The Audacity of Showing Up
Part of the series: This Is Not Business as Usual — Lessons from Leading on the Frontlines
Today, like a lot of Titis across the country, I’m looking forward to halftime—music, pride, and dancing in my sister’s sala. It’s a day to be proud out loud.
That pride exists alongside a harder truth.
Latino culture is being celebrated publicly, while Latino communities are being targeted or made vulnerable—both privately and publicly. Both realities are unfolding at the same time.
Recent economic data makes the contrast impossible to ignore. According to the Latino Donor Collaborative, the U.S. Latino economy has reached $4 trillion, large enough to rank as the fifth largest economy in the world if measured independently. Latino income exceeds $3 trillion, and Latino purchasing power has surpassed $4 trillion—driven by work, entrepreneurship, and education. Latino workers are fueling growth across sectors and shaping the future of the labor force.
This is not symbolic participation.
It is structural contributions.
And yet, economic weight has not translated into safety or certainty for many of the people generating it.
For workers, this creates a particular kind of strain. Being visible does not necessarily mean being protected or truly seen. Celebration does not cancel out exposure. People are often expected to perform normalcy while navigating fear, scrutiny, and the consequences of hate unfolding in parallel.
Both realities are true.
We’re seeing this play out in culture right now. In 2026, the Benito Bowl reflects a broader reaction to visibility—a counter-programming response to Benito’s presence, despite his global impact, artistry, and reach. The discomfort isn’t about talent or influence. It’s about audacity: the audacity of showing up fully, unapologetically, and without translation, in ways that challenge narrow definitions of who is considered “American enough.”
For many first-generation Americans, this tension is not new. It’s how we’ve shown up to work for years.
I remember an investigation being launched after one of my team members filed a claim because they walked past my office while the door was open and overheard a one-on-one conversation conducted in Spanish. The conversation itself was professional, rooted in trust, and between two native speakers discussing a program that required participants to be fully bilingual.
The situation was reviewed. While the conversation was not illegal, unethical, or against company policy at the time, it was still investigated.
What stayed with me wasn’t just the incident itself, but what it revealed: how language can become a point of scrutiny, how comfort can be reframed as concern, and how quickly belonging can be questioned—even when the work is sound and the intent is clear. While it was resolved, the experience changed how I understood the audacity it can take to show up as myself at work—and I continued to do so, intentionally and without apology.
For many first-generation professionals and people of color, this terrain is familiar. You learn to navigate pride and precaution at the same time. You contribute, you lead, you deliver—while calibrating how much of yourself is permitted to be visible.
Cultural recognition may be rising.
Economic contribution is undeniable.
But safety is not guaranteed by either.
This is the audacity of showing up: choosing presence in systems that don’t always protect you; bringing your full self into spaces that may quietly ask you to minimize it; continuing to contribute while holding complexity that often goes unacknowledged.
Leadership in moments like this isn’t about slogans or celebration. It’s about whether institutions recognize the conditions people are operating under—and whether dignity is protected when it’s easiest to look away.
Leadership means owning the responsibility to create conditions where people are able to show up as themselves—without fear, penalty, or translation.