I grew up in South Florida, where the lush palm trees are almost as vibrant as the immigrant communities who planted them. Miami has been considered a Latino oasis since the early ’60s and has become a sanctuary for political refugees and those seeking a better life. The city is filled with tiny cups of Cuban coffee, garage hair salons, and butter-cookie tin cans (usually filled with sewing supplies). My family’s suburb has the highest concentration of Venezuelans living outside their native country, and it’s one of the few places cable providers service Spanish-speaking-only TV stations, one of which used to host the apex of early-aughts daytime talk shows: El Gordo y La Flaca.

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