I am a journalist. My job is to talk to peoplefrom all walks of life, all over the world. Today, I want to tell you why I decided to do this with my lifeand what I’ve learned. My story begins in Caracas, Venezuela, in South America, where I grew up; a place that to me was,and always will be, filled with magic and wonder. Frоm a very young age, my parents wanted meto have a wider view of the world. I remember one timewhen I was around seven years old, my dad came up to me and said, “Mariana, I’m going to send youand your little sister…” – who was six at the time – “…to a place where nobodyspeaks Spanish. I want you to experiencedifferent cultures.” He went on and on about the benefitsof spending an entire summer in this summer camp in the United States, stressing a little phrase that I didn’t pay too much attention to at the time: “You never know what the future holds.” Meanwhile, in my seven-year-old mind, I was thinking, we were goingto get to summer camp in Miami. (Laughter) Maybe it was going to be even better, and we were going to goa little further north, to Orlando, where Mickey Mouse lived. (Laughter) I got really excited. My dad, however,had a slightly different plan. Frоm Caracas, he he sent usto Brainerd, Minnesota. (Laughter) Mickey Mouse was not up there, (Laughter) and with no cell phone,no Snapchat, or Instagram, I couldn’t look up any information. We got there, and one of the first things I noticed was that the other kids’ hairwas several shades of blonde, and most of them had blue eyes. Meanwhile, this is what we looked like.
The first night, the camp directorgathered everyone around the campfire and said, “Kids, we have a veryinternational camp this year; the Atencios are here from Venezuela.” (Laughter) The other kids looked at usas if we were from another planet. They would ask us things like, “Do you know what a hamburger is?” Or, “Do you go to schoolon a donkey or a canoe?” (Laughter) I would try to answerin my broken English, and they would just laugh. I know they were not trying to be mean; they were just tryingto understand who we were, and make a correlationwith the world they knew. We could either be like them, or like characters out of a bookfilled with adventures, like Aladdin or the Jungle Book. We certainly didn’t look like them, we didn’t speak their language, we were different. When you’re seven years old, that hurts. But I had my little sisterto take care of, and she cried every day at summer camp. So I decided to put on a brave face, and embrace everything I couldabout the American way of life. We later did what we called”the summer camp experiment,” for eight years in different citiesthat many Americans haven’t even heard of. What I remember most about these momentswas when I finally clicked with someone. Making a friend was a special reward. Everybody wants to feelvalued and accepted, and we think it should happenspontaneously, but it doesn’t. When you’re different,you have to work at belonging. You have to be eitherreally helpful, smart, funny, anything to be cool for the crowdyou want to hang out with. Later on, when I was in high school, my dad expanded on his summer plan, and from Caracas he sent meto Wallingford, Connecticut, for the senior year of high school.
This time, I rememberdaydreaming on the plane about “the American high schoolexperience” – with a locker. It was going to be perfect, just like in my favorite TV show:”Saved by the Bell.” (Laughter) I get there, and they tell me that my assigned roommateis eagerly waiting. I opened the door, and there she was, sitting on the bed, with a headscarf. Her name was Fatima,and she was Muslim from Bahrain, and she was not what I expected. She probably sensed my disappointmentwhen I looked at her because I didn’t do too much to hide it. See, as a teenager,I wanted to fit in even more, I wanted to be popular, maybe have a boyfriend for prom, and I felt that Fatima just got in the way with her shynessand her strict dress code. I didn’t realizethat I was making her feel like the kids at summer camp made me feel. This was the high schoolequivalent of asking her, “Do you know what a hamburger is?” I was consumed by my own selfishness and unable to put myself in her shoes. I have to be honest with you, we only lasted a coupleof months together, because she was later sentto live with a counselor instead of other students. I remember thinking, “Ah, she’ll be okay. She’s just different.” You see, when we labelsomeone as different, it dehumanizes them in a way. They become “the other.” They’re not worthy of our time,not our problem, and in fact, they, “the other,”are probably the cause of our problems. So, how do we recognize our blind spots? It begins by understandingwhat makes you different, by embracing those traits. Only then can you begin to appreciatewhat makes others special. I remember when this hit me. It was a couple months after that.
I had found that boyfriend for prom, made a group of friends, and practically forgotten about Fatima, until everybody signed on to participatein this talent show for charity. You needed to offer a talent for auction. It seemed like everybodyhad something special to offer. Some kids were going to play the violin, others were going to recitea theater monologue, and I remember thinking, “We don’t practice talentslike these back home.” But I was determinedto find something of value. The day of the talent show comes, and I get up on stagewith my little boom box, and put it on the side and press “Play,” and a song by my favoriteemerging artist, Shakira, comes up. And I go, “Whenever, wherever,we’re meant to be together,” and I said, “My name is Mariana,and I’m going to auction a dance class.” It seemed like the whole schoolraised their hand to bid. My dance class really stood out from, like, the 10th violin classoffered that day. Going back to my dorm room,I didn’t feel different. I felt really special. That’s when I startedthinking about Fatima, a person that I had failed to seeas special, when I first met her. She was from the Middle East, just like Shakira’s familywas from the Middle East. She could have probably taught mea thing or two about belly dancing, had I been open to it. Now, I want you all to take that sticker that was given to you at the beginning of our session today, where you wrote downwhat makes you special, and I want you to look at it. If you’re watching at home,take a piece of paper, and write down what makes you different. You may feel guarded when you look at it, maybe even a little ashamed,maybe even proud. But you need to begin to embrace it. Remember, it is the first stepin appreciating what makes others special. When I went back home to Venezuela, I began to understandhow these experiences were changing me. Being able to speak different languages, to navigate all thesedifferent people and places, it gave me a unique sensibility. I was finally beginning to understand the importance of putting myselfin other people’s shoes. That is a big part of the reasonwhy I decided to become a journalist. Especially being from a part of the worldthat is often labeled “the backyard,” “the illegal aliens,””third-world,” “the others,” I wanted to do something to change that. It was right around the time, however, when the Venezuelan government shut down the biggest television stationin our country. Censorship was growing, and my dad came up to meonce again and said, “How are you going to bea journalist here? You have to leave.” That’s when it hit me. That’s what he had been preparing me for. That is what the future held for me. So in 2008, I packed my bags,and I came to the United States, without a return ticket this time. I was painfully awarethat, at 24 years old, I was becoming a refugee of sorts,an immigrant, the other, once again, and now for good. I was able to come on a scholarshipto study journalism. I remember when they gave memy first assignment to cover the historic electionof President Barack Obama. I felt so lucky, so hopeful. I was, like, “Yes, this is it. I’ve come to post-racial America, where the notion of us and themis being eroded, and will probablybe eradicated in my lifetime.” Boy, was I wrong, right? Why didn’t Barack Obama’s presidencyalleviate racial tensions in our country? Why do some people still feel threatened by immigrants, LGBTQ, and minority groups who are just trying to find a space in this United Statesthat should be for all of us? I didn’t have the answers back then, but on November 8th, 2016, when Donald Trump becameour president, it became clear that a large part of the electoratesees them as “the others.” Some see people coming to take their jobs, or potential terroristswho speak a different language. Meanwhile, minority groups oftentimesjust see hatred, intolerance, and narrow-mindedness on the other side. It’s like we’re stuck in these bubblesthat nobody wants to burst. The only way to do it,the only way to get out of it is to realize that being differentalso means thinking differently. It takes courage to show respect. In the words of Voltaire: “I may not agreewith what you have to say, but I will fight to the deathto defend your right to say it.” Failing to see anything goodon the other side makes a dialogue impossible. Without a dialogue, we will keeprepeating the same mistakes, because we will not learn anything new. I covered the 2016 election for NBC News. It was my first big assignmentin this mainstream network, where I had crossed overfrom Spanish television. And I wanted to do something different. I watched election resultswith undocumented families. Few thought of sharing that momentwith people who weren’t citizens, but actually stoodthe most to lose that night. When it became apparentthat Donald Trump was winning, this eight-year-old girl named Angelinarushed up to me in tears. She sobbed, and she asked meif her mom was going to be deported now. I hugged her back and I said,”It’s going to be okay,” but I really didn’t know. This was the photo we took that night,forever ingrained in my heart. Here was this little girl who was around the same age I waswhen I went to camp in Brainerd. She already knows she is “the other.” She walks home from schoolin fear, every day, that her mom can be taken away. So, how do we put ourselvesin Angelina’s shoes? How do we make herunderstand she is special, and not simply unworthyof having her family together? By giving camera time to herand families like hers, I tried to make people see themas human beings, and not simply “illegal aliens.” Yes, they broke a law, and they should pay a penalty for it, but they’ve also giveneverything for this country, like many other immigrantsbefore them have. I’ve already told you how my pathto personal growth started. To end, I want to tell you how I hitthe worst bump in the road yet, one that shook me to my very core.
The day, April 10th, 2014, I was driving to the studio,and I got a call from my parents. “Are you on the air?” they asked. I immediately knew something was wrong. “What happened?” I said. “It’s your sister;she’s been in a car accident.” It was as if my heart stopped. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I remember hearing the words: “It is unlikely she will ever walk again.” They say your life can changein a split second. Mine did at that moment. My sister went from beingmy successful other half, only a year apart in age, to not being able to move her legs, sit up, or get dressed by herself. This wasn’t like summer camp,where I could magically make it better. This was terrifying. Throughout the course of two years,my sister underwent 15 surgeries, and she spent the mostof that time in a wheelchair. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was something so painful,it’s hard to put into words, even now. It was the way people looked at her, looked at us, changed. People were unable to seea successful lawyer or a millennial with a sharp witand a kind heart. Everywhere we went, I realized that people just sawa poor girl in a wheelchair. They were unable to seeanything beyond that. After fighting like a warrior, I can thankfully tell youthat today my sister is walking, and has recoveredbeyond anyone’s expectations. (Applause) Thank you. But during that traumatic ordeal, I learned there are differencesthat simply suck, and it’s hard to find positive in them. My sister’s not better offbecause of what happened. But she taught me: you can’t letthose differences define you. Being able to reimagine yourselfbeyond what other people see, that is the toughest task of all, but it’s also the most beautiful. You see, we all cometo this world in a body. People with physicalor neurological difficulties, environmentally impacted communities,immigrants, boys, girls, boys who want to dress as girls,girls with veils, women who have been sexually assaulted, athletes who bendtheir knee as a sign of protest, black, white, Asian, Native American,my sister, you, or me. We all want what everyone wants:to dream and to achieve. But sometimes, society tells us,and we tell ourselves, we don’t fit the mold. Well, if you look at my story, from being born somewhere different,to belly dancing in high school, to telling storiesyou wouldn’t normally see on TV, what makes me different is what has made mestand out and be successful. I have traveled the world, and talked to peoplefrom all walks of life. You know what I’ve learned? The single thing every one of ushas in common is being human. So take a stand to defendyour race, the human race. Let’s appeal to it. Let’s be humanists,before and after everything else. To end, I want you to take that sticker,that piece of paper where you wrote downwhat makes you different, and I want you to celebrate ittoday and every day, shout it from the rooftops. I also encourage youto be curious and ask, “What is on other people’spieces of paper?” “What makes them different?” Let’s celebrate those imperfectionsthat make us special. I hope that it teaches you that nobodyhas a claim on the word “normal.” We are all different. We are all quirky, and unique, and that is what makes uswonderfully human.
Thank you so much.
