“An Immigrant’s Story”

Read the article below, reprinted with permission from the September 25, 2025 edition of the Texas Lawyer © 2025 ALM Global Properties, LLC. All rights reserved. Further duplication without permission is prohibited, contact 877-256-2472 or asset-and-logo-licensing@alm.com.

A recent Fishbowl post about me read: “He is both detail-oriented and an intelligent lawyer, although his rainmaking ability may be hampered by his foreignness/accent.”

Let’s start there. It’s a tidy example of how bias often hides under the cloak of faint praise. Intelligent, but foreign. Skilled, but different. The suggestion is clear: ability has limits when wrapped in an accent. I think the author is fundamentally mistaken. The poster’s snap judgment obscured the deeper truth that within most immigrants lies a story of perseverance and grit and of using slights as fuel for achievement.

But first, a little about me. I was born and raised in Mexico, and I am now a proud American citizen. My parents, both professionals, were solidly in the Mexican middle class. They believed that through education, our family would continue to thrive. So, they devoted most of their additional income to giving my brother and me the best education they could afford. I attended the American School of Guadalajara, where I was exposed to a U.S. curriculum. It was my teachers and friends at the school that encouraged me to apply to college in America.

I applied to several schools and was accepted with mostly a full ride at Yale. At my visa interview, an officer asked me, “Why do you get to attend such a great school, when I didn’t.” I replied: “Luck, I guess.” I should have said, “because I worked my ass off.” From the start of my journey, he made it clear to me that I wouldn’t necessarily be welcomed.

At Yale, the ivy-covered buildings and portraits hanging on every room reminded me of my otherness. Instead of shrinking, I leaned in. If you grow up switching languages and cultures, you learn to adapt. You learn to walk into unfamiliar rooms and make yourself heard. I joined the Sigma Chi fraternity where I made many friends (our fraternity was often described by visitors as the “U.N.”). I learned how to be comfortable being myself in different venues.

Originally, I wanted to study theater and applied math. My first-year multivariable calculus disabused me of the idea that I was smart enough to be a mathematician. And I never managed to blend in with the theater crowd: even in the 2000s, the thespians were mostly interested in Shakespeare, Ibsen or Brecht. With limited roles for a Mexican with an accent, Soldier No. 2 in Othello was the height of my career.

I then decided, still with the theater bug, to dive into theater history. But rather than focus on Western theater, I wanted to look into east Asian theater. Ultimately, I spent my junior and senior years at Yale studying China and Mandarin. I received several scholarships to study in Beijing, where, surprisingly, no one ever thought of me as Mexican or Latino. More often than not, I was asked if I was from western China.

I returned to Mexico, where I met my now wife, Ruth. After a few years, she wanted to return to the U.S. to pursue a doctorate. So, I decided on law school and luckily got to attend the University of Pennsylvania Law School. Ruth’s maternal grandparents were also immigrants, originally from eastern Europe. And, when still alive, her grandfather always asked how “the immigrant” (I) was doing.

My first job out of law school was at Wachtell, Lipton, a firm founded in 1965 by four young Jewish lawyers who had doors at other firms closed to them. I then clerked in the Ninth Circuit for Judge Alex Kozinski, who spent considerable time mentoring me to become a better lawyer, writer and critical thinker and who offered another powerful example of navigating “otherness.” He immigrated at a young age from Romania, never managed or tried to get rid of his accent, and nevertheless became, at the time, the youngest appellate federal judge, divisive, yet widely quoted for his legal witticisms and precise writing.

I have now since worked at three major U.S. law firms: Wachtell, Lipton; Kirkland & Ellis and currently at Vinson & Elkins. I have had great mentors at various stages in my career, but never a mentor who looks like me. I didn’t have the luxury; there are very few Latino partners, much less Latino partners in New York M&A.

Clearly, just being viewed as foreign is not an impediment to a successful legal career. I’ve been exposed to too many brilliant and accomplished outsiders to even remotely believe this can be true. So why are Latinos so underrepresented in Big Law partnerships?

The Representation Gap

Clients don’t all look or think alike. Neither should their lawyers. In my career, I’ve negotiated deals in Budapest, for Israeli clients opposite Chinese buyers, and have worked alongside counsel from all continents (minus Antarctica—maybe one day). For clients in Texas, across the street in New York or with assets in Jamaica. What some call “foreignness,” I call range.

Still, the recent post about me points to something real: an underrepresentation of Latinos and other minorities in the highest ranks of the legal profession (and other Wall Street professions). Fear is a contributor: the fear that a client will hesitate because his lawyer doesn’t look the same, or the fear that juries, boards, or bankers will prefer a familiar face. These fears, whispered or unspoken, become self-fulfilling. They push capable lawyers aside long before clients ever make a choice.

This is not just unfair to individuals—it weakens the profession by depriving them of potential talent and different perspectives.

Honoring the Past and Inspiring the Future

Like many other Latinos, I was nurtured by a family that valued education even when money was scarce. And I inherited a toughness ingrained in communities that work twice as hard for half the recognition. Their resilience is our collective heritage. To honor them, we must not only succeed individually but also widen the path for those who come next.

That is why I mentor younger lawyers at Vinson & Elkins. It is why I teach at Penn, where students see not only doctrine but also the lived reality of practice. It inspires my support for groups like Ballet Hispánico, the nation’s leading Hispanic/Latine dance company and the largest cultural institution of its kind in the United States, as well as the Hispanic Scholarship Fund, which provides to students and parents the knowledge and resources to pursue a higher education. These organizations expand horizons for the next generation. And it is why I attend events hosted by organizations such as the Latino Corporate Directors Association and Latino Leaders, where our leaders gather to share strategies for progress.

These are not acts of charity. They are investments. Each additional connection with a student, mentee, mentor and rising professional strengthens the fabric of our community.

The anonymous critique framed my otherness as a weakness. I view it as a strength. I have leaned on my network to create opportunities for myself and others. I have leaned on my high tolerance for ambiguity to create bridges among cultures. I will continue to lean on my upbringing, to acknowledge that not all clients seek the same approach. By crossing borders—geographic, cultural, professional— I hope to make them less daunting for those who follow.

Francisco Morales Barrón is a partner in Vinson & Elkins’ M&A and Private Equity Practices. He also co-heads the firm’s shareholder engagement practice. Additionally, Francisco is a lecturer in law at the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School, where he teaches a seminar on generative AI in corporate law.