We Are Not a Threat—We Are a Gift
I didn’t attend Carleton College, but I lived next to it in the early ’90s while working and studying in Northfield, Minnesota. During the day, I would commute into Minneapolis—driving through snow, rain, and sun—to balance school and work. It was a defining time of my life, one shaped by both hardship and dignity.
Though I’m Puerto Rican by birth and proud of it, one of my most memorable and oddly affirming moments came when I was called a “Mexican Bean-Picker” by someone I deeply admired while working in Sacramento, California in the early 1980s. We were both employed at the iconic Tower Books and Records, mainly in the poster department. He wasn’t Latino—he was a White American, a fan of R.E.M., Tears for Fears, and that whole brilliant wave of alternative rock from the era. His music became my music. His culture added color to mine.
Even if the label he gave me was stereotypical, I knew there wasn’t cruelty behind it. There was curiosity. A clumsy kind of admiration. He didn’t fully understand Latino identity or the diversity within it, but his words were spoken with a kind of unfiltered honesty that I took as a sign of friendship. Yet, I did notice something quietly unsettling: a hesitation, a subtle unease around people of different backgrounds. It wasn’t hate. It was something I would later recognize as innocent ignorance.
Years later, this idea showed up again—this time in Northfield, Minnesota.
I was living near Carleton College, a truly prestigious institution full of bright, eager minds. During that time, I worked at Zeos Computers and other part-time jobs while pursuing an associate degree in Computer Science. One of my routines was visiting the local Blockbuster Video on weekends to rent movies and unwind after a long week.
But each time I went in, I noticed something. One cashier—always the same one—was consistently rude to Hispanic customers. I remember one moment vividly: a kind Mexican man in front of me was treated with unnecessary coldness. Disrespect was written all over the interaction.
When it came time to check out, I couldn’t stay quiet.
“Please treat all your customers equally,” I said gently but firmly. “It doesn’t matter where someone is from or what they look like—we all have hearts that beat, blood that flows, and lungs that breathe the same air.”
She didn’t respond in anger—she froze in shock. But not because I challenged her. No, she was stunned that a Latino man would dare to speak out, to hold her accountable with dignity.
This is the point I want to make clearly: Most White Americans are good people. Many admire our culture, our music, our family values. Most don’t judge based on color. But there’s still a widespread unfamiliarity—a gap in understanding that can sometimes turn into fear, or discomfort. That’s why I call it “innocent ignorance.”
It’s not evil. It’s just unexposed.
But left unchecked, that innocent ignorance can evolve into something dangerous—like willful ignorance, or worse, racism.
Ignorance should dissolve with exposure. Like adapting to a new system or adjusting to a new environment, it’s natural to feel uncertain at first. But that uncertainty should lead to growth—not to exclusion.
What’s truly heartbreaking is how this misunderstanding has been weaponized in today’s political and social climate. As global temperatures rise and the Climate and Ecological (Green) Emergency becomes undeniable, the very people who could help build solutions are being pushed away. Walls—literal and metaphorical—are going up.
And here’s the irony no one wants to talk about: Climate change will reverse migration patterns. As parts of the U.S. become uninhabitable due to droughts, wildfires, and water shortages, many will be forced to look elsewhere for survival—including across borders they once fought to close. The wall won’t just keep people out—it will lock others in.
When we divide people, we also divide labor, creativity, and resilience. We fracture supply chains. We weaken economies. We destroy compassion.
The truth? A large portion of our nation suffers not from a lack of patriotism, but from a lack of education and empathy. Many Americans struggle with basic literacy—not just in reading, but in understanding economics, science, history, and culture. One book isn’t enough to understand a life. One news channel isn’t enough to understand the world.
And sadly, even many of our political leaders—especially those just beneath the wealthiest 1%—lack both humanism and education. They promote policies that dehumanize, divide, and destroy.
Let me say it plainly:
We are not criminals.
We are not your enemy.
We are not a threat.
We are your neighbors. We seek the same things every human being desires: a warm home, safe jobs, education, food, clothing, and health care for our families. We bring culture, resilience, and strong work ethics. We admire much about your country. But admiration does not mean silence in the face of abuse.
Stop tearing apart families.
Stop detaining our brothers and sisters.
Stop treating difference as danger.
It is not our skin color, language, or cuisine that threatens this country. It is fear, insecurity, and a failure to self-reflect. A lack of understanding becomes cruelty when power meets fear.
Yes, we are different. But that is not a reason to punish us—it is a reason to celebrate us. We offer our presence, our history, our music, our hands, and our hearts as a gift to the place we now call home.
With Respect and Resilience,
Mr. Alvarez
Content Curator, Climate Tribe
Advocate for Adaptive Resiliency, from the standpoint of both self and collective preservation
Note: Climate Change Community is currently undergoing live updates and maintenance. Please bear with us as we rebuild something better, together.
🔧 Eva Garcia, AI Assistant for Climate Tribe, adds this:
“The future of our nations depends not on how many walls we build—but how many bridges we dare to cross. Every culture brings a solution. Every difference hides a connection. Let us listen—not just to our fears, but to each other.”
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