The Lotería Speech

A speech I delivered during my step-aside lunch at SPLF 2025

I wrote this speech because there are people in this Leather community who voted for this president. He is openly anti-immigrant, spreads hateful rhetoric, and is now tearing families apart. Right now, there are demonstrations across the country protesting his unlawful and illegal deportations.

I gave this speech because staying silent was not an option. I’ve spent a year sharing my culture with this community, and I needed to say clearly: you don’t get to enjoy our stories and then turn your back on our pain.

This is not just about politics. It’s about my family, my people, and what it feels like to stand in a room and know that some of you voted for harm.

The Lotería Speech

Good afternoon, everyone.

I have one more story left in me as a titleholder..

I grew up playing Lotería in the same way so many of us did, cramped around a kitchen table covered in a laminated floral tablecloth, shoulder to shoulder with our Tías, Tíos, and cousins.

Lotería is a bit like bingo, but instead of numbers, we call out the pictures like La Dama (The Lady), El Valiente (The Brave One), El Corazón (The Heart).

Pero like, those beautiful images on those faded blue cards held more than just nostalgia and more than just a game you play at the kick back.

We didn’t know it at the time, but those little cards carry history. They capture a piece of where Mexico was in 1887.They reflect a Mexico of the past, but they also hold up a mirror to our present. The images on those cards, La Estrella (The Star), El Gallo (The Rooster), El Corazón (The Heart) are speaking to the struggles we face as Latinos in this country today.

We’re still playing. But the stakes have grown.

When I think about Lotería, I see it as a metaphor for the spaces we’re fighting to claim. When we played, we’d mark our spaces with beans. One bean for each card we called out and one bean for each step we took.

But those spaces weren’t designed for us. And just like that game, we are still calling our names, marking our spots. And though the deck may be stacked against us, and the challenges are more severe, we refuse to step aside. We claim our place, because it’s always been ours.

But here’s the thing,I know there is a segment of this community who voted for this president, who looks at Latinos, immigrants, and undocumented people being torn from their homes and labels them criminals,lazy, a drain on the system.

I need these people to hear this: when you say those things, when you speak those words out loud, when you support a person who normalizes things like this, you are not just talking about people on your “For You Page” or another complete stranger

.

You are talking about me.

You are applying those labels to my community, my family, my friends, my neighbors, and to me, standing here in front of you.

You are attacking me.

You're making it clear that my life, my existence, my culture, and my time as a titleholder are not valued. That’s the reality of what’s happening when those words are spoken.

And honestly? It makes me wonder if I’ve been too open. This entire title year, I’ve stood on stages sharing my stories, my culture, and my family because those things make me who I am. I have offered up the warmth of my Latino experience to people who, in the next breath, would wish harm on Latinos like me.

It makes me feel vulnerable, embarrassed even, to have shared so much of myself.

And right now, I know exactly what some of those people are thinking:

“But Master Retro Bella, YOU’RE not like them! You speak so nice and look so assimilated.”

To those people, I say shame on you.

Shame on you for feasting on our experience while turning away from our suffering.

The healer in me recognizes that this moment is uncomfortable, maybe even unsettling. I know this isn’t my usual nice story. But I feel it's important to sit in this discomfort because if you can feel even a fraction of what we feel every day, then maybe you’ll start to understand.

How we sit in discomfort tells others who we really are. And in this discomfort, I see a call to action.

This isn’t the easy version of Lotería where we all laugh, call out names, maybe take home too much carne asada, and go to bed feeling good. This is the version where you realize you’ve been playing all along except the stakes were never just beans on a board.

They were our lives. Our futures.

And now that you see it, what will you do?

I want to ask everyone, especially the non-Latinos in this room: When you hear these words, when you see these actions, will you stand with us? Will you speak up when injustice is happening, not just in the headlines, but in the spaces you occupy every day?

We need allies who don’t just hear about our struggles but who feel them too and who are willing to step into the fight beside us.

Because in this game, silence isn’t neutral. It’s a choice. And now that you see the stakes, what will you choose?