Anyone traveling to the Dominican Republic this summer has likely been met with the cautionary warning; “Don’t drink anything from the minibar.” Eleven tourist deaths on the island in 2019, ranging from natural causes to counterfeit alcohol consumption, have spurred FBI and State Department investigations. Though news of flight and hotel cancellations abounded, I missed my family and refused to let fear stop me from seeing them. Since I lived to tell the tale, here are a few things I learned about my father, about myself, and about the precarious paradise that keeps calling me back.

Billy Joel and Nas have interpreted the “New York state of mind,” and if you have ever visited the Dominican Republic beyond the purpose of tourism, you’ll know that there exists a Dominican state of mind too.

Whenever I exit Las Americas or Puerto Plata airports, humidity slaps me in the face, and my Dominican mindset is immediately activated. On this island, electricity does not run 24/7. When the electricity goes, or as we say “se fue la luz,” water doesn’t run from the tap either. All that is left to do is swap your sneakers for flip-flops, and exorcise your need for immediate gratification. It takes practice, and I re-learn this lesson with each visit.

The Dominican Republic is changing fast. 

There is new construction everywhere you look. I sit on the balcony chatting with my father and stare across the street trying to remember how it looked before the apartment building was constructed in that space. I can see from an open doorway on the ground level that wooden boxes are being stacked, and hauled out in front of a business. I tune out my father’s voice as I focus on the shape and size of the boxes. My Spanish needs work, and I ask my father, “Papi, what does ataúd mean?” The business slogan translates to “Quality Coffins.” I think about magic realism traditions in Latin American literature, and I am reminded that so often a country like this juxtaposes disparate images and experiences in such a casual manner. I don’t think I would be able to live across the street from a constant reminder of death anywhere else but on this incongruous island.

We drive to the countryside of El Seibo for a few days.

My father syncs his playlist and he directs my sister what song to play next. The first song is by Boy George. I watch my father sing along, and I can’t help but think about the Dominican Republic’s homophobic culture steeped in hyper-masculinity. Same-sex marriage is not recognized on the island, and members of the LGBTQ community continue to face discrimination and violence. I talk to my sister about this later that night, and she tells me small changes are coming to the island. The city of Santo Domingo hosts inclusive events like Draguéalo, where you can even sign up for a Vogue class.

My father’s playlist continues and I’m struck by his selections ranging from Taylor Swift to A.I.E. (A Mwana), a song by a 1970s group called Black Blood, featuring lyrics in Swahili.

I watched this Dominican dad jam across continents, decades, cultures, languages, and race. I realize there is so much I don’t know about him, and so often we shortchange our parents’ knowledge and experience, reducing them to stereotypes and gendered tropes.

My next lesson is on staying sexy.

After a few days in the countryside, my sister and I rent a hotel room in La Zona Colonial. We ready for a night out when she looks at my outfit and asks me, “Um, is that what you’re wearing tonight?” I thought my yellow jumpsuit was poppin’. My sister pulls out a little black dress from her overnight bag and kindly suggests I wear it. The dress is tiny. It’s skimpy. It’s super short. It’s absolutely perfect. I channel my inner Chapiadora, Goddess of Sex Appeal and Free Drinks, and dance all night. 

Growing up in the 90s, I styled myself in oversized men’s clothing. It wasn’t until that one magical summer in the Dominican Republic when the heat was too oppressive to wear jeans, so I wore—gasp—a skirt. That was the first time I felt sexy, and learned the power of sex appeal. Though I wielded that power throughout my twenties, it fell away in my thirties. Wearing my sister’s LBD I realize I still have “it,” and in the Dominican Republic, sex appeal is ageless. Be careful when you come here. You may fall in love with a local, or you may just fall in love with yourself again.

The island leaves me with one last lesson.

It comes late one night, sharing a few bottles of wine with my father and sister. No hay peor ciego que el que no quiere ver—the worst blind person is the one who refuses to see. I could say the current political landscape in the U.S. reflects this willful ignorance, a refusal to see; yet it is the same human experience felt across space and time.

I come away wondering about my own blind spots.

I board my return flight thinking up ways to combat willful ignorance at home, thinking about maintaining that flexible DR state of mind and thinking about buying a little black dress. As tourism in the Dominican Republic picks up again, and unfavorable headlines drop out of the news cycle, this changing island stands in its own plurality welcoming visitors, and offering endless opportunities to teach us something new.

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Soledad O’Brien’s journalistic career is known for delivering hard-hitting truths without playing the political game of ‘playing nice.’ She’s calling Trump a racist and she’s calling out The New York Times‘ for refraining from calling Trump a racist because “that language is a turn off to some readers.” 

O’Brien is so matter-of-fact, her show is called, “Matter of Fact with Soledad O’Brien.” If you’re not watching her show, her Twitter feed is as blunt as it gets. She’s savagely taking down ignorant fathers who wouldn’t know consent education if it hit them in the cojones, and they still don’t know what hit them. Here are O’Brien’s victims from this month alone:

This father who victim-blamed survivors of sexual assault, but he told his daughter to just kick the guy in the cojones so “She’s no one’s victim.”

After one person called O’Brien out for being “a bit harsh” given that “he at least taught her to say no,” someone named Zoe actually had to explain. “It’s not harsh,” Zoe replied. “He only taught her to say no in very specific situations that almost never happen. I guarantee he never taught her how to say no to relatives, friends, boyfriends, bosses, etc – people you can’t just hit due to freezing up, or social/financial/etc consequences.”

RIP, white men and your naive musings about a post-Trump America.

Sorry, bro, people of color are simply unfazed to see racism thrive in America. Fox & Friends will never shun Trump so long as he’s stoking the fear-baiting racist fires. O’Brien dared to say what we all couldn’t fathom–Trump will get his own show on Fox & Friends, whether he gives up the Presidency or goes full-on authoritarian.

*GASP* Could racism really be …. systemic?

Even the methods used to combat racism are racist. O’Brien, an Afro-Latina woman entirely familiar with racism in America, is just “not shocked.” You can check someone’s privilege based on how surprised they are to learn that racism is systemic. 

We simply cannot.

Of the many excuses we hear for why folks voted and continue to support Trump, “economic anxiety” is the biggest excuse for condoning human rights violations and racism like we haven’t seen in a century. O’Brien followers lamented to have to add “fundraising while black” as a life-threatening task in America. Someone else used the GOP’s excuse used for white supremacist mass murderers: “That woman should not have access to video games. At all.”

When a former Navy SEAL trains dogs to “attack school shooters,” O’Brien sees into the future as adding dead dogs to the list of consequences of loose gun laws.

“Anything but addressing the gun issues head-on. Dogs. Cats. Flying Squirrels,” comments one Twitter user. Someone else just perfectly encapsulated the dialogue between sensible gun reform advocates and NRA die-hards:

“People: Let’s regulate guns.
‘Merica: No! We’ll give teachers guns.
People: That would be super dangerous. Let’s regulate guns.
‘Merica: No! Backbacks that block bullets!
People: That would be very ineffective. Let’s regulate guns.
‘Merica: No! Dogs that attack shooters!”

Heads up that dogs are not immune to bullets, and shooters can just point downwards toward the dog.

O’Brien also has a special knack for mocking the not-so-newsworthiness of “news.”

For some reason, a video clip of Democratic Presidential Candidate Elizabeth Warren “running in Franconia, NH” went viral. “She has my vote” filled the comment thread. We have a feeling that O’Brien was likely commenting on how silly it is that watching a woman run is news.

She’s not here for people calling men brave for dealing with issues women always face.

Everyone in the comments is just shocked that this is even news. That anyone would think this man is anything but handsome. One commenter said that his wife wished he was as “ugly” as Simu Liu.

Also, RIP to the possibly-NOT-a-bot “Amazon Fulfillment Center Ambassador.”

@AmazonFCBilly went on to say, “Because people are wondering, yes, Frank was a valued part of the discussion! His insights into the downsides of trade unionism were very valuable!” One person genuinely asked, “If you type this do they give you a bathroom break as a reward?”

We ran the account through bot.me and they’re not a bot. It might be a “Get Out” situation, but not a bot. Maybe O’Brien snapped them out of it. Either way, we’re loving these clapbacks and truth-telling. Gracias.

READ: Soledad O’Brien Mourns Her Cuban Mom’s Death Just 40 Days After Her Father Passes Away