Immigrant Archive Project

03/12/2026

Some contributions to this country can’t be measured in GDP, tax receipts, or quarterly growth.

They live in quieter places — in sacrifice, in perseverance, in the belief that the next generation might live a little more freely than the last.

I wrote a new essay this morning about the contribution you can’t measure, and why it matters more than ever in how we think about immigration and belonging in America.

If you have a moment, I’d be honored if you gave it a read.

https://theimmigrantarchive.substack.com/p/the-contribution-you-cant-measure

03/02/2026

Success isn’t the premiere. It isn’t the office. It isn’t the headlines.

When I interviewed Victoria Alonso, then President of Marvel Studios, she described success in a way I’ve never forgotten.

It’s choosing the harder road — long after you no longer have to.

And sometimes, it’s recognizing that something you've helped create, is the center of someone else’s universe.

My latest essay, The Left Turn, is now live on Substack.

On Discipline, Daughters, and the 8:05 That Defines Success

02/24/2026

I once interviewed a man who built a billion-dollar life based on a seven-day plan.

Not five years. Not ten. Seven days.

His philosophy was born not in business—but in free fall.

His story goes live tomorrow.
Subscribe to receive it: https://substack.com/

02/22/2026

Immigrant children understand things early.
We learn to translate.
To adapt.
To carry responsibilities.

Today, I worry about them.
I worry about what they are seeing.
What they are hearing.

What they are beginning to understand about the country they call home.

That’s me on the left.

02/20/2026

In my latest essay on Substack, I revisit three of the most meaningful interviews I’ve ever conducted—conversations with my daughters, recorded years ago for the Immigrant Archive Project.

Listening to their words again, I realized they were describing something larger than our family. They were giving voice to a new generation of Americans—children who do not see their multicultural identity as divided, but as whole.
Fully American. Fully rooted in their heritage. Entirely at ease in both.

In many ways, they helped me understand what is now becoming the defining reality of Generation Alpha.

They are the New American Child.

Through my work on the Immigrant Archive Project, I have interviewed thousands of immigrants about the lives they left behind—and the ones they built here.

02/20/2026

What I was hearing about immigrants didn’t match what I had lived.

So I spent seventeen years documenting their stories—firsthand.
I’m now sharing what I’ve learned.

Their courage.
Their sacrifice.
Their enduring belief in America.

Today, I’m launching a Substack to share these stories—and the lessons they carry. If they resonate with you, I invite you to follow along.

I did not discover the immigrant story in a book.

01/23/2026

Long before Fernando Mendoza… Indiana University already had a Cuban star.

This season, Cuban-American quarterback Fernando Mendoza became a national sensation—winning the Heisman Trophy and leading the Indiana Hoosiers to an undefeated season and the program’s first national championship.

But watching Indiana’s rise reminded me of something else:
Long before Mendoza lit up the scoreboard, IU already had a Cuban who became a beloved figure on campus and a respected leader in higher education.

His name is Gerardo Gonzalez. I interviewed him for the Immigrant Archive Project, and his story carries lessons that go far beyond education.

He remembered the day a telegram arrived from the Cuban government granting his family permission to leave. Then he shares a detail you don’t forget: once the family requested permission to leave, their belongings were effectively inventoried, and they couldn’t sell or give things away. So, under cover of night, his father and friends quietly swapped mattresses—leaving his grandmother a better one, a small act of love carried out in secrecy.

That story captures the immigrant experience in one small scene:
joy and grief living in the same moment… and love expressed through sacrifice.

He arrived in the U.S. at 11 years old, before meaningful ESL support existed. After a humiliating school incident, he stopped raising his hand, stopped participating, and focused on staying invisible.

And then came the message so many immigrant parents delivered with absolute certainty:

“Get an education. It’s the one thing no one can take from you.”

His father—an auto mechanic—would hold up his hands, worn and weathered by years of labor, and tell him to build a future where his own hands wouldn’t have to look like that.

Mr. Gonzalez went on to become Dr. Gerardo Gonzalez, and Dean of IU’s School of Education and a leader who shaped the next generation of educators and school administrators.

And when I asked him how his immigrant experience influenced his leadership style, his answer was simple and profound:

He tried to treat every person who walked into his office as if what they brought to him was the most important thing in that moment.

Because he understood something many leaders forget:
It takes courage to walk into the dean’s office.
It takes courage to ask for help.
It takes courage to be seen.

Mendoza’s championship was a stadium moment the nation won’t soon forget. Dr. Gonzalez’s legacy is quieter, but just as enduring: helping others feel seen, valued, and capable.

Two Cubans. Two arenas. One quintessentially American story.

01/21/2026

A Great Interview Isn’t About Questions. It’s About Permission.

Most people think a great interview is about asking the right questions.

It’s not.

A great interview is about creating the kind of space where someone feels safe enough to tell the truth.

Because people don’t open up because you’re talented.
They open up because they feel respected.

They open up when they don’t feel rushed.
When they feel listened to.
When they sense you’re not chasing soundbites—you’re honoring a life.

And when the moment comes—when a subject is standing at the edge of something emotional—your job isn’t to push.

Your job is to give them permission.

Permission to remember.
Permission to feel.
Permission to say, “This was hard.”
Permission to say, “I’m proud.”
Permission to admit, “I didn’t know if we were going to make it.”

That’s when the real story shows up.

Not the résumé.
Not the highlight reel.
The human version.

And something else happens—something that still moves me every time.

After many interviews, the subject will say:

“My wife has never heard any of this.”
“My kids don’t know these stories.”
“I can’t wait to share this with them.”

Because in one honest conversation, they’ve spoken at length about experiences and memories they’ve never shared with the people closest to them.

Not out of secrecy.

But because life gets busy.
Because nobody asks.
Because we assume there will be more time.

In the end, storytelling isn’t about extracting information.

It’s about creating connection.

And sometimes… it’s about giving a family the chance to truly know each other—while they still can.

12/30/2025

What Oral History Teaches Us About Starting Over

The New Year has a way of convincing us that starting over requires a clean slate. A new plan. A bold declaration. A dramatic reinvention.

Oral history tells a different story.

After recording thousands of interviews—many with immigrants who were forced to begin again not by choice, but by circumstance—I’ve learned that starting over is rarely a single moment. It’s a process. Quiet. Uncelebrated. Often uncomfortable.

I see this not only through oral histories, but through the legacy films I’ve been privileged to create—intimate records of lives in motion, not lives neatly resolved. Time and again, people sit down believing they’ll tell a story of arrival or success, only to realize that what shaped them most were the moments in between: the setbacks, the recalibrations, the decisions to keep going without certainty.

Most of the people I’ve interviewed didn’t arrive with clarity or confidence. They arrived with uncertainty. With loss. With the awareness that whatever they had built before might not translate to where they were going next.

And yet, again and again, they moved forward.

Not because they had a perfect plan—but because they understood something fundamental: starting over doesn’t mean erasing the past. It means carrying it wisely.

In oral histories and legacy films alike, “starting over” is rarely framed as reinvention. It’s framed as responsibility—to family, to children, to parents left behind, to a future that demanded effort even when the outcome was unclear.

There are no shortcuts in these stories. Progress is incremental. Identity is negotiated slowly. Confidence follows action, not the other way around.

What’s striking is how often success, when it finally arrives, isn’t described as triumph—but as stability. The ability to provide. The dignity of work. The freedom to make choices that once felt impossible.

Oral history also teaches us that starting over isn’t a failure of the original plan. It’s often the most honest response to reality. That truth becomes unmistakable when people watch their own lives unfold on screen—when they recognize that the chapters they once considered detours were, in fact, the story.

At the Immigrant Archive Project, and through the legacy films we create, we don’t frame these lives as heroic arcs or cinematic comebacks. We document them as they are: complex, unfinished, deeply human. Because starting over doesn’t resolve itself neatly—and neither do most lives worth recording.

As we enter a new year, I’m reminded that beginnings don’t need to be loud to be meaningful. They need to be intentional. Patient. Grounded in truth.

Starting over isn’t about abandoning who you were.
It’s about deciding—once again—how you’ll move forward with what you’ve learned.

So here’s the question I’ll carry into the new year:

When you think about starting over, are you trying to erase the past—or build more honestly on what it taught you?

06/17/2025

What actually happens when a majority of deported immigrants simply re-enter the U.S. on tourist visas—and stay? Asking the question no one wants to answer.

04/01/2025

The Real Cost of Immigration Policies & Tariffs on Housing

New analysis reveals how restrictions on immigrant labor and rising tariffs could significantly inflate home construction costs. In Phoenix, builder Nathan Anderson estimates a 17% increase in labor costs and material price hikes that could push a $2.65M home’s price up by $236,000—if the market can bear it.

From foundation to roofing, immigrant workers play a critical role in residential construction. Without them, labor shortages could drive prices even higher. Is the housing market ready for this impact?

Read more on what this means for builders, buyers, and affordability.

Take a line-by-line look at the estimated costs of building this four-bedroom home in Phoenix, Ariz., under President Trump’s agenda.