As I walked along Bourbon Street in New Orleans a couple of nights before the 2013 Super Bowl, my heart broke repeatedly. Young teen girls were paraded in and out of strip clubs while their pimps talked on cell phones, arranging “dates” for their victims, who would be forced to turn over every dime “earned” for providing sexual services.
When rejection is the overwhelming context, being treated as a political ping-pong only aggravates the sentiment. Such is the day-to-day reality of DACA dreamers, who don’t need partisan debate as much as a group hug.
