Embracing Identity and Uncovering Hidden Histories: Journey Through El Paso

Meeting David Varela confirmed just how little I knew—about El Paso, Texas, about personal identity, and about how quickly you can fall in love with a place the rest of the world might overlook. David is an El Paso local historian, city guide, and all-around passionate ambassador of the city sometimes called the "Mother of Texas." We sat down to discuss everything from terrifying "bath riots" (really) to being gay in a region that hasn't always embraced its LGBTQ+ community. (Spoiler: The guy can make underground tunnels and historic socioeconomic tensions sound more exciting than a Vegas magic show.)

Discovering Personal Identity—and Living to Tell the Tale

I initially discovered David through a serendipitous encounter—my partner and I were in the lobby of our El Paso hotel, basically identifying ourselves as hopelessly curious travelers. That's when David strolled in, beaming with the kind of welcoming energy that says, "Hey, I might have a story or two if you're willing to listen." Let's just say an hour later, we were planning an entire day of exploration.

Hearing him recount his personal journey was as moving as it was eye-opening. David grew up hiding his sexuality from a father raised in a deeply traditional Mexican, machismo culture. For years, he balanced two versions of himself: the friendly, open guy with a few trusted friends... and the "I'm totally NOT gay, let's go build a fence" guy at home. Turns out that's basically the emotional equivalent of wearing jeans two sizes too small: you can manage for a while, but eventually something rips. His big rip came in the form of an unexpected acceptance—at a time when he was sure he'd get the opposite. Boy, was he relieved.

A City Draped in Many Cultures

David's zeal for El Paso made it impossible not to fall in love with this city. I finally understood that El Paso truly is the product of ancient trade routes, unique historical events, and a culture that blends Mexican, Native American, European, and frankly, just about every ethnicity you can imagine. Spanish is widely spoken, but it's a city of blending—where white, Black, Arab, Korean, and Chinese ancestry intermingle in ways that can leave your head happily spinning.

It also doesn't hurt that El Paso's sense of hospitality might be second to none. One of David's anecdotes involved a stranded visitor who randomly got help from not one, but two locals—from jump-starting his rental car to literally chauffeuring him to Walmart for a replacement key. I'd like to see that kind of service happen spontaneously on the streets of, say, Manhattan. I mean, you might get a— "Wow, that's tough, buddy. Good luck!"—if you're lucky.

The Bath Riots: A Hidden—and Shocking—Chapter in U.S. History

Before joining David's world, I'd never heard of the "Bath Riots." When he first brought them up, I must have looked like I'd accidentally swallowed a jalapeño. The name itself is so bizarre that my mind went straight to imagining someone outraged about lukewarm water or not enough soap. The real story isn't even a little bit funny, though.

In 1917, Mexican travelers crossing into El Paso were forced to strip, bathe in chemicals like kerosene, and have their clothes doused or steamed in the name of "public health." Fear of typhus gave city officials free rein to treat thousands of people like livestock. Eventually, a 17-year-old maid named Carmelita Torres decided she'd had enough. The upshot? She sparked a riot that grew into thousands in a matter of hours, leading to border shutdowns, military intervention, and a penning-in of entire neighborhoods. Tragically, her story disappears after authorities arrested her. Talk about real-life stories that should make it into every history textbook.

Underground Tunnels and Global Connections

If forced chemical baths at the border weren't enough, David also let me in on a lesser-known piece of southwestern lore: the system of underground tunnels in El Paso. These were allegedly built by Chinese immigrants and smugglers over a century ago, connecting basements of old buildings, schools, even private homes. Hearing David describe it, I kept expecting Indiana Jones to swing through the conversation any second. The rumor is that these tunnels might still exist, sealed off by crumbling bricks and cinder blocks—though I'd personally suggest bringing more than a flashlight (and some oxygen) if you plan to do any amateur spelunking down there. Sarcasm aside, these stories reveal the unwavering determination of people trying to carve out new lives in a country that rarely rolled out the red carpet.

Embracing Where We Come From

Nothing opens your eyes faster than hearing about how your own or someone else's community overcame adversity. Despite his city's complicated chapters, David is unwavering in his passion. El Paso's layered story, from tragic to triumphant, is precisely why he loves it so much. We often see sanitized versions of local or national histories. But it's the raw details—like families forcibly bathed, or secret underground networks—that shine a light on everything real people have gone through to survive and thrive.

Honestly, it taught me a huge lesson: complicating your perspective doesn't undo the good, it supplements it. If you grew up somewhere with difficult chapters in its story, that doesn't mean you can't love it, too. You can embrace every part of it, the heartbreak and the pride, and channel your energy into making it better for the next generation. Admittedly, I still can't say "machismo" without thinking some guy is about to rip off his shirt and wrestle a bull.

Final Thoughts: Each One, Teach One

Like David says, if you know a piece of history—especially one that goes against the mainstream narrative—don't keep it to yourself. Share it. And if you don't know the histories of your own city or state, find out. If the next generation only hears the glossy side of the story, we all lose the chance to learn from the dark times and from the homegrown heroes like Carmelita Torres.

In my short time with David, I learned more about El Paso's identity, local resilience, and global connections than I ever expected. From borderland prejudices to father-son acceptance in a once-hostile environment, he showed me that real progress begins when we unearth our true stories. And that's exactly what I plan on doing next time I find some random tunnel entrance—just kidding, calm down, I probably won't actually break through any cinder blocks. Probably.

So that's a wrap on my love letter to El Paso—where personal identity, historical reckoning, and spicy salsa combine in ways you never could have predicted. If I took away one thing from my time there (beyond a T-shirt and new friend), it's the reminder that our individual experiences shape entire communities. Each one, teach one, as David says. And if we can do that with open minds and open hearts, who knows what new doors—or tunnels—we'll discover next.

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