The post The Top 20 Songs of 2024 by Latin Artists appeared first on Latina.

Ultimately, this project became much more than that. It’s a photo essay of Washington Heights through the eyes of two Latina photographers, Flordalis Espinal and Paloma Urquia. It’s a depiction of family, culture and a deep-rooted love and appreciation for the neighborhood.

I. 

Ethan, a Washington Heights native, standing in front of the 1 train station on 157th street.

These first photographs are by Paloma Urquia, a film photographer born in Washington Heights. Urquia utilizes film as a tool to communicate with posterity so that future generations can see how people lived during this epoch. Urquia purposefully processes her own film at home in order to properly archive her work for future use. She is inspired by the women of New York City and her 4-year-old son, Gabriel.

Men from the Dominican community play Dominoes on 162nd and Broadway. They meet every day and in addition to playing Dominoes, they sell sneakers on the street.

Cin, a Washington Heights native, inside the subway station on 175th street.

Jerv aka Varsity, a Washington Heights native and artist, poses with his tattoo honoring the block he grew up on.

An elder walking along the block where La Cancha, a community staple, is located. La Cancha is a clothing store that many Washington Heights residents are familiar with.

Double exposed image of ‘El Especialito,’ a free Spanish language weekly newspaper distributed all over Washington Heights.

The Church of the Incarnation on 175th St. and St. Nicholas, a pillar of the community. Photographer Paloma Urquia was baptized here in 1993.

Dylan, Washington Heights native, sitting in J. Hood Wright Park with a view of the George Washington Bridge.

Ethan posing in Washington Heights.

Cin illuminated by the city lights on Broadway and 175th St.

II.

The second set of photographs is from Flordalis Espinal. Espinal is a photographer and creator of Girls Who Shoot, a visual arts community for women. Born and raised in the Bronx, New York, Espinal loves to tell stories through people and highlight the Bronx in her work. Of this project, she shared: “The Heights for me is like the Bronx’s extended family. The vibe, the culture, and most importantly the people. The people… their energy is truly unmatched. For this Washington Heights project, I wanted to capture my subjects in their element with family while they reflected on the love they have for their hood.”

Amanda Jones, 20, a Washington Heights based make-up artist and her mother, Nicole Lane. Amanda was born and raised in Washington Heights and her mother migrated to Washington Heights from Panama. 

 

Ian Javier, 26, a Washington Heights based writer/podcast host. Along with his father, Arsenio, his grandmother, Isabel, and his sisters, Adele and Anaya. Ian Javier and his sisters were born and raised in the Heights. His father and grandmother migrated to the Heights from the Dominican Republic.

 

Pamela Ynoa, 24, a Washington Heights based creative and her mother, Teresa Camila. Pamela was born and raised in Washington Heights and her mom migrated to the Heights from the Dominican Republic. 

 

Kiara Nunez, 27, a stylist from Washington Heights. Along with her father, Manuel Nunez, her grandpa, Mario Guillermo, and her son, Kairo Lewis. Kiara was born and raised in the Heights. Her father and grandfather migrated to the Heights from the Dominican Republic. 

The post Washington Heights: A Visual Love Letter appeared first on Latina.

The decline represents the sharpest life expectancy fall in a single year since World War II. “Life expectancy is supposed to be increasing,” Dr. Steven Woolf, Professor of Family Medicine and Population Health at Virginia Commonwealth University, told Latina.

In June of 2021, Dr. Woolf published a research paper comparing the U.S. life expectancy to other developed countries. It revealed that the United States had a much larger decrease in life expectancy between 2018 and 2020 than 16 other developed nations such as Switzerland and the United Kingdom. This was especially true when comparing the life expectancy of people of color in the U.S. to the general population of other countries. 

Members of the Latinx community had a reduction in life expectancy 18 times higher than the average in peer countries. Latinas specifically lost even more years than the Latinx community at large, with a reduction in life expectancy 23 times greater than those for women in peer countries.

“Systemic racism and other forms of discrimination in America place Black and brown people at higher risk for disease and erect barriers to better health and health care,” Dr. Woolf said.

The decrease in Latino life expectancy comes as a blow to Latinos’ historically high life expectancy in comparison to their non-Hispanic white peers: the so-called “Hispanic Paradox.” While Latinos tend to have lower-paying jobs and harsher life conditions than their white counterparts, the “Hispanic Paradox” is that Latinos tend to have a longer life expectancy, especially those who are recent immigrants to the country.

“That advantage has begun to dissipate in recent years and was non-existent during the COVID-19 pandemic. Hispanic patients were at far greater risk of dying from COVID-19 than white patients,” Dr. Woolf said. “We have structures and policies in our society that systematically block the doors of opportunity and good health for Black and brown people. Until we take down those barriers, and address the systemic biases behind them, I fear the disparities will persist.” 

Life expectancy isn’t a prediction of how long we expect a baby to live but rather an estimate of the mortality rate for a specific year. “The plunge in life expectancy that we report for 2020 is not a prediction of what will happen in future years but an indication of how death rates skyrocketed during 2020,” Dr. Woolf said. He considers it urgent to address the decline in life expectancy, otherwise Americans will be dying at higher rates than people in other developed countries. “It’s never too late,” he said. “Today’s children can live longer if we act, and tomorrow’s adults will be more productive and healthier.”

All tables and charts taken from: Effect of the covid-19 pandemic in 2020 on life expectancy across populations in the USA and other high income countries: simulations of provisional mortality data. BMJ 2021; 373:n1343.

The post U.S. Life Expectancy Drops: Latinos Most Affected appeared first on Latina.

Amores Perros

Photo courtesy of Altavista Films 

Worlds collide after a pivotal car crash in Alejandro González Iñárritu’s 2000 feature debut, “Amores Perros.” The lives of three individuals are bound together and forever altered by the fate of one dog, Cogi. Bouncing through tales and time, Octavio (Gael Gael García Bernal), Valeria (Goya Toledo), and El Chivo (Emilio Echevarría) all must come to terms with the meaning of love in a film that bites back.

“I’m No Longer Here” – Ya no estoy aqui

Photo courtesy of PPW Films

Set to the rhythm of Monterrey’s cumbia rebajada, “I’m No Longer Here” is about seventeen-year-old ‘Los Terkos’ gang member Ulises (Juan Daniel Garcia Treviño), who finds his life quickly picking up rhythm after a misunderstanding about a hit and run plotted by rival gang ‘Los F.’ Framed for a crime he did not commit, Ulises must flee to the United States to protect himself and his family. Isolated from everything and everyone he knows, Ulises turns to the one thing that he knows best — dancing.

“I Dream in Another Language” – Sueño en Otro Idioma

Photo courtesy of Alebrije Producciones

Separated by a romantic betrayal but tied together by their shared language, former friends Evaristo (Juan Pablo de Santiago, Eligio Meléndez) and Isauro (Hoze Meléndez, José Manuel Poncelis) haven’t spoken in fifty years. Linguist Martín (Fernando Álvarez Rebeil) sets out to reconcile these two men, hoping to record a conversation in their native language of Zikril. Martín must make his way through the thick of the jungle if he’s to preserve their language and resolve this half a century long feud.

“Gueros” – Güeros

Photo courtesy of Instituto Mexicano de Cinematografía (IMCINE)

When Tomás (Sebastián Aguirre) is sent to live with his college-student brother, nicknamed Sombra (Tenoch Huerta), the two embark on an adventure to find the elusive music legend Epigmenio Cruz (Alfonso Sharpener). Journeying through Mexico, the brothers quickly find themselves in tumult as student strikes escalate at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM). Just as much an exposé on class and identity politics as it is a boyish coming-of-age film, “Güeros”’s comedic take on adolescence leaves viewers with one sentiment: youth is rebellion.

“Heli” 

Photo courtesy of Mantarraya Producciones

The life of a seemingly normal, working class family is forever altered when youngest daughter Estela (Andrea Vergara) finds herself in the midst of drug trafficking. After federal law enforcement and cartel colluters raid the family’s home, older brother Heli (Armando Espitia) must find his sequestered sister and avenge his family.

“Japan” – Japón

Photo courtesy of Bodega Films

Overwhelmed by the noise of the city and burdened by his life, a young man (Alejandro Ferretis) escapes to the countryside hoping to die by suicide. Upon arrival, however, the man finds companionship in an elderly woman named Ascen (Magdalena Flores). While lodging at her remote cottage, the man finds hope in humanity through her compassion and the sublime nature of his surroundings, leaving him to question his original motives.

“Roma” 

Photo courtesy of Netflix

Inspired by his own nanny and childhood in the Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico, Alfonso Cuarón’s titular film “Roma” follows the story of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a domestic housekeeper, as she copes with motherhood in her personal and professional life. When her boss, Antonio (Fernando Grediaga), abandons his family for his mistress and Cleo’s affair results in pregnancy, the family she works for escapes to the country for a holiday vacation. A meditation on the intimacies of the working and middle class, “Roma” is not only about Cleo and the family she cares for, but is also a commentary on social inequality at large. 

“Silent Light” – Stellet Licht

Photo courtesy of Mantarraya Producciones

A portrait of an active Mennonite community in Mexico, “Stella Licht” follows the fictional story of family man Jonah (Cornelio Wall Fehr) as he falls in love with a woman who is not his wife. Weighing the validity of his feelings for his mistress Marianne (Maria Pankratz) and the sanctity of his marriage to Esther (Miriam Toews), Jonah must come to terms with his painfully public affair for the sake of preserving his family.

“The Untamed” – La región salvaje

Photo courtesy of ZDF/Arte

When Verónica (Simone Bucio) seeks medical attention for a wound to her abdomen, she persuades her nurse Fabián (Edén Villavicencio) to visit a countryside barn for a night of fantastical pleasure. Meanwhile, Fabián’s sister Alejandra (Ruth Ramos) is desperate for relief from her abusive marriage and stifling motherhood. All three yearn to feed their insatiable desires but must reckon with the mystical creature that lies behind those barn doors.

“Duck Season” – Temporada de patos

Photo courtesy of Cine Pantera

Best friends Flama (Daniel Miranda) and Moko (Diego Cataño) are left unsupervised for an entire Sunday afternoon and the two relish their time together, indulging in video games, junk food, and porn magazines. But when their day of fun is interrupted by unlikely strangers, the two teens break routine for adventure and learn some valuable life lessons along the way.

“Y Tu Mamá También”

Photo courtesy of Bésame Mucho Pictures

Starring Mexico’s sweethearts Diego Luna and Gael García Bernal, Alfonso Cuarón’s “Y Tu Mamá También” is the story of two friends and their older female companion, Luisa (Maribel Verdú), as they embark on a road trip of a lifetime. Fresh out of high school, Tenoch (Diego Luna) and Julio (Gael García Bernal) travel through Mexico with five rules in mind. The most important — do whatever you want. The duo’s gritty adventure goes beyond the terrain of Mexico’s rural country and traverses themes of life, love, and liberation in this coming-of-age film.

The post Coming-of-Age, Class Conflicts, and Colliding Fates: 11 Mexican Films to Watch appeared first on Latina.

“The Holy Girl” – La niña santa

Photo courtesy of Teodora Film 

Best friends and budding teenagers Amalia (María Alché) and Josefina (Julieta Zylberberg) have dedicated their life to religion as the two practice their faith at a private Catholic school. Amalia’s faith is challenged while at a medical conference held at Hotel Termas; Dr. Jano takes advantage of the distracted crowd and makes an inappropriate pass at her. Disturbed by his behavior, the young teen finds inspiration in her devout religiosity and chooses to direct the doctor towards salvation, blending her desire for divination and deviance into one.

“La Ciénaga”

Photo courtesy of Wanda Visión

A film with no true beginning, middle, or end, Lucrecia Martels’ “La Ciénaga” details two Argentine families’ sleepy summer getaway at a dilapidated estate, La Mandrágora. On a vacation during which parents are rendered useless, teens run amuck with guns and gusto, blurring the lines between intimacy and incestual seduction. Martels’ debut mimics the ruins of La Mandrágora’s crumbling state in its lackadaisical portrayal of a deteriorating family unit.

“Wild Tales” – Relatos salvajes

Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

“Wild Tales” packs six stories into one film, all bound by their (in some cases quite literal) explosive portrayals of human behavior. From a bitter bride taking “‘Til Death Do Us Part” a little too seriously, to a story of road rage that suddenly escalates into a deadly encounter, this dark comedy will have viewers at the edges of their seats as each story crescendos to a sardonic end.

“The Secret in their Eyes” – El secreto de sus ojos

Photo courtesy of Canal+ España

Looking to solve a cold case from his detective days, retired investigator Benjamín Espósito (Ricardo Darín) seeks the assistance of his former boss, the Judge Irene Menéndez Hastings (Soledad Villamil), to write a novel on the brutal demise of Liliana Colotto de Morales (Carla Quevedo) in 1974.  Told in non-chronological order, “The Secret in Their Eyes” tells a story both past and present of a woman’s unsolved murder, bridging the gap of 25 years time as Benjamín wades through his memories to piece the puzzle together. 

“Zama”

Photo courtesy of Bananeira Filmes 

Set in 18th century Argentina, “Zama”  follows Spanish Crown officer Don Diego de Zama (Daniel Giménez Cacho) as he waits for a better position in the prestigious city of Lerma. Patiently expecting a transfer that never comes, a cuckolded Zama falls to the whimsy of his superiors and plunges further into peril while hunting for the infamous Vicuña Porto (Matheus Nachtergaele). Lucrecia Martel’s latest film finds its colonial protagonist spiraling into madness as his situation worsens.

“The Headless Woman” – La mujer sin cabeza

Photo courtesy of El Deseo

When driving down a desolate road in Salta, Argentina, Vero’s (María Onetto) distracted driving leads her to hit something or someone. Unable to recall what actually happened, Vero begins a slow descent into paranoia and delusion.

“Nine Queens” – Nueve Reinas

Photo courtesy of Naya Films S.A.

When strangers Marcos (Ricardo Darín) and Juan (Gastón Pauls) join forces to work as fellow con men, their serendipitous meeting quickly snowballs into an elaborate affair as they attempt to scam a millionaire with fraudulent stamps. After run-ins with petty thieves, bureaucratic bribery, and unfortunate encounters with water, the two men are left to wonder if they will be able to successfully pull off the scheme.

The post Family Dramas and Scars from the Past: 7 Argentine Films to Watch appeared first on Latina.

Oscar Nñ DJing a late night set for Papi Juice. Photo by Nicole van Straatum.

Oscar is a mixing maestro with an adaptable and ever-growing curiosity. His DJ sets are amalgams of personal experiences, unexpected interests, and the fascinating community of creative Brooklyn peers (and queers) in his orbit. One of Oscar’s sets might explore and unpack archetypes of an individual genre, for instance, a focused reggaetonera or bolero mix, while another might mesh different styles, like sugarsweet pop with baile funk beats or gabber sequences with r&b classic ballads. Oscar’s willingness to tackle an array of genres and subcultures explains his unique success as a DJ: he creates sonic environments with energetic variety that also promote a collective sense of celebratory exploration.

Working creatively alongside illustrator/art director Mohammed Fayaz and DJ Adam R, Oscar is one of the three co-founders of Papi Juice. The trio’s creative partnership dates back to 2013. Since then, Papi Juice has thrown 62 euphoric gatherings, sweaty dance parties that occur from sunset to sunrise, and multi-generational backyard hangs. By centering queer and trans people of color, Papi Juice has also reframed expectations surrounding the culture, safety, and gaze of NYC nightlife. More than just another Brooklyn warehouse rave series, attending a party might feel more like an affirmation of expansive individuality and the beauty inherent in dancing in a shared space. Music pulses throughout different rooms, ASL interpreters are on hand, people are gorgeous and ready to share compliments, DJs inject sexiness and humor into their sets, stages are wheelchair accessible, and everyone is ready to move freely. Oscar often wraps up a Papi Juice night with a final set slotted to begin anywhere from 4 to 4:30 a.m., chasing the sunrise.

Papi Juice’s Brooklyn-based Founders: Oscar Nñ, DJ Adam R, and Illustrator/Art Director Mohammed Fayaz. Photo by by Papi Prada.

Papi Juice’s community is not only active and connected within New York’s nightlife scene, but also increasingly visible in the larger NYC network of coalition building and mutual aid organizing. In the past year, the collective has executed programming with partners like Planned Parenthood, Brooklyn Liberation March, Marsha P. Johnson Institute, and The Okra Project. As a Papi Juice key player, Oscar has also used his group platform to generate momentum with those who share common values and goals.  He has stepped out as a queer Latine individual seeking to improve the lives of others, especially trans and femme people of color.

A Papi Juice Event at Brooklyn’s Elsewhere Venue. Photo by Bashira Webb.

Moreover, Oscar is also driven to growing artistic and cultural solidarity with fellow members of the Honduran diaspora. The Honduran American community makes up the eighth-largest population of US Latinos and in the past two decades the Honduran-origin population has increased 296%. Whereas today’s US media landscape most often depicts Hondurans with reductive tropes surrounding violence, migration patterns, and US-Mexico border relations, there exists a dearth of portrayals of Honduran creativity and artistry. While Oscar is certainly an active part of the community of Latine creators pushing back against disproportionate hostility and bleak Latine struggles in the US, he’s also positioning himself as a proud Honduran. He hopes to develop the creative synergy he’s nurtured with Honduran creative peers into actualized visibility and ongoing influence.

Oscar Nñ represents many things. To name a few: Brooklyn vitality, liberating remixes, Honduran pride, Queer Solidarity. He is also a kind and introverted person who thinks critically, dresses comfortably and fabulously, builds community masterfully, and empathizes with the lived experiences of those around him. This Honduran and Latine creative has set forth a thoughtful and significant legacy in NYC’s QTPOC network in eight exhilarating and hustling years. 

 

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Transcript of Oscar’s Sh*ts n Gigs feature below. Conversation edited for clarity.

Oscar Nñ:

I’ve been thinking about the words Latine, Latinx, and Latinidad a lot lately. There is a lot of criticism against these words and against a term like Latinidad, because of how [it can put us] into a singular box. Latinidad is not a monolith or a singular identity. We are complex individuals from different parts of the world. Going from Central America to Patagonia/Southern Argentina, there are very different experiences, lifestyles, and even different weather. 

It’s interesting to me to challenge that notion of Latinidad and Latinx [as a monolith]. But also, there is something that’s useful about these terms: they allow us to create and consolidate our power in some ways. Especially within the US, we’re able to [emphasize] cultural [similitude] that we have with other folks from Central America, South America, and the Caribbean. We can organize and build movements through that power and identity of Latinx or Latinidad.

I do identify as Latinx. I always tell people that I’m Honduran.  That’s something that I always try to bring up in conversation. If somebody asks me where I’m from, I will always say I’m Honduran American before saying Latinx. 

We put so much weight on the singular meaning of words, but language is forever evolving. This isn’t the perfect term and we’re going to keep searching for [a better] term. And maybe that term will evolve as well. Right? [Latinidad] is never going to be an all-encompassing, all-recognizing, and all-inclusive term. 

I really like the movement towards adding the E instead of the X: Latine. It sounds nice to me. It also goes back to [the Latin roots of the Spanish language], and I find that it feels more grammatically appropriate. 

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

That’s the thing, no one really knows how to say Latinx. it’s hard to address. Sometimes people will pronounce it “la-teenx.” I do think Latine has a certain flow to it.

Oscar Nñ:

It’s interesting that we’re having this conversation together. I’ve just finished a consultancy for a local arts nonprofit, where they asked me to think about the different ways they can improve their engagement of Latinx and Spanish speaking audiences. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about the intersection between language and identity, as it pertains to Latinx, Central, South American, and Caribbean folks. 

For example, with my artist name, Oscar Nñ, I was thinking about how I wanted my name to resonate with people. I didn’t want people to question where I was from. I wanted them to know from the jump that this is somebody that’s from Honduras and Central America. It was super important for me to have this Latine and Spanish speaking connotation attached to my name. And that’s why the ñ is there.

There have been multiple times when people aren’t able to put [the tilde] in the flyer. Because of the typeface, they texted me [to ask], “oh, is it okay if your name doesn’t have the tilde?” Or sometimes they don’t even text me, “oh, sorry, we just couldn’t figure it out.” I’m always like, “no, you have to include it. [The tilde] is part of my name, you know.”

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

Latinx people are often erased and Hondurans are especially erased…. You’ve shared that you identify as Honduran American even before Latinx at times. What does it mean to be Honduran American today? 

Oscar Nñ:

There are always specific identities that are tied to you. We’re in New York and the amount of times that I walk into places and they’re like, “Yo, what’s up? Are you’re Dominican?” And I’m like, “Nah.”  And then they’re like, “Oh, you’re Puerto Rican?” And then they’re so confused. And I’m like, “No, I’m from Honduras.”  And they’re like, “Ohhh.” 

Most of the time it’s kind of funny to me, or it’s cute. Sometimes it’s offensive. But most of the time I don’t mind, especially when it’s coming from a place of interest and love. That’s why it’s super important for me to talk about my background: being from Honduras. My family [has all] grown up there and [we] have lived a lot of our lives there. It’s important for me to talk about that, especially today when  there are a lot of caravans of immigrants coming from Honduras. You know, last week, the vice-president went to Guatemala and told people from central America not to come [to the US]. [Editor’s Note: On June 7, 2021 US Vice President Kamala Harris visited Guatemala to conduct a bilateral meeting with Guatemalan President Giammattei to address the issue of illegal immigration. Speaking during a news conference she said: “I want to make clear to folks in this region who are thinking about making that dangerous trek to the United States-Mexico border. Do not come. Do not come. The United States will continue to enforce our laws and secure our borders.”

Then I think about, well, what if we [Central American people] had the option of telling you [not to] intervene in all our governments, our trade,our economies, and our different policies. We don’t have that option, yet you are telling us that we don’t have the right to come [to the US].

There are people literally escaping state sanctioned violence in Honduras today, and that violence is due to and fueled by some US policies that age from the 1960s to today. So, it’s really important for me to raise awareness about that: what it means to be Central American and Honduran today. Whenever I get the platform, I’m always excited to talk about it. Hopefully it hits home to someone, because I wish that I had somebody [like me] to look up to when I was growing up. 

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

What has your personal experience been around the idea of shame? Does it intersect at all with pride? [Is there perhaps] something that once was shameful for yourself, and that now you are actually quite prideful of.

Oscar Nñ:

My friends and I have been talking a lot about how [Pride Month] is supposed to celebrate people and center joy, wellness, and the lives of people. But at the same time, it’s also the time when we get tapped to do the most things. [We are asked] to do everything this month. 

We exist all day, every day; all days, every year, every month. You don’t have to hit me up to do something in June. It would be so much more impactful if we did this on a Wednesday in November, you know. Even though [this month] is supposed to center our life, joy, and our people, this is a time when we feel the most stressed, overworked, and sort of taken advantage of because of our identities. My experience in general with Pride varies a lot. It’s the birth of Papi Juice. It’s been a journey for us, even as an art collective, with our intentionality and our way of working. We’re [still] constantly shifting. 

We’re not perfect. We’re always evolving in how we’re talking about things and thinking about our work. At the end of the day, we do want to make [Papi Juice] as inclusive as possible to everyone, while knowing that we cannot include everyone at the same time. We can’t be the representation of everyone because at the end of the day, everybody under our umbrella is a different and of a different experience. There are multiple experiences to be had and it’s a very complex [dynamic]. 

[Going back to Papi Juice’s early days], we had a party at a [bar in Brooklyn] that went well. It was the busiest night that they ever had. [Afterwards] we had a meeting with [the owner of the bar, I think she’s Latina] where she told us, “You guys are more like cafe con leche on a Sunday afternoon. I don’t think you can have a night here [again]. We’re not a gay bar, so we wouldn’t want to be known as one, and we already have a gay party. So, we can’t give you a night here [because] you’re kind of niche. How are you excluding white people from your space?” That was her response to us after we gave her a sold-out show; that was how she treated us. 

It was important to make a space where we all felt like our extended families could come, feel seen, and be represented in their own ways. I want my trans friends to come and feel seen. I want my nonbinary friends to come and feel seen. My lesbian girls to come and feel seen.

It’s not perfect and it may not happen in that way, but I hope that every day and every event is a new learning point for us. I hope that we keep evolving and hopefully at some point it feels right to most people or the people that attend. 

[On the topic of evolving collectives], we were four members for a while. The fourth member was our in-house photographer, but as time went on, our missions changed. So, we parted ways. Now we get to work with a different photographer for every event. For every single event, it’s another queer or trans person of color that’s taking the photos. That’s something that’s important to me. 

We also have a strong policy against outside photography at our events because we were finding that there were people coming in, especially those that weren’t from the community, that were trying to take photos. We felt like it was a violation of the privacy of our community and of [Papi Juice’s] mission. We’re here to celebrate queer and trans people of color’s lives, but we don’t want it to feel exploitative. We’re not here to exploit that joy or the lives of our community members…. That’s why it’s important for us to document our spaces in our own ways, by people that we trust, love, and have relationships with, whether it’s friendship or a working relationship. We’re always excited to work with different photographers. 

Nightlife is very much an affirming space for relationship and friendship building, especially for queer people. There are not many opportunities where we get to feel like we’re in the same room together and nightlife kind of serves that. There’s so much power in that. I always think about the power of feeling in the majority. I feel like straight cis folks, especially cis white people, can walk into almost any room today in the United States and feel like they have more power because they’re the majority in a space. I feel like we deserve that power and to feel that powerful.

That’s kind of how our networks have grown and expanded. I love going out, and you’ll usually catch me going out at least once a week to little bars here and there. If my friend is playing anywhere, I’ll go see them and support their set. That’s something that’s always been important to me. It has been a good way for me to build a network of musicians, producers, and DJ friends. I’ve been able to attend different shows and try to connect with folks afterwards or before. Sometimes I don’t get to connect with the performer or the artists that I’m going to see, but then if I ever want to book them, I can just say, “Hey, I was at your show and loved your set/your performance. We would love to work together.”

I think nightlife is something that’s important for the growth of our peer network. [During Covid] our communities couldn’t gather to celebrate joy. [But] we felt that it was important for us to build spaces for our community to feel anger, sadness, and mourn together. Those spaces are equally as important as joy, you know. [Life’s] a journey and we can’t just be 100% joyful and happy. There must be time for mourning, for acceptance, and growing into your own emotions. We felt that last year, our community needed those spaces. 

For example, when Pulse happened, I knew that I personally needed to be a part of something where I could have a moment to mourn with my community. I remember I went to one event that was organized by somebody else. I think it was city sponsored. I remember being there and feeling so sad because one, they were reading out the names of the victims and nobody could pronounce the names [properly]. For me that was extremely, extremely triggering. Two, the main speaker was a Jonas Brother. I was just like, “The dissonance of this event is so frustrating to me right now.” I remember being really upset and vocally upset at that point. Then a white woman turned around and said, “You should be happy that he’s here and that he’s raising awareness around it. It’s an honor for you.” I had to leave after that.

I remember that I was just so sad on my way home on the train and crying because I felt like I couldn’t [let out my sadness in an accepting collective]. Then, a week later, a couple of friends and I decided to do something about it. We threw an event at the last minute. We had one week to do it and we just did it. 

That’s kind of how we fit into [community] organizing lately. Whenever we see a need and feel like there’s something that needs to be done to uplift, support, and have our communities heal from the trauma that we’ve been facing, we [understand the importance of organizing an event that allows us to do so].

Our work lends itself to that. And that’s the cool thing about being an art collective, where we can get creative, weird, and experimental in the ways that we see and fit into the needs of our [Brooklyn] community. [For example], Brooklyn liberation is something that’s been so beautiful and there’s definitely a bigger coalition that’s a part of it. I play a very, very, very, very, very small supportive role. So I don’t want to take any credit from that but it’s something that’s so beautiful and I’m so happy to uplift and amplify in any way that I can. 

I did also play a part in the protect Asian lives rally that we had last in the spring. And that felt really important because our API plus families were struggling with all of these violent events that keep occurring in that community. So that was something that felt really important. And I was really proud to be a part of that as well. For us, [it’s about] finding out where and how our community needs us. Because again, just as important [as it is to] center moments of joy and celebration, I think it’s important to also think about mourning and sadness. And what does that mean? How do we heal to go back to these joyful events?

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

We’ve been talking about both joy and mourning. For me, [music] is a kind of media that often readily expresses a multitude of experiences. I recently was speaking with someone who discussed how so much of the Latinx/Latine/Latinidad diaspora today is amplified through music. Even for cultures that don’t include people of Latin American descent, [through music] they learn about Latin music and therefore about [Latin] culture. 

You are someone who mixes music. Already music is something that naturally spreads a kind of awareness, but also, you’re remixing that [meaning] too. I want to ask you about some of the sonic inspirations that you are working with. [Earlier in our conversation you brought up] an image about being in la sala with your family. [Do you touch on] nostalgia and certain moments that are intimate to yourself when you mix?

Oscar Nñ:

I have a very interesting relationship with nostalgia as a general feeling. It’s funny. I don’t like to feel like it’s something that pushes my work, because I find that nostalgia is something that, at least personally, doesn’t allow you to grow. It’s something so specific to us and from such a specific time that it doesn’t allow room for growth. So, I often think of those moments of being in la sala as part of my lived experience [that] got me to where I am, but that doesn’t define me. It’s a part of a multitude of experiences and lives that I feel like I’ve lived sonically, at least. That’s a huge inspiration of mine to try and mix all of that together and have it [speak to] what the experience is today. 

We’ve been talking a lot about what it means to be Latine, Latinx, Central, South American, or Caribbean today. For me, it’s very important to think about: “Yes, amo el perrero. I love a good reggaeton song. Bad Bunny, we love.But at the same time that’s not the only genre of music that’s coming out of Latin America. There are histories and legacies of experimental music from Latin America, including electronic, [but also]  all sorts of [other] music. I always love challenging this notion of, “Oh yeah, you’re Latin. You’re a Latin DJ, and so you’re only going to play reggaeton.” No. I’m grateful for folks to give me the room to experiment and to draw from all the different moments in my life that have inspired me.

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

What’s the most Libra sh*t you do?

Oscar Nñ:

Oh my God. I’m so indecisive. I’m so, so indecisive. Oh, it’s so demonic. I’m indecisive but I have very strong opinions. So, for example, when I’m with friends and we are picking a place to eat at, I will put out all of these different options and then, when my friends [suggest] something, I’ll say: “No, but what about this?” And then they’re like, “[If] you wanted that from the beginning. Just say that.” I feel like that’s something I do that’s very Libra. Very not good and exhausting. 

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

We’ve talked about the idea of how joy can coalesce with pain and struggle. That is something that is manifest both in experiences and memories. [It’s also manifest] in looking back and looking forward. On that note, I want to ask you if there’s any particular memory that once made you feel like sh*t and how do you find humor in it now?

Oscar Nñ:

When I finished college, I had to move back to my mom’s basement because I was going through the immigration process to become an American citizen. I had to make that choice. It was extremely difficult because I had led a very open life in college. I had a partner and we used to live together. I was, like 21, but we were together for a couple of years. Then I had to move back to my mom’s basement in the suburbs of Washington DC. At the time I felt like it was such a step backwards in terms of my own journey into growing into my queerness and even growing into my politics.

Now that that year is so far in my past, I [realize] it’s led me to where I am today. I wouldn’t be where I am today, in every single way. Even with my relationship with my mom. I had to sit her down at some point and I told her: “Do you realize that I left a partner? You don’t accept me as your queer son. So how are we going to keep having this relationship? You [must] see me and all of my identities, otherwise I will see you only at Christmas. That’s the kind of relationship that we’re going to have.” 

That was a huge turning point in my relationship with my own mom, my mami, where she [realized] , “Oh sh*t, you’re right. I need to have more compassion for where you’re coming from, your experience as a person, and be more accepting of that.” I felt like at the time she hadn’t fully accepted that yet. By me moving back and us sharing such close space together, I was able to have this really difficult conversation with her that I’m not sure I would have had for many, many years if it wasn’t for that year. That’s one of the things that I was able to do during that time. I was also able to secure my move to New York. There are positives in difficulty and in conflict. It’s just a matter of how you move past it.

Alissa Lopez Serfozo:

Well, I think that’s a very fitting way to wrap up our conversation. Thank you so much, Oscar, for chatting with me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about your background, more about the work that you do, and just shoot the sh*t a little bit. Thank you. 

Oscar Nñ:

Thank you for having me.

The post DJ Oscar Nñ on Honduran Identity, Buoyant Desires, and QTPOC Spaces appeared first on Latina.

Today, Jodosky is the only Latinx artist championing body positivity from the male perspective. Hailing from Toa Baja, Puerto Rico, Jodosky is a signee of famed producer Tainy, also Puerto Rican.

“’Quien Dijo Que Los Gordos No Perrean?’ is a song I want to dedicate to all the plus sized people who are happy and live their lives without any insecurities about being big. Despite the humorous side of the record, it has an anti-discriminatory message focused on acceptance. Go to the club, twerk and give that plus sized person a chance and you’ll see you won’t regret it. I feel it’s the first time someone in the Latin space takes obesity into consideration in a song. I’ve been big my whole life and I’m aware my health is first, but I want to be happy and comfortable with myself more than anything,” explains Jodosky about the inspiration behind the song.

Beyond this record, the artist-producer wants to continue the discussion around body image and positivity in order to motivate his fans to feel confident: from dancing to confidence to fashion to beauty standards.

The post Jodosky Champions Body Positivity with “Quien Dijo Que Los Gordos No Perrean?” appeared first on Latina.

The accompanying music video to his “Meteorito” debut single features footage from his marriage to music executive Guillermo Rosas surrounded by adoring family and friends. Set among the grand beauty of a hilltop castle, the wedding is captured by video panning intimate gestures of both men holding hands, reciting vows to one another, and gazing into one another’s eyes with a promise of forever. While this video is primarily an ode to the love between two men, it also marks Georgel’s coming out to the music industry. 

Whereas the music video to “Meteorito” is cloaked in sunlight and the bright white decor of his gorgeous wedding, the music video for Georgel’s most recent single “No Putx” is a direct contrast of dark warehouse interiors and solitary torture. His new song is not only the first Pride Latin Spotify Exclusive Single, but also a response to Mexican rock band Molotov’s 90s’ rock anthem “Put-,” which stirred ongoing controversy for its repeated use of the anti-gay slur p—. By teaming up withTito Fuentes, lead singer of Molotov, Georgel applies his queer perspective as a transgenerational way forward. From Georgel’s perspective, the two have reworked Molotov’s original lyrics to reflect the expanded visibility of latinx queers since the 90s’ and reclaim the harmful slur as a generator of unapologetic and matter of fact pride. 

On the eve of his daughter’s birthday, the radiant Georgel joined Culture Editor Alissa Lopez Serfozo (she/her, queer, cis-femme) in mid June for the third installment of our Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones, Latina’s 2021 Pride conversation series that demonstrates the diversity of the Queer Latinx community while also relishing the celebratory spirit of Pride Month. During their conversation the two broach reciting vows to your lover, raising a queer family, pushing gender norms, activism and queerness in the Mexican music industry, and being an outsider in your home country.

 

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Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones

Pride Month is a time when millions of people come together in support of the LGBTQ+ community. For many within the queer community, Pride signals a period of visibility  that brings marginalized identities to the forefront, while also ushering in a month of celebration and joy. Pride is a time to dress fearlessly, hug chosen family unabashedly, love radically, but it also presents an opportunity to reflect on what it means to be queer today.

Pride Month is a reminder that the queer community is breathtakingly diverse — there is no such thing as one LGBTQ+ monolith. For many, queerness represents a complex interplay of identity, sex, gender presentation and sexuality. Amidst the celebratory spirit that characterizes Pride Month, it is also vital to shed light on the voices that continue to go unheard, and the individuals who still feel invisible. 

Latina aims to be a space for the entire Latinx community. Driven by a team of young Latinx creatives, Latina is a platform for the intersection of culture, politics, and entertainment. Dedicated to celebrating and amplifying Latinx voices, Latina’s Pride 2021 series Conversaciones on Queerness seeks to approach queerness through a Latin lens and provide a platform for the individuals creatively expanding these multifaceted conversations. 

The post Conversaciones on Queerness: Georgel appeared first on Latina.

La bruja, guerrera, la que siente que no encaja … 

Monterrey-raised Niña Dioz has a knack for standing out. Pale with diminutive features and fiercely masc energy, Niña Dioz is a gay rapper in Mexico’s machista hip-hop scene. She carries herself with a swagger that feels simultaneously good-natured and alluring, lending to a sound and image that is refreshingly original. Whether she is singing about resembling a gabacho despite being from the rancho, or facing criticism for lacking humility — and in turn, asserting she will not cower her chingona joie de vivre — Niña Dioz conjures a bravado that distorts patriarchal binaries of femininity and masculinity. Rather than conform to singular notions of identity, Dioz begs us to consider if she can be all at once, and thus represents a type of freedom that resonates with fans and audiences across gender, sexual, and racial backgrounds. 

Niña Dioz sings mostly in Spanish and imbues her lyrics with heavy doses of Mexican slang, but her energy demonstrates a universal appeal that extends the runaway international success of reggaeton to include her genre of Mexican rap. Her strong desire to disentangle machista expectations begins with her upbringing in Northern Mexico — one riddled with restrictions on how women could dress, act, and look. “It’s those things you see as a kid, and you don’t understand,” she shared. Niña Dioz recalled wanting to play futbol with the boys, but getting scolded for wanting to do so. Breaking down notions of machismo, she demands her place in a music industry that does not see her as an obvious heir. Perhaps Niña Dioz  represents an idea of the everyday person of the digital age: one eager to leave their mark and unafraid to agitate detractors whose cynicism reflects more about their own tastes than hers.

The subversive and exuberant Nina Dioz joined Culture Editor Alissa Lopez Serfozo (she/her, queer, cis-femme) in early June for the second in our Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones, Latina’s 2021 Pride conversation series that demonstrates the diversity of the Queer Latinx community while also relishing the celebratory spirit of Pride Month. During their conversation the two broach machismo in Mexico, secondhand Tommy Hilfiger, upcoming female and queer artists, and the evolution of Monterrey’s queer community.

 

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Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones

Pride Month is a time when millions of people come together in support of the LGBTQ+ community. For many within the queer community, Pride signals a period of visibility  that brings marginalized identities to the forefront, while also ushering in a month of celebration and joy. Pride is a time to dress fearlessly, hug chosen family unabashedly, love radically, but it also presents an opportunity to reflect on what it means to be queer today.

Pride Month is a reminder that the queer community is breathtakingly diverse — there is no such thing as one LGBTQ+ monolith. For many, queerness represents a complex interplay of identity, sex, gender presentation and sexuality. Amidst the celebratory spirit that characterizes Pride Month, it is also vital to shed light on the voices that continue to go unheard, and the individuals who still feel invisible. 

Latina aims to be a space for the entire Latinx community. Driven by a team of young Latinx creatives, Latina is a platform for the intersection of culture, politics, and entertainment. Dedicated to celebrating and amplifying Latinx voices, Latina’s Pride 2021 series Conversaciones on Queerness seeks to approach queerness through a Latin lens and provide a platform for the individuals creatively expanding these multifaceted conversations. 

The post Conversaciones on Queerness: Niña Dioz appeared first on Latina.

Photograph by Josef Jasso.

With a stage name that simultaneously references and subverts notions of Catholic purity and side chick misogyny, San Cha is a proudly and defiantly queer artist. While her artistic vision sets her apart from many of her peers, she is also a creature that has been intrinsically shaped by communities that include Jalisciense matriarchs, artists gentrified out of the East Bay, CDMX club kids, and drag mothers who fiercely protect their tribe. 

The incomparable San Cha joined Culture Editor Alissa Lopez Serfozo (she/her, queer, cis-femme) in early June to kick off Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones, Latina’s 2021 Pride conversation series that demonstrates the diversity of the Queer Latinx community while also relishing the celebratory spirit of Pride Month. During their conversation the two broach obsessions with exorcisms, subverting binaries, catholic guilt, working class identity, gentrification, and bringing queer friends home to your parents.

 

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A post shared by LATINA (@latina)

Conversaciones on Queerness: un universo de identidades y expresiones

Pride Month is a time when millions of people come together in support of the LGBTQ+ community. For many within the queer community, Pride signals a period of visibility  that brings marginalized identities to the forefront, while also ushering in a month of celebration and joy. Pride is a time to dress fearlessly, hug chosen family unabashedly, love radically, but it also presents an opportunity to reflect on what it means to be queer today.

Pride Month is a reminder that the queer community is breathtakingly diverse — there is no such thing as one LGBTQ+ monolith. For many, queerness represents a complex interplay of identity, sex, gender presentation and sexuality. Amidst the celebratory spirit that characterizes Pride Month, it is also vital to shed light on the voices that continue to go unheard, and the individuals who still feel invisible. 

Latina aims to be a space for the entire Latinx community. Driven by a team of young Latinx creatives, Latina is a platform for the intersection of culture, politics, and entertainment. Dedicated to celebrating and amplifying Latinx voices, Latina’s Pride 2021 series Conversaciones on Queerness seeks to approach queerness through a Latin lens and provide a platform for the individuals creatively expanding these multifaceted conversations. 

The post Conversaciones on Queerness: San Cha appeared first on Latina.