A Warning Unheeded, And a Law Too Late

Now, dear reader, let me introduce you to a tale so full of sorrow and forewarning that even the most lead-headed among us might feel compelled to listen. Michelle Afshar carries a picture not for vanity, not for nostalgia, but as a testament to a loss that should not have been.

The face in that picture belongs to her best friend, Alessandra Barlas, who, in the year of our Lord 2015, met a most untimely and tragic end at the hands of one Hugo Castro—a fellow who, if justice had worked as it ought, might never have had the opportunity. Like many before her, Alessandra saw the signs but trusted against them.

Friends and family, those sages of the everyday world, noticed the shadows creeping around Castro and gave their cautions. “We had some feelings that something wasn’t right,” says Michelle.

And a finer epitaph of hindsight is not known.

If you are of a mind to believe in second chances, let’s darken your optimism. Before Castro laid hands on Alessandra, he had already exercised his villainy in Washoe County.

Back in 2009, he had put a knife to the flesh in an act of betrayal against another woman, Katrina Esparza. She had the misfortune of believing a tale about his father’s failing heart, only to embrace a dagger instead of a grieving man.

Katrina lived but lived to see history repeat itself. Years later, she stumbled upon Alessandra’s fate on that most modern of town criers, social media, and resolved to do something about it.

She and Michelle stand before the Assembly Judiciary Committee, urging them to pass AB 162—Alessandra’s Law—a measure that would lay bare the records of those with a habit of beating and butchering their partners. The bill proposes a public record of those convicted twice of domestic violence, a small measure of forewarning for those who might otherwise embrace a dagger of their own.

Yet, as with all things sensible, opposition arose. Some protested that such a registry might hinder a convicted man’s ability to find work or housing—as though a roof and a wage were finer entitlements than a woman’s life.

It is, of course, a law late for Alessandra. No piece of legislation, no database, or committee meeting can call back a lost soul. But Katrina and Michelle believe it might save another.

And perhaps, dear reader, the next woman who sees the signs and feels that something isn’t quite right might have a place to turn—before her face is only a picture and her name spoken in mourning.