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Category: Representation Matters

We Are Living Different Realities

Por Jazzari T. Taylor,  Policy Advocate, Latino Outdoors

ICE raids are not “public safety.” They are terror and are disruptive by design. They do not begin to capture the broader impacts of the current administration on the nation’s economy and environment, as outlined by Climate Power (January 2026).

ICE was created to enforce immigration law, but has been weaponized to advance political agendas hidden behind “Make America Great Again” propaganda. Individuals and communities are being racially profiled, detained without due process, children are separated from parents, and families are ripped apart in minutes. ICE is entering homes without a judge’s warrant.

People have gone missing. People have been harmed by the very country they looked to for opportunity and hope. People have died at the hands of political agendas, untrained agents, and hate.

Photo: American Flag in Joshua Tree National Park – Flying the American flag upside down is a signal of
dire distress or extreme danger to life or property, as outlined in the U.S. Flag Code.

Justice for those killed. Justice for the thousands still in detention centers. Justice for those wrongfully deported, violently injured, and terrorized.

Something I heard recently has been sitting with me: “We are all living different realities.” I see it online and within my own family. Someone will say, “But we’re okay,” or “That’s not us,” or “We’re not like them — we came here the legal way.”

I try to understand where those statements come from. Assimilation. Survival tactics. Fear. Propaganda repeated so long that it starts to feel like the truth. But understanding isn’t the same as justifying. Explaining the mindset doesn’t erase the harm.

Because I keep coming back to the same question: who is “them”?

Most of the time, “them” just means other people different by language, culture, race, who they love, identity, or immigration status. And once someone becomes “other,” it becomes easier to deny them rights. Underneath it all is a curated narrative of who gets to belong and who doesn’t. Who is “American enough”? People are labeled “immigrants” like it’s an insult, on lands that were never meant to be measured by imaginary lines.

Borders have been used to decide who is welcome, who is punished, and who is forced to prove their humanity. Indigenous people, who have always been here, are still expected to fight for recognition and protection on their own homelands.

None of this is normal. All of this has been strategically created for the benefit of the few.

So I have to ask: what does it even mean to be American? Is it a birth certificate? A passport? A look? A last name? A language spoken? Or is it a dream we’re constantly striving for? This is both rhetorical and thought-provoking.

What many of us were taught “being American” meant came with freedom, equality, and the right to be one’s true self. Challenging false narratives isn’t unpatriotic; it’s necessary. Right now, the U.S. feels so far from that dream that I barely recognize it. It’s heartbreaking. But I still believe in the power of people to hold this country accountable.

Maybe this is the opportunity to redefine “American” not as gatekeepers, but as protectors. Not as owners, but as stewards. People are willing to learn, reflect, and face the past so we don’t repeat it. The right to exist in a safe world that offers the opportunity to dream should not be something you have to earn.

History isn’t only written by politicians. It’s written by what the rest of us accept as normal. And this moment is a moral test. Morality isn’t abstract; it exists right now in front of all. It exists right now, the choice between silence and solidarity.

I refuse to accept systems that treat human beings as disposable. There is nothing moral about terrorizing communities. If you’re ready to take action right now, here is one immediate way to help:

Tell Congress: No More Tax Dollars for ICE & CBP. We Demand Accountability. Congress is considering funding levels for ICE and CBP in upcoming federal spending decisions. Our communities should not be asked to bankroll agencies that continue racial profiling, detention, deportation, and harm without real oversight. Use this tool to contact your representatives and demand accountability, meaningful limits, and a vote against expanding this violence.

El primer 5.13 b encadenado por una mujer en Puerto Rico

Por Nina Medina

No todas las historias de escalada en Puerto Rico empiezan con un flechazo. A veces, como le pasó a Mariely Bonilla Viana de Carolina Puerto Rico (mejor conocida como Ely), todo comienza casi por accidente: una vecina que la lleva al gimnasio de escalada, una actividad escolar que parece un pasatiempo más.

“Me fue bien, mejor que al resto del grupo, pero no me enamoré del deporte en ese instante. Fue como ir al cine, una actividad más”, recuerda.

Lo suyo era el baile: ballet, jazz, hip hop. Incluso planeaba abrir una academia de baile con su hermana. Pero tras varios bloqueos en el escenario decidió dejarlo. La vida, sin embargo, le tenía otra prueba.
Un día, al llegar a una de las rutas más difíciles del gimnasio, un escalador musculoso la retó con una frase que marcaría su destino: “Si yo no pude, tú no vas a poder.” Mariely se subió… y la encadenó. “Con el orgullo en high pensé: ‘esto es lo que quiero hacer’.”

Rutas que nadie más quiere
Desde entonces, Mariely—una de las escaladoras boricuas más duras—se sintió atraída por rutas poco transitadas. “Lo bonito es descifrarlo por ti misma, no que te digan la beta.” Así llegó a Juana Díaz, donde un proyecto se convirtió en obsesión. Esta ruta se llama Duelo de Mitro. Grado sugerido 13 b. Encadenada por Ely el 10 de julio del 2025.

El reto no fue solo físico, sino mental. “Los agarres eran tan pequeños y dolorosos que los dedos quedaban casi en carne viva. Usaba tape, pero me resbalaba. Me obsesioné tanto que dejé pasar oportunidades, incluso viajes con mi pareja.”

El consejo de un amigo la sostuvo: “Tienes que seguir tratando, así es como eventualmente la vas a poder terminar.” Y tenía razón. Tras un descanso obligado, Ely regresó y finalmente encadenó la ruta, uno de los logros más importantes de la escalada deportiva en la isla.

El grito de victoria
El último movimiento fue pura concentración. “Me repetía: ‘la tienes, los pies están bien, la tienes’. Al llegar a la cadena, parte de mí dudaba que fuera real. Tuve que ver el video para confirmarlo.”
Lo que sí fue real: el grito de victoria. “De alegría aún no he llorado, pero de frustración, sí”, confiesa. Ely tiene el primer ascenso encadenando esta ruta y es la primera mujer boricua en lograr encadenar este grado de dificultad.

Inspirar a otras mujeres en la escalada
Mariely nunca pensó que algo fuera imposible. “Tal vez ahora no tengo la fuerza, pero eventualmente podré descifrarlo.” Esa mentalidad se convierte en ejemplo para otras.

“Mi logro puede motivar a mujeres cercanas a intentarlo. Muchos se intimidan por los grados, pero no es hasta que lo prueban que se dan cuenta que no es tan difícil.”

A las niñas que dan sus primeros pasos en la roca les dice:
👉 “Un paso a la vez. Siempre puedes volver y llegar más lejos. Y no te guardes tus miedos: decirlos en voz alta los convierte en una carga compartida.”

Este mensaje conecta con muchas mujeres que buscan espacios en la comunidad de escalada latina.

Escalar como espejo
Hoy trabaja un nuevo proyecto en la Cueva Corretjer en Ciales, Puerto Rico, una de las zonas más visitadas por quienes buscan rutas de escalada en Puerto Rico. Pero más allá de cadenas y grados, para ella la escalada es un espejo: “Es un constante redescubrir de qué estoy hecha y qué tan lejos puedo llegar.”

Nunca se sintió fuera de lugar en la comunidad, aunque al inicio había pocas mujeres. “El grupo con el que compartía siempre me alentaba. Decían que hacían falta más féminas. Llevo eso conmigo siempre.”

Más que un logro personal
En un país donde los deportes no convencionales rara vez ocupan portadas, y donde la violencia de género sigue siendo una herida social, la historia de Mariely resuena más allá de la roca. Cada encadene femenino es también un acto de resistencia, un recordatorio de que las mujeres en la escalada tienen espacio, voz y fuerza en cada pared que deciden subir.

Nina Medina natural del oeste de Puerto Rico. Apasionada de la escalada, el cuerpo y sus movimientos, escribe para visibilizar a mujeres y comunidades latinas en deportes no convencionales y salud preventiva. Su misión es contar historias que inspiren determinación, inclusión y amor por la naturaleza y nuestra capacidad de ser mejores seres humanos.

Feeling

I walk, I breathe, I can feel the heat, I appreciate the birds singing, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, my earth-colored skin, where flowers bloom. I look to my left and I see construction workers, building an apartment building, each of them working hard to give opportunities of a better tomorrow to their families. Many of them will never be able to hug their parents or grandparents again. The day they left was never to return, their footprints marked the path they had to walk, early one morning the dew covered the crop and the roosters crowed to say goodbye.

In that walk all the stories of childhood passed through your mind. You were on your way to meet with a group of people leaving north, that day the coffee did not taste the same, that day the sky was witness to another departure. They told you not to take much, but your grandmother never got that information, she woke early to prepare tortillas to take, the smoke from the fire wrapping you like a farewell hug; she packed that last meal loaded with hope. The neighbors said goodbye Tachajil awi, you will no longer be part of Tachajil awi the plantation this year. Your mother gave you a blessing and with tears in her eyes and a broken heart, wishing you a good trip and knowing the Yuum K’aaxo’ob protects you. You leave. You get on a truck, the next stop is uncertain, it is uncomfortable, it is hot and there is barely any water or space. Above all there is a smell of fading earth, as the hours pass and the mountains of your village become distant, everything is more real, you are going north. After several hours you remember that backpack and take out the meal, which will fill your stomach but also your heart. The backpack is heavy because you realize that it is loaded with dreams, but above all it is loaded with sorrows, anguish and fear. Suddenly in the crowd you notice there is a child watching you. You not only share a smile but food as well. The main ingredient is resilience because your grandmother, who is a widow, suffered from the internal war that lasted 36 years, a war that was called the Mayan Holocaust.

It is getting dark, the air is cold, while dozing off in the middle of the desert. You remember that your family had to sell their few possessions, your mother’s wedding hüipil and your grandmother’s precious silver necklace, they sold that so you could undertake this journey, and in this way become a weather vane that can change the course of the ship. You have to get there no matter how you have to get there, because the remittance will pay for the trip and you will finally be able to buy that stove for your mother. How she wishes she could keep cooking like her mom over an open fire, but she does not have the time now that she works for a salary that is barely enough to pay the rent.

Years have passed and that story has been forgotten, traditions live in your heart and grandma is no longer around. Now you go back to work, strapping on your toolbelt ready to finish the day’s work. It is extremely hot. Something the occupants may not notice as the apartments will be air-conditioned once your work is complete. I keep walking and I see day laborers, it is lunch time. There is nothing close to provide them with shade, they eat their lunch from their van to get a break from the sun. A quick lunch and silent talk. They have to make a better life for their children, now they have a house and don’t have to share the same room made out of corrugated steel.

Days pass and I call my friend to find out how she is doing in the suburbs of Los Angeles, they are living in fear. They do not want to go out even to the supermarket, their children are locked in an apartment in the middle of the summer, she says this is worse than the pandemic. She tells me to please use my privilege to share her story. She lost her husband two years ago, she came when she was young and has no papers because the system did not work for her. A system that has left her in this undocumented status even after both her husband and mother were granted legal status. She asks, “what happens if they deport me when my children are in school, who will cook dinner for them that night?” These stories are of people that are working in a country that has benefited economically from immigrants, illegal, legal, and all the different stages in between.

Our government set up these systems to benefit many sectors in the United States and now the very same people who have worked are being punished for supporting those systems.

My story begins in this country 20 years ago, when after graduating from college I was traveling and met the person who would become my husband. We got married 18 years ago, after moving to the US, I received a box full of souvenirs, some junk, and a clay pot, which has drained after I emigrated leaving my family, friends and a country full of esotericism, history, and a culture that pulsated in my heart. I was now in a foreign country with a culture I did not understand. After trying to fill this vessel with tears and longing, in human connections, I found empathy and new stories of resilience. In the community, I found hope.

My work with the Latino community began two years ago with Irene Vilar the founder of AFC+A. Providing opportunities for access to open space, forest bathing, and cultural events to communities that have historically and systematically been discriminated against. It has been a world-wind of change where I could see my actions directly affecting the lives of many people.

Unfortunately, after the election everything changed for the worst. Our DEI (Diversity, Equity and Inclusion) programs were presented in a way that made it look like we were doing something illegal or bad. Our funding was withheld and we have only been able to hold a few events this year. These programs are used to create community, understanding and create safe spaces where families can find peace and hope, but these spaces are shrinking daily.

When raids began in one county in Denver, 50% of the children in that county did not attend school for several days. The stories are nuanced, and this generational anxiety over federal immigration detentions and policies rooted in fear and exclusion has gripped thousands of immigrant residents and led many to limit the time they spend in public. In a divided times leading with compassion and respect, is how we can heal and grow together. Check on your immigrant community, help create an emergency preparedness plan, and use your voice, and privilege. You can learn more on Latino Outdoor’s Know Your Rights Resource page.

“Immigrants are a backbone, yet they’re being targeted and mistreated. This isn’t just wrong, it’s unacceptable. Our community deserves respect, dignity, and protection”. -Casa de Paz

Reforma Migratoria

Partiendo de la premisa

De que el pueblo inmigrante es la leva-brazo impresindible

De esta colosal máquina

Denominada Estados Unidos

Esta desesperanza tiene más de tres décadas

De ingerir el mismo caldo de cultivo

Charola con falacias de ambos partidos

Además del trato de indole tercermundista

No más seudopromesas

Ya basta de convertirnos en trampolín político

De retóricas trilladas estamos hasta el hartazgo

Por eso y muchas cosas

más

Nos encontramos en pie de lucha.

Urge reforma migratoria

Comprensiba, inclusiva, humana e imparcial.

– J.M. Patraca

Books recommendations:

  • A Magnificently Ordinary Romance: A Poetry Collection. – Celia Martinez.
  • Serving the Underserved: Strategies for Inclusive Community Engagement. – Dr. Catharine Bomhold
  • IMMIGRANT: I am a Mayan Q’anjob’al, a Guatemalan, an immigrant, a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a tech entrepreneur: my ancestry roots are my strength, and my people’s history my testimony. -Marcos Antil.
  • Say the Right Thing: How to Talk About Identity, Diversity, and Justice. – Kenji Yoshino , David Glasgow
  • La distancia entre nosotros. -Reyna Grande.
  • No somos de aquí. – Jenny Torres Sanchez
  • Stamped. Rendi Racism, Antiracism and You. – Jason Reynolds and Ibram X.
  • The Wind Knows My Name. – Isabel Allende
  • De Pánama a Nueva York: La historia de Jacquelina. – Jacqueline Atkins