10/12/2025
Today, on Day 25 of Latine Heritage Month, we honor the Borinqueneers — Puerto Rico’s 65th Infantry Regiment, a band of soldiers whose courage transcended the battlefield. They fought not only against foreign enemies, but also against prejudice and invisibility, carving their place in history through valor, loyalty, and sacrifice. Their story is one of resilience, dignity, and the unbreakable spirit of an island that has always answered the call to serve.
Shortly after the United States claimed Puerto Rico as a colony, the U.S. Army established the 65th Infantry Regiment in 1899, a unit made up almost entirely of Puerto Rican men. It was the only all-Latino regiment in the U.S. Army, born out of both opportunity and contradiction. To Washington, the 65th was a colonial experiment; to the men who enlisted, it was a chance to claim dignity through service, to stand tall in a world that saw them as subjects rather than citizens. They came from every corner of the island; farmers, students, clerks, and fishermen, men who carried the calloused hands of labor and the quiet pride of their towns. Many enlisted out of patriotism; others out of necessity, hoping the uniform might offer stability or respect. What united them was a shared belief that valor could transcend the island’s colonial condition, that by serving, they might show the world the strength of Puerto Rican spirit.
They fought in World War I, World War II, and the Korean War, carrying not only rifles, but the weight of proving their courage in a nation that too often refused to see them as equals. What made the Borinqueneers extraordinary was their unity and discipline. They fought like brothers, bound by language, pride, and purpose. In the harshest battles, they stood firm, earning a reputation for bravery and precision. Despite enduring segregation, language barriers, and open prejudice, the Borinqueneers served with extraordinary valor, earning hundreds of medals and citations for bravery in battle. Yet their courage was constantly tested, not only by the enemy but by the very institution they served.
They were given inferior equipment, worn-out boots, and rations unfit for the freezing Korean winters. Many slept in thin tents or on bare ground while white units nearby had proper gear. Orders were issued only in English, leaving many soldiers confused under fire and punished for misinterpreting commands they could not understand. Their accents were mocked, their discipline questioned, and their loyalty doubted. Some officers viewed them as expendable, assigning them to the most dangerous posts with little support. Even their victories were often overlooked in official reports, their names lost to bureaucracy and bias.
Still, they pressed forward. They fought to prove that being Puerto Rican did not mean being lesser, that their courage could not be dismissed by rank or race. Their loyalty was tested again and again, yet they never wavered. In 1952, after a chaotic retreat at Jackson Heights in Korea, more than 90 Borinqueneers were unjustly court-martialed. Accused of cowardice in a war that had given them neither supplies nor support. This was the largest mass trial in U.S. military history and it became a symbol of the deep inequities faced by Puerto Rican soldiers. But their island refused to forget them. Families, veterans, and leaders fought for their honor until the convictions were overturned, restoring their dignity and revealing a truth history could not erase: that even in betrayal, they remained faithful to their people, their brothers in arms, and to Borinquén itself.
The story of the Borinqueneers did not end on the frozen hills of Korea. It lived on in the bodies, hearts, and memories of those who came home. Many returned to Puerto Rico to find no parades, no medals, no promises kept. They traded their uniforms for factory aprons and construction helmets, carrying silent wounds no one asked about. Their children grew up hearing fragments of stories: the cold that cut through their fathers’ bones, the songs they sang in Spanish to drown out the sounds of artillery, the comrades who never came home. From their pain emerged a generation of teachers, organizers, artists, and activists, sons and daughters who understood that service was not submission, and that dignity sometimes requires defiance.
In 2014, more than six decades after the Korean War, the Borinqueneers finally received the Congressional Gold Medal, one of the nation’s highest honors. The recognition placed them alongside the Tuskegee Airmen and Navajo Code Talkers, fellow warriors who had also fought bravely while enduring discrimination. For the surviving veterans, the ceremony was bittersweet; an acknowledgment long overdue, yet accepted with the same quiet dignity and pride that had defined their service.
The story of the Borinqueneers is not an isolated one. It’s part of a long pattern in U.S. history. The U.S. has never hesitated to send Black and brown soldiers to the front lines, but it has always hesitated to see their humanity when the fighting stops. Puerto Rican men were asked to prove loyalty to a nation that treated them as outsiders, to die for freedoms they were denied at home. The empire has always needed the strength and sacrifice of the marginalized, but never their equality. Still, they fought. Their loyalty was not to empire, but to one another, to their island, and to the generations who would one day demand the respect they were denied.
Thank you for your service—
For your courage in the face of injustice, for your loyalty to one another when loyalty was not returned, and for carrying the name Borinquén with pride across every battlefield. You fought for a nation that did not always see you, yet you made it impossible to be forgotten. Your valor reshaped history, your dignity outlived empire, and your legacy reminds us that true honor is born from love of people, not power.
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A website with more information:
https://borinqueneers.com/en_US/
