Marco Rubio proves he really is Little Marco without doubt

Gustavo Arellano, Tribune News Service

The pet did a neat trick: Before a room filled with heads of state from across Latin America, Little Marco spoke Spanish. His owner — well, his soul's owner at least— grinned and joked, "I think he's better in Spanish" than in English. Following President Donald Trump, it was Pentagon Pete's turn to tease Little Marco. "I only speak American," Secretary of Defense Hegseth cracked. The auditorium stayed quiet save for Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who meekly protested, "I only speak Cuban." Trump gave him a pat on the back. Good boy, Marco. The exchange, which happened over a weekend dominated by the war with Iran, was brief yet said so much about the times Latinos live in.

Rubio, the most powerful Latino politician in US history, might as well have been to Trump and Hegseth the Chihuahua that says "Yo quiero Taco Bell." The man who has played an oversized role in pushing a president who campaigned against costly foreign wars and chaotic regime changes to do both was brought back down to an undignified size. Little Marco indeed. Here's a reminder that no matter how high and mighty you get in Trump's White House, a Latino is still an exotic "other." Tokenizing someone is always an ugly thing — yet Rubio deserves no tears. He has made a career out of wearing his latinidad like a shiny guayabera when convenient, long casting himself as the boy-faced exception to the corrupt, ineffectual Latino politician archetype. That stance has fueled a 27-year career — Florida speaker of the House, U.S. senator, former presidential candidate, secretary of State and national security advisor. That has made many conservatives and more than a few Latinos feel he's not just capable of a strong White House run but that he could even win were he to do so.

All it cost Rubio was his morals and backbone. All he had to do was roll over. We Latinos deserve better — and yet we kind of don't. The story liberals and conservatives have always told about America's largest minority is that we would irrevocably change the United States — the former group maintained it would be for the better, the latter insisted we would cause this country's downfall. Rubio proves that at our worst, Latinos show that in our rush to assimilate and be embraced, we often become the worst kind of Americans.

We're the ones whom the American psyche sees as perpetual invaders, yet we sign up by the thousands for the Border Patrol, Immigration and Customs Enforcement and other agencies in Trump's deportation Leviathan. Even as Trump slimed Latinos during his first term and his years out of office, an increasing number of us warmed up to him — surely, he was referring to other Latinos — until Trump captured more of our votes in 2024 than any Republican presidential candidate ever.

It takes a certain type of person to go from child of Cuban immigrants — the favorite son of an exile community that transformed Miami from a retiree haven into one of the capitals of Latin America — to tell European leaders last month that they and the United States "opened our doors to an unprecedented wave of mass migration that threatens the cohesion of our societies, the continuity of our culture, and the future of our people." It takes the worst kind of Latino.

I called Rubio a vendido in a previous columna after he cheered on the extrajudicial capture of Venezuelan despot Nicolás Maduro. He's definitely still a sellout — what else to call someone who once fiercely opposed Trump but now sidles up to him like a cockapoo? But the most pathetic part about Rubio's rise is that his followers see him as the culmination of the long-held dreams of Latinos that things would become better for our ancestral Latin American countries and ourselves once one of us was charge.

Alas, no. He's living up to a realpolitik maxim attributed to various Latin American caudillos: For my friends, everything; for my enemies, the law.

Strongmen like El Salvador and Argentina presidents Nayib Bukele and Javier Milei get coddled and receive foreign aid; college students on study visas who criticize the Trump administration get nabbed by la migra. Rubio is overseeing a foreign policy that currently has the U.S. dictating how Venezuela will be governed, is bombing Iran like the country was a game of Pachinko and is slowly choking Cuba into collapse.

He's the unholy child of Bush-era neoconservativism and MAGA — and Rubio is just getting started. That's how he set himself up to be used as Latino punch line by Trump and Hegseth. The setting: the inaugural meeting at a Trump golf course near Miami of the Shield of the Americas, a coalition of Western Hemisphere countries ostensibly assembled to fight drug cartels. It resembled one of those lesser super-groups in the Marvel Cinematic Universe — you got Costa Rica instead of Mexico, Bolivia instead of Brazil.

The group even has a crappy logo. You know how unserious the confab was when Trump's point person for this is Kristi Noem, whom he literally had just fired as Homeland Security secretary.

After Trump rambled through a short speech, it was Rubio's time to offer remarks. Here was a chance for the secretary of State, the man the Atlantic recently called "bright and well spoken," to channel his inner Simón Bolivar or José Martí. The secretary of State thanked everyone present in English, but not before praising Trump for his "bold leadership" and bragging that the president is "one of the most historic figures in American history."

Then Rubio looked back at his beaming master.

You all right if I — " he began before Trump cut him off with a magnanimous, "Sure. Please."

That's when Little Marco spoke in flawless Spanish. Rubio's comments weren't much different from what he said in English, save his remark that what they all planned to do by following Trump "will make future generations grateful for the work we are doing today."

That last statement sums up Rubio. For centuries, Latin America has yearned for prosperity and peace free from American interference. This hope has fueled revolutions, music, film, culture and all the best things the region has produced only to have US-backed tyrants crush those movements.

That's the torch Rubio now proudly carries.

"All my life I've been in a hurry to get to my future," he wrote in his 2013 memoir, "American Son." Rubio's future is now. And our present — not just Latinos, but all Americans — is worse because of it.