Resiliencia
The dust hasn’t even been a full year since the 2024 presidential election, and already, the air feels heavier than ever. For so many Latinas, Latinos, Latine, and our families, that heaviness is familiar—an ache in the chest, a fear passed down from generations who’ve had to navigate this country’s complicated, often hostile relationship with Hispanic and Latino people. With ICE raids resurfacing in headlines from Puerto Rico all the way to California, protests filling the streets, and racism simmering louder than ever, it would be dishonest to pretend this moment doesn’t feel dangerous. It does. I would be lying if I were to say I wasn’t scared. I am.
But fear is not new to us and other marginalized communities…however, neither is resilience.
As a Latina, I’m holding the tension between two truths: fear and pride.
Our communities are not monolithic, yet we share something deep—roots that stretch beyond borders, languages that carry the rhythm of our ancestors, and cultures that the world cannot help but imitate, borrow, and celebrate. That pride is sacred. It is also political. To be openly, unapologetically Latina in this climate is an act of resistance.
As a Puerto Rican woman, I empathize—even though my citizenship hasn’t openly been up for debate– still, our brown skin, our culture, our language has put a target on the backs of us all. And yet, I refuse to let fear have the final say.
Being Boricua, being Latina, is not something I can—or want to—turn off. My pride runs deep. It’s in the way my abuela taught me to stir arroz con gandules with love, in the bomba rhythms that vibrate through my bones, in the way Puerto Ricans show up for each other whether on the island or in the diaspora and other latinos. That pride isn’t just cultural—it’s survival. It is waving our flags proudly and unapologetically in the face of adversity.
Yes, navigating justifiable fear isn’t easy. Families worry about separation. Kids overhear ICE and immigration in conversations they shouldn’t have to. Racist rhetoric emboldens people who’ve always seen us as “other” and/or even deny us our humanity, basic rights that should never have been negotiable. Even protests that are meant to empower sometimes remind us how much work there is to do.
Still, I hold on to my pride because it’s the one thing they cannot take from me.
Latino pride is not a costume we put on in September for Hispanic Heritage Month; it is stitched into the way we live. When I see Latinas leading marches, young people chanting in both English and Spanish, and communities organizing to protect each other, I feel the power of who we are. It’s in the music, like Bad Bunny’s most recent album DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS, that soundtracks our joy and resistance in the way our neighborhoods pulse with life, in the fact that we show up for one another when the world feels like it’s crumbling.
Our resilience is not just reactionary—it is generational. This pride is not naive. It is defiant.
We know what it feels like to be told we don’t belong, yet we continue to build, to dream, to vote, to protest, to educate, to love out loud. We carry the stories of our parents and grandparents. That legacy demands that we keep going, even when we’re scared. Especially when we’re scared. We have endured colonialism, displacement, hurricanes, blackouts, debt crises, and political corruption, yet we are still here, still thriving, still dancing. We know how to rise from rubble and still bring joy into the room.
So what does it mean to navigate Latino pride in this moment? For me, it means refusing to shrink. It means speaking Spanish without apology. It means teaching our children the histories they won’t learn in school. It means organizing, showing up at protests, and demanding accountability from leaders who too often forget us until election season. It also means dancing, laughing, celebrating, and remembering that joy is resistance, too.
We are living through a time that tests us. But mi gente, we’ve been tested before. And every time, we’ve risen.
Our pride isn’t going anywhere. Neither are we.
