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He was looking for a Spanish-speaking community in Austin. He created one that has 80,000 members.

Gustavo ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú takes a selfie with his wife, María Renee Rivers Nava, and their two sons, Gustavo Rene ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú Rivers and Andres ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú Rivers.
Courtesy of Gustavo ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú
Gustavo ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú takes a selfie with his wife, María Renee Rivers Nava, and their two sons, Gustavo Rene ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú Rivers and Andres ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú Rivers.

Lee esta historia en español

When Gustavo ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú and his family moved to Austin from Venezuela in 2016, he felt isolated. He didn’t have a community to rely on. He didn’t have anyone to teach him how to do basic things like file taxes, decipher the health care system or find English classes.

Nine years later, ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú has managed not only to make a community for himself, but also to help other Spanish-speaking Austinites navigate life in the U.S. He created a community on Instagram called , which now has 80,000 followers.

A man holds is phone while filming an event.
Greta Díaz González Vázquex
/
KUT News
²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú films a “know your rightsâ€� session for migrants held by Amhiga Hispana at the Southeast Branch of Austin Public Library.

“Immigrants will always feel the absence of community when they arrive at their destination,� he said in Spanish. “It’s part of the natural process of being an immigrant."

KUT and nine other public radio stations got together to look at how different groups think about community for an NPR series called "." ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú was part of a group made up of Spanish-speaking Austinites.

²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú had worked hard in Venezuela for the life he wanted. He owned the apartment where he lived with his wife and two kids. He had a good job as a national marketing manager for an international company. On the weekends, his house was a meeting place for friends and family. He went to museums and took his kids to the library.

But an economic crisis hit the country in 2014. It was almost impossible to find basic resources like milk, eggs or flour, even if you had the money to pay for them. One afternoon, while standing in line for hours to get toilet paper, he realized he needed to find a way out for his family.

Political persecution had also made it more difficult to stay in Venezuela.

In 2016, the ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú Rivers family moved to Austin and applied for asylum, a process that can take up to 10 years and makes it difficult to leave the country. The worst part about migrating, he said, is “you can’t hug your loved ones.â€� He hasn’t seen his brother since he moved to the U.S.

As Venezuelans, ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú and his family have temporary protection status, which the Trump administration has . They don't know if they'll be able to stay legally in the country, but they've made Austin their home.

²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú said creating a community wasn’t easy during the first few years. That feeling was shared by other Spanish-speaking Austinites during the conversation KUT hosted.

“It’s very complex to create a community when you’re a migrant. In addition to the language barrier, there’s a barrier of feelings,� said Alma Cortés, who grew up in Mexico in the same neighborhood where her great-grandparents were born. “Five generations and we all know each other � that’s my idea of community.�

²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú and the other participants said starting over wasn’t easy. He tried working in construction, but quickly realized it was a tough job. The next few years, he worked his way up at a cable company and became a manager. But still he missed his old job and his community.

After COVID hit, he left his job and started creating content online.

“There was a gap,â€� ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú said. “Back then, even though there were big media outlets [in Spanish], there wasn’t enough information on social media about news, help or cultural events."

He and others in the KUT listening group noted it can be lonely to live in a city where most people don't speak your native language; conversations just don't have the same depth.

A person holding a phone. On the screen it reads "New Reel" in Spanish.
Greta Díaz González Vázquez
/
KUT News
²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú created HispanosATX to keep Spanish-speaking Austinites informed and help migrants navigate life in the U.S.

²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú wanted to bridge the language gap. His goal became to put information out there that would help Spanish-speaking Austinites with their everyday lives.

More than anything, ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú says, HispanosATX is a community hub where people share resources. There, Spanish-speaking Austinites can get immigration advice and information on how to access public libraries or what to do after a car accident â€� information ²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú wishes he would’ve known when he first got here.

“Response has been great. ... It has allowed me to help tons of people," he said. "That’s what I like the most, being able to hear someone tell you, ‘Thank you because I was able to find a free English class,' or, ‘I found help for my son who’s autistic,' or ‘I was able to find the right health insurance.'"

He says that keeps him going forward.

²Ñ²¹°ù³Ùí²Ô±ð³ú said Spanish-speaking Austinites crave in-depth and reliable information. He recently created a and wants to start a new podcast.

"Part of our mission is to remind Hispanics that we are important in this country," he said.

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