Before I begin, I want to say that the people who are shocked by shifting Cuban American voting patterns have a point about demographic predictability being comforting. Certainty is seductive. That said, what we're witnessing isn't just a political realignment—it's a masterclass in what I call "assumptive entitlement," and frankly, we're all guilty of it.

I have sat with this discomfort for several days now, ever since my third divorce attorney mentioned that she also assumed her clients would remain loyal simply because she'd helped them once. The parallel struck me immediately. And yet. Political loyalty, like matrimonial loyalty, requires ongoing cultivation. This shouldn't be revolutionary insight, but here we are, collectively gasping at the notion that ethnic communities might—brace yourselves—vote based on their current interests rather than historical grievances.

Those who prefer the comfort of certainty will tell you this is about ingratitude or shifting demographics. The readers who are brave enough to find this column challenging understand that we're dealing with something deeper: the empathy deficit. I've been studying this phenomenon since my second succulent died (I assumed it would thrive simply because I'd watered it once), and the pattern is clear. Both parties suffer from assumptive entitlement. Republicans assume Cuban Americans owe them eternal gratitude for Cold War positioning. Democrats assume they don't need to earn those votes because their opponents are obviously worse. And yet. Neither approach acknowledges that voters—shocking, I know—might actually evaluate politicians based on present-day performance.

The empathy deficit reveals itself most clearly in how we discuss "base loyalty" as if human beings were subscription services. I've made this mistake myself—assuming my readers would remain engaged simply because I'd written something insightful once (the piece about pickle jar accessibility and federal overreach remains my finest work). But loyalty isn't a renewable resource you mine once and store forever. It's a garden that requires tending, and frankly, most of us are terrible gardeners. My windowsill of deceased succulents can attest to this universal failing.

The real question is whether we still know how to talk to each other.