By Lauren Yanks ‘19 M.Div.
As a community organizer who seeks to help those in need, Dax Crocker ‘17 M.Div., ‘18 S.T.M. understands adversity. Born in Guatemala in 1971, Crocker grew up in the throes of a civil war that would ultimately cost over 200,000 lives.
“One percent of the population owned everything and there was a lot of unrest,” he said. “There were militant governments, insurgents, and the brutalization of Indigenous populations. It was awful.”
During this tumultuous time, Crocker’s mother worked hard as an emergency room nurse. His father was an ambulance driver before opting for a new career.
“My dad enrolled in law school because he dreamed of change,” Crocker said.
But change would come—at least for his family—quicker than his father expected. While studying in class one day, he heard gunshots blasting through the hallways.
“The government placed a secret agent inside the university in search of communists,” said Crocker. “When the agent was discovered by administrators, everyone started shooting and all hell broke loose. My dad ran out of the school’s back door. He kept running.”
Around ten years old at the time, Crocker remembers that fateful day.
“I kept staring out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking down the street,” Crocker said.
His mother—a devoted member of the Pentecostal church—prayed while pacing throughout the house. When the radio reporter began to announce the number of casualties, the family grew quiet.
“The death toll kept rising,” Crocker said. “First it was ten people who died, then fifteen…I thought for sure my father was dead.”
Finally—around 3 a.m.—Crocker’s father hobbled through their front door. He had made his way home by trekking and hiding in the woods.
“He had burrs all over his clothes and hair,” said Crocker. “His face was ashen and in shock.”
Sometime later, Crocker’s father said he wanted the family to go live with his sister in Los Angeles. His mother, however, wanted to stay in Guatemala.
“She said the war is going to end and did not want to leave the only home she knew,” said Crocker.
While figuring out their next steps, Crocker’s father graduated and began working for the legal department of Guatemala’s Social Security Administration. Regardless, he was set on leaving the country.
“He felt if he didn’t get us out, there was trouble,” said Crocker. “So, one of my sisters and I left the country with him while my other sisters stayed back with my mom.”
A new land
Crocker recalls the day he stepped on U.S. soil.
“It was around July 4th, 1986,” he said. “We walked into the U.S. from Mexico. The border wasn’t militarized like it is today, so it wasn’t as scary as it is now. I remember feeling very thirsty and that it was nighttime.”
After settling into his aunt’s house, Crocker started high school that fall.
“In my class were Guatemalans, Mexicans, Germans, Russians, Cambodians, everything,” he said. “I thought I was going to be the only immigrant. We all learned English together and adapted to life in America.”
But the immigrant experience is rarely easy. Crocker’s mom missed her son and cried when they spoke, while his father had to confront his own obstacles.
“My father got a job as a janitor at NASA,” said Crocker. “He went from being a lawyer to mopping floors. He didn’t want me to feel badly, though. He’d come home and joke about working at NASA.”
While the levity helped, the bills continued to pile up. In tenth grade, Crocker dropped out of school to work as a plumber’s assistant for a few years. Later, he began to work as a missionary for the Pentecostal church.
“I had remained active in the church,” he said. “They thought I had good communication skills, so they sent me to different European countries to create faith communities.”
After four years of missionary work, Crocker was sent to pastor a church in Rhode Island but grew restless.
“I felt ready to leave the Pentecostal church,” he said. “It had been such a big part of my life, but I wanted to explore other communities and further my education.”
Immigration and education
After Crocker passed his GED in 2000, he received a life-changing call from a friend in Phoenix, Ariz.
“He was the pastor of a church and needed help,” Crocker said. “Arizona passed a law to deport undocumented people, so many of the parents from his church disappeared overnight. About twelve kids, mostly teenagers, were left behind with no supplies and no one to care for them.”
Appalled by this news, Crocker traveled to Phoenix to witness the situation firsthand. He remembers the shocked helplessness on the children’s faces.
“Their lives had been turned upside down,” he said. “I could see myself in them. It was devastating.”
His friend would be forced to close his church and turn it into a foster home. Crocker helped to gather mattresses, food, and other supplies.
“The experience was so traumatic,” said Crocker. “I felt something was wrong not only with the situation, but something was wrong with me because I couldn’t do more.”
Crocker chose to stay and help. He also enrolled in community college and went on to the University of Arizona, majoring in religion.
“One of my professors told me I should go to Yale Divinity School and learn faith-based social justice,” he said. “I am so grateful for that suggestion.”
At YDS, Crocker found the emphasis on social justice he longed for. He especially loved a course on faith-based community organizing taught by Almeda Wright, Associate Professor of Religious Education.
“Her course gave me the theology—reminding me why I fight for the least of these,” he said.
For his practicum, Crocker worked with Father James Manship, a local Catholic priest with a faith-based community organization. Crocker learned how to develop relationships, create safe spaces, and bring people together. “Jim really taught me how to organize communities and put theology into practice,” Crocker said.
One aspect of their work together was with immigrant students. For example, the superintendent of the New Haven School District refused to pay for translators so that teachers could communicate with parents who did not speak English. They gathered everyone together in a church basement and confronted the superintendent, who ultimately apologized and provided a translator. After graduating from YDS, Crocker worked with Manship for three more years.
“Working with Dax was a blessing,” Manship said. “He understands the principles of nurturing leaders and helping them build their own sense of power to advance their communities.” Manship refers to Crocker as “a great man who’s never forgotten his immigrant background.”
Child labor advocacy and collaboration with Yale Law School
In 2018, Crocker began work as a community organizer in an Episcopal faith-based organization in Boston. A couple of months into the job, he received another life-changing phone call—this time from a distraught English as a Second Language teacher in the large fishing port of New Bedford, Mass.
“The teacher said her students were sleeping on their desks because they worked all night in the local seafood factories,” Crocker recalled.
After meeting with her and others involved, Crocker learned that the factory owners were bringing in minors for nightwork—again, mostly teenagers—because they are easily exploited and paid less than adults.
“Forty percent of New Bedford are immigrants, and there are about two dozen child labor cases and over 400 labor violation cases of adult immigrant workers,” said Crocker. “Many of the immigrants are from Guatemala—often from the Indigenous population—and only speak K’iche, making it harder for them to raise their voices.”
Crocker has been working on this issue for about five years when the Worker and Immigrant Rights Advocacy Clinic at Yale Law School filed civil lawsuits on behalf of some of the children.
One of the law students and clinic members is Mari Perales Sánchez. A Mexican immigrant who is passionate about this issue, Perales Sánchez shared some harrowing details.
“Kids were exposed to chemicals and experienced full body rashes and flu-like symptoms every day,” she said. “Others got frostbite from handling frozen fish without proper support.”
Perales Sánchez praises Crocker’s contributions.
“As the designated organizer, Dax created a safe environment,” she said. “When we were finalizing the case and meeting with the workers, he didn’t have to participate, but he chose to do so. The children trusted him. He made an incredible difference.”
Crocker has been very moved by the whole experience.
“As an immigrant, I did not come to the U.S. to witness kids working in sweatshop conditions and vast human rights abuses,” he said. “I want a better life for these children. I don’t want them to have to drop out of school like I did. I want them to be my doctor in ten years.”
In fact, the 53-year-old is even thinking about a run for mayor of New Bedford in the next election cycle.
“It’s time for a mayor who will advocate for the immigrant community and not just for the heads of industry,” Crocker said. “Since I was that young boy in Guatemala, I’ve known that an exploitation economy is wrong and unsustainable. It will come back and bite everyone. I want to give kids the opportunities they deserve.”
Tears gather in Crocker’s eyes as he shares the words of his father, who passed away in 2015 from lung cancer.
“He’d always tell me that this is my country—that I belong here—and to make the best of it,” he said. “I try to honor his sacrifice in all that I do. I know I can do better. We can all do better. The American Dream must be accessible to all. Isn’t that the whole point?”
Lauren Yanks ‘19 M.Div. is a writer and professor and Founder of the Blue Butterfly Foundation, a nonprofit organization that rescues and educates women and children who have been trafficked and enslaved.