I remember making the 6-hour drive to Arlington from my small South Texas town alongside many other angry Texans. We were going to make sure our voices were heard after the Texas redistricting committee skipped our region when holding hearings to gather public feedback about the state’s decision to redraw congressional maps—something that typically happens after the US Census is taken, and once a decade.
We packed an auditorium to capacity on a hot Texas day after rallying to Stop the Trump takeover. Hundreds still waited outside, standing for hours to have their voice heard.
I filmed everything, interviewed attendees and showed the country that Texans are willing to fight back. My work went viral. People saw they weren’t alone.
Hi, I’m Ricky. You—or maybe your young adult kids—may follow me on social media. I’ve committed my life to getting people involved, having conversations, and making Texas, and the country’s most marginalized, feel seen.
I was in the fourth grade the first time I watched a politician talk about the power of getting involved. I remember sitting in my living room while my mom watched MSNBC. She had the news on. Like any other fourth grader, I told her to change the channel, but she didn’t listen and insisted I pay attention to what was going on. President Barack Obama was on “Hardball with Chris Matthews,” and I remember being energized and wanting to lead like him and make history. I kept watching the news..
Later, I got involved with student council, local campaigns—anything I could do to be a representative for the people. By 17, I became the youngest ambassador for Beto O’Rourke during his run for US Senate in Texas, and Teen Vogue featured my efforts to help elect him. That moment told me that age doesn’t define influence.
In 2024, I began sharing the work I was doing in the field (knocking on doors and talking to voters) online, and since then, I’ve built a community of more than 60,000 people across TikTok and Instagram. I don’t just report politics. I live it, witness it, and bring people with me.
This summer, after the devastating Kerr County floods claimed the lives of more than 100 people, many of them children at Camp Mystic, Gov. Greg Abbott called a special legislative session. But it wasn’t for disaster relief; instead, it turned out to be a play for redrawing the state’s congressional maps. He was on a mission to steal five blue congressional seats through racial gerrymandering that targeted Black and brown communities like mine.
Through these efforts, the redistricting committee held various hearings across Texas, but seemingly forgot to host one in South Texas—yet again, leaving out minority voices who would be impacted.
Showing up to that Arlington hearing was a turning point for me—there was so much more of the story that wasn’t being told, and my social media community wanted to learn more.
One of my followers (I lovingly call them my “gaytriots”) that day sent me pizza to share with others, saying, “feed anyone hungry.” It was wild because my account was still small back then, and yet, those who were listening showed up for us. Bigger, more prominent commentators were there, but the love made it to our small network. Later, my friend Katey said to me, “Damn Ricky, you have influence.”
That’s when it hit me—you don’t need a million followers to make noise. We may have been small, but we were fiercely mighty, and that day proved it.
We waited seven hours to share our thoughts on redistricting; GOP lawmakers cut us off at around 10 comments. That didn’t stop us. We held “the people’s hearing” outside the auditorium, and Democrat lawmakers were gracious enough to listen to those who hadn’t gotten the chance to speak.
Now, more than ever, I know the news feels exhausting, unbearable, even. That’s why in my work online, I make the news digestible, sometimes funny and most of all hopeful. It’s not sugar-coated—it’s human. I show what it’s really like to be a gay, Latino Catholic living in Texas, including all the contradictions, the hate, the love, the faith, and the fight.
I’m not here to be brave; I’m here because people like me exist, and we deserve to be seen. If my voice can make someone feel less alone or more powerful, then I’m doing my job.
And that’s what I’m here to prove—change doesn’t start in Washington. It starts in our group chats. At kitchen tables. In the comments of a TikTok video. In the courage to ask, “What do you believe?”
This column is for anyone open to listening. I’ll bring the news, my unfiltered take, and ways we can fight for better—together.
I hope you’ll join me.
Texas Tea is a monthly column in the COURIER DFW newsletter meant to share a Texan perspective that we don’t often get to hear about. To be the first to read the latest Texas Tea, subscribe to the free newsletter.
