This blog on Texas education contains posts on higher education, as well as preK-12 policy accountability, testing, bilingual education, immigration, school finance, race, class, and gender issues at both the state and national level. It also represents my digital footprint, of life and career, as a community-engaged scholar in Texas.
I got an idea from a friend yesterday evening regarding a discussion group that people in her community are going to have on Project 2025: Mandate for Leadership, the Conservative Promise. This gave me the idea to post a downloadable PowerPoint I put together for this very purpose. I invite university professors to also make use of it this fall in their classrooms. The second download button is a reading list titled, "Critical Readings for Understanding the Political Formations Currently at Play in Texas and National Politics." It's a good supplement for the college classroom. Be aware, as well, that world leaders are reading what Project 2025 for their countries. For example, read this special report from Sunday's issue of Politico Magazine titled, "The world wasn't ready for Trump in 2016. It's not making that mistake this time."
As a 922-page document, it's a lot to plow through so to make it consumable, I highly recommend folks reading a cogent analysis of it in the June 2024 issue of The Nation that you can download and read here [pdf], beginning on page 25. It's titled, "The Plot Against America".
My PowerPoint—that you should feel free to share liberally, aligns with the June 2024 issue and only adds a few extra slides. One has gotten some news where Republican National Committee (RNC) co-chair Lara Trump says that another four years of a Trump administration will mean "scorched earth" policy, linking to an April 19, 2024 piece in the New York Magazine. Another is on Diversity Equity and Inclusion (DEI), as that is a particular interest of mine.
Here is the Table of Contents with the sections written by credible political scientists, authors, and researchers.
1) "The Conservative Promise," by Kim Phillips-Fein;
2) "The Executive," by Chris Lehmann;
3) "Democracy: The Great Dismantling," by John Nichols;
4) "Justice: A Legal Heist" by Ellie Mystal;
5) Housing: America's Landlord," by Sasha Abramsky;
6) "Healthcare: Bad Medicine," by Joan Walsh;
7) "Climate: License to Drill, Drill, Drill," by Bill McKibben;
8) "Immigration: Deport, Detain, Deny," by Gaby del Valle;
9) "China: A New Exclusion Act," by Jake Werner; and
10) "The Pentagon: Masters of War," by William Hartung.
The titles alone, are alarming.
Suppose you have a group of 5 people. In that case, you can divvy up responsibilities with each person taking on 2 sections apiece of "The Plot Against America in The Nation," alongside the actual document—that could use another round of edits, by the way. My PowerPoint also provides links to both documents.
Trump appears to want to distance himself from Project 2025, but don't believe him. For example, consider this July 8, 2024 piece in the Washington Post by Philip Bump that says otherwise: The impossibility of separating Trump from Project 2025. Bump says that Trump's staff will play a key role in making sure that this agenda gets implemented. And remember, Trump isn't known to be a reader so this agenda would align conveniently with a presidency that looks like it's doing "something,"—not the least of which is a dismantling of government—without him personally having to work very hard to fulfill the mandate.
I hope this facilitates matters for folks as concerned as me who want to have conversations around this destructive agenda that will only benefit the extremist Billionaire class—that I actually think will hurt them in the end which is a conversation for another time.
We must do everything we can to resist the Trump agenda that is primarily for the top 1 percent. The solution, of course, is to vote, vote, vote!
I welcome any friendly suggestions or feedback. I encourage you to post to these below.
Valenzuela, A. (2024, July 10). Critical Readings for Understanding the Political Formations Currently at Play in Texas and National Politics [downloadable below].
Angela Valenzuela's downloadable reading list titled, "Critical Readings for Understanding the Political Formations Currently at Play in Texas and National Politics."
Great piece here that provides perspective on the "Tejano" —i.e., Texas Mexican—vote in Texas, particularly for counties located along the Rio Grande border with Mexico. What additionally merits mention is that unlike the democratic party, the republican-led, Libre Initiative, that offered services to the Tejano community was an important factor that undergirded their endorsement of the Trump administration.
As you can read from the article below, it will also be very important for the Biden-Harris administration to incorporate the economic needs of South Texas as we move, as we must, with reducing our carbon footprint.
And not viewing or treating all Latinas/os as a monolith as elaborated herein, is essential. Moreover, as covered by Tiffany Cross on MSNBC, white female voter turnout desperately needs to be put in perspective.
Understanding the difference will be key to Democrats moving past their faltering, one-size-fits-all approach to Hispanics.
Jack Herrera is an independent immigration reporter, an Ida B. Wells Fellow with Type Investigations and an elections correspondent at Prism. Follow him @jackherrerx.
Photos by Tamir Kalifa for Politico Magazine
ZAPATA, Texas — Of all the results from the November 3 election, few drew as much attention from national political observers as what happened in a quiet county on the banks of the Rio Grande River. Donald Trump became the first Republican presidential candidate to win Zapata County’s vote in a hundred years. But it wasn’t its turn from a deep-blue history that seemed to be the source of such fascination but rather that, according to the census, more than 94 percent of Zapata’s population is Hispanic or Latino.
Zapata (population less than 15,000) was the only county in South Texas that flipped red, but it was by no means an anomaly: To the north, in more than 95-percent Hispanic Webb County, Republicans doubled their turnout. To the south, Starr County, which is more than 96-percent Hispanic, experienced the single biggest tilt right of any place in the country; Republicans gained by 55 percentage points compared with 2016. The results across a region that most politicos ignored in their preelection forecasts ended up helping to dash any hopes Democrats had of taking Texas.
To many outsiders, these results were confounding: How could Trump, one of the most virulently anti-immigrant leaders, make inroads with so many Latinos, and along the Mexican border no less?
An American flag and a Trump 2020 flag fly on private property in Zapata, Tex., on Nov. 11, 2020.
In Zapata, however, these questions have been met with mild chuckles to outright frustration. The shift, residents and scholars of the region say, shouldn’t be surprising if, instead of thinking in terms of ethnic identity, you consider the economic and cultural issues that are specific to the people who live there. Although the vast majority of people in these counties mark “Hispanic or Latino” on paper, very few long-term residents have ever used the word “Latino” to describe themselves. Ascribing Trump’s success in South Texas to his campaign winning more of “the Latino vote” makes the same mistake as the Democrats did in this election: Treating Latinos as a monolith.
Ross Barrera, a retired U.S. Army colonel and chair of the Starr County Republican Party, put it this way: “It’s the national media that uses ‘Latino.’ It bundles us up with Florida, Doral, Miami. But those places are different than South Texas, and South Texas is different than Los Angeles. Here, people don’t say we’re Mexican American. We say we’re Tejanos.”
Ross Barrera, photographed at his home in Rio Grande City, Tex., on Nov. 12, 2020.
Though not everyone in the Rio Grande Valley self-identifies as Tejano, the descriptor captures a distinct Latino community—culturally and politically—cultivated over centuries of both Mexican and Texan influences and geographic isolation. Nearly everyone speaks Spanish, but many regard themselves as red-blooded Americans above anything else. And exceedingly few identify as people of color. (Even while 94 percent of Zapata residents count their ethnicity as Hispanic/Latino on the census, 98 percent of the population marks their race as white.) Their Hispanicness is almost beside the point to their daily lives.
In the end, Trump’s success in peeling off Latino votes in South Texas had everything to do with not talking to them as Latinos. His campaign spoke to them as Tejanos, who may be traditionally Democratic but have a set of specific concerns—among them, the oil and gas industry, gun rights and even abortion—amenable to the Republican Party’s positions, and it resonated. To be sure, it didn’t work with all of Texas’ Latinos; Trump still lost that vote by more than double digits statewide, and Joe Biden won more of the nationwide Latino vote than Hillary Clinton did in 2016. But Trump proved that seeing specific communities as persuadable voters and offering targeted messaging to match—fear of socialism in Miami-Dade’s Venezuelan and Cuban communities, for example—can be more effective than a blanket campaign that treats people as census categories. And in the end, it was enough to keep Florida and Texas in his column. If the Democratic Party’s 2020 postmortem for Texas—indeed, for the whole nation—goes only as far as to try to increase their appeal to “Latinos” as an undifferentiated bloc, they’re going to experience even harsher losses in the next election.
In the past two weeks, national newspapers have put forward more than one theory about why Zapata, and the surrounding counties, experienced a red tide. According to the New York Times, Zapata’s vote can be explained by the area’s dependence on the oil and gas industry—and it’s true, many natural gas workers worry about unemployment under a Biden administration. The Wall Street Journal summed up their own hypothesis in a word: the economy. Pre-pandemic, many in Zapata say they attributed job growth to Trump, and many remain wary of new economic shutdowns under a Democratic administration.
What this coverage makes less clear are the ways in which the modern Republican platform appeals holistically to many people in South Texas. Few Trump supporters in Zapata think of themselves as single-issue voters, and while Biden-Harris signs are as prevalent as Trump ones, the region’s culture is, in many ways, conservative—despite being one of the most reliably Democratic up to now.
The roots of the region’s blue history go back to when, in the first half of the 20th century, Democrats controlled political life in Texas. Historians say it’s hardly an exaggeration to say there were only two parties in the state: Democrats and conservative Democrats. Like much of the South, Democratic dominance began to change when the national party began to embrace racial integration, beginning with President Harry Truman’s desegregation of the military. However, the Democratic Party machine was powerful enough that Republicans were still fended off for decades.
Today, the Rio Grande Valley is many ways a legacy, a last holdout, of a once blue Texas. There of course have always been discrete political preferences that can explain why certain individuals vote Democratic. But there’s also just the basic fact that for generations most people have been born into Democratic homes and voted year after year in local elections where the only party on the ballot was the Democratic Party. Not to mention, 2020 is the first year Texas didn’t have one-punch voting, where you could walk into the polling booth and opt simply to vote the straight-party line. (Even some Democrats in South Texas have lamented the lack of political diversity. In 2006, Aaron Peña, the Democratic state representative for the district just to the south of Starr County wrote on a now-defunct blog about “the sad legacy of South Texas boss or strongman politics which relied heavily on patrón-managed turnout rather than the advocacy of ideas.” Peña, now working for the state land office, has since switched parties.)
Trump’s success in the Rio Grande Valley, says Daniel Arreola, a cultural geographer and author of Tejano South Texas, “peels back the onion on how really conservative that Tejano ranch and small-town rural population is.”
Scenes from South Texas: A very Catholic region, at top a student has graduation photos taken at the Our Lady of Lourdes Grotto in Rio Grande City. Border Patrol agents, of which many in this area are Hispanic, are seen (middle left) patrolling the Rio Grande River between Laredo, Tex., and Nuevo Laredo, Mex.
From the brush of Laredo across more than 200 miles to the lush delta of Brownsville, there’s a legacy of a frontier culture that lives on. A place like Zapata is oil country. On weekends, the town empties out as people head into the ranchland to hunt, and nearly everyone is proudly gun-toting and God-fearing. In the deeply Catholic county, support for abortion is practically nonexistent, while support for law enforcement, the military and even Border Patrol is rock-solid.
For Sergio Garcia-Rios, a professor of government and Latino studies at Cornell and the polling director for Univision, that people in the border region are more culturally conservative makes sense. “What bothers me,” he says, “is that people understand that about the white vote. Campaigns don’t have the same discourse in rural Pennsylvania as they do in Philadelphia.” He adds: “It’s a racialized oversimplification, one that holds that, if it’s Latinos, they should all look and act the same. … I think they hoped that Latinos would all be, you know, offended by Trump.”
In some ways, by pursuing the coveted “Latino vote” nationally, the Biden campaign created a massive blind spot for itself in South Texas, where criticizing Trump’s immigration regime and championing diversity just does not play well among a Hispanic population where many neither see themselves as immigrant or diverse.
Take Cynthia Villarreal, a lifelong Democrat and lifelong Zapata resident. She, like many along the Texas border, holds that her family history begins with the Spaniards’ colonial regime along the Rio Grande.
“We like to say here that we didn’t cross the border; the border crossed us,” Villarreal says, as she adjusts her face mask and slips in and out of English and Spanish. It’s a sentiment one hears frequently, from Republicans and Democrats, across the region. It’s also that very history that explains why Tejanos don’t fit easily into racial boxes.
“I’m too white to be Mexican, and I’m too Mexican to be white,” Villarreal says with a laugh. “No soy Mexicana, ni gringa. Soy Tejana.”
In 1848, at the end of the Mexican-American War, the Treaty of Guadalupe ceded all Mexican land north of the Rio Grande to the U.S. As part of the conditions of surrender, Mexico extracted a guarantee from the U.S.: All Mexican nationals who remained on the land would be offered U.S. citizenship, with full civil rights. In the U.S., with Texas still a slave state, the second part of that agreement had a specific consequence: Mexicans would be considered white. If only it were that simple.
Tejanos were conscripted to fight for the Confederacy in the Civil War but were also forced into racially segregated platoons in World War I and World War II. In 1930, “Mexican” appeared as a race option on the census. But by 1940, it was gone again. After a Supreme Court decision in 1935 ruled that three Mexican immigrants were not white, the Mexican government pressured President Franklin D. Roosevelt to remove “Mexican” from the census and again record all Mexican-descended people as white. In 2020, the census treats Hispanic as an option to select before asking one’s race, though election exit polls often don’t distinguish between white Latino voters and non-white Latino voters, instead drawing the demographic lines around non-Latino white voters versus Latino voters of all races. For Tejanos, especially older ones, all the labeling can be tiring.
“You young folks all want to call people Hispanic, Latino, white, brown, Black, green, whatever,” says Cynthia’s uncle Xavier. “When we were growing up, nobody was a Hispanic, Latino, Latina, brown, any of that. Everybody was an American. I’m still an American here.”
Arreola says that while the exact origin of the term Tejano dates back to before the U.S. conquered the area that was once called Tejas, the prevalence of Texan Mexican Americans using that identifier as a rejection of others being put on them—“I’m not Mexican, I’m Tejano”—began in the mid-20th century, as South Texans tried to distance themselves from more recent Mexican immigrants across the country as well as from Hispanic activists who were beginning to embrace Chicano identity. And there is certainly a coherent culture for it to describe: Tejanos have their own recognizable way of speaking Spanish and Spanglish (“me duele la head” or “pass me la escoba,” for example), their own cuisine (Tex-Mex is not simply Americanized Mexican food, as commonly misperceived) and their own regional music style (most popularized by Selena).
Even descendants of more recent Mexican immigrants who’ve assimilated into Tejano culture tend to mythologize a non-immigrant identity for themselves, Arreola says. In 19th- and 20th-century Texas, he explained, being called Mexican “had such a stain to it, and I think that the legacy of that is, in some ways, alive and well in the subconscious of some Tejanos in the [Rio Grande] Valley.”
“I see myself just as an American,” says Yvonne Trappe, another lifelong resident of Zapata but an ardent Trump supporter. “Growing up, I never knew that Hispanics were another race, that we were brown. Everybody just put white—not that it matters. Our culture is one thing, but we were just Americans.”
“Growing up, I never knew that Hispanics were another race, that we were brown.”
Democrats certainly feel passionate about winning back Zapata. After the national election was called for Biden, Villarreal organized an impromptu “Ridin’ for Biden” car rally. She says she expected about a dozen cars, but more than 80 showed up, by her count.
“People are still Democrats down here,” Villarreal believes. “Even if they voted for Trump.”
That may be true, at least on a technicality. In Zapata today, remarkably, there is no formal Republican Party. Everyone elected to city government is a Democrat. And even lifelong Republicans like Trappe say that, on paper, they’re registered as Democrats—so that they can vote in primaries, since there were no Republicans in town to vote for. But some younger Trump supporters think 2020 could, or at least should, be the beginning of a local political reckoning.
“Everything has been better under Trump,” says Leroy Cruz, while working at the car-detailing business he runs out of his garage. A Trump flag flies on a pole nearby.
Leroy Cruz (bottom) and his garage (top) decorated with Trump flags, in Zapata, Tex., on Nov. 11, 2020.
“The oilfield is back up. There are more jobs, more work than ever,” says Cruz. “And yeah, I like [Trump’s] attitude. I like the way he talks.”
Cruz says he feels that, in recent years, people have begun to shake off the cultural assumption that to live in Zapata means one must vote Democratic. “I think people are starting to wake up and realize that the Democrats aren’t good.”
There is no singular reason why Trump did so well in South Texas, but certainly key to the increase in Republican turnout was the GOP’s willingness to engage the border region as its own political environment, rather than just an extension of the so-called Latino community.
In the meantime, as “Trump Trains”—caravans of pickup trucks flying MAGA flags—drove through cities all along the Rio Grande, Republicans told oil and gas workers that a “Green New Deal” would destroy their livelihood, told hunters that Democrats wanted to take their guns, and said Democrats would allow late-term abortion. In the final debate, when Biden said he would like to see the country transition from fossil fuels to renewable energy over time, Trump asked, “Will you remember that, Texas?”
Eventually, Brunà said the state party sent her something to campaign with: blue posters, with the words “Todos con Biden.”
This insightful article byBelinda
CamposandLeo
R. Chavez' underscores the real psychological stress experienced by Latin@s that results from hateful rhetoric. Drawing on their own and others' research, they call for replacing hateful rhetoric with positive and inclusive language to at once reduce this stress and build a stronger United States. As Campos and Chavez indicate, we must pay attention to the pronouns that we use on a daily basis as a first step:
The key is “we” over “they.” This goal is already enshrined in the national motto—e pluribus unum, which translates to “Out of many, one”—but we all need to be active agents in giving that motto the weight of psychological truth.
We all want to be valued members of the groups to which we belong. For Latinos in the United States, this isn’t easy. Rhetoric that casts Latinos as a threat to other Americans is a fact of life.
Do words matter? To Latinos? To all Americans?
In a study that started last summer, we learned that anti-immigrant and anti-Latino rhetoric can leave psychological damage in its wake. But the findings also point to a pathway for undoing that damage, by the simple act of bringing attention to a group’s positive contributions and membership in the larger group. If we can replace hateful rhetoric with language that is positive and inclusive, we won’t just help Latinos feel good about themselves. We’ll also help to build a stronger United States.
Seeing Latinos as a threat
Some may be tempted to think that anti-Latino rhetoric is a new phenomenon, a product of changes to the political discourse that first appeared during the presidential campaign in 2015 and 2016. That would be wrong. The history is much longer. During the era of the Great Depression, for example, people who looked “Mexican”—including U.S. citizens—were deported to Mexico as a way to reduce competition for scarce jobs or conserve poverty relief funds for people deemed more deserving. In Los Angeles alone, these actions cut the Latino population by one third.
That’s the history Donald Trump tapped into when he began his campaign on June 16, 2015, by calling Mexican immigrants drug dealers, criminals, and rapists. But Trump did not stop with immigrants, going on to target Americans with Mexican heritage. In a highly publicized attack on Judge Gonzalo Curiel that members of his own political party called“the textbook definition of a racist comment,” Donald Trump questioned the Judge’s ability to perform his job—overseeing a lawsuit involving Trump himself—because his parents had been born in Mexico. Trump’s attack on Curiel, an American citizen by birth in the United States, was an attack on all Americans of Mexican descent.
Far from punishing this anti-Latino rhetoric, significant numbers of Americans voted for Donald Trump—and today he is president of the United States.
Trump isn’t alone, of course. Earlier this year, Iowa congressman Steve King suggested that Latino children are a threat to the nation’s future: “Culture and demographics are our destiny. We can’t restore our civilization with somebody else’s babies.” This rhetoric drew a clear distinction between “us” (legitimate members of the nation) versus “them” (those who don’t belong) that casts Latinos as “other” who cannot be Americans.
Though it’s not possible to establish a causal link between this rhetoric and real-world violence, it is probably not an accident that hate crimes in nine U.S. cities rose more than 23 percent in 2016, according to a study by criminal justice professor Brian Levin at California State University, San Bernardino.
The psychology that drives these forces is well studied. Humans are social animals and group living is part of being human. Indeed, the tendency to form groups is so strong that the basis of group memberships need not be meaningful—it can be sudden and arbitrary. A set of famous studies used a method called the “minimal group paradigm” to divide people into groups. Whether the group distinction was “overestimators” versus “underestimators,” or an implied preference for one type of art versus another, people quickly start favoring their group at the expense of the other group.
Real or perceived competition, especially for resources that are valuable and scarce, exacerbates these tendencies to separate into groups and favor the in-group. These dynamics quickly set the stage for overt group conflict that is dangerous to members of devalued groups. Thus, it is no surprise that times of economic hardship are associated with increased acts of violence and discrimination toward members of devalued groups.
How words hurt
What is the impact of anti-Latino rhetoric on the mental health of Latinos?
To find out, we presented 285 college students of Mexican-heritage with three types of visual and written information: positive, negative, or neutral. Both the positive and negative information were conveyed through two statements and two images each. All were drawn from public discourse and findings from social-science studies about Latino immigrants and their children. The neutral information consisted of two statements and two images about the color of buildings on college campuses. Participants were randomly assigned to receive one of the three types of information. Afterward, we asked participants to comment on the information, and then respond to a series of questionnaires measuring anxiety, belonging, health status, identity, and community participation.
While our analysis is still in the early stages, preliminary findings indicate that hurtful public discourse can cut deeply. The comments of participants who received negative information frequently included words such as “sad,” “upset,” “angry,” and “hurt.” For example, a 24-year-old Mexican American woman who saw negative information said:
Anger, rage, frustration, impotence are just some of the words that come to mind, but I have so much to say that I am not able to properly articulate what I am trying to say, much less express myself in a healthy manner. These types of aggression’s [sic] are not new to me, so I know what it’s like to have these words and images being shouted at you, and making you feel out of place, ashamed and inferior, even though you were born in the U.S.
Her comment vividly describes the experience of despair and alienation that Americans of Latino background can feel after reading and viewing negative rhetoric.
In contrast, positive words and images can have a salutary effect. Participants who viewed positive information peppered their comments with words such as “proud,” “happy,” “benefit,” and “contribution.” For example, this 19-year-old woman who was born in the U.S. said:
As I read the quotes and see the images I think that individuals that come to America should be welcomed. Parents that are not citizens but have children that are U.S. citizens encourage their children to be successful and make them proud and it is clearly shown. There is sufficient evidence that “immigrants” contribute to society and I believe that individuals should be more accepting of foreigners because they arrive to the U.S. with the goal to persevere and be successful. As a Mexican-American, I feel proud reading the quotes and seeing the images. I feel very emotional because in the present-day individuals discriminate not only against immigrants but their children. I am glad to see that we are contributing to society and I wish Americans could see that. I wish that they can see we are not harming “their” country; we are helping it grow.
In our study, the prominence of the anti-immigrant and anti-Latino rhetoric in the presidential election was anxiety-provoking among participants of Mexican heritage. We compared participant responses collected before and after the November 8, 2016, election on a scale of perceived stress, which measures a person’s perception that demands or pressure exceed their ability to control things in their life and cope with its problems—and we did indeed find much more anxiety after the election. This doesn’t seem unreasonable. After all, their new president came to power by denigrating and stigmatizing people like them.
Should this matter only to Latinos? Rhetoric that seeks to divide people by increasing a sense of threat—and then targeting members of devalued groups as the source of that threat—may lead to short-term political gains, but it also has long-term societal costs. Those costs come in the form of disintegration of the societal fabric—a sense of disconnect from people deemed “other.” In turn, this disintegration can lead to unwillingness to work together to build and maintain strong, stable, and safe societies. When that happens, we all lose.
In fact, history and recent events are replete with examples of the social and economic costs that occur when groups are singled out as “other” and denied social integration. In 2005, French-Algerian and French-Moroccan youth who, despite their many generations in France, are alienated and unaccepted by the larger French society acted on their frustrations by setting fire to cars and buildings in one of France’s worst incidents of urban violence. Sadly, these tensions continue today.
Taken together, our preliminary findings highlight the fundamental importance of belonging and its role in psychological well-being. Indeed, the positive implications of the study’s findings dovetail nicely with the broader research on the psychological forces necessary to bring people together and amend the wrongs brought on by excesses of ethnocentrism.
As our own research highlights, facts must be better known. This is particularly urgent for members of devalued groups who might psychologically, and perhaps physically, suffer as a result of internalizing negative rhetoric about their group as truth. Public discourse that fails to recognize U.S. Latinos as an integral part of the American fabric does special harm to U.S. Latinos, but it does all Americans a disservice. This is a difference we can all make, at home, in our neighborhoods, at work, or on social media. By knowing, and openly acknowledging, our shared history in public and private discourse, you can do your part to ensure that Latinos are socially integrated into the larger American group.
Second, we can recognize that immigration requires people to figure out where and how they belong to their new societies. Depending on the circumstances that led them to leave their home countries, immigrants may arrive with little knowledge of their new country’s language, history, or cultural norms. It takes time to figure this all out. Psychologists call the challenges that can accompany the immigration process “acculturation stress.” The degree of stress experienced depends in part on the reception one receives. Among U.S. Latinos, there is a saying “ni de aqui, ni de alla” that can be translated as “not from here, nor from there” which captures the feeling that one is neither accepted in the new country or the old one. But by expressing acceptance and appreciation for the contributions of new Americans, you can help make the incorporation process easier on new immigrants.
Third, the benefits of group living and group membership can be harnessed to include rather than exclude. Humans form groups, yes. But at any given time, everyone belongs to multiple social categories and, thus, multiple groups. U.S. Latinos are one flavor of American identity. The key is shifting from “they” to “we.” Research studies highlight the power of “we”—when separate groups of people become “we,” the processes that favor members of the in-group kick in for all members of the group. Social interaction and activities that highlight shared social categories can do this work of building a sense of “we” among people. You can look for opportunities—with friends, parents, children, and coworkers—to highlight the “we” among Americans of all ethnic groups.
Fourth, the comfort of “we” can serve as a spark to deeper connections among Latinos and non-Latinos. The use of “we” may prompt relationship-building self-disclosures or bring invitations to social events that replace the unfamiliar with a new pleasure (e.g., music, food). From these deeper connections, people can carve out a space for mutual acceptance of difference as a positive opportunity to engage with novelty. For members of devalued groups, messages of acceptance can transform feelings of alienation into feelings of belonging and all the psychological benefits that belonging can bring. If you are a member of the majority, reminders of all that “we” have in common can reduce the sense of threat brought about by exposure to anti-Latino rhetoric. Once the “we” is in motion, personal stories that build empathy and connection can be more easily shared, new kinds of similarity may be found, and even conflict can be more constructively resolved.
The current outbreak of the “Latino threat narrative” is not an isolated incident—but it gives us all an opportunity to contribute to the greater good by openly contesting it. The key is “we” over “they.” This goal is already enshrined in the national motto—e pluribus unum, which translates to “Out of many, one”—but we all need to be active agents in giving that motto the weight of psychological truth.