They say that poverty makes the fighter. But not too many fighters come from a place as poor as Guanuma. A hamlet on the northern fringe of Santo Domingo, the Dominican Capital, Guanuma used to be a sugar town. Half the people who live here are Haitian migrants who came to cut cane. But the nearby plantations have all shut down. And these days most of Guanuma’s men play cards or stare into space. Women, if they’re lucky, board early morning buses for day work as maids. The less fortunate ones work nights in the sex trade. For Adonis Peguero, the son of Haitian migrants, Guanuma was an easy place to get into trouble. "I was a bit of a hothead when I was younger," he says in Spanish. "I was always getting into fights. I guess I had a problem with some of the people here. I just couldn’t control myself or my anger. It made me very aggressive." Dreaming Of Something Better Adonis lives about half a mile off Guanuma’s only paved road. Like many Dominican boys, he dreamed of making it to the major leagues, like David Ortiz or Adrian Beltre. But he threw more punches than strikes. One day, about four years ago, a neighbor invited him and a few other local toughs to lace up gloves and don headgear. "He told us that boxing wasn’t really a sport. It was an art," Adonis says. "He told us that in order to be a good boxer, you first had to be a person of good character. A person of quality, who can control his anger and his fear."

"When I started boxing, it never crossed my mind that I would become a spokesperson for a cause. But I have."

Adonis, his 5-year-old niece, Alba, and his entourage parade through town on his way to spar. (Ken Shulman) Adonis was the most promising boxer in the group — a tall boy with a long reach, good balance and a mean streak that helped him win his first few fights. Then, in his first regional tournament, he stepped in with a more experienced fighter. Nothing he tried that night worked. He left the ring bloodied and embarrassed. But he also learned an important lesson. "Until that match, I’d always been the aggressor. Now you need aggression. But you have to learn to control it," Adonis says. "After that fight, I understood that it was just as important to move well, to stay balanced, to out think your opponent. That’s how you win in boxing." Adonis became a different fighter after that loss. And he became a different person: disciplined, driven, even nice. He began getting up every day at 7 a.m. for the first of two long daily runs. At 5 p.m., sporting his silver lame trunks, Adonis, his 5-year-old niece, Alba, and his entourage parade through town on his way to spar. With his left, the fighter holds his niece’s hand. With his right, he slaps high fives with his buddies at the barber shop, knocks impishly on the window of the town’s lottery booth and snatches a mango from a rickety fruit stand. He even steps out into the street to stop traffic and escort two little girls safely to the other side.

"I was born here. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I don’t even know anyone in Haiti if they send me back there. This ruling makes me feel real bad. Like I’ve been erased."