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Ted Hesson

\tI'm a journalist with a passion for issues of justice and equality, particularly immigration. I've written about everything from immigrant-driven economies to the psychological impact of growing up without legal status in the U.S. — and I feel like I've only scratched the surface. I also follow drug policy, politics, and baseball. You can find me on Twitter and Facebook.

An American girl in Paris, remembered. This is what her mom wants the world to know.

Nohemi Gonzalez was "a Latina girl that strived to get ahead ... and who achieved many of her dreams."

Any loss of life is a tragedy. But it hurts all the more to see a young person cut down with such a promising future ahead of her.

Students and mourners attend a vigil for Nohemi Gonzalez on Nov. 15 in Long Beach, California. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

On the evening of Nov. 13, Nohemi Gonzalez was out with three friends at La Belle Equipe, a bistro and wine bar in north-central Paris.

The 23-year-old was studying abroad in Paris as part of her bachelor's degree in industrial design at California State University, Long Beach. She was enjoying her time in the city — her first time out of the United States — and had visited historic sites like the Eiffel Tower and the Cathedral of Notre Dame, according to her mother.

"She had a lot of dreams," Jose Hernandez, a man identified as her stepfather, told the Los Angeles Times. He said that studying in Paris "was one of them."

Her life was cut short at the bistro that night.

Gunmen in a black vehicle opened fire on people sitting on the bistro's terrace, killing 19 people — including Nohemi — and critically wounding nine others, part of a horrific terrorist attack that has jarred France and people around the globe.

Her mother remembers her as someone striving for success.

Although Nohemi's mother, Beatriz Gonzalez, looked emotionally exhausted in an interview published by the Spanish-language news outlet Univision on Nov. 15, she found inspiring words to describe her daughter.

Stepfather Jose Hernandez and mother Beatriz weep during a vigil for Nohemi. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

When asked how she wanted her Nohemi to be remembered, Beatriz answered, "as a Latina girl that strived to get ahead ... and who achieved many of her dreams."

Nohemi was born in the U.S., according to her mother, but her family came to California from Guanajuato, a state in central Mexico.

"I think the people who did this don't have any conscience," she told Univision. "Because of how many families they hurt."

Nohemi was proud of her immigrant heritage.

A class assignment obtained by the Los Angeles Times gives us a window into how Nohemi envisioned herself.

"I am Mexican American and I also happen to be first generation born in the United States. I grew up in Whittier and had a very hard working mother that raised me to be extremely independent. If I had to describe myself in a few words I would say I am very high spirited, clean, orderly and self driven."

Professors in the design department at Cal State Long Beach lauded her academic performance. She was "a very gifted student," Martin Herman, the department's chairman, told the Los Angeles Times.

Photo by David McNew/AFP/Getty Images.

Beyond her academic performance, she just seemed like a great person.

"Nohemi was an absolute delight," said David Teubner, a professor of design at Cal State Long Beach. "She was funny and warm and such a kind person.... She was involved in everything."

Her friends and family won't let her memory fade away.

Nohemi's fellow students and community members gathered on Nov. 15 at Cal State Long Beach for a vigil to commemorate her life.

Students and mourners hold candles at the vigil. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

Long Beach Mayor Robert Garcia said she was an "exceptional young woman who worked hard and contributed greatly to [the] community."

Nohemi's cousin, Ellie Gonzalez, captured the raw emotion — and confusion — that many who knew her must be feeling now.

"This is still a really big shock. I don't believe it's real, that this happened," she said. "I'm going to miss her and I love her so much."

Donald Trump has repeatedly come out with with fiery proclamations about undocumented immigrants and deportations.

But during Tuesday's Republican presidential primary debate in Milwaukee, Trump's bombastic language fell flat when confronted with a more reasonable alternative to mass deportations.

Trump speaking with body language at the debate. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

One of the event's moderators, Fox Business anchor Maria Bartiromo, brought up the subject by asking Trump about a controversial topic among Republicans: President Obama's program to grant deportation relief to an estimated 5 million undocumented immigrants, a move that's currently stalled in legal challenges.

When Trump cheered a recent setback for the deportation relief measure, Bartiromo asked him if deporting those people would affect the economy.

"We have no choice if we're going to run our country properly," Trump responded.

That's when Ohio Gov. John Kasich jumped in.

"We need to control our border just like people have to control who goes in and out of their house," he said. “But if people think that we are going to ship 11 million people who are law-abiding, who are in this country … to Mexico, think about the families. Think about the children."

Kasich getting his point on. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

He continued: "It's a silly argument. It is not an adult argument. It makes no sense."

The pair sparred some more. Trump cited President Dwight Eisenhower's intense border-security regime in the mid-1950s (dubbed, horrifically, "Operation Wetback" and used to deport American citizens) as a sign of success.

(Note: Trump has touted the program — which led to over a million Border Patrol apprehensions in 1954 — as an example of "humane" immigration enforcement, but scholars who have studied the policy found it far from that. Some deportees were removed by cargo ships and a congressional investigation compared one such vessel — where a riot took place onboard — to a "18th century slave ship," or a "penal hell ship," according to an account cited by Columbia University professor Mae Ngai.)

Trump tried to shut down Kasich, saying, "I don't have to hear from this man," but the crowd wasn't having it.

All debate GIFs via Fox Business/YouTube.

The audience did something rare. They booed.

Kasich stuck to his point and won by being realistic.

"We can't ship 11 million people out of this country," Kasich reiterated during their exchange. "Children would be terrified and it will not work."

Regardless of how you feel about illegal immigration, mass deportations probably don't seem like a sensible or realistic solution.

People come to the United States for all sorts of reasons, whether they're looking for jobs, fleeing a dangerous place, or reuniting with family. Deporting millions of people would mean tearing families apart and leaving businesses across the country without workers.

A Honduran mother and child at a Border Patrol processing center in McAllen, Texas, in 2013. Photo by John Moore/Getty Images

Many of the people in question have put down deep roots in the U.S.

A report released by the Pew Research Center in September found that 4.5 million children born in the U.S. — that's right, citizens — have parents who are undocumented immigrants. When parents are deported, children can face everything from psychological trauma to material hardship.

If you're not moved by the humanitarian reasons, consider the economic impact.

So what would happen if the country tried to deport 11 million undocumented immigrants?

First of all, it would cost a lot. A March 2015 assessment by the right-leaning organization American Action Forum found that rounding up and deporting 11 million people would take 20 years and cost roughly $400 billion to $600 billion.

A stretch of the border near Hidalgo, Texas, in 2010. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

And that looks small compared with the economic losses. The same report found that the U.S. gross domestic product (GDP) would fall by $1.6 trillion.

Yes, trillion, with a "T."

Republicans aren't backing President Obama's approach to immigration. But it doesn't negate the need for a solution.

In November 2014, Obama announced a sweeping deportation relief program that would have given an estimated 5 million the chance to live and work in the U.S. legally.

Obama at an event earlier this week. Photo by Chris Kleponis-Pool/Getty Images.

Republicans widely opposed the move and have kept it from moving forward through legal challenges. In the latest setback to the program, a federal appeals court ruled on Nov. 9 that the program overstepped the president's authority. Now Obama wants the Supreme Court to hear the case.

Most Republican candidates for president oppose Obama's plan. But that doesn't mean there isn't room for compromise.

So far, talk about bigger border walls has dominated the Republican primary, but it doesn't have to remain that way.

After Kasich's comments, former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush added his thoughts, saying that deporting millions of people is "not possible" and "not embracing American values."

"It would tear communities apart," Bush said. "And it would send a signal that we're not the kind of country that I know America is."

Haven't heard about South Africa's gripping protests? 11 quick points will get you up to speed.

An amazing thing happened in South Africa this month when the government tried to raise university tuition.

Students fought back. And they won.

A demonstration against fee hikes in Johannesburg on Oct. 22, 2015. Photo by Gianluigi Guercia/AFP/Getty Images.

Over the past few weeks, thousands of students flooded the streets, voicing their frustration with a proposed hike in tuition fees. The movement gained steam when the hashtag #FeesMustFall started trending on Twitter. Next stop: some serious international attention for their cause.

The student movement became so vocal and widespread that on Oct. 23, 2015, South African President Jacob Zuma agreed to freeze tuition increases at public universities for the next year.

That's right: They fought, and they won. For all of you students in the U.S. (or anywhere in the world) facing a mountain of student-loan debt, this is a pretty inspiring moment.

The protests are about way more than just college costs, though, and we'll get to that in a minute.

Here are the 11 things you need to know about the movement (and why it isn't over yet):

1. It all started at Johannesburg's University of the Witwatersrand (known as "Wits") after a proposed a tuition hike.

Students were outraged when the government proposed a 10.5% fee increase.

A young woman marches through the Wits campus on Oct. 21. Photo by Marco Longari/AFP/Getty Images.

2. Protesters were particularly upset because they felt the higher costs would disproportionately affect black students.

South Africa may have overcome apartheid in 1994, but that didn't lead to economic equality between races. According to South Africa's 2011 census, the average annual income for black households amounted to roughly $8,700, which was about one-sixth of what white households earned.

The New York Times reports that tuition at Wits ranged from $2,400 to $3,500 in 2015. And some other public universities in South Africa are more expensive.

Protesters on the Wits campus. Photo by Marco Longari/AFP/Getty Images.

3. There was a serious ripple effect, with classes at several universities canceled due to demonstrations.

The cancellations were especially disruptive because exams were set to begin in the coming weeks. Some universities remained closed at the start of the week.

4. The protests weren't always peaceable.

On Oct. 21, police fired tear gas at students who stormed the gates of the country's parliament in Cape Town. During a rally two days later outside government offices in Pretoria — the country's de facto capital — a small group of demonstrators threw rocks at police, and authorities responded with stun guns and water cannons.

Most recently, police fired stun grenades and arrested a student during a protest at Wits on Oct. 28.

Students from the University of Cape Town clash with police after they forced their way into the South African parliament on Oct. 21. Photo by Rodger Bosch/AFP/Getty Images.

5. Three women are leaders in the protest movement — and are winning admiration.

The incoming student council president at Wits, Nompendulo Mkhatshwa, has been a leading voice of the movement.

"The youth have been saying that a revolution is coming, and indeed we are at the door of it if not in it already," she told Destiny Man, a South African men's magazine.

A series of three mini-profiles in South Africa's City Press highlights the work of Mkhatshwa alongside two other leaders: Shaeera Kalla, the outgoing student council president at Wits, and Jodi Williams, a political science student at Stellenbosch University.

“In social justice movements, most of the time leadership positions are hijacked by men," she told City Press. "We are turning the tables."

6. This is about more than just tuition.

In March, students at the University of Cape Town defaced a statue of British colonialist Cecil John Rhodes and went on to protest until it was removed from campus. The goal? Student activists feel it's time to "decolonize" education throughout the country, and the current demonstrations are a part of that movement.

The statue is removed on April 9. Photo by Rodger Bosch/AFP/Getty Images.

Photo by Charlie Shoemaker/Getty Images.

7. Youth activists want these protests to make history.

Students called the Oct. 23 march on Pretoria "historic." And with more than 10,000 demonstrators attending, they might just be right.

Writing for CNN, Wits graduate Basani Baloyi and researcher Gilad Isaacs compared the action to an apartheid-era youth uprising in Soweto, a black urban enclave in Johannesburg, where students fought a landmark battle for educational rights.

"Not since the Soweto Uprising of 1976 have this many youth arisen to demand the right to quality and accessible education."

8. The economic divide is a big part of the problem.

University fee increases are nothing new in South Africa; BBC reports that annual tuition hikes in South Africa range between 7% and 14%. But broader economic factors could be playing a part in students getting tired of those ongoing increases.

Since the fall of apartheid, the incomes of whites and Asians have grown significantly while black incomes have been "nearly flat," according to Pew Research Center.

Students from Stellenbosch University protest against fee hikes on Oct. 23. Photo by Rodger Bosch/AFP/Getty Images.

9. The protests could provide a boost to opposition political parties.

Since the end of apartheid, the African National Congress has pretty much run the show when it comes to South African politics. Now, opposition groups are hoping to capitalize on the frustrations of protesters and make headway during municipal elections next year.

A sign outside the ACN headquarters on Oct. 22. Photo by Marco Longari/AFP/Getty Images.

10. This movement has spread far beyond South Africa.

Supporters of the movement have gathered in London, New York, and even Duke University in North Carolina.

11. The students? They aren't done yet.

President Zuma announced on Oct. 23 that he would freeze fees, which is a major victory for the movement:

"Government understands the difficulty faced by students from poor households and urges all affected to allow the process to unfold to find long-term solutions in order to ensure access to education by all students."

But some students are vowing to continue their activism until the government provides free education to all South Africans.

Even if the #FeesMustFall movement cools down in the days ahead, this doesn't look like the end of youth activism in South Africa.

There is an enormous economic divide along racial lines in South Africa right now. And until that's been addressed in a more comprehensive way, young people will continue to demand justice.

They're fleeing violence to an uncertain future.

This 76-year-old Greek baker has a new routine.

Every morning, Dionysis Arvanitakis asks his workers to make an extra 200 pounds of bread and pastries.

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

He then heads down to the port in his home of Kos, a Greek island in the Aegean Sea where an estimated 200,000 refugees have landed this year after fleeing conflicts in Iraq, Syria, and Afghanistan, among other places. He passes out the loaves of bread to hungry migrants — a warm welcome for the often-weary travelers.

This is one of roughly a dozen stories captured by Humans of New York, a photo project that offers a glimpse into a person's life.

The photographer behind the effort, Brandon Stanton, was on the road in Europe, listening to the experiences of refugees and the people who have greeted them.

Here are some of the stories he's heard since launching the 10-day project on Sept. 25:

1. A baker who knows what it's like to be a migrant

So what motivates a person to devote their time, energy, and money to helping newcomers? For Arvanitakis, it's because he knows what it's like to be one.

He moved from Greece to Australia as a teenager and ended up sleeping on the street. His thoughts on the crisis, via Humans of New York:

"My father was a farmer and we had eight siblings. I went to Australia when I was fifteen because my family didn't have enough to eat. I was on a boat for forty days. When I got there, I couldn't find a job, I couldn't speak English, and I had to sleep on the street. I know what it's like. So everyday I drive the van to the port and hand out bread to the refugees. My son is my business partner. He says, 'Baba, please. It's fine to help. But not every day.' But I still go every day because I know what it feels like to have nothing."

2. Feeling grateful for a small gift

This group photographed in Lesbos, another Greek island in the Aegean (also written as Lesvos), appeared to have little to ease their journey to Europe but took comfort in a gift from a priest.

"Everyone here has been very nice to us. When we got to the beach, there were people there who gave us food and a hug. A priest even gave us this carpet to pray on. He told us: 'We have the same God.'"

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

3. A grief-stricken woman who lost her husband

She and her husband boarded a boat jam-packed with people — so overloaded that the luggage had to be thrown overboard. When it began to sink, her husband gave his life jacket to a woman, she said. She was later rescued; he wasn't found.

“My husband and I sold everything we had to afford the journey. We worked 15 hours a day in Turkey until we had enough money to leave. The smuggler put 152 of us on a boat. Once we saw the boat, many of us wanted to go back, but he told us that anyone who turned back would not get a refund. We had no choice. Both the lower compartment and the deck were filled with people. Waves began to come into the boat so the captain told everyone to throw their baggage into the sea. In the ocean we hit a rock, but the captain told us not to worry. Water began to come into the boat, but again he told us not to worry. We were in the lower compartment and it began to fill with water. It was too tight to move. Everyone began to scream. We were the last ones to get out alive. My husband pulled me out of the window. In the ocean, he took off his life jacket and gave it to a woman. We swam for as long as possible. After several hours he told me he that he was too tired to swim and that he was going to float on his back and rest. It was so dark we could not see. The waves were high. I could hear him calling me but he got further and further away. Eventually a boat found me. They never found my husband."

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

4. Families seeking refuge

Before they left home, this mother told her son that nearby explosions were far away. Then tragedy struck.

"They fired rockets from a mountain near our house. They were very loud, and every time he heard them, he'd run into his room and close the door. We'd tell him fake stories. We'd tell him that there was nothing to worry about, and that the rockets were far away and they would never reach us. Then one day after school he was waiting in a line of school buses. And a rocket hit the bus in front of him. Four of his friends were killed."

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

5. A vital effort from volunteers

This family has aided thousands of migrants as they've arrived in Greece, handing out sandwiches, juice, and water. Even their son has noticed how serious the crisis has become.

“In the past four months alone, we've had twelve thousand refugees stop here. We know because we've counted the sandwiches that we've handed out. They show up battered and beaten. We set up this rest area along the road to hand out sandwiches, juice, and water. One night we had one thousand people here. You could see nothing but heads. We're not professionals, just volunteers. The families break our heart the most. They show up with no money, no papers, and no hotels. Sometimes it's raining and they have nothing but cardboard over their heads. They have nothing for their children, and we know how hard it is to raise kids even in standard conditions. Our son hasn't seen very much of us recently. Even when we are together, the phone is always ringing and we are absent in mind. Recently he asked if we could build a big boat and send the refugees somewhere that there is no war."

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

6. A father desperate to provide a better future for his daughter

"She hasn't known many happy moments," he told Stanton. The man recalled a powerful scene as the family boarded a small boat to Greece.

"I wish I could have done more for her. Her life has been nothing but struggle. She hasn't known many happy moments. She never had a chance to taste childhood. When we were getting on the plastic boat, I heard her say something that broke my heart. She saw her mother being crushed by the crowd, and she screamed: 'Please don't kill my mother! Kill me instead!'"

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

7. A traumatized young girl

Stanton approached a young girl and asked to speak to her mother. The request seemed simple enough, but it triggered a look he described as "uncontrollable fear." A life on the run had conditioned her to expect the worst.

"The extent to which refugee children have been conditioned by their environment is heartbreaking. We wanted permission to take this young girl's photograph, so we asked if her mother was nearby. Her eyes filled with the most uncontrollable fear that I've ever seen in a child. 'Why do you want my mother?' she asked. Later, her parents told us how the family had crouched in the woods while soldiers ransacked their house in Syria. More recently they'd been chased through the woods by Turkish police. After we'd spent a few minutes talking with her parents, she returned to being a child and could not stop hugging us, and laughing, and saying 'I love you so much.' But I went to sleep that night remembering the terror on her face when we first asked to speak to her mother."

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

8. A man who wants to see his brother healthy again

After a sniper shot his brother, he thought the injuries would be fatal, the man told Stanton. His brother survived but needs medical attention, something he's hoping to find in Germany.

"A friend called me at work and told me that a sniper had shot my youngest brother. I rushed to the clinic and he was lying there with a bandage on his head. I unwrapped the bandage to help treat the wound with alcohol, and small pieces of brain were stuck to it. The doctor told me: 'Unless you get him to Damascus, he will die.' I panicked. The road to Damascus went straight through Raqqa and was very dangerous. It took ten hours, because we could only take back roads and we had to drive very far out of the way. My brother was in the back seat, and after a very short time he started to vomit bile. Water was pouring from his eyes. I didn't know what to do. I was so scared. I thought for sure he was dying. But somehow I got him to the hospital. He's paralyzed now and his speech is slow. His memory is OK. He can remember old things. He needs an operation in his eye. We used to do everything together, and now he can't do anything. He can only move his hand. I'm trying to get him to Germany because I hear that maybe the doctors there can help him."

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

9. Finding a friend when you need one most

This young man was taken under the wing of a baker in Austria (these bakers have big hearts!) who helped him settle there. He studied German intensely to help obtain legal immigration status in the country.

"After one month, I arrived in Austria. The first day I was there, I walked into a bakery and met a man named Fritz Hummel. He told me that forty years ago he had visited Syria and he'd been treated well. So he gave me clothes, food, everything. He became like a father to me. He took me to the Rotary Club and introduced me to the entire group. He told them my story and asked: 'How can we help him?' I found a church, and they gave me a place to live. Right away I committed myself to learning the language. I practiced German for 17 hours a day. I read children's stories all day long. I watched television. I tried to meet as many Austrians as possible. After seven months, it was time to meet with a judge to determine my status. I could speak so well at this point, that I asked the judge if we could conduct the interview in German. He couldn't believe it. He was so impressed that I'd already learned German, that he interviewed me for only ten minutes. Then he pointed at my Syrian ID card and said: 'Muhammad, you will never need this again. You are now an Austrian!'"

Photo by Brandon Stanton/Humans of New York, used with permission.

Sometimes the political debate over immigration can muffle the human stories.

The scale of the refugee crisis can seem overwhelming. According to The New York Times, six countries — Germany, Austria, Hungary, Sweden, the Netherlands, and Finland — expect 1.3 million asylum applications by the end of the year.

But these stories help us remember that behind each of these numbers is a person, someone willing to risk their life for a better future.

From Your Site Articles

When your first day in America means hiding from Border Patrol.

José Miguel Cáceres is a 20-year-old who left Guatemala earlier this year to seek asylum in the U.S.

Here's the story of his first 24 hours at the border, in his own words.

First we arrived there, Camargo. That's the Mexican border with the United States. We were there in a house for four days.

It was a normal house. There were children and their mom and her husband there. Like a normal family. There were six of us, only men. Three of us who were there were from Guatemala, one Nicaraguan and two Salvadorans. I'm 20 years old. The others were 20, 22, 25, all the way up to 40.

We were eating well and able to wash ourselves and everything during those four days. We had everything we needed. On the fourth day, they decided to get us to cross the river.

We left the house in Camargo at five in the afternoon. They picked us up in a white truck and it was only a five-minute ride to the river. We sat in the back and we were covered. We had to be covered because if the army had seen us, they might have killed us or handed us over to immigration.

Once we got to the riverbank, we got out and started to walk. That's when the famous immigration helicopter showed up, the one from the United States.

The helicopter went around in a circle and then lowered a little when it saw us. From there, we dove down on the ground where there were some hills, and we stayed down there a little while. There were lots of plants and thorns.

Illustrations by Kitty Curran/Upworthy

The people from immigration weren't able to see us. The helicopter rose back up, and then from there, it did another circle. That was when we got up and started to run. We ran toward the riverbank so that they wouldn't see where we were. I imagine that maybe they let us go because it's Mexican territory and they weren't able to come down and arrest us. And it was just six people.

When we were watching the helicopter, we were all nervous, all tense. A few of the guys I was with had already been in the U.S. They knew what would happen, how we would suffer if we were caught before we crossed. It's better that they catch you here in the United States than catch you in Mexico. Because throughout Mexico there's a lot of corruption and the police work together with the drug traffickers.

I was coming to the United States because the gangs were extorting me in my neighborhood in Guatemala.

A group of people wanted me to give them money. I was working at McDonald's and they would show up there and ask for money. They would also call my cell phone and home. There were times when they actually came to my neighborhood.

I paid them 3,000 quetzales once, which is about $400. I was a target because I was working and because my family lived in the United States. When they asked me to pay again, I refused. Then they threatened me. They told me they wanted money and if I didn't give it, they were going to kill me. So I spoke with my parents and they immediately sent to bring me here. This was the best option.

I was thinking a lot about my family, my friends, and my girlfriend and her family in Guatemala during the trip. I knew that wherever I was, they were always there with me and supporting me.

So we started running again after the helicopter left. We ran and then we found ourselves another little piece of a hill. Then from there, our guide explained what we were going to do. And he told us that we were going to walk for 15 minutes, to the right.

“OK, 15 minutes," we told ourselves. But 15 minutes became an hour and a half. We walked a good bit, maybe five miles along the river.

We had two guides. They were Mexican, normal people, young, just like us. There was one who had gotten caught maybe a month before. He had a visa or residency here in the United States. But when they caught him bringing people over, they took it away.

When we reached the point where we would cross the river to the United States, we started to inflate the raft.

We were going to inflate it with a pump they brought, but they lost a piece and they had to go back to look for it. We tried to blow it up ourselves, but it was too big. So better to go back and look for the missing piece.

We stayed there, hidden in the brush until one of them came back with the piece and they started to inflate it. "It's good," they told us.

There was just one raft for everyone, for eight people. We needed a raft because the river is very deep and the current is very strong. And the river has whirlpools inside it. That's why many people aren't able to cross. Because they try to swim, but it's too strong.

At that moment, what we were most afraid of was that someone might fall off the raft and into the river. I can't swim, but they gave us life vests.

On one hand, I felt calm because I was using a raft. But on the other hand, I was nervous because an immigration boat could come at any time. And they could arrest us or something.

The raft seemed safe, but it's not.

If the raft hits a wire or maybe a pointy tree branch, even just once, then it can break. Yes, it can break. Then it would send everyone down into the river. We would sink.

We climbed into the raft. There was a person who was rowing and he started to row. It took maybe five minutes to cross and we arrived on the other side. When we finished crossing, it was already dark.

On the other side of the river, the American side, there were woods.

There were plants, trees, and roots all over. We started to climb up a little hill and then they told us to wait a moment.

We waited for five minutes or so and then they gave us instructions for what to do. They told us, "Look, we're going to walk for 15 minutes, that's it. And then someone will show up who will get us in a pickup. The pickup will be there already, waiting. Just a little further."

The walk wasn't hard because there was a dirt road. I think it was for agricultural workers. There are a lot of agricultural companies there, all sorts of companies. Pickup trucks go by there.

When we started to walk, it was around 9 p.m., so there wasn't any light. The sun was down.

Everyone was silent. The one person who said anything was the guide.

He told us what we had to do. He told us first that he wanted us to stay quiet, that we should walk in a line, and that the last one in the back was going to look to make sure no one was coming from behind. If the last person sees someone coming, then warn him.

He said that if we got in a row and went quickly that everything was going to be OK. And that we were going to be with our families soon. They were almost like professionals. I think they cross two groups each day, one in the morning and the other one in the afternoon. They weren't with us for the whole trip. They just cross people over, that's it.

We walked the 15 minutes. Then a guide told us there was a light, and we threw ourselves down in the woods out of fear.

We were worried that someone would be able to see us and was going to arrest us or something like that. There were more thorns on the ground, but when you're in this situation, you don't remember that there are thorns on the ground. We just threw ourselves down.

But then the light passed and they told us, "No, no. It's gone." We continued walking and we arrived at the place where the pickup was supposed to be. But the pickup still hadn't arrived and the guides were worried. They were afraid, too, because if immigration came, the agents would go for them, too.

After all we had gone through, there was a moment of tension because the pickup wasn't where it should have been. So the guides started to call and call and call. We thought about going back.

We were there for 10 minutes, not a long time. But in 10 minutes, you can think about a lot of things. Then suddenly the pickup arrived. "You need to go to the pickup," he said, "but you should go running." The truck was a red GMC and it already had the doors open for us.

We went running to the pickup and since it was night, no one saw us.

We all got in. From there, the driver turned around and we went to a city called Rio Grande.

The last time I had eaten was in the afternoon, but I wasn't hungry. When this is happening, you don't remember if you're hungry or thirsty. All you want is to get out of the situation.

Luckily, we weren't wet. We only got our feet wet, since when we put the raft in the water, we had to climb up. And it was March, so the weather was good. It was a nice day, not too cold, not too hot. I remember the day, it was March 9.

I wore a black sweatshirt, with jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. That's it, they wouldn't let you carry more clothes. I wore them for the whole trip, 10 days.

When we arrived in Rio Grande, we were in a house for about 15 minutes.

It was a nice house and there was a family there. They were good people and they asked us if we wanted something to drink, a soda or a beer. They gave us crackers, something small. They asked if we wanted water, purified water.

The house was pretty big. It had more than one level and maybe five or six rooms, with three trucks parked outside. There was a man, his wife, and a little girl. The man was very nice. They spoke English and they barely spoke Spanish. But two of the guys I was with spoke a little English.

And from there, another young man arrived in a truck and told us, "OK, we're going to McAllen." And then he got us from the house and we got in the truck, a Honda CRV.

We traveled to McAllen and he told us that no matter what — even if the police stop us — we should say we don't know him, that we were just hitchhiking.

There were a lot of police on the highway. We passed 10 patrol cars at one point. We thought they were going to stop us, but they had stopped another person. They had just found a shipment of marijuana and we saw the packages. That's probably what made it so easy for us to pass by at that moment.

The driver was relaxed, though. He was from the United States, but he spoke Spanish. He was 29 or 30 and was wearing boots and a big hat.

It was about 20 minutes from where we were to McAllen. He was playing music and everything. He played Spanish rock music. Maná.

From there, they took us to an auto mechanic shop, where there they told us that two of us would go to an apartment with one guy and the other four would go with another guy. So this is where the group separated.

I went with my friend, the other Guatemalan. They were worried that immigration might check on one of the apartments. This way, if they found one group, they wouldn't get all six of us.

They took us to the apartment, my friend and me.

The apartment wasn't so big. It just had two rooms. One was where the person who was coordinating everything lived. The boss of the operation. In the other room, that was for three of us: me, the other Guatemalan, and a Honduran.

When we arrived at the apartment, it was like 11 p.m. The the Honduran gave us clothes to change into because we were dirty. He told us that the next day we could go to the laundromat.

The room had a television with cable, but no decorations. Just a mattress for him, a mattress for us, a television, and nothing else. That was the room. Oh, and a microwave.

He asked if we were hungry. "Yes, of course," we told him. Then he went to get us food from a restaurant.

We had tacos with beans, a different type than in Mexico. But at that point, anything would have been good. We were really hungry. We stuffed ourselves.

He came and he pulled out a mattress that he had there. He pulled it out and said, "You can sleep here." Then he gave us two sheets. We ate and talked awhile about the experience we had just had. We spoke about the helicopter and all that, about the walking, because we walked a lot. And we thanked God for getting us across uneventfully.

The Honduran guy had already been here six months. He had been living in the apartment, waiting for the right moment to try to pass through the Border Patrol checkpoint on the way to Houston. They were waiting for a rainy day because immigration doesn't go out much when it rains.

After an hour, at maybe 12 a.m., we said, “OK, we're going to sleep because it's time to rest. We've had a rough day."

The Honduran had his own bed and we had a mattress for the two of us. I laid down on the mattress and gave thanks to God for getting us across safely.

I was thankful because there are many people who don't cross the river.

Many people get left behind in the desert. And there are many people who are caught crossing the river. We were lucky to have gotten this far. And we had already gotten through the hardest part.

And from there, we went to sleep. We slept until 9 a.m. the next day and then had breakfast. After a little while, he told us, "Let's go to the shop." The mechanic's shop was only a few blocks away. They didn't want us to stay there alone in the room with nothing to do.

So we walked to the shop to get a change of scenery.

In the shop, we found ways to pass the time. We got to check on some cars and take a few things apart. I don't normally work on cars, but I was watching. There were three mechanics, so we could go with any of those three. If we had any questions about cars, we could ask them. It helped us pass the time more quickly.

A selfie José Miguel took of himself during his time in McAllen. Photo by José Miguel Cáceres, used with permission.

The boss of the operation — who was supposed to help get us to Houston — he was the head of the shop. He had other people who were going to take us to Houston. The shop was big, but he didn't have his own house, just the apartment. He was American, but his mother and father were Honduran and he was born here.

We stayed there until 4 p.m., more or less. When we walked home, the neighborhood was calm. There wasn't traffic and there weren't any people walking around. The street was nice and quiet and there weren't any problems.

Editor's note

I spoke with José Miguel in July at his family's apartment in Arlington, Virginia, where he told me about his first day in the U.S., as well as what came afterward.

He spent five days at the safe house in McAllen while smugglers waited for the right moment to circumvent a Border Patrol checkpoint on the road to Houston. The attempt failed, however, and he was apprehended with 10 other migrants.

He was detained by federal immigration authorities for nearly four months, with most of the time spent at a detention center in Louisiana, far from his family. He was released on bond in mid-July and currently hopes to receive asylum in the U.S.

This is just one story. According to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, from Oct. 1, 2014, to July 31, 2015, Border Patrol agents made 270,818 apprehensions on the Southwest border — numbers that are lower than last year, but still significant. Many of these people were fleeing violence, poverty, and persecution. Others hoped to reunite with relatives on the other side.

Share this story and help more people understand the reality at the border.

*This text has been edited for narrative flow, grammar, and clarity.

A think tank looks to revive Puerto Rico's stagnant economy.

When Miguel Columna graduated high school in 2006, he followed a pathway that had become common for many of his peers in Puerto Rico: He packed up his bags and left the island.

Columna visiting Culebra, a small island off the eastern coast of Puerto Rico, in Dec. 2013. Photo used with permission.

The now-26-year-old Columna jetted off to Washington, D.C., to study economics and political science at American University. After that, he took a job with the Obama administration, working as a special assistant to the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission.

His story isn't that uncommon.

From 2010 to 2013, more Puerto Ricans left the island than during the entirety of the 1980s and 1990s, according to a report by the Pew Research Center.

The ongoing economic crisis in Puerto Rico is a big reason why so many people are heading out.

Puerto Rico, one of five remaining U.S. territories, is bogged down by a whopping $72 billion in debt and hasn't been able to pay its bills. At this point, some experts say declaring bankruptcy is its best bet because that would allow the government to renegotiate the terms of its debts. But since Puerto Rico is a U.S. territory (sort of like a state, but not really), it can't declare bankruptcy without approval from Congress.

With the Puerto Rican economy in shambles and no promise of relief on the horizon, a net average of roughly 48,000 people per year left the island for the mainland between 2010 and 2013 — and the trend continues today.

Movers pack up a woman's apartment in July as she prepared to move from San Juan to Orlando, Florida. Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images.

But folks like Columna are finding a silver lining to the huge numbers of people leaving Puerto Rico behind.

While some see the mass exodus as brain drain — losing ambitious young people to places like New York and Miami — Columna, a transplant himself, envisions his scattered compatriots as a global network, capable of performing “brain circulation" that could bring knowledge, connections, and capital back to Puerto Rico.

His idea: Why not reach out to the millions of Puerto Ricans living outside the island to help promote economic growth back home?

Back in 2012, Columna joined forces with Isabel Rullán, another Puerto Rican working in the Obama administration, to form ConPRmetidos, a think tank that uses public-private partnerships to spark economic development on the island. This July, they launched a new project, the Puerto Rico Global Initiative, focused on connecting Puerto Ricans at home and on the U.S. mainland.

They see the millions of Puerto Rican transplants and their children as potential ambassadors to attract investment in the island.

“We're leveraging the fact that we have this sales force that is untapped," Columna told Upworthy. “It's all these Puerto Ricans who are abroad, who are in decision-making positions."

Of course, even if investments like these succeed, they alone won't solve the island's deep financial woes. For that reason, Columna also wants Congress to allow Puerto Rico to declare bankruptcy.

In the meantime, the group is continuing its more practical work: building connections with Puerto Ricans living abroad who can help bring investments back to their home, in areas such as real estate, energy, and tourism.

Bianca Cabán, a 27-year-old entrepreneur, investor, and philanthropist based in Manhattan, is one of the people who received a boost from Puerto Rico Global.

Cabán (right) with Melissa Mark-Viverito, the speaker of the New York City Council, at a July 2014 event in the Bronx. Photo used with permission.

Both Cabán and her parents were born and raised in New York City, but she still has relatives living in Puerto Rico and would like to see the economy rebound. With a degree in economics and political science from Harvard and experience working for Credit Suisse and Atlas Merchant Capital — an investment firm focusing on emerging global markets — she has the perfect background for a project like this.

In late 2014, she learned about a pilot version of Puerto Rico Global and its mission to connect professionals on the island and around the world. She became an ambassador for the organization but also says they've been “incredibly supportive" when it comes to executing her ideas.

In December, Cabán left her job to pursue investment opportunities in Puerto Rico full time.

At her uncle's house in Rincón, Puerto Rico, during a December 2013 visit. Photo used with permission.

Cabán says she was spurred on by the advice of former Harvard President Lawrence Summers, who also served as a senior adviser for Atlas. She remembers hearing him say to “never waste a crisis," a message that she took to heart. “I saw the opportunity to do well and do good," she says.

So far, she's pitched investors on several business deals in Puerto Rico around real estate and the energy sector, as well as entertainment and medical cannabis. She heads to the island every five to six weeks — staying with friends or in hotels — but would like to establish a business office, if not a home, in San Juan.

Cabán says working with Puerto Rico Global has been "invaluable." Although she grew up visiting the island once or twice a year, she didn't have deep contacts in government or business before now.

“They really helped me get plugged in to that whole system and helped introduce me to the most important people that I needed to know," she says.

Interested in joining the Puerto Rico Global Initiative? Visit them here.

A work permit can change your life.

Jaime Ballesteros first realized just how much his immigration status mattered when he started looking at colleges.

He didn't have a Social Security number — and without that, he wouldn't be able to apply for schools alongside his peers, who were considering colleges like Harvard and Yale.

He knew what was wrong. Born in the Philippines, Jaime came to the U.S. with his parents and older brother when he was 11 years old. His father had a temporary work visa tied to his job as an accountant, which allowed him to bring his wife and children with him.

Jaime at roughly age 6 in Bacolod City, where his family lived in the Philippines. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

Then the recession hit. Jaime's father lost his job in 2007, which meant their visas would expire.

His family went from living the American Dream to immigration fugitives in the course of a year.

The timing couldn't have been worse, either. Jaime was looking at colleges and didn't know how to handle questions about citizenship and legal residency. He turned to one of the few people he thought he could trust, Ms. Solberg, his English teacher.

“She was the first person I came out to as an undocumented person," he told Upworthy. “I was very afraid of putting my family in harm's way."

During his time at Drew University, in December 2011. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

She helped him apply to college, a decision that set him on the path for success. The biggest impediment was money — as an undocumented immigrant, he wasn't eligible for federal financial aid and loans. But after struggling through several applications, he connected with an admissions counselor at Drew University, a liberal arts college in New Jersey. The school was able to offer enough in scholarships to cover his tuition.

He also got a boost from a new immigration policy rolled out in 2012, during his junior year at Drew. The Obama administration announced a program that would allow young undocumented immigrants like him to live and work in the U.S. legally. He applied and was approved.

But he never forgot the support he received from Ms. Solberg.

When Jaime graduated college, he joined Teach for America. Now he's a high school chemistry teacher in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles.

At the Ánimo College Preparatory Academy, where he teaches chemistry. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

On the first day of class, he told his students — many of them immigrants, as well — that he was undocumented. “I want them to be comfortable approaching me," he said.

Stories like Jaime's are becoming more and more common.

The program that gave Jaime a pathway to become a teacher — Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) — has allowed more than 664,000 people to work legally in the U.S.

Teachers make up a portion of those newly employed young people, a fact recognized by the White House last week when it handed out Champions of Change awards to nine young teachers, all of whom have work authorization through DACA.

The nine teachers awarded Champions of Change awards by the White House. Photo courtesy of The White House.

The awards typically go to innovative American workers across the spectrum. This time around, all of the recipients were people who either overstayed a visa or entered the country illegally.

Now they're able to live in the U.S. without fear of imminent deportation.

Congrats to Jaime and the eight other educators honored by the White House this week:

1. Kasfia Islam, who moved from Bangladesh to a small town in Texas with her parents at age 6.

Photo courtesy of Kasfia Islam.

As a pre-kindergarten teacher, she said she's careful to watch for students who are learning English and might not understand.

“[The students] want to communicate so badly with you, but they don't have the means to do it, so it can be frustrating for them," she said.

2. Marissa Molina, who came to the U.S. from the Mexican state of Chihuahua when she was 9 years old.

Photo courtesy of Marissa Molina.

After years of hiding her immigration status, Molina feels validated to be able to accept an award from the White House and speak publicly about her situation — for herself and others like her.

“I feel really overwhelmed with emotion," she said about the award. "For many years, I was made to believe that people like me didn't belong in these spaces."

3. Luis Juarez Trevino, whose family brought him to Texas as a child, seeking a better life.

Photo courtesy of Luis Juarez Trevino.

As an immigrant student without much money, Trevino saw college and a professional career as a long shot. “The odds were against me," he said in an email.

“Teachers truly took the time to motivate me, care for my wellbeing, and push me outside of my comfort zone."

4. David Liendo Uriona, who came to the U.S. from Bolivia for a karate tournament and never returned.

Photo courtesy of David Liendo Uriona.

Uriona didn't think college would be an option for him, since he had been living in the U.S. without legal status since he was 14.

“When I was in high school, I felt dejected as result of my lack of documentation," he said. “I know from firsthand experience that there are many students that felt like me in high school, and teaching them that their dreams can come true is one of my biggest motivations."

5. Maria Dominguez, who came to the U.S. when she was 9, after her father — who was living in Texas as a legal resident — passed away in a car accident.

Photo courtesy of Maria Dominguez.

Dominguez said her mother didn't intend to keep the family in Texas after her father's death, but that Austin soon became their home and they joined the estimated 1.5 million undocumented immigrants in the state.

“The Champions of Change Award is allowing me to represent my community, a community that has a voice and a face but that chooses to live in the shadows because they are afraid to share their stories," she told Upworthy.

6. Yara Hidalgo, whose family brought her to California as a 1-year-old from Nayarit, a state in Western Mexico.

Photo courtesy of Yara Hidalgo.

Hidalgo knew from a young age that she wanted to be a teacher, but her experience as an undocumented high schooler — fearing deportation and unsure of her future — steeled her resolve.

"I believe that through education we can promote and be catalysts of progressive change," she said. "Some of our systems are broken and we need to fix them."

7. Rosario Quiroz Villarreal, whose mother brought her from the border state of Coahuila, Mexico, to Oakland, California, at age 7 so they could reunite with her father.

Photo courtesy of Rosario Quiroz Villarreal.

Throughout her life, educators supported her following her professional dreams. She wants to pay that back by guiding others in the same way.

“Growing up undocumented was challenging, given the times I've been rejected because of the lack of a Social Security number," she said. “This validates years of efforts and tells me my work matters."

8. Dinorah Flores Perez, who was 5 years old when her parents brought her from Mexico to the U.S.

Photo courtesy of The White House.

Flores Perez said she "detested" school as a child and chose her profession to make things better for other students.

"I remember feeling invisible, afraid, and insecure in my academic abilities," she said. "I seek to be a different teacher and see my students' limitations as a catapult to change their realities."

These teachers are just a few examples of how much a work permit matters to someone who is in the country without legal status but wants to contribute to their community.