Two rooms.
Friday night. Storytelling.
Tuesday afternoon. Lifetelling.
Both filled with community and memories.
The first, mine. A cafe filled with friends, family, and stories of heartbreak, misunderstandings, choices, humor, and resilience. One by one, we tell stories to illuminate all the ways we are wildly unique and simultaneously similar in our humanity.
The second, a courtroom. A cavernous space filled with those who are attempting to survive. One by one they stand in front of the judge. They are not on trial.
The headline: "I-5 crash that killed 7 farmworkers among deadliest in Oregon history."*
And yet.
One by one, they speak through translators, pleading their humanity, defending their need for justice.
And yet.
"Many survivors said they came to the U.S. looking for a better life and were hard workers who always followed the law. Several cried throughout their testimony."
"Witnesses described the crash as a gruesome and violent scene. Emergency responders said it was the most horrific incident they'd ever seen. One emergency responder testified medics struggled initially to determine how many people had been in the van because of the severity of the damage."
"Smith testified he was under pressure to make his deliveries on time but recognized he was too tired that day and needed to stop early."
“There's nothing I can say today that’s gonna take away or replace the pain and the loss ..." [Judge] Wren said. "They were just out there working, looking forward to coming home and seeing their families, and now they don’t get to do that because Mr. Smith did not pull over to the side of the road when he realized two hours before that he should have."
I am a visitor here, on a bench in the back, wishing I could place a hand on these bodies heaving with anguish. I wait, like they do, for the sentencing. I listen to their stories as they remember who they were before the accident, who they are now, and all they have lost.
Will it bring them peace?
I look at my husband at the front of the courtroom, remaining stoic and focused on the victims and their families. What many of them don't know is that he had been at the scene of the accident on May 18, 2023 (on call again) walking through what many have described as a war zone. He stands before this judge and this grieving community. As the DA, he is not on trial, and yet. He defends their humanity; he pleads for their justice. He has been firm that those in the audience will tell their stories before he makes sentencing recommendations. He shares images of the deceased—seven slides with an image of before and a name. He asks for the absolute maximum. Will today bring him peace? Will he finally be able to sleep?
"Driver gets 48 years in prison for I-5 crash that killed 7 farmworkers in 2023"
We tell stories so that we can live. To chart where we have been, who we have loved, how we have grieved, mistakes we have made and course corrections along the way---confirmation that we matter(ed). These stories are not contingent on our point of origin or the arbitrary political lines that want us to believe that some lives matter less than others. We tell stories so that those who survive us can have a piece of us; so that we can live on for just a little while longer.
The final headline. I propose an amendment:
"Driver gets 48 years in prison for I-5 crash that recklessly killed 7 farmworkers [mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, grandchildren] in 2023:
Juan Carlos Leyva-Carrillo
Gabriel Juarez-Tovilla
Alejandra Espinoza-Carpio
Eduardo Lopez-Lopez
Luis Enrique Gomez-Reyes
Alejandro Jimenez Hernandez
Josue Garcia-Garcia
and recklessly causing serious [mental and] physical injury to:
Jose Eduardo Solis-Flores
Maria Flores-Martinez
Ibis Torres Rangel
Adan Garcia-Garcia"
How we tell the story also matters.
*Source: The Statesman Journal. "Lincoln Smith sentenced for Oregon crash that killed 7 farmworkers"
Image: Abigail Dollins, The Statesman Journal
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