The Soil of Success

The sacrifice of his family paved Isa Silva’s way to Stanford

12/20/2022

EACH DAY, as he wakes, Isa Silva knows someone is praying for him.  

His grandmothers, Luisa Fernandez and Eva Silva, keep Isa – and the rest of their family -- in their hearts daily. They ask God for protection and strength.

Isa, a sophomore point guard on Stanford’s basketball team, feels the power of those prayers. And he feels the power of family. Those two things are what drive him each day.

“Everything just boils down to love and family,” he said.

That sense of security and comfort comes with appreciation. Because Isa’s life could be much different, as it was for his grandparents and even his parents. Isa understands this very well.

Soil from the fields does not line the creases of Isa’s hands. It is not embedded underneath his fingernails. But it does help define who he is.

Silva is the grandson of migrant workers. Though he did not grow up in that environment, work ethic and humility built through lifetimes of labor are his family’s legacy.

“They all worked so hard to get here to the United States, for a better opportunity for their family,” Silva said. “To make something of my opportunity is what pushes me every day. It’s something I’m realizing more now that I’m here at Stanford, what my purpose is. And my purpose is rooted in family. That’s really my why.”

Isa Silva’s grandparents helped raise him, his father taught him to play basketball, his mother showed him strength and confidence, his cousins, aunts and uncles blazed trails. And every single one provides their own examples of how lives can be made better in service to others. Isa believes that all the good in him comes from the good of those who surround him.

“He’s really good at bringing people together,” said Isa’s cousin, Josue Gil-Silva, a Stanford senior mechanical engineering major and basketball manager who was recently added to the team roster. “He can empathize with people, understand people.

“If we’re shooting around in the gym, he knows all the custodians’ names. He knows everybody, whether there’s a person at the top of the food chain or the bottom. It doesn’t matter. He treats everybody the same. He knows how to talk to people from every walk of life.”

AYOTITLÁN IS A small village in Jalisco, a state in western central Mexico known for mariachi music and tequila, each of which originated there. A colonial plaza sits across the street from San Bartolomé Apóstal, the Catholic church that rises above the village and is central to the small valley and its culture.

Isa’s paternal grandparents, Eva and Rafael, grew up there, with trades in town and ranches outside of it. Rafael, the oldest of nine, left home at age 14 to work on a road crew. With his first earnings, he bought a blanket. He never had one before.

Rafael and Eva were married and moved to northern Mexico while Rafael worked across the border. In the 1950s, he first was admitted to the Bracero Program, created by the U.S. government to provide short-term labor contracts to Mexican men to ease labor shortages caused by World War II and the imprisonment of Americans of Japanese ancestry. More than 4 million Mexican males arrived as braceros (Spanish for ‘laborers’) to work in agriculture and on railroads from 1942-64.

Eventually, Eva and their seven children settled in the Salinas Valley, the “Salad Bowl of the World.”

Isa’s maternal grandfather, Salvador Fernandez, arrived as a bracero in the 1960s from the state of Michoacán, a region known as the “soul of Mexico,” with his four older brothers. Salvador and Luisa and their four children settled in Colusa, in the Sacramento Valley.

It was not uncommon for migrants to go back and forth over the border, sometimes legally as braceros and sometimes illegally. Once in the U.S. as a bracero, they could apply for residency and see a path to citizenship. But the program was not without controversy. The United States and Mexico agreed on a set of protocols that would protect braceros from discrimination and poor wages. Nonetheless, discrimination continued and braceros experienced surcharges for room and board, deducted pay, and exposure to deadly chemicals. There is some debate on how beneficial the program actually was.

Rafael Silva often followed the migrant routes. He might go from Salinas to Arizona to Washington depending on the crop and the time of year. Lemons, celery, apples. Mostly, Rafael cut cauliflower. He tied a rubber band around the leaves so the sun didn’t burn the plant and, when ready for harvest, used a sharp knife to cut the head off.

All four of Isa’s grandparents worked in agriculture. His abuelita Eva cut flowers in a greenhouse for a nursery and packed them for delivery.

In Colusa, the ‘rice capital of California,’ Salvador Fernandez worked at various jobs in the rice industry – at a rice dryer, hauling rice, and as a mechanic for rice equipment. Luisa worked as a tomato sorter, and hoed tomato plants in the fields.

In December, with harvests over, workers often returned to Mexico to see their extended families.

“My father was the fourth oldest of 12 and my mother is the youngest of 11,” said Isa’s mother, Soyla Fernandez. “I have 128 first cousins and I know every single one of them because, for my parents, it was important that we knew all of our family.”

LIFE IN THE fields began with a 4 a.m. wakeup. Load into a truck before dawn and arrive at the fields by 5. Work until sundown.

Francisco and Soyla’s parents worked through illness or injuries because there was no paid time off or medical coverage. No work, no pay, and you couldn’t support the family.

When Rafael nearly sliced his finger off cutting cauliflower, there was no hospital visit. You took care of it yourself, or sought someone in the community who knew a home remedy. Backaches from stooping for hours at a time every day? You’re on your own.

“When I went to work with my dad, the lack of dignity to give you a place to eat your lunch is what stood out to me,” said Isa’s father, Francisco Silva. “You’re in the mud, your hands are dirty, the sun is hot, you’re sweaty. Maybe you sit on the side of the road. Maybe you lean on your car. You take off your gloves and you eat your burrito or sandwich with dirty hands.

“That felt so undignified and unjust. But they did it because that’s what they had to do.”

Soyla remembers her father Salvador returning home so sore and stiff that he could not bend over to remove his workboots. Soyla would do it for him.

“He was just physically exhausted,” Soyla said. “My mom would put rosemary in rubbing alcohol and rub his feet with it every night.”

They also had to deal with discrimination. Expecting to get paid for their work, an employer called immigration to avoid paying them and the brothers were deported to Tijuana even though they were legal U.S. workers. They lost a week of work in trying to return.

Those stories have been ingrained in Isa as well.

“When I drive through the Central Valley and I see the fields … When I see a Latino working or providing value for other people, it always brings me a sense of power,” he said.

So much has changed so fast, in just one generation, let alone two. Isa’s own parents worked in the fields or in agriculture. Beginning in sixth grade, Francisco cut cauliflower with his dad every weekend during the summers. Summer league basketball was a sanctuary for him.

“By the time we got to 1 o’clock, my back hurt so much that I had to work on my knees,” Francisco said. “My dad and the other workers would laugh.”

Soyla sorted tomatoes alongside her mother when she could. Her father wouldn’t allow her to work in the fields.

What those experiences taught them was, there must be a better way. Francisco and Soyla learned to be resourceful, creative, and entrepreneurial. Francisco bought roses from his mother’s nursery and sold them door to door. Soyla, at age 11, collected walnuts left over by the growers and sold them.

Avoiding a lifetime of field work “was certainly a motivator,” Francisco said. “School is actually a good deal.”

Soyla graduated from UC Santa Cruz with a degree in politics, international and domestic. She became a lobbyist at the State Capital and founded her own firm, serving as president and owner of what’s now known as Fernandez Cervantes Government Affairs. It was the first, and is believed to be the only, lobbying firm owned by a Latina in California.

Isa calls his mother, “a super badass … She never loses.”

Francisco is a graduate of Santa Clara University, UCLA School of Law, and USC Marshall School of Business and holds both a JD and an MBA. Earlier this year, he was named President and CEO of the California Primary Care Association.

They came from parents who made clear that details were important, as well as responsibility, behavior, and expectations. And there was a trust that their children were doing things the right way.

“It wasn’t like we did it on our own,” Soyla said. “We did it with a lot of people helping us. I would never say that I accomplished what I did on my own by any means.

“We were driven. That’s where Isa gets it. We were very proud of who we were and what we came from. And we never shied away from teaching him his roots.”

Francisco and Soyla raised Isa the same way – by entrusting him to family who taught and modeled the same values.

Francisco, his sister Eva, and Eva’s husband Jose Gil created the Gil Basketball Academy at Alisal High School in gritty East Salinas. It began as a Monday night open gym to keep kids off the streets and evolved into a collection of camps, clinics, teams and leagues, and even international trips. The GBA promotes college goals with application workshops, field trips, and guest speakers. Isa, as well as his cousin Josue, were active in that as well.

It's not surprising that Isa adapted the value of civic engagement of his family. His parents were activists. His father was a leader in MEChA, the Chicano student movement organization. Soyla marched with Cesar Chavez.

Francisco’s sister Eva was among four hunger strikers at Stanford in 1994 who sought several race-related reforms. The strike was settled after three days -- brokered by president Gerhard Caspar and provost Condoleezza Rice -- when the university agreed to explore the creation of a Chicana/o-Latina/o Studies Program. That vision came to fruition in 1997 under the umbrella of the university’s new Center for Comparative Studies in Race & Ethnicity.

Even at a young age, Isa lent his voice to a philanthropic foundation created by his parents. Their first endeavor was to buy shoes for the Alisal basketball players, many of whom came from families struggling financially. The foundation has grown since, and Isa annually participates in a Christmas toy and food drive in Colusa.

“Isa, from the moment he was born, he was going to be an empathetic child, a kind child,” Soyla said. “He’s a giver.”

ISA’S LOVE OF basketball came from Francisco. ‘Frank’ Silva, as he was known, was a defensive stopper with a sharp jumpshot. He led Alisal to its best season in 20 years, into the second round of the Northern California Division II playoffs.

He didn’t play college basketball, but Silva was a hooper for life. And combined with Soyla’s background in the game – she played four seasons at Colusa High – basketball seemed predestined for Isa.

“Isa’s whole love of basketball came from his dad,” Soyla said. “His dad was his first coach, put a basketball in his hands. I love that. Him and his dad … he’s his dad, but he’s also his best friend.”

Francisco helped start a team that included Isa, current Cal guard Devin Askew, and current Arizona State guard Frankie Collins. The three played on Francisco’s Sacramento-based 916 Select, using the old Princeton offense, from second grade through middle school.

Isa, whose first language was Spanish, now is a role model for young Latinx basketball players, many of whom come to Stanford games to watch him, and maybe even take a selfie afterward.

Silva, who shares point guard duties with Michael O’Connell and Benny Gealer, is a creative player with uncanny passing abilities. He said he’s still seeking the “state of mind and a state of playing where I know I’m just being myself,” he said. “I know I can do it. I’ve done it in practice. I need to transfer that into games. I know if I do that, I can help the team win, and then all the other things I dream about will happen naturally.”

For Silva, that would mean a professional playing career, and maybe even a life in the game, perhaps as an NBA general manager.

“I’d sweep the floor to be in the gym,” he said. “I find so much peace in basketball. I told my dad, ‘This is what I was meant to do.’”

The ability to live his dream is a gift Isa has been given by the sacrifice and hardships of family, and only family can truly appreciate the significance.

“In one generation, we’ve completely changed the trajectory of our families,” Soyla said. “We’re very proud that Isa has taken on the gift that our parents gave us by coming to this country and doing all the hard work for us. He knows they’ve given him his opportunity.”

He not only knows, but he appreciates it. He savors it. The thought makes him stronger. It inspires him.

“The story of our upbringing and the challenges our family had … sometimes that story is told as, ‘Oh, look how hard it was,’” Francisco said. “But it’s also a story about triumph and excellence.”

The work is different than it was in his grandparents’ generation. The stakes are different. But the prayers still matter.