Harrison Baer
On April 2nd, President Trump unveiled his sweeping set of tariffs to the world, dubbed “Liberation Day”. Since the promise months ago of weighty taxes being imposed, two prominent schools of thought on their implications have emerged. One foretells an economic disaster where trade barriers catalyze inflation, and the more devious stagflation. The other championing it as an economic resurgence. The plan has set radical commotion in and out of U.S. borders alike.
One country expected to receive a hefty charge is our neighbor to the south, Mexico. Upon learning the news, a sting of sorrow panged my heart. An image of last summer’s Salsa at Sunset revived—where Latin culture brought warm smiles and sweaty brows. Camperdown held a diverse community, unburdened by borders or politics. Could the politics interfere with the bond between foreigners and Americans?
One memory in particular of last summer etched itself into my mind. I was perched on a wooden bench, iPhone in hand, filming the festivities. Mid-pan, my brows furrowed in astonishment, and a wide cheeky grin spread across my face as I spotted a middle age white man attempting to Salsa. Arms jutted sideways and fists balled, he looked like a high school cheerleader clenching her pom poms. And below, his footwork mirrored that of a monkey slipping around on roller skates. Make no mistake, it was a disaster class performance of the Salsa.
Like the immature young man I am, I burst into hysteria, tears running down my face. Crouching on the bench, I covered the meltdown on my face with my hand. The childish hyperventilation must have lasted a solid two minutes.
Only after utilizing a navy seal breathing exercise could I stand back up to continue recording. Regaining functionality, I spotted the man again and chuckled briefly. I expected a secondhand embarrassment but instead was jolted with a stark realization. This was the beauty of Salsa at Sunset. Yes, it was visually appalling, but what was being displayed was not a tragedy. It wasn’t a tarnish of Latin dance. It was the most powerful embrace of foreign culture that I have ever seen!
The man’s expression was what tipped me off— one of obvious discomfort. He wore rosy red cheeks, and a face muttering “oops. darnit. dangit. uh oh. galeeh.” Every step he took was second guessed and awkward. Yet, despite all the embarrassment, he kept dancing. The man couldn’t stop! Surrounded by hundreds of strangers, with at least ten people staring at him, he was doing his best. Watching him scuttle around became wholesome. He just wanted to learn how to dance like a Latin American.
Then, two Hispanic women approached and began cheering him on. They clapped their hands up and down and grooved alongside him. The man smiled and continued his struggled but found a new sense of confidence. Bit by bit his movement improved as he relaxed and let the pressure flow away. He was celebrating their culture, and the women were gifting him encouragement and joy. It was just beautiful.
What lingers most about that moment isn’t the laughter or the man’s comical missteps. It’s the revelation that even in times of division, empathy can persist. The “Liberation Day” tariffs, infused with political rancor, threaten to reduce neighbors to adversaries. Yet on that sweaty summer evening, a man who might’ve voted for those very tariffs celebrated Latin culture with a Latina woman. Politics divide, but culture transcends.
I failed at first that night. My laughter wasn’t just at his flailing limbs—it was a dismissal of someone who appeared out of place. But the truth behind, and nature of, his efforts was much more profound. His awkwardness wasn’t mockery; it was a genuine attempt to learn a foreign dance. He was honoring their culture, earnestly. The women understood this, and they accepted him with compassion.
The tariffs will pass or falter. But the lesson of that night endures: before we are Republicans or Democrats, taxpayers or free traders, we are people who want to get along. And this is only possible if we have the dignity to embrace discomfort.
