About Hamilton Immigration Law

I get asked that a lot. I grew up a fourth-generation American in a suburb of northern Los Angeles. My roots are about as Western European as they come—mostly England and Norway. Nothing in my background screamed “immigration.” My family had been here for generations. My Spanish vocabulary began and ended with “¿Dónde está el baño?”

Then 2001 happened. I signed up to serve a two-year mission and got assigned to Córdoba, Argentina—a place I could barely find on a map (and some of my friends genuinely thought was in Africa). After a two-month crash course in Spanish, I landed in Buenos Aires as a very green nineteen-year-old—equal parts excited and terrified, but mostly… lost.

I spent those two years bouncing between big cities, open country, and tiny mountain towns. Argentina was stunning—beautiful mountains, rolling hills, endless skies, and people who could talk for hours over mate. Life moved slower, but in a good way. They knew how to savor it. I learned the language (both the good and the questionable words), picked up a deep love for fútbol (¡Dale Boca!), and ate my body weight in empanadas, choripán, and asado.

But alongside all that beauty, there was struggle. Crushing poverty. Bureaucracy that made everything harder than it needed to be. Smart, hardworking people trapped by circumstance and a general lack of opportunity. I couldn’t fix Argentina, but I realized something important: America offered hope. It offered opportunity. And I wanted to help people reach it.​