Immigration Crisis?

Próspero had just arrived from Puebla. He was going to spend his day off, the only free time he'd had in weeks, at the Museum of Natural History. It was free today after all, and the entrance would not be free for another month. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a new white T-shirt. He was much taller, and much darker, than the friend who accompanied him. He smiled as he passed my brother and me on his way to the North American Mammals exhibit. Sacrifice did not seem lost on him; his hands were rough and calloused, his arms had been ravaged by the California sun.
"So, what do you think of the march?" his friend said "Should we go back?" At this, my ears perked up. I had been wanting to join the protesters myself, but uncertainty about some issues held me back.
"No, we went already. Besides, if there's like 5000 people, they're not going to care about two more. When have you ever heard them say 'there were aproximately 5,002 people there?' "
Próspero made sense. He asked what I thought and I was unsure how to respond. I had thought about going I said, and would likely join the other march at about 4:00. We said good-bye. I spent the rest of the day at the museum with my brother and his wife. I did not join the other march later on. We went home by five; at about 6:30 I tried to get a workout at the new TaeKwonDo school close to my house. It was closed, as was the small store next to it. Most likely in support of the protesters.
Later it was made known that police had attacked a group of protesters with tear gas, use of their batons, and brute force. Among those attacked were many teenagers. The news was sad, though I was glad I had not been involved. It seems some guy started throwing things and for the misdeeds of one suffered many. Was it overly-simplistic interpretation on the part of the police? A drunk, unpatriotic man? Obviously throwing things at the police is not the driving force behind most people's manifestations. Nor should the deeds of one person be cause for police brutality.
I came home at night after spending some time in the library, thinking about the effects of today's events on the future history books. It seemed rather small, especially when compared to last year's. Last year's march effected a change of tremendous magnitude. It circumvented a horrible, destructive, inhuman law. Last year I participated in the march for a little while, but only after work, as we were advised in very covert ways by the superintendent that disciplinary action would be taken against us should we choose to participate in the day's activities.
At home I tried to reflect but was unable. I thought of Próspero and his friend. Maybe they were home watching some telenovela, frittering away their time. Or maybe, just maybe, they were immersed in thought, trying to find ways of making things better for themselves and for others. Thinking about the well-being of the land.