When I woke up to the results of the presidential election on November 6, 2024, the anxiety that took over my body the previous night was replaced with dread. But as petrified as I was about having to endure another Trump presidency, what really left me perturbed was the fact that, according to the CNN election poll, 54 percent of Latino men voted for Donald Trump—who came within six points of winning the Latino vote outright. This feeling was further amplified later by the discovery that Alex Pretti’s killers—Raymundo Gutierrez and Jesus Ochoa—were both Latino men. How could my people support someone who wants to see every last one of us deported from this country, let alone join a paramilitary force that terrorizes our streets and puts our lives in danger? But the more that I came to think about it, the more it made sense.

To be Latino means that your family likely practiced machismo. For those unaware, machismo is a particular brand of masculinity present in the Latin community where men are expected to project masculinity and hold dominance over women. As a man growing up, my father often told me that my emotions were a weakness and that I had to stop letting my imagination flow freely. This meant I hid my problems from all of my friends and rarely spoke about them to others; I stymied my creativity because it wasn’t  what my dad wanted out of me. I wanted to be a strong man and yet, no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. In all my attempts to become friends with other Latino  men, I was always the odd one out because I was so clearly different in the values I held and the emotionality that lay within me. Even when I so badly wanted to connect with others, I was often dismissed because I was “too effeminate,” “too emotional,” “too weird” and the like. So, in a way, it should not have surprised me that a man as chauvinistic as Trump could appeal to the kind of machista that exists within the Latin community.

When I enter liberal spaces, I sometimes see Latino men, among other groups, scapegoated as the reason why Kamala Harris lost the 2024 presidential election. Generally speaking, I feel unwelcome when I enter certain liberal spaces as a Latino man. And I know I am not alone in this. For instance, one of my good friends, whom I will leave anonymous, is a Latino man, and in high school, was the head of his local Gay-Straight Alliance. However, whenever he enters queer spaces on campus, which tend to be predominantly white, a few of them will give him strange looks and implicitly assume he’s a homophobe based on his outward appearance. It may be a subconscious judgment, but it hurts all the same.

For a very long time, I felt as if I carried the collective sins of the Latino men who voted for Trump on my shoulders. But then again, as I have contemplated this further, I realized something crucial. Ultimately, it is not my or any other Latino man’s  responsibility to answer for any of those transgressions. Even if it is true that the  majority of Latino men are conservative or voted for Donald Trump, that does not make it right to judge or hold preconceived notions of our morals and values. We are individuals first and foremost.

Yet, at the same time, I can’t help but think back to all my experiences growing up  around the Latino men that I recounted earlier. I realize that the best that I can do is to hold an open mind and change the community from within. By holding myself to a higher standard and educating others who may simply be ignorant but willing to learn, along with educating my future children about treating others with respect and dignity, maybe we will beat those generational curses once and for all. I hope this piece lets others know that it’s OK to challenge tradition and the norms you have been taught.

Erik Garcia Valtierrez is a member of the Class of 2027.