The Latin American Dream is Alive in Cleveland
- Ronaldo Rodriguez Jr.
- Aug 6
- 4 min read
On a warm Friday afternoon, the City Club of Cleveland played host to a heartfelt and powerful forum featuring Jenice Contreras, President and CEO of the Northeast Ohio Hispanic Center for Economic Development (NEOHCED).
Contreras took the stage not just as a nonprofit executive, but as the embodiment of a vision generations in the making. Her keynote was charged with emotion and conviction, her voice trembling at times, not from nerves, but from the weight of lived experience.
“CentroVilla is so much more than just a building,” she told the audience. “It is a living testament to the resilience and vision of Cleveland’s Latino community.”
Born in Puerto Rico and raised in Cleveland, Contreras shared a deeply personal story of place, belonging, and purpose. Her journey led her from the second-floor porch of an apartment in Clark-Fulton to the helm of a $14 million transformative project on West 25th. The project, CentroVilla25, is now a thriving cultural and economic hub that honors Latino heritage while serving as a launchpad for entrepreneurship.
Contreras painted a vivid portrait of cultural dissonance growing up Latina in Cleveland: the smell of wooden houses, the change of seasons, the first taste of iced tea, and the subtle tensions of racial identity.
“I quickly became aware of the complexities in Cleveland around racial dynamics. I began to understand the impact and the significance of Black history, and I found myself navigating a world that was often divided, most clearly in the segregated lunch tables of Walton Elementary,” said Contreras.
It was in a small storefront church on Clark Avenue—Cristo Rey—that she found her first true sense of belonging. That community became her sanctuary, providing spiritual grounding, leadership development, and lifelong friendships.
That sense of belonging would later come into question as Clark Avenue was “slowly bought up by big box pharmacies and fast food chains,” she said. “At the time, I thought this progress was a good thing, but it came at a cost. Our church disappeared, and with it, we lost our safe haven on Clark.”
The highlight of the speech came when Contreras described how she spent her youth gazing at the rooftop of a building she could see from the porch of her childhood apartment. That very building, she shared, is now CentroVilla25. “I stared at that roof for many days, months, and years,” she said.
Backed by more than a decade of grassroots planning, community engagement, and persistent fundraising, CentroVilla25 opened in 2025 as Cleveland’s Latino hub.
The road wasn’t easy. Contreras recounted fundraising challenges, limited social capital, a lawsuit, multiple changes in contractors and architects, and even a global pandemic. “There were moments,” she admitted, “where we had to sit down and ask if this was really going to happen. Quitting was never an option. This was our one shot,” she said. “And our community deserves it.”
Inside, CentroVilla features a food hall and marketplace with cuisine from México, Venezuela, El Salvador, Cuba y la República Dominicana, as well as micro-retail shops, a commercial kitchen, and office space for the Hispanic Business Center. The former blighted warehouse is now home to entrepreneurs, nonprofit organizations, and a growing movement promoting culturally rooted development.
But the vision was always bigger than one building.
“How do we take this one building and turn it into an entire district of colorful buildings, housing, shopping, and organizations all in one place?” she said, smiling. “Now I have another 30 years of work to do.”
Her message also carried urgency. She spoke openly about the trauma of ICE raids and the fear that gripped the community just weeks after CentroVilla’s soft opening. One vendor told her they couldn’t safely operate their kiosk, while some workers stopped coming in out of fear.
“I had done all this planning,” she said, “but nothing could prepare us for that.” She paused, visibly moved. “But we’re not going to live in fear. We are not going to shut down CentroVilla. We are not. In fact, we’re going to go harder.”
During the forum’s Q&A, she emphasized the project’s larger purpose. “Development doesn’t have to mean displacement,” she said. She asked the audience to consider: “What happens when you develop a neighborhood where people get to stay in place… eat an empanada, work there, own a business or a house?”
She challenged policymakers and civic leaders to see for themselves. “Meet me on Clark and West 25th,” she said. Come walk the neighborhood. Listen. Understand. Then act.
At one point, longtime civic leader José Feliciano Sr. stood up and offered his reflection: “There were lots of people who tried to get this done, but it took a Latina woman to get it done. And let me tell you — this young lady is as tough as nails.”
Before closing, Contreras turned to the students in the room from the Roberto Clemente Baseball League and her alma mater, Lincoln-West High School.
“I was sitting in your seat,” she said. “So dream big. Dream bold. And when you hear that little voice that says, ‘I believe in this’— don’t ignore it.”
Contreras sees CentroVilla25 as only the beginning. Her hope is that it inspires a new model for equitable development, not just in La Villa Hispana, but across Cleveland and beyond. One that values authenticity, uplifts communities, and proves that the Latin American Dream is not just alive in Cleveland — it’s thriving.
And its heart beats loudest on West 25th and Clark Avenue.
