The Right of Asylum in Spain

One morning a teenage boy was standing in a corner of Madrid’s Lyrics neighborhood. His attitude of total defenselessness and bewilderment alerted me. He didn’t ask for alms because he didn’t know. He wore nothing but a smug jacket on worn Texans. No backpack, no suitcase. I approached him and asked him what he was doing there. Whispering told me, “I’ve now come out of a juvenile center.” No more information was needed. I searched the bag, gave …