It is Holy Week — Semana Santa — and across the Americas, millions have paused from the ordinary rush of daily life for reflection, faith, and family. This week, Power Courier covers it all: the China problem quietly reshaping North American trade that I heard firsthand in Washington two weeks ago, why Saturday's No Kings rallies mean nothing if people stay home on Election Day, how Semana Santa stops an entire nation in its tracks, and yes — as a proud University of Arizona alumnus who walked those campus halls in the late 1990s — why seeing the Wildcats back in the Final Four after 25 years carries a very personal weight.

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When I was in Washington, D.C. two weeks ago, meeting with government officials involved in the USMCA review process, one theme kept surfacing in every conversation. The question of China.

Specifically, what to do about the roughly 1,000 Chinese registered companies now operating inside Mexico, quietly embedding themselves into the North American supply chain ecosystem that USMCA was designed to protect.

This is the conversation Washington does not want to have publicly, because the implications are complicated. Mexico needs foreign investment and Chinese companies have been among the most aggressive investors in Mexican manufacturing, particularly in automotive parts, electronics, and steel. But Washington's position is unambiguous: USMCA's tariff free access to the U.S. market must flow to North American producers, not serve as a backdoor for Chinese companies.

Negotiators have been instructed to focus on "limiting non-market inputs into North American supply chains" which is diplomatic language for this: Chinese owned production cannot be the hidden engine of USMCA compliant goods.

This is where Arizona becomes central to the story. Our state is home to the largest foreign direct investment in U.S. history — TSMC's $165 billion semiconductor gigafab complex in Phoenix. Taiwan is not China, and TSMC's presence here is precisely the kind of trusted, allied investment Washington wants to protect and replicate.

The contrast being drawn in Washington is stark. Chinese supply chain presence in Mexico triggers scrutiny. Taiwanese semiconductor investment in Arizona is being treated as a national security asset.

The China problem in Mexico is real. And how it gets resolved will reshape North American manufacturing for a generation.

On Saturday, hundreds of thousands of Americans took to the streets in the "No Kings" rallies, a coordinated display of opposition that was, by any measure, impressive. The crowds were real. The energy was undeniable.

But here is the question nobody wants to ask the morning after. Now what?

Because history is painfully clear. Rallies alone do not change policy. In the 2024 presidential election, only 63.9% of eligible voters cast a ballot. More than one in three eligible Americans stayed home. In the 2022 midterms, turnout collapsed to just 47%. Hispanic voter turnout in 2024 hit a troubling 50.6%, the lowest of any major demographic. Young voters ages 18 to 24 checked in at just 42%.

People march and yell, then stay home on the day that actually matters.

The grievances driving Saturday's rallies are real. A war abroad draining resources. Rising prices that have not come down. An economy squeezing working families at the gas pump and the grocery store. These are legitimate frustrations. They deserve more than a weekend of visibility.

So let me say what I always say. VOTE.

And while we are at it, let us have a serious conversation about making that easier. César Chávez Day is being removed from federal recognition across states and cities, a decision driven by serious and troubling allegations that have surfaced about his personal conduct and treatment of those around him. That conversation is necessary and deserves to be had with honesty. But the larger question being lost in that debate is this: if a holiday can be removed, a new one can be created. I would call it Democracy Day — a federal holiday on Election Day that gives every working American the time to participate without sacrificing a paycheck. Pair that with automatic voter registration at 18 and expanded early voting, and suddenly the excuse evaporates.

Countries with 80% or higher voter turnout treat Election Day like the civic celebration it should be.

The rally was a starting point. Democracy Day is the finish line.

If you tried to schedule a business meeting in Mexico this week, you probably did not get a response.

That is not an accident. It is Semana Santa — Holy Week — and in Mexico, it is not simply a religious observance. It is a national pause.

For a country where Catholicism has shaped culture, identity, architecture, and daily life for more than five centuries, Holy Week carries a weight that is difficult to overstate. From Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday, Mexico essentially transforms. Schools are closed. Government offices shut down. Businesses in many sectors suspend operations entirely. Millions of families travel — to the beach, to their hometown, to their grandmother's house — in what amounts to one of the largest domestic migration events of the Mexican calendar year.

The rituals of Semana Santa are as varied as Mexico itself. In Taxco, Guerrero, hooded penitentes walk barefoot through cobblestone streets in solemn processions that draw visitors from around the world. In Iztapalapa, on the outskirts of Mexico City, a Passion Play reenacts the crucifixion before hundreds of thousands of spectators — one of the largest theatrical productions on earth. In smaller towns and villages across Oaxaca and Chiapas, indigenous traditions blend with Catholic ceremony in ways that are entirely unique to Mexican spiritual expression.

For those of us who work across the border, understanding Semana Santa is not just cultural literacy — it is practical business intelligence. Binational supply chains slow. Response times stretch. Projects pause. The professional world on the Mexican side of the border simply operates on a different rhythm this week, and that rhythm is not a bureaucratic inefficiency. It is a deliberate cultural choice rooted in something far older and far deeper than any trade agreement.

There is something to learn here. In a world that increasingly celebrates relentless productivity, Mexico's Semana Santa is a reminder that renewal — personal, spiritual, communal — is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

Feliz Semana Santa.

I was a student at the University of Arizona from 1996 to 1999.

That means on March 31, 1997, I was there. Not in Indianapolis — but spiritually, completely, entirely there. The way only a college student can be when their university is doing something that will be talked about forever.

I remember where I was when Miles Simon dropped 30 points on Kentucky. I remember the way Tucson erupted. I remember what it felt like to be a Wildcat in that moment — proud, stunned, electric. That 1997 team did something no team in college basketball history had ever done before or has done since: they defeated three No. 1 seeds in the same NCAA Tournament. Kansas. North Carolina. Kentucky. All gone. Lute Olson — the silver haired coach who had quietly turned Tucson into a basketball destination — finally had his championship.

And then the years passed. Five Elite Eight losses. Coaches came and went. Sanctions. Disappointments. The kind of institutional heartbreak that wears on a fan base.

Until Saturday night in San Jose.

Tommy Lloyd's Wildcats — led by a group of freshmen that play with a fearlessness bordering on reckless joy — dismantled Purdue in the second half and booked a return trip to Indianapolis. The same city. The same stage. Twenty-five years later.

For those of us who were students during the Lute Olson era, this is not just a basketball story. It is a story about memory, loyalty, and the enduring bond between an institution and the people it shaped. Koa Peat was not even born when Miles Simon was named Final Four MVP. Yet he carries the same spirit — a kid from Arizona, playing with everything he has, under bright lights, unafraid.

That is what Bear Down means. It always has.

I will be watching on Saturday in Indianapolis. And for a few hours, I will be 20 years old again.

Bear Down, Arizona.

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