LA TIA POLITICA

Scrolling through our social media feeds, we’ve all seen those repetitive reminders: “Register to vote.” “Check your registration status.” “Make sure your voice counts.” They appear so often that after a while, they almost blur into the digital background noise. Most of us scroll past, assuming our registration is fine—that because we voted last time, everything must still be in order. But the other day, I decided to click one of those links. And what happened next was a wake

Picture South Texas politics as your favorite telenovela, unfolding across the ranchos of Rio Grande City, the bustling streets of McAllen, and the colonias from Roma to Brownsville. The general election in November? That’s the dramatic season finale everyone tunes in for. But the primary election is the crucial “casting episode”—the one where we, the viewers in every colonia corner, decide which characters even make it to that finale. The dramatic series of Doña Política La

We must declare: Enough! We are done asking for permission to exist. For too long, being brown in America has been treated like a condition to be cured — something to defend, to prove, to justify. We are told that borders protect, that agents serve, that violence keeps peace. But what kind of peace strips mothers from children and terrorizes citizens born under the same flag it claims to defend? For generations, brown bodies in America have navigated a gauntlet of suspicion,

Some of you have never known politics without the push notification. You wake up, grab your phone, and before your first sip of coffee, five strangers have explained “the end of democracy” in a 30‑second vertical video shot in their car. Around 70% of young people got info about the 2020 election through social media, and a lot of you weren’t just scrolling—you were posting, organizing, stitching, duetting, and dropping hot takes with yesterday’s eyeliner still on. TikTok, In

Welcome to Texas, where brisket is sacred, cattle are legendary, and state lawmakers have identified the gravest threat to civilization: watermelon-flavored hemp gummies. The legislature moved faster against peach rings than it ever has for failing schools or collapsing hospitals, treating candy-coated CBD like a national emergency. This is how politics works in 2025. A resident can legally stockpile enough firearms to outfit a small militia, but sell a hemp chew in a bag wit

Simple question: If the state can afford billion-dollar tax cuts for corporations, why can’t it afford to pay its fair share for our kids’ education? Simple question, demands a simple answer—you would think. Let’s talk taxes. Texas’ school finance system wasn’t built to last. The “Robin Hood” plan, born out of a Texas Supreme Court ruling in 1993, was a desperate bipartisan fix, not a visionary one. Lawmakers were under court order to end an unconstitutional gap between rich

Let’s get something straight, Starr County — nobody gives you power. You have to take it. For years, people have said South Texas is “changing.” They say Starr County “flipped red,” as if we suddenly decided that the politicians who’ve ignored us for decades finally earned our trust. But before anyone buys that story, let’s look at who’s really been running this state — and why we’re still fighting for the basics our families deserve. The county may have turned red, but the m

Picture this: it’s November, election night. The TV flickers in the living room. Someone mutters, “There they go again, ruining the country.” The tacos are still warm, the cafecito is cooling, and everyone shakes their heads like it’s a bad novela we’ve seen too many times. But here’s the ugly truth, tío: a lot of this mess isn’t only the fault of corrupt politicians or greedy billionaires. It belongs to the millions of Americans—millions of Texans—who simply did not vote. Th