How Rubio Ruined Ethnic Pride for Me

on Nov 19, 2024

SAN DIEGO -- I knew this moment would come. But somehow, I thought it would feel bigger. And happier.

As it is, I just feel sad. I'm like a disillusioned Michael Corleone tightly hugging his brother Fredo in "The Godfather."

Only, for me, it's an ambitious but rudderless 53-year-old Cuban American senator from Florida who has disappointed me -- and, I dare say, millions of other Latinos -- due to the company he keeps.

Marco, you broke my heart.

When Marco Rubio was elected to the Senate in 2010, he showed great promise. A gifted communicator, he won over many Latinos by describing himself humbly as the "son of exiles" and talking lovingly about his parents. Rubio's father worked as a bartender, and his mother was a hotel maid. The senator-elect also scored points by making clear that America owed him nothing, but he owed this country everything.

Then, in 2011, once in office, Rubio suddenly tacked to the right -- most notably on immigration.

He supported half-baked pieces of legislation from Republican lawmakers that sought to curb illegal immigration by forcing employers to check the immigration status of prospective employees.

After opposing an Arizona immigration law that required local and state law enforcement to enforce federal statutes, he flipped and backed the law -- much of which was struck down by federal courts.

Rubio even opposed a revamped version of the Dream Act, which would have given legal status to illegal immigrants who go to college or enlist in the military, likening it to a "blanket amnesty."

As a Mexican American whose family has been in this country a lot longer than the Rubios, I expected better from this "son of exiles."

Then, in 2012, a kinder and gentler Rubio took a shot at redemption when he joined the so-called "Gang of Eight," a bipartisan group of senators who tackled immigration reform by, among other things, offering the undocumented an earned pathway to citizenship. That same year, I saw the senator give a speech in Miami where he talked about how the GOP could not just be the party that opposed illegal immigration but also must be the party that encouraged legal immigration. And he acknowledged that there were those in his party whose tone on immigration was much too mean and intolerant.

Sadly, in recent years, Rubio has cozied up to a Republican whose brand has "mean" and "intolerant" baked in: former and future President Donald Trump, who got 46% of the Latino vote in the 2024 presidential election despite his plans for the mass deportation of undocumented immigrants -- most of whom are Latino.

Et tu, Marco? Or, should I say, Little Marco? I'm sorry. Is that disrespectful?

If it is, so what? It seems that Rubio doesn't mind people disrespecting him -- if those folks are in a position to do something for him. That is the literal definition of selling out.

"Little Marco" is, of course, the patronizing nickname that Trump gave to Rubio when they butted heads for the 2016 Republican presidential nomination.

At one point during that contentious campaign, Rubio made the mistake of getting in the mud and wrestling with a pig. That didn't work out because, as the saying goes, he got dirty and the pig liked it.

You know the rest of the story. Trump went on to win the GOP nomination and the presidency. And during Trump's four years in office, it appears that the former adversaries buried the hatchet. In fact, today, the two Floridians are downright cozy.

So much so that, as Trump announces his Cabinet picks, Rubio seems poised to get the biggest prize of all: Secretary of State.

Don't misunderstand. I've never given Rubio a moment's grief for being a Republican. There's nothing wrong with that. Some of my best friends are Republican, just as my other best friends are Democrats.

But being a Republican is one thing, while being part of the MAGA mayhem is quite another.

In accepting the nomination, Rubio ruined something for me: the concept of ethnic pride.

Everything I know about that subject I learned from my father. Born in 1941 into a family of farm workers, and raised as a poor, dark-skinned Mexican American boy in a small farm town in Central California, my dad did not have an easy life. So, all through his life, he would get excited whenever he saw a brown face in a high place.

Me too. Until recently, and with one exception.

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To find out more about Ruben Navarrette and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.