This is something I’ve wrestled with for a while—sharing my thoughts on politics and current events. Growing up, I was taught that talking about politics or religion was wrong. As some of you know, I was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness. I grew up with a lot of hate around us, and honestly, I don’t even need to explain why. Many of you understand what it’s like to feel the sting of judgment.

But this post isn’t about taking sides. I’m not here to say I agree or disagree with Trump, Kamala, or anyone else. This isn’t about trying to sway anyone to believe what I believe—because my political or religious views aren’t the point.

What I do want to talk about is the hate. The right and the wrong that I see around me—and how it’s handled.

There’s a right way and a wrong way to do things. I can admit that yes, coming into this country illegally is breaking the law. But I also believe it’s wrong to tear families apart at their workplaces or homes. That kind of cruelty isn’t the answer either.

I believe in God. I believe in a higher power. And I know in my heart that hate is never the answer.

I’m currently taking a class on Mexican American history. It’s opened my eyes to the history we don’t always hear about growing up. As an American-born citizen with parents who are also citizens, I went through school learning white history—because that’s what is taught. But this class has helped me see another side. It’s helped me understand.

And through that, I want to say something loud and clear:

We are not victims.

We are fighters.

We work hard.

We don’t expect handouts—we earn what we have. It’s in our blood.

That’s who we are.

I was raised with values that taught me the difference between right and wrong. So, while I support peaceful protest, I do not support riots. Destruction and hate don’t solve anything—they create more pain. Protest is power. Rioting is destruction. There’s a big difference.

I’m proud to be both Mexican and American. I was born here. This is my country. But my culture, my family, my roots—they’re Mexican. And I love all of it. I love where I come from. I love my people.

But this is where it gets harder to say:

There’s a certain kind of privilege that I see—especially when white men or women speak on our behalf, claiming to fight for us. And I know they mean well. I know their hearts might be in the right place. But sometimes, it doesn’t sit right.

Because no matter how American I am—by birth, by language, by life—I’ll still be seen as different. No matter how much I speak up, there will always be someone louder, someone who looks different, who gets heard before I do.

And when that someone tries to tell our stories, to speak for us instead of with us—it doesn’t feel like equality. It feels like more of the same. It feels like we’re still being told who we are.

I don’t say any of this with hate. I just want to express something that’s real for many of us who live between cultures. It’s not about choosing sides—it’s about finding our voice.

I want my people to know:

We are better than hate.

We have our own thoughts.

We don’t need someone else to define our worth or fight our battles for us.

We need to stop judging each other based on who we voted for or what we believe. That’s not our job. Judgment doesn’t create change—love does.

And real change? It starts at home.

Not on social media.

Not by attacking our neighbors.

Not by yelling over one another.

Maybe I’m wrong. But this is what I believe. And I leave it in God’s hands.