Latinos por la Libertad
The Christmas and New Year’s holidays had come and gone. The sadness of the funeral was not forgotten, but it was placed in perspective amidst the comings and goings of family and friends and the holiday rhythms of Juan’s community. Now, the late February evening was cool after a warm, sunny day. I need to start planting my peppers and tomatoes, Juan thought as he climbed out of his truck and went to check the mailbox. What’s this?
He spotted a large man walking down his street, systematically opening and closing mailboxes, including Juan’s. “Hey!” Juan bristled, moving aggressively towards the intruder, “What are you doing?”
Juan's challenge surprised the big man, who wheeled about like a fighter. Then, with seeming difficulty, he visibly relaxed and presented Juan with a broad smile instead. “Hey, buddy,” the man held his hands apart in a non-threatening way. “Sorry about that, let me introduce myself...”
“I don't care who you are!” Juan was jumpy. On one hand, he was angry that someone would open his mailbox like that. On the other hand, this guy was bigger than Juan, and a lot younger. “You're not supposed to be opening those! That’s illegal!”
“Like I said, I’m really sorry about that,” the man held out his hand and spoke in rapid Spanish. “My name is Hector. I'm with Latinos por la Libertad. We're a non-profit organization dedicated to the idea that all Latinos have the right to security, prosperity, and the American Dream.”
“What are you doing opening our mailboxes like that?”
“I didn’t mean any harm, señor,” Hector seemed to realize that Juan wasn't going to shake his hand, so he dropped it back to his side. “But you probably didn't know that the Presidential Preference Election ballots came out today, right? I noticed you didn't have a ballot in your mailbox, which tells me you probably didn't register to vote this year. Am I right?”
“Who’s your supervisor?” Juan wasn’t buying the story. “Does he know you’re doing this?”
Hector pursed his lips and cocked his head dismissively at Juan, “Can I ask you a question?” Then, without waiting for Juan to answer, he continued, “How long have you lived here? Ten years? Twenty?”
What am I supposed to do now? Juan thought. I can’t make him do anything. So, he answered Hector’s question cautiously, “Yeah, about that long.”
Hector nodded knowingly, “And in all that time, you’ve never voted, have you? Not once?”
“Well, I couldn’t. I wasn’t a citizen,” Juan confessed. He was about to explain that he had recently earned it, but Hector cut him off.
“That's what I'm here to talk about!” Hector's eyes lit up enthusiastically. “This year, you can vote in the federal elections, even if you’re not a citizen!”
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