Before running for U.S. representative, Bobby Pulido had already toured the communities in his Texas border district. He spent 31 years as a tejano and regional Mexican singer, performing solo and with his father, the legendary musician Roberto Pulido. In South Texas everyone knows the performer: they grew up with his hit Desvelado, they danced and fell in love to Se murió de amor. But for the past year Pulido has shown a new side—one some support without hesitation and others are still weighing as an option on the midterm ballot: that of politician.
“I like to think politics runs in my blood,” Pulido tells EL PAÍS a day before his final sold-out concert at the Bert Ogden Center in Edinburg, his hometown, just 16 miles from the Mexican border. José Roberto Pulido Jr., his full name, is the great-grandson of a former mayor of a town in Nuevo León, and the nephew of a former county judge and a former prosecutor. But he insists he does not want his political career to have outside influences: “I’m carving out my own path, doing a lot of field campaigning, on the ground, with the people, in the streets.”
Pulido, who studied political science for a few years at a university in San Antonio, also tends to distance himself from political parties. Although he is the Democratic candidate for the competitive 15th district, which stretches from rural counties east of San Antonio down to the Rio Grande Valley, he says he is not running to turn a traditionally Republican red state blue: “I’m not talking about colors, but about things that matter to people.” He says that as a candidate he has visited communities in northern counties of the district where people told him they had not seen a Democrat in 10 years.
The race Bobby Pulido is contesting is key for his party, which wants to increase its presence in Texas. In 2024, Latinos in the 15th district—80% of its population—voted mostly for the Republicans and for Donald Trump. They did so upset by the large, uncontrolled numbers of migrants arriving across their border and because they believed Trump’s promise to improve the economy. Many of those Latinos, mainly of Mexican origin, are Pulido fans.
Although a poll conducted by the Barbara Jordan Research and Public Policy Survey Center at Texas Southern University for EL PAÍS gives him a comfortable lead over the Republican candidate, Monica De La Cruz, the 53-year-old Texan told supporters at a rally in McAllen last Friday—where he believes his most committed voters are—that he needs every vote: “I can’t do it alone. If you don’t vote and don’t bring others to vote, we can lose this race.”
In the interview he acknowledged that although he campaigned in the northern part of the district, he is unlikely to win there: “Some of these counties don’t even have a Democratic Party (...) I’ve been going since last year, but it’s never enough.”
If Pulido succeeds in flipping the 15th district it would represent a significant shift in a state where Republicans hold twice as many seats in the U.S. House as Democrats: they have 24 and Democrats have 13. This is also one of the districts the GOP recently redistricted to consolidate its hold.
Texas has emerged in these midterms as a place with far more competitive races than in previous elections, amid the president’s low approval ratings and wear from some of his signature policies. In the final stretch of the campaigns, polls give Democrats an advantage that could allow them to wrest control of the House from Republicans in the second half of this term of Trump.
Pulido describes himself as a conservative “old-school” politician; he supports a secure border, owns firearms and loves God. These are traits that characterize people in this area.
And the Texans from the district interviewed by EL PAÍS in McAllen and Edinburg also see him as one of their own, because they share the same problems: neither they nor their candidate have health insurance because they cannot afford it; they feel tariffs have made life more expensive; they believe President Donald Trump’s immigration policies “have gone too far”; and they think immigration reform is necessary.
“If not me, then who? It has to include permanent protection for those who have been here for years without committing a crime,” the candidate responds when asked why he is so sure he can achieve that reform—one organizations and politicians from both sides have demanded for decades but that has always stalled in Congress.
Pulido says speaking Spanish also connects him to his electorate. “This is a bilingual area where we speak a lot of Spanish,” he tells EL PAÍS. “Well, most of us—my opponent doesn’t,” he adds, referring to De La Cruz.
At the Bert Ogden Center, Edith Delgado, a 54-year-old voter, and Maxi Tijerina, 62, walked toward their seats to hear Pulido’s final concert. They have known him since he was a child singing with his father. Both believe he will represent them as a candidate.
They are also upset about family arrests in their community: they know of at least 10 people who were detained by immigration agents in their neighborhood or deported. “It happens so often and we’ve had to witness it. Before, you’d hear about cases far away,” Delgado says. This grievance is common in the area.
“Health insurance is another problem. I had it until two years ago. It’s very expensive,” Delgado says. Tijerina is in the same situation. But while they recognize their similarities with Pulido, Delgado still wants to know more about his campaign proposals before saying she will vote for him.
Tijerina is sure: “He’s my guy,” she says. She recalls that her husband, who leads a musical group, was surprised on two occasions when Pulido showed up at a quinceañera party and at a seniors center where they were performing and asked them to join him. “He greeted them as if they’d known each other forever. He’s very humble, the man.”
The farewell
No one was missing at Pulido’s final concert at the Bert Ogden Center. At the front tables sat Bobby Pulido’s four children: Remy (30), Darian (28), Tray (21) and little Rodrigo (7), who made faces at the camera when he was filmed. Also present were his parents, his wife Mariana Morales, and his manager and uncle, Jimmy Morales.
After 31 years in the music business, with nominations and recognitions—such as two Latin Grammy awards—he thanked each of them for the time they gave him so he could establish himself as a musician.
“People ask me if I’m sad to leave music and of course it makes me emotional, but I leave music with no regrets and with a heart full of gratitude,” he told his fans, his voice breaking often. The arena was nearly full of Mexican Americans, but also undocumented migrants and people with legal status—questioned by the Trump administration—who were not afraid to attend.
In a year of campaigning, Pulido said the question of why he was leaving music echoed in his head several times. “Traveling around South Texas reminded me why I did it,” he told the audience, almost unable to finish the sentence. He went on to say that on his tour he met people who work hard and can’t pay their bills; parents worried about their children; grandparents who can’t afford their medicines; and young people who wonder if they will ever be able to buy a home.
As he said this, dozens of musicians of all ages, with accordions or singing, flanked him on stage. “I made music for myself, but I’m running for Congress for you. If you give me the honor of representing you in Congress, I give you my word tonight that I will never forget where I come from,” he told them.
Pulido said goodbye to music singing a cappella and then, accompanied by the musicians on stage, with one of his biggest hits: Desvelado.
Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition