated incidents—they are examples of the many ways Temple Law students volunteer their time to build community, share actionable plans, and aid each other. In light of the many conflicts occurring around our country, these exchanges continue to remind me of the many brave people who advocate at personal risk, as well as the countless others who are involuntarily silenced by systemic injustices.
As I reflect on my first year at Temple Law, a sentence from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s message to the nation on April 4, 1967, comes to mind: “A time comes when silence is betrayal.” At the Díaz Lecture, Mr. Romero tells us that time is now. Mr. Romero tells us not to remain silent in our future roles as skilled and ethical lawyers—not merely as guards against errors and mistakes, but as a foundational support for individuals and organizations that make movements advocating for justice possible. Professor Alice G. Abreu, who holds the Honorable Nelson A. Díaz Professorship and is my tax law professor, similarly shares a profound message in our class about the need for lawyers to understand the law not just from the perspective of transactions or litigation but also from the standpoint of the often-unforeseen legal consequences that can arise. In our Tax class, the consequences of not speaking up usually result in individuals and small businesses being blindsided by taxes on cancelled debts or even remedies provided by courts—outcomes that many would celebrate at first but would quickly be disappointed after learning of the tax consequences.
As prospective lawyers, we will join this intricate system that we must learn to understand and navigate. Mr. Romero cautions us to approach our roles carefully but also courageously. Inadequate legal counsel could result in organizations like the ACLU that support others in their pursuit of justice being undermined. As a pretext to stop their advocacy, they could be placed under magnified scrutiny to create distractions and obstructions. Therefore, we must strive to become competent and reliable attorneys; otherwise, we risk exposing clients to financial penalties and persecution that can severely hinder their ability to effectively champion justice and equality. Nonetheless, we cannot allow this pressure to deter us—we must go forth without fear.
Hearing the voices of people like Mr. Romero, our professors, our classmates, and our community members is an integral part of our legal education. Their passion and wisdom underscore that we are at Temple Law not just to study the law—we are here also to learn how to practice it for the greater good. We must become great lawyers because it is our professional responsibility—and more importantly, because people will rely on us to have an intimate understanding of the legal system and be their voice in the face of adversity. The memories we create at Temple Law and beyond will fuel our broader efforts with the hope of shaping the political and legal landscape and supporting everyone in society. As Mr. Romero concluded, being an attorney “is not just a job, it’s a privilege and a necessity for us to keep going forward.”
