The tragedy at Jet Set nightclub is a stark reminder of how interconnected communities might be. Everyone knows somebody who perished that fateful evening. For each viajero — each traveler who has returned residence to the Dominican Republic — Jet Set was identified. We danced there, laughed there, celebrated there. I used to be no exception. Years in the past, my brothers introduced me to the long-lasting venue. It was elegant and vibrant, really unforgettable.
My most up-to-date go to was heart-wrenching.
Flight to the Dominican Republic
I landed at Las Américas Worldwide Airport late on a Sunday. Although I checked “business” on my customs kind, this journey was something however. Maybe it’s time we add one other field to that kind: “bereavement.” That’s what this was. A return to the land of my start, to not go to, however to grieve. To face in solidarity, to help my group alongside Mayor Eric Adams — who traveled for a similar solemn goal.
That night, because the airplane touched down, the acquainted sound of applause — typical for us — was conspicuously absent. The silence was heavy. Over the loudspeaker, the flight attendant gently reminded us, “It’s okay to clap. Those we lost would expect us to.” Her phrases struck a chord. I introduced my arms collectively and clapped for the greater than 250 lives misplaced and the practically 200 survivors whose lives are endlessly modified.
Within the final two weeks, we’ve heard the names of well-known victims — public figures whose tales have garnered headlines. And whereas we mourn their passing, we should additionally bear in mind the a whole bunch of others whose names is probably not as broadly identified, however whose absence is deeply felt. Each life misplaced deserves to be honored—with dignity, recognition, and remembrance.
Tribute to the Victims
On Monday morning, a way of overwhelming grief took over as we approached floor zero. I walked close to the makeshift memorial that now decorates the sidewalk of Avenida Independencia. Candles, many toppled over, lined the pavement. I paused. I imagined the arms that had positioned them — the grieving households, the heartbroken buddies. Appreciating that even within the midst of ache and adversity, the Dominican folks — inside and out of doors the nation —have demonstrated their power and spirit of solidarity. I knelt and stood every candle upright.
Every candle, to me, represented a guardian who misplaced a childlike Lucia Maria De la Cruz. Or a toddler who misplaced a guardian. Just like the seven youngsters left behind by sisters Lucia and Rudilania De La Cruz, now orphaned. These younger lives, altered instantly, should now navigate a world with out their dad and mom’ love, steering, or safety. We should maintain them in our hearts and prolong each useful resource we are able to. They deserve nothing much less.
Our Dominicanidad
New York Metropolis is residence to the most important Dominican group exterior of the Dominican Republic. Each triumph and tragedy from our homeland reverberate by the 5 boroughs. For Mayor Adams and I — as New York Metropolis’s first Dominican Deputy Mayor — touring to Santo Domingo wasn’t a alternative; it was our accountability. Our sorrow crossed the Atlantic. We would have liked to indicate up, stand beside our folks, and say: you aren’t alone.
A lot of these misplaced or injured that day might not have been born within the Dominican Republic, however their names, their tales, and their legacies will endlessly be Dominican. As a result of being Dominican is not only a nationality — it’s a means of being, a shared rhythm of satisfaction, perseverance, and profound connection.
Might our Dominicanidad — our collective spirit, our enduring bond — proceed to hold us ahead. Might it encourage us to look after each other, to help the households and orphans in mourning, and to make sure that the reminiscence of these we misplaced lives on in all that we do.
