The headline came first. Homicide in San Juan Capistrano. It happened three houses down from where I live.
Then came the comments. I won’t repeat them here. You’ve seen comments like them before: the labels, the guesses, the quick verdicts from people who never knew his name.
By the end of the thread, a man had been reduced to the worst thing anyone could imagine about him and a few people seemed glad he was gone.
That’s what a headline can do. It takes a whole human being and hands the internet a caricature. His name was Valentín.
A day later, the aftermath led me to his mother’s living room. This is the second child she has buried. Her daughter died years ago from medical complications and now here she was again, sitting across from me, as I explained GoFundMe withdrawals and Victim Compensation Board forms while her heart was somewhere else entirely.
Long after the headline was gone, after the comment sections had moved on to the next tragedy, I met his kids. I met his partner. I sat with his mother. Through their grief, they told me about their Valentín, a different one than the one the internet invented.
A man filled with love for his kids. A man who woke up grateful to have the people he loved around him.
That’s the Valentín who existed. The other one was a story told by strangers who needed him to be someone they could be separated from.
Paul writes, “The eye cannot say to the hand, I don’t need you!’” and “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it.“ (1 Corinthians 12:21, 26)
Yesterday, Valentín was laid to rest next to his sister.
The headline is gone now. What remains is a mother with two graves to visit, children who will grow up missing their dad, and a neighborhood called, again, to remember that nobody is extra.
The comments wanted distance and separation. At Unidos, there’s no such thing. There is only one body and every part belongs.
Ester Ocampo
Volunteer & Communications Director
