A majority of Latinos still support the Democratic Party, but polling shows increased Latino support for Donald Trump. The growing appeal of far-right ideas and its impact on Latino voting is what Paola Ramos probes in Defectors: The Rise of the Latino Far Right and What It Means for America. The Mexican-Cuban American journalist writes that the attraction is rooted in a complex weave of identity, allegiance and political reality. Through interviews with far-right figures as well as researchers in history, politics and even psychology and neuroscience, she seeks to look beyond the generalizations that define Latinos as a political monolith.
At the heart of Defectors is the concept of defection — the act of abandoning a presumed loyalty. The title confronts uncomfortable truths about Latino political loyalty and identity.
Ramos writes that a “rise in the amount of Latinos that are warming up to a harsher, stricter, hardline immigration approach” comes primarily from three forces: tribalism, traditionalism and political trauma. Each shapes the attitudes of Latinos toward immigration and strongman rulers.
For Ramos, the “defection” to Trump, whose support among Latinos now ranges between 35% and 40%, exposes a deeper, unsettling truth about identity, belonging and political alignment. Trump can evoke a familiar sentiment in Latino communities — the appeal of decisive leadership in a world that often feels chaotic, she writes. Ramos connects the appeal to historical figures like Simón Bolívar, who articulated the need for paternalistic governments to address the legacy of Spanish colonialism and oppression in Latin America. Some Latinos see their own experiences reflected in authoritarian figures, she argues, and gravitate toward them during turbulent times.
As Ramos explains, “When democracy around you kind of starts to feel messy and unstable, there’s some form of subtle appeal towards strongman rule.” Ramos does not shy away from discussing internalized racism and colorism within the Latino community, rooted in Spanish colonialism and its caste system. For many Latinos, the historical preference for whiteness complicates their political identities and affiliations, she writes. Ramos links this legacy to Latinos who may embrace anti-immigrant sentiments or reject the notion of solidarity with African Americans.
Ramos, a former reporter for Vice and MSNBC, began researching the subject in 2020, when Trump’s support from Latinos increased even though he lost the election.
This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.
Capital & Main: You write that the appeal of Trumpism is connected to tribalism, traditionalism and trauma. Can you explain that?
Paola Ramos: You see sort of a rise in Latinos that are warming up to sort of a harsher, stricter, hard-line immigration approach. Some have even dared to say that some Latinos are warming up to the idea of mass deportation. So we can call that tribalism. Then there’s the way that some of the cultural war movements have really resonated with Latinos, whether that’s the sort of anti-LGBTQ, anti-trans narrative or whether that’s the way that Latino evangelicals have really, really warmed up to Trumpism, particularly in the last four years — we can call that sort of the role of traditionalism. And then there’s always the role of political trauma, and what it means for lot of Latinos that carry the trauma fleeing communism, but also more than that, what it means to really understand the very complex relationship that some Latinos have with things like strongman rule and autocratic governments and what about Trump sort of invokes those three strains among us?
How does colorism among Latinos influence perceptions of race and political alignment, particularly in relation to figures like Trump?
In terms of tribalism, Trump is able to invoke a sort of racial grievance that many Latinos carry. You can see this in the confidence he displays when he rallies among Afro-Latinos in places like the Bronx, where he criminalizes movements like Black Lives Matter. He also expresses this comfort among Latinos when he criminalizes migrants, notably Haitian migrants. This behavior might seem confusing, but it makes sense within the context of our community.
Latinos, as a group, often grapple with internalized racism. This dates back to colonialism in Latin America, where the Spaniards established a caste system. Enslavement was at the bottom, Indigenous peoples were in the middle, and Spanish colonizers were at the top. This system gave rise to the concept of mestizaje, which permits every individual, regardless of their skin tone, to draw a connection to whiteness and Spanish heritage.
This complicated understanding of race and the existence of colorism creates a mindset where many have been taught to view whiteness as a superior race, a legacy of colonialism.
These dynamics manifest in very complex ways in American politics. Consequently, there are Latinos who, under the label of being Hispanic, choose to align with whiteness, especially in a country with a troubling history of criminalizing Black individuals. This partially explains the conversations I’ve had with Black Latino Trump supporters who do not wish to be seen in the same light as African Americans or as Black individuals, as well as Latinos who prefer not to be associated with the immigrant experience.
How do you think the historical experiences of Latinos with political instability and strongman leadership influence their perceptions of figures like Trump?
I think he has the capacity to invoke a moral panic that resonates with some Latinos, and he appeals to the concept of strongman rule, which is also familiar to many in the community. In democratic politics, especially in regions like South Florida, Democrats have attempted to mobilize Latino voters by portraying Donald Trump as a dictator, sometimes using the term “caudillo.” The assumption behind this strategy is that certain Latinos will be put off by such an image, feeling threatened by the idea that someone like Trump could bring them back to traumas they are trying to escape. There is a lot of truth in that, and it can be effective.
However, there’s also a risk in this portrayal due to the complicated relationship some Latinos have with strongman rule. Historical figures like Simón Bolívar, whom many see as the liberator of Latin America, highlight this pattern. In 1815, he suggested that the American states would require paternalistic governments to heal from the wounds and instability caused by despotism.
Latinos carry many wounds related to political instability, violence, gang violence, communism and fascism. Over time, experiences in Latin America have resulted in a tendency toward strongman leaders. The U.S. government during the Cold War even reinforced the concept of strongman rule, promoting military juntas in the name of combating communism.
Understanding this complexity sheds light on why some Latinos might develop a subtle appeal for strongman governance, especially when democracy feels chaotic or unstable, contributing to a complicated dynamic of both attraction and resistance to such leadership.
Do you consider you’ve personally been a defector?
For sure. I think there is the journey of being in this country, particularly at a younger age, where I always believed that to succeed in this country, to make it, I had to be in the room with the white people, or that I had to conform to what that type of power looked like. That happened to me in college at the very beginning when I came to New York City for the first time and I was told to go into a class of ESL students, to go into the class of the Black and brown students that didn’t make the English class. And I remember feeling a lot of shame at that moment. And so there’s many instances, how the way that you conform to mainstream media or you conform to all these structures where I think I’ve definitely done that dance of shying away from being a Latino all because I knew that I was trained to and conditioned to believe that power looked a certain way and I could make that dance if I wanted to.
When interviewing individuals with far-right beliefs, like Enrique Tarrio and Anthony Aguero, did you find you shared some common experiences and feelings?
I would say that my impression across the board, whether it’s with Anthony Aguero, Enrique Tarrio or another figure from a cultural war group, is generally the same. Online or on certain platforms, they seem much stronger, their voices appear to be louder, and they exude confidence. This can be intimidating, especially when you’re stepping into circles with people who fundamentally disavow your identity or hold far-right beliefs, such as justifying the storming of the Capitol or claiming that LGBTQ individuals are inferior.
However, I quickly realized that everyone is on their own journey to find belonging, which is something we can all relate to. For some, this search leads to extremism and makes them feel empowered within groups like the Proud Boys, or in certain churches or cultural circles. What was interesting is that when you set politics aside, there are many commonalities between us — such as the shame experienced when coming out for the first time, the feeling of being at home in a space that reflects your identity, or the process of making sense of race during your teenage years.
You spoke with scientist Brian Nelson about the concept of disgust. How does his concept of disgust relate to the dynamics of Trumpism?
Brian Nelson wrote an entire book on the science of disgust. I felt it was important to engage with him because disgust is central to many aspects of what we’re witnessing in Trumpism. For instance, Trump often invokes disgust when discussing migrants by making statements suggesting they engage in grotesque behaviors, like “migrants are eating pets.” Such comments are designed to elicit a visceral reaction.
Disgust is also invoked when specific portrayals of transgender individuals and the LGBTQ community are presented. Understanding disgust is crucial because it is a more potent emotion than fear or anger; it serves as a driving force behind the dehumanization of others. If you can effectively invoke disgust, you can encourage a community to see others as less than human, which is a key strategy in political maneuvering.
This insight helped me understand how some Republicans use disgust to fuel transphobia and anti-immigrant sentiments. I found it incredibly interesting to see how disgust can be central to these political strategies and, moreover, how it can be taught and cultivated. The way language is used and the manner in which something is mimicked can instill disgust in others.
How do you build trust and connect with individuals who have opposing views, especially when there may be existing mistrust towards the media?
It is essential to build enough trust with these individuals to create the space for meaningful conversations. There is often significant mistrust towards the media, especially when you are associated with organizations like NBC or Vice, or even tied to my father‘s reputation.
The value of these stories — and of writing a book — is that it allows for ample time to listen. Ultimately, people want to feel heard and understood. While our role is certainly to ask questions, it is equally important to listen with genuine curiosity and seek to understand others.
As you wrote this book, were there any unexpected narratives or themes that emerged about yourself and your community?
The writing process helped clarify many thoughts and feelings that I had since childhood. For example, I began to understand why it took me so long to come out to my Mexican family and where that sense of shame originated. I reflected on why I lived in a Miami bubble, where I believed that being Cuban equated to being light-skinned, and why blackness was so often erased from my upbringing.
These realizations shed light on how certain family members internalized the paranoia of communism and used it to justify subtle forms of racism and closed-mindedness. Revisiting these moments in my life truly opened my eyes.
Considering the current political landscape, what do you believe are the key factors that could unite the next generation of Latinos, and how do they navigate their identities within this context?
When discussing defectors, it’s important to clarify that we are still talking about a relatively small group. Trump is not going to win the Latino vote, but we are examining why he is making small inroads. On the right, there is a small but growing group of people who find something appealing in Trumpism, and much of that is tied to how they see themselves reflected in the broader, often white, American culture rather than in the traditional Latino identity. This is why when Donald Trump says “Latino Americans for Trump,” the term ”American” resonates; it speaks to Latinos who feel fully Americanized and want to be included in that narrative.
On the other hand, there’s an exciting and optimistic story to tell about Latinos today, particularly those who are mostly third generation and quite young. This generation is characterized by a strong sense of independence, which empowers them to challenge both the Democratic and Republican parties. We are witnessing the rise of a generation that is more empowered to express their identities, whether that means embracing their queerness or leaning into their Afro-Latino heritage.
This independence is a positive development, and it’s concerning for politicians to misinterpret it as a departure from their platforms. In reality, this generation is simply asserting that they deserve more and better representation, which is a very good thing.
