Living in a bubble

Miami is one of the few cities in the United States where I am not considered a minority. Nearly everyone here is Latino-American or Hispanic-American. There’s a big community of Haitian-Americans, Chinese-Americans, and Arab-Americans on this little corner of the Florida peninsula. People from all over the world live in this city and I can honestly say that I have never once experienced overt racism or racial profiling here. I didn’t even know about ethnic slurs and insults toward latinos until I was in my late teens.

Now, I can’t tell if the incidents of racism that have been increasingly reported on the news speaks of a malignant majority or a vocal minority in the United States (I hope it is the latter), but it is concerning either way. In 2011, I traveled to Paris, Virginia on an animal rights trip. We stayed in a small town that had a confederate cemetery and mostly old people. On our third day there, me and some animal rights activists (sorry for breaking a grammar rule but that’s how I wanted to write it😂 ) were racially profiled– the first time ever for me. We were greeted at 9 in morning by two cops asking us why we were there, if we had any identification on us, and what our social security numbers were. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable experience to be made felt an outsider inside a country I was born in and my parents immigrated legally into, especially since we had done nothing but help animals since we got there.

Surprisingly, I’d never thought about my skin color until that year (and I wasn’t aware that many people view hispanics as a race, not an ethnicity). Sure, I’d thought about racism and xenophobia, but I’d never thought about how I fit into that narrative, and I was naïve in the sense that, until I experienced it myself, I thought about it as a thing of the past. It is an incredible privilege to exist as the majority in any place (unless you lived in the South Africa Apartheid), and that is the bubble I’d lived in my entire life in Miami, as a part of the majority. Here, I can speak Spanish without worrying about comments like “learn English (English and Spanish are my first languages)” or “go back to Mexico (I’m not Mexican).” Here, I’m not subject to racial profiling or racial slurs because I am part of the dominant “race.” Traveling to a place where (for the first time) I was a minority was an eyeopening experience and if it’s something you’ve never done, I think it’s an important experience that you should give yourself.

Have you ever experienced being a minority (maybe you’ve been a part of the minority your entire life)? What was it like? Was your experience negative or positive? I’d like to hear your stories!

Petty Politics

My dad is an old school Cuban; born right before the Cuban Revolution of 1959, he witnessed enough crimes committed by the Castro Regime to despise anything that resembles communism. My great grandfather immigrated to Cuba from Catalonia, Spain in the late 1800s, my grandfather built on the work of his father, and my father was destined to do the same. But as a child, my dad had to watch as the Castro Regime took his family’s businesses, lands, and any surplus my grandparents and great grandparents had ever worked for and distributed it to people who hadn’t earned it. My dad had to watch as the Castro militia murdered by firing squad anyone who opposed the revolutionaries. As a result, my dad had nothing but grit to his name when he left Cuba in the early eighties (grit that you can still see today). When he arrived to America he saw the land of opportunity and the chance to rebuild a legacy the way my great grandfather did when he had arrived in Cuba from Spain. My dad, by all accounts, achieved the American Dream and he is the perfect example of what it means to be a hard-worker and to put family first.

Back when my dad emigrated from Cuba to the U.S., the U.S. president was Ronald Reagan. Reagan was an anti-communist roast master and a champion for amnesty and immigration; that combination was all it took to make my dad a loyal Republican for decades to come. In 2007, my dad voted for John McCain (in spite of his VP pick) who is one of the most stand-up, honorable republicans I’ve had the pleasure to watch; I’m a registered Independent, and while I don’t agree with everything the republicans (or democrats) believe, I know a decent human being when I see one.

John McCain was the last presidential nominee my dad voted for who was a republican.

If you ask my dad why he doesn’t vote republican anymore he’ll tell you it’s because there aren’t any decent republicans running against the democrats for the oval. My dad has an immeasurable amount of respect for the office of the president and he finds it impossible to stand behind any person or party that doesn’t hold the office of the president to the same high standard. While both parties can be “petty,” one party outdoes the other in pettiness (the republicans were staunch against helping the Obama administration make changes, and are now staunchly silent at the Trump administration’s serious faults).

I want to see a lot of changes in Washington, and if the next four years serve only to make the condition of Washington worse, then I have hope that within the next ten years we can see it get that much better. I know that our government can work, but we need to elect people who will fight for everyone and do so with integrity. And that starts with us, the voters. That means hearing each other out, that means compromise, that means meeting somewhere in the middle, that means respect, that means no name-calling. I really can’t wait to see a Reagan or McCain type of Republican run for president. Those are the kind of republicans who respect the oval and respect the American people. Until then, my dad and I are voting blue.

Vintage Video Album

I made a video of old family photos (before I was born). The first few photos are pictures from the late 50s in Cuba, a time when a 10 year old’s birthday called for a two-tiered cake😂 and children on the island could still go to Catholic school. The second part of the video features photos of my parents and other family members in Honduras in the late 80s. Enjoy!