A modern echo of old injustice
By NATASHA GUTIERREZ — GUEST COLUMNIST
PUEBLO — Fear and injustice doesn’t always arrive with flashing lights. Sometimes it shows up in quiet ways — like when a family chooses not to leave home for groceries because they’re afraid the color of their skin will make them a target.
For some Latino families in Pueblo, daily life now comes with calculation. Is it safe to step outside? Will today be the day someone looks at me and simply decides I “look suspicious?” This fear isn’t abstract. The growing presence of immigration enforcement shapes it. Conversations that once revolved around weekend plans or work schedules now include warnings about unmarked vehicles, checkpoints, and ICE activity. Quiet errands have turned into quiet risks.
This fear mirrors what communities in Los Angeles and Chicago have already been warning each other about: increased activity by immigration enforcement. Residents report sudden stops, aggressive questioning, and surveillance tactics that have left neighborhoods on edge. Advocates say similar patterns are emerging in Pueblo and across Colorado.
Although the fear feels immediate and pressing, its roots stretch back decades. A search through the archives of La Cucaracha reveals a story from Sept. 16, 1983, that still resonates today. That year, Margaret “Kiki” Medina, a Mexican American teacher from Sugar City, Colo., filed a federal racial discrimination lawsuit after being denied a teaching position despite strong qualifications.
Medina, a 1976 graduate of the University of Colorado, had more than five years of classroom experience in New Mexico and Colorado. She applied for a fourth-grade position at Crowley County Elementary School in July 1982. She wasn’t even interviewed. The school district instead hired a candidate with no full-time teaching experience; who also happened to be the principal’s wife.
After Medina filed a complaint, the Colorado Civil Rights Commission found probable cause of racial discrimination and recommended the district hire her. The district refused, denying any wrongdoing and prompting a federal lawsuit.
In a recent interview, Kiki recalled that she had felt fully qualified and confident in her abilities as an educator. She and her husband, Richard Medina, met with a civil rights lawyer who told them she had a strong case. “It felt unfair,” she said, “but I believed the law would be on my side.” After filing, however, she felt marked within her own community. “People went silent,” she remembered, “and we were concerned for our kids who were students in the school district.”
Her experience revealed how isolating it could be to stand up against discrimination — especially as a woman of color in a small town.
The question raised by Medina’s case in 1983 still echoes today: Will my identity determine whether I get a fair chance? Will I be profiled because of the color of my skin? Will doors close because I’m seen as a “risk” tied to immigration status?
Reflecting on her lawsuit, Kiki said it taught her how vital representation is in education. “Kids need role models,” she said. “That’s how they learn they matter.”
In 1984, she took a bold step forward. While her degree is in elementary education, she accepted a position as a GED instructor at Otero Junior College — choosing to teach both young and older adults, some as young as 16 and others well into their 60s. “It was an adjustment, but one I made easily,” she said.
“I began my teaching career in a traditional classroom setting, using textbooks, paper, and chalkboards, but over time, technology changed education. My co-worker, Donna Jones, and I welcomed the changes. We converted teaching materials into PowerPoint presentations, stored on jump drives. We created satellite classes across rural communities — Rocky Ford, Ordway, and Las Animas.” Over the course of 30 years, the GED program assisted more than 3,000 students in earning their GEDs, opening new opportunities for education, employment, and personal growth.
Her son, Dr. Richard Medina, holds a PhD in Computer Science. Together they transformed what had once been paper-heavy, in-person lessons, into an online GED digital platform, still used at Lamar Community College.
Education played a major role in the Medina family. She made sure her children understood the power of education, and her children went on to pursue higher education.
That spirit of resilience is what her husband Richard Medina carries when he looks at the challenges still facing Latino families today. Richard, a former Crowley County Judge, added that discrimination has simply taken new forms. I’ve heard of ICE agents picking up people who are going to their court date,” he said. “The systems change, but the attitudes behind it haven’t.” When racism is built into a system, it doesn’t leave fingerprints — it leaves habits.
Legal advocates say profiling connected to immigration enforcement exacerbates existing inequities. “When people believe they’re being watched or targeted, they limit their movement, their participation, and even their access to basic services,” said a Pueblo Community advocate who asked not to be named out of retaliation, “That’s not just fear. It’s a civil rights issue.”
Kiki echoed that sentiment when asked about the rise of racial profiling and ICE surveillance. “It’s upsetting,” she said. “We need to vote and stay informed.” Her husband reflected on hearing about a Mexican college professor detained during a visa check; her entire family was taken to a Texas facility. For the Medinas, stories like these are reminders that awareness and education remain urgent responsibilities. “Be aware that racism and profiling still exist,” Kiki said. “Don’t give up — there’s always something to learn.”
Racial profiling does more than create isolated incidents of discrimination. It erodes trust in public institutions, deepens economic and social vulnerability, and silences communities. For families already navigating systemic barriers, immigration surveillance intensifies feelings of marginalization. Local organizations and residents are responding by sharing resources, documenting incidents, and urging transparency in law enforcement practices. Advocates stress the importance of keeping a record because history shows that silence only benefits the systems that discriminate.
When asked what kept her going through the process of her lawsuit, Kiki’s answer was direct. “It was not a casual decision. I believed in my ability, and I wanted to be a strong role model.” Both she and Richard offered advice that feels timeless. “Hang in there and keep fighting,” Richard said. “Hard is hard,” they added together, but you keep going — go forward.”
Forty years ago, Margaret Medina’s lawsuit forced the issue of racial discrimination into public view. Today, the fight continues in a different form, but familiar in substance. What has changed is that more voices are refusing to remain silent. Kiki’s message to policymakers remains strikingly human: “Would you treat your parents the way you’re asked to treat people? Is that how you’d want your family members treated? Do unto others as you’d have others do unto you. Stop being so cruel.”
Silence is what allows profiling to thrive. Speaking up is how we dismantle it. These stories aren’t just history; they’re a call to stand together, to document, to resist, and to demand accountability.
Very pointed article. We are all responsible because we turn away and are silent or we don’t pursue getting rid of bad elements by recalling politicos, or filing complaints.