October 15th marked the end of Hispanic Heritage Month, an annual celebration honoring the history and culture of Latino and Hispanic communities in the United States. It began as only a commemorative week when President Lyndon B. Johnson signed it into law in 1968, and didn’t become a month-long observance until more than 20 years later.
I first learned about the holiday when I moved to Texas at 14. I’m originally from Miami, FL, where every day feels like a vibrant celebration of Latino culture. Everyone in my elementary school was either an immigrant or the child of immigrants like myself. My father is from Argentina and my mother is from Colombia, so I had a very lively childhood rich with traditions. I didn’t know any other way of life.
I probably didn’t meet anyone who fully identified as an American until I left Florida, and boy, were there a lot of them. Sadly, a lot of them didn’t like people who looked or talked differently from them. I experienced racism and xenophobia for the first time and even became ashamed of my heritage.
Luckily, there was a large Mexican-American population at my high school in San Antonio. Although their culture wasn’t exactly the same as mine, I was glad to have made friends who knew what it was like to be Hispanic in the United States. Right before the pandemic started in my sophomore year, my best friend founded and became president of Spanish Club, and took me on as secretary. My school was fully remote for the rest of the year and even the entire year after, so we weren’t very active as a club for that period. However, when we returned to school for senior year, we wanted to bring Spanish Club back with a bang.
We decided to throw a school-wide Hispanic Heritage Month celebration. We got permission from our principal to have the event on a Friday throughout the three lunch periods, which wasn’t a lot, so we knew we had to cram as much education and entertainment as we could into the time frame. We also got permission from teachers to give volunteer hours to students who either helped us set up or donated food, and thankfully, we received an outpouring of support. We knew a girl whose dad was a DJ and had another friend whose dad was in a mariachi group, and somehow, they both agreed to come and perform! Our school’s dance club was also excited to perform a traditional dance in beautiful, vibrant dresses. We decorated the school’s courtyard and every hallway with papel picado and the flags of every Hispanic nation as well.
The event ended up being a huge success and we heard from both students and faculty about how happy they were to feel their heritage being celebrated so beautifully and by so many people. More than anyone, though, I think I might have felt the most proud of my heritage as a result of the event. I realized that no matter what anyone else thinks, my culture is beautiful, important, and worth celebrating.
Four years later, I’m now a senior in a PWI college. I’m a member of my school’s chapter of the National Association for Hispanic Journalists, but after SB 17 and recent DEI bans, the organization isn’t very active. My university sadly lost a lot of student organizations and other resources to this bill, and students are definitely struggling to find community.
This Hispanic Heritage Month was a sad one for me in that regard. I did get to celebrate on my own—I drew flags on the whiteboard on my fridge, made empanadas, and listened to a ton of Carlos Vives—but I was sad to not share these parts of myself with my school’s Hispanic community. As my final year in college unfolds, I can’t help but reflect on how much has changed since that first Hispanic Heritage Month celebration in high school. Though the sense of community I once cherished has again diminished, I’ve learned that there’s strength in honoring my heritage, and I hope to carry that with me long after graduation.