Pastoral Project has become one of the pillars in serving the community in need. Here Raquel Román Romero with the mayor of Los Angeles, Karen Bass. (Proyecto Pastoral)
“As a child, Raquel Román Romero went from house to house in her neighborhood. Her mom, who had divorced her father, had to work all day. Raquel made the neighborhood her family.
“I became part of every family in the neighborhood; everyone was my family,” says the executive director of Proyecto Pastoral, a social justice, community-building nonprofit in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles, part of the legendary Dolores Mission.
This experience at such a young age undoubtedly contributed to the leader and woman she is today. The sense of community, compassion, and solidarity has been built over the years.
Despite working all day, her mother Raquel provided all the love she ever needed.
“She worked, but she was always present. It wasn’t an easy childhood, but because she was by my side, I could navigate all those hard years,” she says.
Her veins run with the strong, magical blood of the most important indigenous groups of Mexican culture.
“My mother, born in Zacatecas, has Otomí and Mexica genes. My father, Yaqui,” she says.
“We moved a lot. It saddened me to leave my toys behind. When we left a house, I would just look at them sadly; we couldn’t carry everything,” she says. “Later, we would pass by that house, and I would say to my mom, ‘What if we go and look? Maybe the toys are still there.’”
Throughout the interview, Raquel frequently uses words that also define her: dignity, humanity, respect, and valuing people.
Despite all the setbacks, she always knew she wanted something different for her life. To contribute to society, to help her community. She had to overcome all the obstacles. The first step was to believe in herself. “I wanted something bigger for me.”
The importance of creating a sense of family, of community, is one of the things it focuses on. (Proyecto Pastoral)
Her High School friends, many of whom she is still in contact with today, were her strength, keeping her from taking a wrong turn in her life.
She went to college, where she faced other challenges.
“It was difficult, I had no money. My father, Oscar, who had been away for some time, came back looking for me, wanting to reconnect. He brought me bags of rice. In the CSUN dorms, we had a small kitchen, which helped me for a while. I ate rice, white rice, rice with beans, all kinds of rice dishes,” she says. “I accepted my situation. I didn’t have the money other students had. I couldn’t be distracted by that; I had to keep going.”
She transferred to another school and took a break. She needed to improve her math to continue her courses.
And then, a series of events occurred that changed her life.
Her dad passed away. Despite being estranged for some time, she always believed that her Yaqui blood had been her guide.
“It was painful. Then I started going to mass at La Placita. I volunteered in some activities until one day, during a mass, the priest asked if anyone was interested in joining as a community organizer. I immediately raised my hand. I started organizing street vendors, working with the homeless. I was called to do this job,” she says.
It’s ok to be angry, but we have to think about how to get resources, how to expand the discussion…It’s not ok to see naked people on the street, people without homes, we have to honor humanity, provide services,” she says.
Another opportunity came into her life. There was an opening for a Program Director job at The Guadalupe Homeless Project. She had doubts about it.
“I’ll try,” I told myself. And I applied. I had doubts they would give it to me. It was days and then months of uncertainty.
“It was a very long process. Three months, they called me, asked for information and that was it. I was already doubtful. And one day, I got up, walked to the window, and saw a hummingbird flying around. I said to myself, ‘This is a sign,’” she says.
Days later the phone rang and when she answered, they offered her the job and told her that she would become the first woman director of the shelter, a cultural shift.
Her awakening to social justice began at 12 years old, she says. It was 1992, and what is known as the LA Riots had hit the city. She remembers turning on the TV and witnessing what was happening.
“I knew something was wrong. It was wrong. Racism, injustice. Since then I thought, ‘I have to do something about this,’” she says.
When she arrived as the shelter’s director, she was already prepared, not only with theory but with her own experience.
“My grandfather was homeless for a time. For me, everyone who came to the shelter was like my grandfather. I encouraged everyone to treat all who came to the shelter as if they were our family. Everyone deserves respect, to accompany them on their journey,” she says.
She didn’t start a revolution, but she did create the cultural change she longed for since she was a child.
Years later, she received funds to open a shelter for women, and now the staff is mostly made up of women.
She has learned from the best mentors in social justice causes. From Father Gregory Boyle, Father Michael Kennedy, Lupe Loera, Rosa Campos, and others. Many have passed on, but their teachings remain with this woman who daily seeks to find ways to help the needy.
“I learned from them unconditional love, the love to share, that there is always space for everyone. Society classifies the homeless, seeks to exclude them when they deserve a place in this society and not just that… They deserve to be treated with respect, with dignity. Changes are possible, we have to be together,” she says.
When I run, I feel a sense of liberation and peace. I pray when I run. I pray for people to have a home, food, for justice, for peace, for more resources for communities. We have to heal; those are my wishes,” she concludes. (Raquel Román Romero)
There are moments of anguish. As a professional social worker, she learns to distance herself from painful situations, but sometimes it is impossible.
“There are many sad and tragic stories. The man who drowned, the woman who died in a park, the children traveling from Honduras to get to Los Angeles. All these human stories come to Proyecto Pastoral, and we have to face them. I’ve cried, of course. In 2008, during the recession, older people, day laborers who had no work, came to us. It was as if they were disposable; that’s how capitalism is. You come, you work, you’re no longer useful, and you go. Many came to us, some died, they had no family, we were their family,” she adds.
Sometimes she gets angry, but she has learned to control it. For many years, there wasn’t enough discussion around these problems, the indifference to people on the streets, the needs they have, but for Raquel, it’s necessary not to dwell on the problem but on the solution.
“I get angry, but I also think that we have to think outside the box. It’s ok to be angry, but we have to think about how to get resources, how to expand the discussion. The city created these problems, well, now they need to help us solve them. It’s not ok to see naked people on the street, people without homes, we have to honor humanity, provide services,” she says.
She has brought that spirit and discussion to her home. She has an eight-year-old son, who has witnessed his mother’s struggle and participates in events with her.
“He recently came to see the Peace & Dignity race, where he witnessed the effort and struggle of many people seeking change. He is very aware of all these problems,” she adds. “But he has to learn for himself and experience it.”
In 2018, Raquel founded the Running Mamis club with three other women, which meets periodically to run. They did it to socialize, share experiences, not with a competitive goal.
“We wanted a space for women, to embrace positivity. When I run, I feel a sense of liberation and peace. I pray when I run. I pray for people to have a home, food, for justice, for peace, for more resources for communities. We have to heal; those are my wishes,” she concludes.
