MIAMI — Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has yet to announce that he will run for president. But there are some of his biggest fans among the right-leaning voting bloc who are calling for him to join his 2024 primary field. I am a Hispanic Evangelical Christian.
I am not against former President Donald J. Trump, who is a Republican and has already announced his candidacy. But a showdown between his two giants on the right could turn Latino evangelicals into a decisive swing vote in Florida.
Pastor Samuel Rodriguez, pastor of Sacramento, California, said: President of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference. “We know the values we uphold and the policies we want. The question that arises is who really reflects them.”
Rodriguez’s group held a rally in Tampa, Fla., last month, attracting hundreds of pastors from around the country. Between sessions, hallways were filled with chatter about politics rather than the Bible, according to attendees.
A lot of it came down to choosing between Trump and DeSantis, they said.
Not surprisingly, given that the first vote for the 2024 campaign is over a year away, few have decided on the answer yet. The story of Mr. Trump, who has long courted evangelicals, and Mr. DeSantis, who is bent on a cultural battle that appeals to many conservative Christians — is about expectations among Florida’s Hispanic evangelical leaders. and their desire to demonstrate the efficacy of their now shamelessly politicized Christianity.
“This is about morals, and we have one political party right now that reflects our morals,” said Diony Baez, a Miami pastor who heads the church network. “We cannot be afraid to remind people that Republicans have values they are willing to fight. Yes, we can no longer create that taboo.”
Hispanic evangelicals have long been very influential in Florida, where Latinos make up about 27% of the population and 21% of the electorate. Although they outnumber Roman Catholics among Hispanics, evangelicals are far more likely to vote Republican. supported
Mr. DeSantis has enthusiastically courted Hispanic evangelicals as his national profile has grown.
Last year, when he signed a law banning abortions after the 15th week of pregnancy, he did so at Nación de Fe, a Hispanic evangelical megachurch in Osceola County. He declared his November 7th, the day before the midterm elections, “Victims of Communism Day,” to increase seats not only for Cubans in the state, but also for evangelical churches in Florida. I also appealed to immigrants from Venezuela and Nicaragua who were helpful. His campaign aide frequently spoke with Hispanic pastors, cultivating the support many expect Mr. DeSantis to try to profit from the presidential election.
Of course, Mr. Trump can also call on his supporters. Rodriguez spoke at the 2017 inauguration, and other Hispanic evangelical leaders endorsed him.
But DeSantis could complicate the equation for a possible 2024 Republican primary, given the concentration and influence of Hispanic evangelicals in Florida. Many see Mr. DeSantis as the hero of the pandemic, and he credits him for not calling for churches to close or enacting vaccine mandates.
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The battle for Hispanic evangelical loyalty will only cement their importance in Florida and beyond as they seek to exercise power more effectively and more organized.
In Miami and elsewhere, Hispanic evangelical churches range from small storefronts to megachurches with six-piece bands and full-service cafes. His second and third generation American citizens praying with recent immigrants from Puerto Rico, Venezuela, Cuba and the Dominican Republic. Services are often in Spanish, but many congregations are bilingual and eager for their children to speak both English and Spanish.
Many people didn’t vote at all in the last decade, and voted for Trump for the first time in 2016 or 2020. His political style served as a model for Latino evangelical pastors who have stoked outrage over coronavirus restrictions. Church attendance increased during the pandemic, according to the pastor.
More than 6,000 congregants attend Sunday services at Segadores de Vida, an evangelical church on the Southwest Ranch, west of Fort Lauderdale. Pastor Rudy Gracia took the pulpit to criticize pandemic restrictions that are closing churches in other states. And denounce the Covid vaccine and urge congregations to rely on God’s immunity instead.
In an interview, Gracia said his sermons on politics attracted more members, many of whom shared their doubts about the country’s economic, political and spiritual direction.
“The liberal people’s principles in the United States are evil by the standards of the Bible, not by my standards, the Bible. “We’re super-conservative, so every time we go to the pulpit or talk, we’re actually talking about politics.”
Gracia, now 57, who immigrated from the Dominican Republic at a young age, spent time reading about emperors and famous generals and described his ideas of leadership as “outdated.” That gave him his perspective on Mr. DeSantis and Mr. Trump, he said.
“I’ve always been a huge admirer of guts and aggression, both of which behave like true leaders,” he said, referring to whether the two Republican rivals could run on the Republican ticket. I thought aloud. You can see in both of these men the drive and tension that are sorely needed in a world like the one we live in today.
Daniel Garza, executive director of Libre, a conservative group focused on Hispanic outreach, held services at evangelical churches across the country, encouraging pastors to speak more directly about politics from the pulpit. “We’ve always had a familiarity, but what we’re seeing now is a kind of comfort that we haven’t had in the past,” he said.
Evangelicals are still a minority among Latino voters, though polls show that evangelicals are far more likely to vote Republican than Catholics or the agnostic. , they are not a monolithic voting block.
They were often more tolerant of the relaxation of some immigration rules than Republican leaders, and even those who supported Trump were put off by his anti-immigrant message.
When Trump launched his outreach to evangelicals in his 2020 re-election campaign, he did so at the King Jesus International Ministry, a huge Hispanic congregation in Miami. The church’s pastor, Guillermo Maldonado, assured members of the church, many of whom were illegal immigrants from Central America and the Caribbean, that they did not have to be US citizens to attend the gathering.
Some Hispanic evangelical leaders shudder at the idea that this group automatically represents a unified voting bloc that favors the Republican Party. are also more likely to choose Democrats, they note. Yet even these leaders are keen to describe the group as typical swing voters who are not fully committed to either party.
“Being an evangelical is not a political denomination,” says Gabriel Salguero, the Orlando pastor who runs the National Latino Evangelical Coalition, who keeps his political preferences secret in principle. , is about our faith in Christ and our devotion to the gospel, so we don’t trust politics, but we should get involved.”
Across the country, many Hispanic evangelical leaders have embraced speaking more clearly about politics in their sermons.
Mr. Baez, a church network pastor, avoided mentioning politics for several years when his pulpit was in Philadelphia. He considered his role at the time to be above politics, and he rarely even voted.
But since moving to Florida in 2019 and starting a new congregation that gathers at a former nightclub in downtown Miami, he rarely shy away from talking about political issues.
Baez spoke to the congregation about his decision to stop showing Disney movies to young children. He said the company was too supportive of transgender rights and applauded a law passed by Mr. DeSantis and state Republicans last year limiting classroom instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity. did.
Baez has also spoken out against schools that educate children about gender identity.
“Teachers shouldn’t talk to young children about sexuality. Let me, the parent, do that,” he said, adding that he first noticed the issue several years ago during a discussion of the so-called toilet bill. “We have moved to extremes on this. We have to respect our parents and not impose one opinion on them.”
Every Sunday, as the church is known, Mr. Baez hosts a raucous service at H2O Miami, where hundreds gather around a table to sing along with a Christian rock band and raise their hands. Praise At the end of the two-hour service, the congregation hugs each other and gathers at the edge of the stage for Mr. Baez and his wife to lay their hands on each other and pray.
Like other Hispanic evangelical leaders, Baez has a large and loyal following in both the United States and Latin America, with nearly a million followers on social media. He makes frequent appearances on Spanish-language television, usually focusing on bright messages of hope rather than explicit references to Jesus or conservative values.
“There’s a reason most Latinos are liberal. It’s what they see on TV,” he says as he eats breakfast in the backyard of his home in Miramar, a suburb about 30 minutes north of Miami. said while taking the “We want to offer an alternative vision.”
