Wait, Who's Speaking Spanish in This Political Ad?

With the 2026 midterm elections approaching, Spanish-language political ads are showing up across competitive races, where campaigns are looking for every opportunity to reach voters. But here's something interesting: just because an ad is in Spanish doesn't mean the candidate is the one speaking it.

Sometimes the candidate speaks Spanish directly. Sometimes a running mate or narrator does the talking. Other times, it's a voter or small-business owner sharing a personal story. And occasionally, the candidate appears in an ad without saying a single word. All of these can be Spanish-language political ads, yet each creates a different experience for the person watching. Which raises a surprisingly simple question: Does it matter who's doing the talking?

Take Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro's campaign. In one ad, a Pennsylvania resident talks about a tax benefit that could put up to $800 more in the pockets of eligible working families, helping them manage rising everyday costs. The campaign adapted the English testimonial into Spanish, and the language has personality. “Up to $800 more” becomes “hasta 800 dolaritos más,” while “shop smart, spend wisely” becomes “hacer que rinda el dinero.” These aren't word-for-word translations. They're expressions that sound more like everyday conversation.

But there's a difference between choosing the right words and bringing them to life on camera. Watching the testimonial, I found myself wishing the delivery had a little more warmth and energy. Perhaps a more relaxed interview or some additional on-camera coaching could have helped bring out her personality. After all, not everyone is comfortable in front of a camera, and that's where thoughtful creative direction matters. The goal isn't simply to put a message in Spanish. It's to communicate it with impact.

In Florida, Republican gubernatorial candidate Byron Donalds takes a different approach. In a Spanish-language ad, Donalds doesn't do the talking. His running mate, Bryan Ávila, does. Ávila is Cuban American, the son of Cuban exiles, and speaks directly to viewers in Spanish about affordability, safety and “una Florida libre, fuerte y próspera.” The word libre is perfectly ordinary in Spanish, but words don't exist in a vacuum. Donalds introduced Ávila as his running mate at Miami's Freedom Tower, a landmark closely associated with the Cuban exile experience. In that context, a familiar word can carry additional meaning.

It's a reminder that cultural context can communicate something a dictionary never will. Of course, recognizing that context doesn't replace the need for substance. The ad promises a more affordable Florida, but offers limited detail in its 30 seconds about how that would happen. Cultural familiarity may capture attention, but what comes next still matters.

Then there's Randy Villegas, a congressional candidate in California's Central Valley. In the Spanish-language ad Luchar, viewers see Villegas, but a narrator delivers the message. It's tempting to wonder why Villegas isn't speaking Spanish himself. But here's something we often overlook: political ads featuring candidates aren't always produced by the candidates' own campaigns. Political parties and other organizations can create ads about candidates, sometimes independently of them. That means the person we see on screen may not be the person deciding how the message is delivered. Suddenly, the question isn't just who's speaking Spanish. It's also who's deciding who gets to speak.

Arizona Governor Katie Hobbs' campaign offers yet another perspective. In No Se Rinde, the Spanish-language version of her biography emphasizes her experience driving Uber to provide for her children and helping women rebuild their lives after domestic violence. It's the same candidate, but the storytelling takes on a different emotional emphasis. Then, in De Puro Sudor, the spotlight shifts to Alex Macias, a small-business owner whose parents started the furniture business he now runs. His Spanish isn't polished like a professional announcer's, but that's part of what makes his testimonial feel conversational. And the story itself is different. It's not primarily about financial hardship. It's about family, entrepreneurship and carrying forward something the previous generation built.

What makes De Puro Sudor interesting is how the different pieces of the story come together. We hear from a small-business owner about the furniture business his parents started, and we see photos of him with Hobbs. His Spanish isn't polished like a professional announcer's, but that can make his story feel more personal. The photos also help connect the candidate to the person telling the story. It's a simple but useful lesson in communication: when someone talks about a relationship, showing that connection can make the message more meaningful.

Looking across these ads, it's clear that speaking Spanish is only one part of what makes a message connect. Who delivers it, the story being told, the words chosen and what viewers see on screen all matter. Research even suggests that hearing political messages in Spanish can shape whether Latino voters feel a candidate understands their needs and wants to represent them. But there's an important difference between making the effort to reach an audience and making that audience feel understood.

Translation gets the words across. Connection tells people they matter.

That connection often begins long before anyone translates a sentence. It depends on whose voice we hear, whose experiences are represented and whether the message reflects an understanding of the people it's intended to reach. Political campaigns aren't alone in navigating these choices. Brands, businesses and organizations face the same challenge whenever they communicate across languages and cultures. After all, speaking someone's language is one way to reach them. Making them feel understood is what turns communication into connection.