Vargas began hosting activist gatherings at his home in Ventura. Some nights, people talk until midnight.
Pic=A circle of friends ceramic piece from Peru is placed inside a reflection and healing circle during a workshop for members of the immigrants right organization Carecen in Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
At his workshops, Narro tries to offer practical tips.
At a recent one at Carecen, nearly 20 immigration lawyers and legal assistants sought his advice.
Founded in the 1980s by Salvadoran refugees, Carecen runs a youth center and a parent center, teaches immigrants English and organizes marches and protests.
Its legal team handles a mix of cases ― children who have crossed the border alone, persecuted immigrants in need of asylum, mixed-status families trying to stay together in America.
Fear of deportation runs deep now, even though there hasn’t been an increase in mass raids since Trump took over. Every arrest sends waves of anxiety through immigrant communities. Stories spread about individuals being picked up even though they’ve committed no serious crimes.
On its website Carecen declares in capital letters: “We will not allow a Trump administration to attack our communities.”
But living up to that promise is wearying.
As those at the workshop formed a circle, Narro arranged a small altar on the floor of Guatemalan serapes and a Peruvian clay statue of figures embracing. He beat a ceremonial drum and invited each participant to speak.
Alvarez, the legal assistant, said his caseload continues to grow. His phone starts to ring early in the morning. He hears panic in clients’ voices. They ask him to please speed up the process to get them visas; they want him to promise he can help.
“I tell them I can’t guarantee anything,” he said.
He told Narro he used to find joy in his work. Now, when the stress mounts, he seeks comfort in television.
“Lately I’m feeling less motivated, more powerless,” he said.
His co-workers complained of sore necks, clenched jaws, mood swings and bottled-up emotions. They said they struggled with feelings of defeat, anger and helplessness.
“I try to be strong because I have to,” said Zamorano, the coordinator of the parent program. “But I get home most days and I feel like my head is going to explode.”
The families she works with tell her that, because of deportation worries, their children may decide not to pursue college anymore.
“When they ask me, ‘What do I do?’ I struggle to encourage them,” Zamorano said.
Pic=Community members and activist go through some exercise and relaxing session held UCLA Labor Center so they not to burn out and relax and stay focused. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times)
Narro listened to everything the group had to say. He told them their feelings were justified, but that they had more control than they thought. He told them about a dream he had a few weeks earlier.
In it, Trump attacked his older brother, Max, so Narro began to pummel the president.
“Then suddenly, I realized, I’m beating up a 70-year-old man,” he said. “And what did it do for me? Nothing.
“Send him positive energy,” Narro said as the group laughed. “You never know, it might make a difference.”
In recent weeks, through his webinars and social media, Narro has reached a mix of people nationwide ― a Bangladeshi organizer defending women’s rights in New Jersey, an Oregon law student fighting for the environment and Native Americans, a writer promoting Muslim social justice in Washington, D.C.
In January, he partnered with Law at the Margins, an attorney-led media group, to launch #faithjustice, an effort to remind activists to make time for some self care.
Narro could have used that advice himself a few years back. Instead, he hurtled toward a breakdown.
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