All language subtitles for Habla.Loud.2022.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]_HI.en

♪ (UPBEAT MUSIC PLAYS) ♪

I did not speak English
when I got to the States.

We did some pretty
audacious things.

(LAUGHING)
Oh, my God, diosito, help me.

What is this world
that we live in?

You can get paid
for just being yourself. What?

I had no idea of the magnitude
of what was happening.

Habla, nena, habla.

- Habla.
- Habla.

- Habla.
- Habla.

Loud.

♪ (MUSIC CONCLUDES) ♪

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Nicolás Entel.

Where I was born,
it doesn't matter.

I am a Latino
who lives in the U.S.,

has an American passport
and American kids.

The first things
that you discover

when you move to the U.S.,

is that the second
that you arrive to the U.S.,

you are no longer Argentine,

you're no longer Venezuelan,
Mexican, or Cuban.

You become a Latino in the U.S.,

which I think
is the greatest thing

that ever happened to me.

I don't know if I arrived

with any preconception
of Latinos in the U.S...

but it took me nothing,

five seconds
to adopt that identity.

Like to understand that

I have a lot in common
with Colombians, with Mexicans.

You also have the ability
of understanding them

in a way
that is not always available

for those of us
in Latin America.

And this means that
you have the possibility

of exploring and open yourself,
lots of different experiences.

Stories, histories, food,
traditions, art.

You are exposed to
a bunch of different influences,

and it's absolutely fascinating.

Many of our countries
are not really connected.

It's much easier to fly
from New York or Miami or L.A.

to any Latin American capital
than it is to go from

one Latin American capital
to the other.

It's not even possible
to fly directly.

If you want to fly from Asunción
to Mexico City,

you might have to stop
in Fort Worth, Dallas.

As a filmmaker,

what I want to challenge
is the perception

that Latino movies
and Latino TV shows

are not part of the mainstream.

I believe that we are
the new mainstream.

My complaint is the following.

It feels like everything
that's being commissioned

by the studios
in the Latino space,

a musical, big animation movie,
a sitcom,

it still is a soap opera.

It feels like studios
only wanna produce

Latino content
that is inoffensive,

that is uplifting
and a little sentimental.

And there is so much more
that we can do.

I mean, we come
from a very rich tradition.

We are the continent

of Borges and Cortazar
and Fuentes and Vargas Llosa.

Latinos in the U.S.
gave the world Ritchie Valens,

who transformed rock and roll
by the time he was 17,

he even influenced The Beatles.

Fania doesn't get the respect
and the credit it deserves,

but it represents New York
as much as The Ramones

or Talking Heads,
New York in the '70s.

Chicano literature,
it's amazing,

from Jovita to Sandra Cisneros.

And yet it feels like they only
want us to do soap operas.

I don't think there is only
one way of being universal.

But we represent

such a bigger portion
of the planet

that we should be a way
of being universal,

that the themes and the topics
that we want to touch

can be universal.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

CAMERA ASSISTANT: Take one...

I'm Leonardo Nam, I'm an actor.

Yeah, most people
when they meet me,

they don't realize
that I'm Latino.

You know, I was born
in Buenos Aires, so soy porteño,

but I look Korean,
so soy coreano,

but I sound Australian,
so soy australiano.

And I'm in America,
so soy americano too.

I only have really great
memories of Argentina.

You know, in Argentina, I was
there until I was about seven,

and I never really felt like
I didn't belong

or wasn't part of the
Argentinian culture and stuff.

It's only actually
after I left Argentina

and then everyone else
reflected back to me like,

"Oh, you're not from Argentina,"
or "You're not..."

And I'd be like,
"But, I mean, I am."

And that's the only answer
I can give them.

Yeah, I never really
felt separate while I was there.

Only, like I said, when I moved
to Australia or America

would everyone kind of
reflect back to me

what they thought
being Argentinian was,

and I'd have to correct them.

(LAUGHS)

I remember when I first moved
to Australia from Argentina,

and I only really spoke Spanish.

And I was in Australia,

and it was
my first grade teacher,

and she only spoke English.

And she brought in a kid
who was from Korea,

who only spoke Korean.

He's speaking Korean and crying,

she's speaking in English
trying to connect it,

and I'm crying,
speaking in Spanish.

And I remember thinking,
"Wow, okay, I'm different."

You know, I speak Spanish,
but people assume

that I speak another language
or that I need to be

something other than
literally how I am.

But I remember
it was really difficult, man.

It was so hard.

I mean, I love food
and I love Argentinean food.

I remember one of
my earliest memories

of feeling so sad
when I recognized

that I was not in my home
in Argentina

was when in Australia

no one understood
what dulce de leche was.

I was like,
"That's my jam, man,"

like, that's what I lived on,
you know?

And there was definitely more
Italian culture kind of,

you know, immigrants
in Australia,

so they'd give me
the Italian equivalent.

I'd be like, "No it's not
the same, it's not the same."

I would say something
that's very Argentinian about me

is that like I'm loud
and I'm like hugging.

Because people are always
surprised by that with me.

They're like, oh, they expect me
to be a little more standoff,

I'm like no, man, I want in.

I want in on the hug,
I want in on the beso.

I wanna, I want, I want.
I love to hug people,

I love to kiss people,
I love to be in their space.

I think that's part of
being Argentinian for me.

Being American is part of
who I am now too.

I can't just deny that,
you know,

I also have Australian
cultural aspects

and Argentinian cultural aspects
and Korean cultural aspects.

I am all those things
at the same time.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

I am Isabella Gomez.

I am from Medellín, Colombia,
and I am an actress.

I immigrated
to Orlando, Florida,

when I was around ten.

I moved with my parents,
who are my best friends,

and I moved to Orlando

which has such
a huge Latinx community.

A bunch of Colombians
and Puerto Ricans and Mexicans

and everybody
and there was so much culture

and so many of us that
I never really felt othered,

or like being Latina
was different

until later on in my life.

I did not speak English
when I got to the States.

I mean, I did in that
I took English classes

in Colombia, but just like how
people take Spanish classes here

and then don't really end up
learning the language.

And I also, again,
was in Orlando,

so a lot of my classmates
spoke Spanish,

so it wasn't like
I wasn't able to communicate,

it was more of, like,
a challenge.

And I remember I got paired up

with this girl, Marisol,
who was the coolest,

and she helped me through.
And she was Mexican,

so she spoke Spanish
and we were buddies,

but it really wasn't traumatic
for me at all.

Fun fact, on One Day at a Time,

there was always
at least one word per episode

that they would have to
write out of my lines

because I just couldn't say it.
So...

(CHUCKLES)

My skin color and my features

sometimes leads people
to believe

that I am a White woman
instead of a Latina.

And I am treated
very differently

when people think
that I am a White woman

than I am when people
know I am a Latina.

And thus,
I have White privilege,

which does not mean necessarily

that you have
had a privileged life,

but what it means is that
my life has not been made harder

because of the color of my skin.

But then I also see
a lot of people saying

that maybe I shouldn't count
as Latinx representation.

And I did see a few tweets once,
of people being like,

"She doesn't count
as Latinx representation

because of the color
of her skin."

And I was born in Colombia
and I was raised there

and to an age
where I remember living there.

It's not like I came
when I was tiny,

like, I was there
until I was ten.

And so for people to say that

I do not count is,
frankly, really hurtful

and I don't think that
that is most people's opinion.

But it's a very nuanced
conversation right now

that I don't really know
where to stand on it.

But what I do know is that,
although I am very aware

that I do not represent
all of our community

and that I cannot speak to
all of our experiences

and one single person
never could,

I am wildly proud
of being a Latina

and I will represent
and wave my flag

and show up for my community
any chance I get.

I've heard a lot of people,
and I'm sure others have too,

talk about the crabs
in a bucket mentality.

And basically, the story goes
that there was a fisherman

and he brought in crabs,

and somebody was like,
"Put a lid on it,"

and he said, "Oh no,
these are Mexican crabs.

They'll drag each other down
before letting themselves out."

And it goes for...

They use it for all of us,
for all Latinos.

And I think that's a really
interesting concept.

Because although I do think that
it's no secret that

there is a lot of colorism
and racism and homophobia

and all of these things
within our community,

I also think that a crab's
environment is not a bucket.

We were put in a bucket.

And I think
we were made to believe

that we have to fight
against each other

and that there's only one seat
at the table

and that we have to fight
for the one seat.

But I also think that
we don't get enough credit.

I think that although,
as a community,

we have a lot of growing
and learning to do,

and I think that

we are better than the ways
that we behave sometimes,

I also think that
we don't get enough credit

for how lovely we are

and how much love
and support we do give.

And we have been put in
really unfair situations

that we are trying to figure out
a way out of

and that is not easy.

And so I think we as a community
are pretty badass

and I think we're on our way.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

I am Ritchie Torres
from the Bronx.

I'm the United States
Congressman for the South Bronx,

and I do not fit
into the typical profile

of a member of Congress.

I was raised by a single mother
who had to raise three children

on minimum wage,
which in the 1990s

was a mere $4.25 an hour.

I often ask people,
"Imagine being a single mother

in the most expensive city
in America,

raising three children
on $4.25 an hour."

So I grew up in
a public housing development

right across the street
from Trump Golf Course,

living in conditions
of mold and mildew,

leaks and lead,

without reliable heat
and hot water in the winter.

And as I saw the conditions
in my home get worse

every single day,

the government had invested
more than 100 million dollars

in a golf course
named after Donald Trump.

And I remember
asking myself at the time,

what does it say
about our society?

That we're willing to invest
more money in a golf course

than in the homes of poor people
of color in public housing.

And so that experience
of housing inequality

is what inspired me
to become politically active.

I got my start in politics
as a housing organizer

and then at age 24,
I took the leap of faith

and ran for public office.

I had no deep pockets.

I had no ties
to the party machine,

but I spent a whole year
knocking on doors.

And I won my first campaign
on the strength of door-to-door,

face-to-face campaigning.

I became the first openly gay
elected official from the Bronx.

What makes my story distinctive

is that seven years before then,

I was at the lowest point
in my life.

I had dropped out of college
because I was struggling

with depression.

I found myself
abusing substances,

and there were moments when I
thought of taking my own life

because I felt as if the world
around me had collapsed,

that nothing seemed
to be going right.

And then seven years later,

I became
the youngest elected official

in the largest city in America.

And today
I'm a United States congressman.

You know,
a wise person once said,

"If you don't have a seat
at the table,

then you're probably
on the menu."

And every community should have
a seat at the table.

The insurrection against
the United States Capitol

during
the electoral college vote

was not simply an assault
on a physical structure.

It was an assault
on the very idea

of America
as a multiracial democracy.

And so, those from
communities of color,

those from the Latino community
have to be politically active.

We have to demonstrate

that the future of America does
not belong to White supremacy.

It belongs to multiracial
democracy, belongs to all of us.

In general,

people see politics
as something to be avoided.

And we should learn
to embrace politics.

Meet with
your elected officials,

lobby them on the issues
that matter to you.

Be part of the civic life
of your community

because if you do not care
enough about your neighborhood

to be politically
and civically engaged,

then no one else will.

There's a quote I love
from Margaret Mead.

She once said, "Never doubt that
a small group of committed,

thoughtful citizens
can change the world.

In fact, it's the only thing
that ever has."

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

CAMERA ASSISTANT: One.

Well, most people ask me,

"How did you get to be
so outspoken?"

My mother would always say,

"Habla, nena, habla."

You know, "Speak, nena, speak."

And my grandmother would add,

"Habla fuerte, habla duro."

You know, "Speak up."

I was very little, I'm not tall,
you know,

maybe four feet, 11 inches
and a half.

And I would get bullied
in the playground a lot.

So one time, my grandmother came
to pick me up at school,

and I must have been,
I think first grade,

and I had a bloody nose
and a little bit of a cut lip,

and she said, "¿Que pasó?"
What happened?

So I told her
this kid is bullying me.

She... I didn't use
the word "bully,"

you know, he's picking on me.

My grandmother was a pacifist,
but she also thought

that you had every right
to defend yourself.

She said, "Well, let me
tell you something.

You have to hit
as hard as you can,

you have to run
as fast as you can,

and you have to scream
as loud as you can."

And that stuck with me.

It's September 20th, 2017.

I was the mayor of San Juan,
and Hurricane Maria,

a category four hurricane
with gusts of category five,

hit Puerto Rico.

And the San Juan
and the Puerto Rico that I knew

were never gonna be the same.

I knew that from the get-go.

The minute you see that vision

of that fierce, you know...
(BLOWS AIR) ...hurricane

just engulfing the island nation
of Puerto Rico,

you say, "Oh, my God."

We went out in the street
September 20th.

I have never...
felt the eerie silence.

It speaks volumes.

It is so desolate

that it just runs
through your core.

And the only thing that broke
the silence was the sorrow,

and the screams,
and the tears of people

going back to their homes

while there still
were tropical storm winds

and saying, "I have nothing."

And no aid and respect
from those

that were supposed
to be there to help us.

And they're telling us to do
things that we can't do.

"Fill out this form
on the internet."

We have no internet.

And on September 29th,
I got fed up.

I told the truth
in a very loud way,

and the truth was
that we were dying.

That we were dying and that...

My exact words said,
"We are dying here,

and you are killing us

with your bureaucracy
and your inefficiency."

And I pleaded, I said, I mean,

you know, people that know me
must have said,

"What the heck
is that woman saying?"

You know, "She's begging."

I said,
"I'm begging the president

of the United States
to help us."

Well, he threw paper towels
at us.

That was...
that was his response.

And the fact
that four years later,

only about six percent
of the homes have been fixed,

it's criminal.

We don't, we don't know...

we don't deserve that,
but no one deserves that.

I was very criticized
by people in Puerto Rico

who thought that by speaking up,
I was endangering the help.

And I'm thinking, "What help?
He's not sending anything.

How does being
submissive y arrodillaos

has worked out for you
up to now?"

If they say
you need to be quiet,

you speak up even louder

because that means
you're saying something

that is worth being listened to.

And the amazing thing is,

where the federal government
turned their back on us,

the American people
took care of us,

brought food and water
and took care of our wounds.

People from New York,
Pittsburgh, Chicago,

people from the diaspora.

Everybody came together

and people were really
dying of hunger,

they were dying of thirst.

Three thousand is the amount
of people thought to have died.

I just hope they know
we couldn't get to them,

not that we didn't want
to get to them.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Olga Merediz.

(IN AMERICAN ACCENT)
Or Olga Merediz, depending.

I'm Cuban American,
I am an actress, I am a singer.

I have done theater,
television, and film.

I went to a high school
in Puerto Rico.

And I had these incredible
teachers,

Joan Delvecchio
and Lara Rifkold at...

And they... I was doing musicals
at that time

and I was playing
Annie Get Your Gun,

I was playing Annie.

And I was doing, you know,
Hello, Dolly!,

and I was playing Dolly.

And I was doing all these,
you know, "American" musicals

and I was playing the lead.

I didn't even think twice,

"Oh, I'm Latina
and I'm playing Dolly.

I'm Latina and playing Annie
in Annie Get Your Gun."

It's just,
that's the way I grew up.

And then you get
to New York and L.A.,

and all of a sudden, you're La...
you're "Latina."

And you're like, okay,
you're gonna play the maid.

(LAUGHS)

And I would sometimes turn
the maid down three times,

and they would come back,
"We'll give you more money,

we'll pick you up in a car,
we'll give you...

you'll be recurring,
you'll be the recurring maid."

And basically they would...
I would shoot the episode

and then they would
never call me back.

They just needed
that one episode or whatever,

but things have changed
and I'm glad.

But occasionally, you know,

they still want to
offer you the maid.

I'm like, really?

I feel like I've given
everything up for this business.

On the one hand, I feel like
I did what I wanted to do.

But yes,
when I was doing Broadway,

I missed my brother's wedding
because the show must go on.

It's also extremely challenging
physically.

You have to take care
of yourself.

You can't drink,
you gotta eat well,

you gotta do
your Epsom salt baths,

you got to go to
the chiropractor, the massage,

the physical therapy.

And you spend a lot of time
just preparing your...

propping your body up
to do the show.

Vocally, if you're singing
eight shows a week,

for example, on Broadway,
and you have a challenging song,

you might have to spend
the whole day,

you know, quiet, and I would
bring a little notebook,

you know, to the grocery store.

Because I had to rest my voice

in order to sing
a very challenging song

because it's okay to sing
a challenging song once, twice,

three times, five times,
ten times,

but when you have to sing
a song a thousand times,

you have to, sometimes, you
can't speak for the whole day

in order to give the audience
that performance

that they deserve
and that you want to give.

These are the challenges
that people don't know about.

You know, they go see
a show on Broadway

and they go,
"Oh, my God, I loved it.

It was so good.

I laughed, I cried," but they
don't see the work behind.

I've left the business
I don't know how many times.

I've always wanted to
go back to school

and do something else,

but it's like something
that you just have to

express and you can't not do it.

I think when people,
especially the young people

that stop me on the street
right now, they see themselves.

They see themselves
and I remind them

of their tías, their abuelas,
the people in their family,

the people that maybe
didn't have the spotlight

or never had the spotlight.

And it's very emotional,
it's very touching

when you see somebody

that reminds you of
somebody in your family.

I think what makes it all
worth it for me is when

I get stopped on the street
by a young person

and they say,
"You are an inspiration to me.

You don't know how
you inspire me,

you're an example."

And I go, "Oh, my God,
what did I do

to make this person
think this way?"

But hey, I'll take it.
It's very fulfilling.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Bianca Marroquín.
I'm a dancer, singer, actress,

and I am very privileged
to do what I love for a living

and very privileged
to be on Broadway.

I was born in Monterrey,
Nuevo León, in Mexico.

When I was a year
and a half old,

my parents moved to the border.

Matamoros, Tamaulipas border
with Brownsville, Texas.

So my mother used to
always tell us

that we were
very privileged kids

because we got to grow up
between two worlds,

two traditions, two cultures,
two languages.

I, from a very early age, knew
exactly what I wanted to be.

I wanted to be a dancer,

I wanted to be
a professional dancer.

And I was very lucky that
I had parents who supported me

and took me to ballet class
since I was three,

and my journey began there.

I actually wanted to become
a flamenco dancer,

but my life took
a slightly different path

and I wound up doing
musical theater in Mexico City.

My first show
was Beauty and the Beast,

then Rent, Phantom of the Opera.
Chicago comes to Mexico.

They wanted women
between 35 and 47 years of age

and preferably famous.

I was 25 and no one knew
who I was,

but they trusted me
with Roxie then.

And so that's where my journey
as Roxie began.

That was 2001 in Mexico,
in Mexico City.

Six months later,

our producer Morris Gilbert
calls me to his office and says,

"I just got off the phone
with Broadway,

and they're inviting you
to come over to Broadway

and do a three week stint
of Roxie.

So we gotta learn it in English,

so here's the script
in English."

So I would study the script
in English during the day,

and I would do the show
in Spanish at night.

It took me about three weeks
and then the day came,

and I took my flight
and I arrived to New York City.

I had four days of rehearsal,
forgot about my Spanish,

just focused on my English.

And when my Broadway debut came,
which was June 18th, 2002,

I had no idea of the magnitude
of what was happening.

I've been doing the show
Chicago the Musical on Broadway

for the past 20 years.

It's true.

When I got my opportunity
to come to Broadway,

a lot of people in Mexico City
told me, "Be careful, beware.

People are not going to
treat you nice,

and you're not going
to be accepted.

And take protection,
and here's a crystal,

and here's this necklace."

And to tell you the truth,
I never felt any of that.

The only time
that I then understood

what they were talking
about was...

There was this reporter
that did an interview

with me over the phone.

And we did the interview
in English.

And then at the very end
of the interview, he says,

"I'm gonna tell you the truth.

When they told me
I needed to interview you,

I said I'll call her
and I'll do the interview,

but if she speaks
with an accent,

I'm going to discontinue
the interview."

I didn't know what to tell him.

I was so young
and I was so, like, afraid

and I... I didn't know, like,
thank you? What are you saying?

That's mean. Why?

And then I remembered
what they had told me

before I left Mexico City.
I'm like, I see.

My mom used to tell us
we were so privileged

because we were raised
on the border,

and so I got to learn English
when I was a baby, a kid.

And so, because of that now,
cut to when I'm 25, 26 years old

and I get this opportunity
to come to Broadway,

I don't have
that thick of an accent.

I don't have...
and so they accept me more.

And I understood
my friends' journey,

people who spoke
with an accent back then

didn't receive
those opportunities

and they were rejected a lot.

After the show,

I come out to sign autographs
and maybe there was somebody

from Mexico there too, like...

(IN SPANISH)

(IN ENGLISH) And then
the English-speaking people

around at the stage door
were like, "You speak Spanish?"

I said, "Read your playbill,
yeah, read my bio.

I come from Mexico."

But it was sort of like
a compliment too

because I didn't want to be,
you know, typed or put in a box

or labeled or anything.

So I wanted them to just love me
because of my talent.

Because I was funny,
because I made them feel,

because they believed me
when I was telling

the story of Roxie Hart
in Chicago,

that took place
in Chicago, Illinois.

And yeah.

(IN SPANISH)

(CHUCKLES)

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

(IN ENGLISH)
My name is Curly Velasquez.

I am born and raised
here in Hollywood.

I'm a Salvadorian actor,
personality, influencer, writer.

(IN SPANISH)

(IN ENGLISH)
When I first started

working on the internet,
I guess,

I was hired at this company
and when I got there,

they said, "We're going to hire
you as the receptionist."

But when I walked in,
there were no phones.

So I actually started
in the canteen.

I would stock the food,
stock the snacks.

It was kind of like being at the
right place at the right time.

I remember I was walking back
to the kitchen,

my station if you will,

and I was holding stuff
and I could hear

the actual influencers
of where I worked,

the big personalities,
the big internet YouTubers.

And I remember walking by them
and they were like,

"I think we're being called,

something called, like,
influencers now."

And I was with my stuff,
I'm like, "What? Influencers,

what does that mean?"

And they were like,
"We can influence people.

We can talk about the things
that we use,

the places that we stay at."

People were
getting things for free

and I was like, ahí limpiando,
like what? Like la chismosa.

Like, listening.
What? Free stuff?

What is this world
that we live in?

You can get paid
for just being yourself.

What?

And they started
to put me in videos,

and I'm talking about things

that people necessarily
weren't talking about.

I was like,
"Yo soy centroamericano.

I was born and raised in L.A.

I have a pussy nipple ring
right now."

It was revolutionary
for a lot of people

to see a queer
Central American person

on a mainstream
digital network like that.

I'm either amongst the first

or the first queer Central
American on the internet.

(LAUGHS)

And I'll fight somebody
over that.

I'm kidding, I can't fight.

My best friend does that.
I don't want to copy him.

Anyways, so it kind of blew up.

People would stop me
on the street,

people would be like,
"Oh, my God, I love you."

And I'm like, how do you
even know who I am?

And it literally changed
my entire life.

I am growing and thriving,

but suddenly,
I'm about to lose it all.

I grew up in a time when
Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie,

Lindsay Lohan, all those people
were like,

the people that we looked up to.

And it was like opulence,
drugs, sex,

and it was like, of course,
I want to grow up to be that.

So that's what I tried to do,
that's what I tried to be.

By the time I was 14, 15,
I was doing drugs

and I was getting drunk
by the time I was 17.

And you have to understand,
during the daytime,

I was like the sweetie pie.
Like, hello, how are you?

Like, I would cuddle up
with my abuela.

I would take, you know, drive my
mom wherever she wanted to go.

But by night,
I was a ho, a big one.

If you gave me something that
I could snort, I would snort it.

I was waking up to busted lips
and black eyes,

on random bridges
in the heart of L.A.,

not remembering how I got there.

I almost lost my job
and family and friends

that had loved me for so long.

I had what a lot of addicts call
a rock bottom.

It was that moment
where it was like,

either you get your sh...
together,

or you're about to lose it all.

I decided to go sober
and the minute I do,

my life just went... (WHOOSHES)
It just blew up.

Suddenly, I had more money
in my bank account.

Suddenly, I was having
real conversations,

making real connections.

Suddenly I was on TV,
playing myself.

Suddenly, I was hosting and
talking about celebrity fashion,

being myself, getting paid
for literally being the person

that would get made fun of
their entire life.

Back in the day, it was like,

"You're a boy,
why are you wearing makeup?"

Now, it was like, "Hey,
what eyeliner are you using?"

Yeah, it's not easy to be sober

and it's interesting
because being Latino,

like, alcohol, people think
it's a personality trait.

(IN SPANISH)

(IN ENGLISH)
Like, what do you mean?

I went to a wedding in Mexico
and they were like,

"He doesn't drink?"
I'm like, "No, I don't drink."

It was like, I might as well
have said that, I don't know,

I'm the worst person
in the world.

People just, you know,

people think that it is
a personality trait.

It doesn't have to be.

I think for me,
in an ideal world,

people who were amazing
and have a great message

would be the ones
that would be celebrated.

Unfortunately, we live in
a world where if you're hot,

you'll probably get followers
and stuff.

But I think that my main focus
is not so much to be

another voice on the internet

telling you to learn this new
dance, learn this new trend.

The only thing that I ever want
to influence people to do

is call your grandma,
call your family,

tell the people that you love
in your life, "I love you."

I hope to be somebody
that can share humanity,

both the ugly and the good

and tell you that
you're doing great, sweetie.

Keep going.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Carla Morrison,
and I am a singer-songwriter.

And yeah, been in the business
for 15 years, I think.

I thought just making...
having my dream job,

which was songwriting
and making songs

was just going to be
a happy place all the time.

But then I realized that
to do that, I had to be famous

and with fame comes
a lot of sacrifices.

Fame just makes you
very self-conscious.

It just makes you
want to be perfect all the time.

It also changes
the people around you.

They perceive you different.

They think you're special,
but we're all special.

As Mexicans, we are taught that
we just need to work hard.

We don't have to pay attention

to our feelings
or to our struggles sometimes,

we just have to work and work.

(IN SPANISH)

(IN ENGLISH) Literally and so,
when I was working

and doing all these tours
and albums,

I was always, always working.

And so I got burned out.
I got burned out

and I had to just face the fact
that I was depressed.

And I was anxious 'cause
I had no time for myself,

no self-love, no time for me
to reflect or have friends

or be with my family.

So I just had to take a hiatus,
take a pause and move to Paris.

Why Paris? Because I suddenly
was invited by my now husband.

That one time he told me,

"Oh, I would love to
live in Paris

and study a master's degree."

And so I said, "You know what?

I'm so burned out,
it doesn't matter."

(LAUGHS) "Let's just go."

And we moved to Paris, France,

to study music
and to study French.

Paris just stopped me
in my tracks.

It told me to have my coffee

and not bring the laptop
to the coffee.

It told me to,
"Get some wine, girl,

and get some cheese,
sit at a park, and chill."

It taught me that I could learn
a new language when I was 33.

I never thought I could.

It taught me that I could
go to music school at 33

and learn jazz.

It taught me that
I could just start over.

And I don't think it was
necessarily Paris.

I just think it was the fact
that I was in a foreign country

with a foreign language.

So spending the first couple
of months, almost a year,

learning the language.

It taught me a lot about silence

and how all these voices
within me came out

and were like, "Hey." (LAUGHS)
"We've been here for years.

Wanna talk?"

And I cried a lot.

I had to really just learn
how to say no too.

French taught me to say no
and that it was fine,

and that nothing
was going to happen.

Nobody was going to die
if I said no.

I remember a manager
that was working with me said,

"But you can't take
too much time off.

They're going to
forget about you."

And I said, "Well, let them
forget about me.

I gotta go.
I have no songs, girl."

I said, "I have no songs
and I need to live."

I was scared, obviously,
when I left.

(LAUGHING) I was like,
"Oh my God, diosito, help me.

I hope I'm not like, effing up."

But when I left and then a lot
of things started to happen.

Like, one of my songs
called "Disfruto"

became viral in Colombia.

Nicky Jam did a remix
because the song meant to him

a lot during quarantine.

Ricky Martin sent me a WhatsApp

and wanted me to write
a song with him.

And all these things,
as if music was saying,

"We got you girl, don't worry,
take your time."

For the longest time,

I told myself I couldn't sing
in R&B style

because I'm Mexican.

I'm not supposed to do that.

And then I went to jazz school
and they were like,

"You have a good voice, girl.
Like, you should try it.

You know,
you have a different range,"

and I was like, "You think so?"
"Yeah, you can."

You're told a story.
You're this, you're a woman,

you're a Latina,
you're a Mexican.

Your dreams go to
a certain level.

But, no, my dreams
can reach any level.

It doesn't matter
where I'm from.

I had to learn that.

That I had to make time
for myself,

I had to enjoy
the simple things in life,

and I had to
believe in myself again

and make my job my hobby again.

Enjoying making music,
not having expectations,

not letting the business
get into my life.

Just, you know,

let it be the dream
that it was always.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Wilson Cruz.
I am an actor, an activist,

I am Puerto Rican,
and I am a gay man.

How about that?

I came out in 1994.
1994, yes.

You know, I came out because
I knew I was going to do

this little show
called My So-Called Life.

I was actually
in the process of making it.

This character not only
was going to be

the first gay teenager
on network television

in the States,
but I knew that he...

that a lot of people
were going to relate to him.

And...

it was important for me to...

infuse him with
as much of myself

and my experience
growing up as I could.

And I needed to tell my parents
before I said that

on The Phil Donahue Show.

Phil Donahue was a talk show
back in the day, kids.

So I wanted them to hear it
from me first obviously.

And, you know,
my father especially

had some very, um,
concrete ideas about gender

and about
what those gender roles were

and about masculinity
and femininity.

It was a tough conversation
and he did not take it well,

and he threw me
out of the house.

And, um...

And I survived, right?
I made it through.

And it was a difficult year
in which I didn't speak to him.

You know, my family is
everything to me.

We were very close.

And the best part of that story
for me is that

once the show started
airing on ABC,

we did an episode
where my character, Rickie,

gets kicked out of his home

and when that episode aired,

the credits at the end
were rolling and my phone rang

and it was my father asking if
we could finally have a talk.

And through the process of being
vulnerable in front of him

and allowing him to be
as transparent

as he could possibly be,

we have created
this relationship

in the last 30 years
that I'm so proud to say

is based on truth
and real love for each other,

that's based in a real knowledge
of who we actually are.

So when people come up to me
and they say,

"Rickie Vasquez
changed my life."

I can honestly and authentically
say to them,

"Oh, I know,
he changed mine too."

I think there's a lot
that the Latino community

can learn
from the LGBTQ community

about how to advance
our political and social needs.

You know, you look
at the LGBTQ community,

we have the lesbians,
we have the gays,

the bisexuals, the transgenders,

those are all different
communities who come together

and latch onto each other

because there's strength
in numbers.

We are an enormous
umbrella community,

very much like
the Latino community really is.

You're not gonna find
a prouder Puerto Rican than me,

but I also know that in order
for my people to rise up

and to live up to their
potential in this country,

I have to also see myself in my
Mexican brothers and sisters,

in my Colombian siblings, right?
That their plight is mine.

I think there is power in that
enormous number of people

coming together
to fight for each other.

I think we can learn that
from the LGBTQ community.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

My name is Mickey Melendez.

I'm one of the cofounders of the
Young Lords in New York City.

The Young Lords
was the most significant

cultural, political, and social
movement of my generation.

I consider myself an activist

and had been an activist
since 1969.

The Young Lords was a primarily
Puerto Rican organization,

although 30% of the organization
was not Puerto Rican,

it was African American
and other Latinx.

We were part of
the civil rights movement

that was going on
in this country.

People reclaiming their culture,

people reclaiming their history
and learning about the history.

I was born in East Harlem.

A Puerto Rican father
who was a merchant marine

and a Cuban mother.

My mother
had a third-grade education,

but she was an economist
because she was able to,

you know, with my father's pay,

you know, make everything
happen for us.

Very Catholic, very religious.

You know, I think I became
an altar boy because of her.

The family always came to her
for advice,

although she wasn't the oldest,

she was kind of somewhere
in the middle of 12 children.

I learned of service
very early on in life,

watching my mother translate
for patients in a hospital.

They would hear her
speak English

and the doctor would say,
"Would you mind translating?"

So it was for me, very simply,
very early on in life, you know,

was understanding
the value of service

and the fulfillment
that it gives you as well.

The Young Lords in New York
were active

from 1969 to about 1973, '74.

We were between 18 and 22
years old during that time.

We were rooted in service
to our people and direct action.

We were able to identify
problems and issues

in our community and also offer
solutions to them,

and try to negotiate
with government.

If they did not acquiesce to,
they didn't grant to

whatever the things
that we were asking for,

we would get involved
in direct action.

The first one was
the Garbage Offensive.

We would pick up the garbage,

we went to
the sanitation department

to see if we can get brooms
and bags, they denied it.

So we then went back
to the neighborhood,

swept up the garbage,
put it on Third Avenue,

and mysteriously,
lighter fluid and a match

appeared and burned the garbage.

Immediately,
the fire department came.

Immediately,
the sanitation department came.

And then after that,
the mayor sends

a representative
to talk to us about,

what is it?
Why did this happen?

We tell him, very clearly,

the garbage isn't being
picked up in East Harlem.

In our community,
it's a health issue

and that was one of
the first health issues

that we dealt with.

We did TB testing,
we did lead poison testing.

We took over hospitals,
free breakfast program,

clothing drives,
legal assistance.

We never spent a day in jail
for anything that we did,

and we did some
pretty audacious things.

When we took over
Lincoln Hospital,

we got away with it.

When we took over
Lincoln Hospital the second time

for the development
of a drug program.

In a lot of ways,

the Black Panthers
were our model.

So we had
a free breakfast program.

You know, today, every school
in the United States

has a breakfast program.

Again, things that are rooted

in the legacy
of that period of time.

I think one of the things that
people can look at today,

nationally, is the Patient Bill
of Rights, which everyone has,

which is rooted in
the health programs

of the Black Panther Party
and the Young Lords.

Activism now, really I believe
should be focused

on local politics
and getting people

that are going to come back
and be responsive

and responsible
to an organization

that helped elect them.

I also believe that, you know,

the activism
that needs to take place,

it's an activism that includes
an intergenerational formation,

to be able to be there
to provide

the lessons that we learned.

There's a whole body of mistakes
that the Young Lords made

that we can learn from
that don't have to be repeated.

Activism is not a hobby
or an event,

activism is a lifestyle.

It's a long-term commitment
rooted in love and commitment,

and that's what I've done for
the past 55 years of my life.

I am a little older than 55.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

I always introduce myself in
one of my languages,

which is the Mojave language,
Aha Makav,

so I would say Natalie...

(SPEAKING MOJAVE)

(IN ENGLISH)
Which is me saying my name

and also saying,
"It's very lucky for me

to be here with you."

And for me,
that feels really important

because my language
is so rooted in my land.

And one of the ways I think
about Indigeneity is that

it also includes, you know,
being Latina and being Latinx

because the languages,
we have a lot of borrowed words

in Mojave from Spanish,
but also,

I grew up in the lands
that were Indigenous

meaning Mojave, Aka Makav,

and very much related
to what was once Mexico.

So that's often how I lead.

And then I think the other
things I like people to know is,

you know, one I'm a poet,
I'm a sister,

I'm one of nine siblings.

I'm a former
professional basketball player,

which again, has very much
shaped the ways

I imagine the world.

And those are kind
of the things.

I'm a professor, you know.

Pretty normal,
pretty normal things I guess.

(INSTRUMENT JANGLING)

Often to succeed, we have to go
so far from our families.

Like, to succeed
in the communities we come from,

we have to leave our families.

And so I decided to come back

and work with my elders
on that language.

It's one of the most difficult
things I've ever done.

It's almost a practice of loss.

You know, every time we gained
a word or remembered a word

or remembered a story,

I also had to realize that

we were constantly
losing those things.

One of the ways
that I approach poetry

is the way I approach language

and it was something, again,
given to me by my grandparents,

you know, on one side,
a Mojave language

that has been taken away
in a lot of respects.

You have to fight
to get that language.

And then on the other side,
I have my grandparents

who were from Spain and Mexico,
who had really rough lives,

and part of why
they didn't insist

on my father speaking Spanish...

I speak Spanish,
my father does not,

but they insisted on that

so that he would do better
in school, you know.

And so I think just having
that condition of language

in which I grew up,

it just makes me
really appreciate,

like every single word matters.

And I think one of the things
I've learned from my elders,

whether it's my grandmother
and my grandfather

who are from Mexico and Spain
or whether it was my elders

in Fort Mojave is that
the saddest thing probably

in my entire life
is to see their loss.

And I don't yet know
if I understand

what that loss means,
but to ask them something

and for them to say,

"I don't know the answer

and there's nobody left
for me to ask."

And there's something very just,
I don't...

the word is not humbling,

but it's just a reality
that makes you realize that

yes, all of...
yes loss, yes pain,

and this incredible living.

This incredible wonder
and curiosity

for who we've yet to be
and yet to become.

And I think one of
the most important things

I've learned is that

we're not the stories
that people have told about us,

but we're the stories
that I might tell

or that my children might tell

or that my nieces
and nephews might tell.

You know, we're very much
in the future.

And that's something
it took me looking deeply

into the past to arrive at.

How do we move from
being descendants of our people

to becoming the next group
of ancestors?

And the only way we can do that
is to connect with them.

If I can offer anything
to anyone,

I think it would be
just the invitation

to talk to our elders, to spend
the time with them.

One of my elders told me,

"The reason why
I opened up to you

is because you kept coming back.

I could have told you
anything fast,

and then you would have
taken off,

but you kept coming back.

And what it made me realize
is not only that

you wanted to hear,
but that I had a lot to tell."

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

I'm a big believer
in creating my own path

when that path doesn't exist.

And definitely, the role of

talking about Latin music
in this country,

of chronicling Latin music
in this country,

of talking about the artists
and the business,

that didn't exist.

When I started writing about
music, that just wasn't a thing.

No one was really covering
Latin music first of all.

And if they were,

it was being done in
a very superficial manner.

The vast majority
of my colleagues,

they didn't know
this music at all.

So it was a permanent education

and from this, it became
kind of a mission.

And the mission was you have
to learn about this music.

You have to learn
about these artists.

You have to hear them.
They're so amazing.

How can you not know them?

It's happening
right under your noses.

Why isn't anyone talking
about it?

Why is no one saying
that Vicente Fernández

is selling out
Madison Square Garden

or that Shakira is selling out
all over the country?

Ricky Martin. Ricky Martin
was playing stadiums,

he had been part of Menudo,
he had been in General Hospital,

and yet when he played
the Grammys in 1999,

Rosie O'Donnell
very famously said,

"I had never heard of him
before tonight."

We knew Ricky Martin.
No one else did.

I remember when Celia Cruz died,

and I raised my hand,
I said, "Celia Cruz died.

We have to cover this
in a big way."

And somebody said,
"Who is Celia Cruz?"

Which is quite frankly,
a very legitimate question.

I explained who Celia Cruz was
and then they were still like,

"Oh, I don't know
if this is for us."

And then of course,
there was a big parade

down Fifth Avenue in New York

and they shut down
the entire city.

And at that point,
I got the phone call saying,

"Oh, we should be doing this."

You needed New York City
shut down to recognize this?

That's fine, we did it.

But the fact that you didn't
believe me when I said it

because maybe
I wasn't the right person

to be making the call.

Maybe you needed
someone who wasn't Latin

telling you
that it was important.

That is the kind of thing
that has to change.

I think the fact
that there are so few Latins

in newsrooms across the country,

the fact that big newspapers
like the New York Times

and the Washington Post
and even the L.A. Times,

until very recently,
didn't have Latinos

in the newsroom
or had very little

just shows that
there is a big bias.

And I think a lot of the bias
comes because of the language,

because a lot of Latinos
speak Spanish.

Spanish is their first language.

And there's this belief,
I think,

maybe it's not articulated,
but I've certainly found it,

that if you speak
another language

as your first language,
especially if it's Spanish,

and if you speak with an accent,
you are less than.

Latin was covered
during Hispanic Heritage Month,

or it was covered because okay,
we got to do one Latin thing.

It was never covered

because people realized
that it was valuable.

That was very frustrating to me.

It's not supposed to be a quota.

It's supposed to be
your reality.

Why are you ignoring
this piece of reality?

That's what was aggravating.

Bad Bunny is the most listened
to artist on Spotify,

and you better figure out
how to talk about this guy

because if half the world
is listening to him,

and you're not because he's
in a language you don't like,

then you have a problem.

It's not the problem
of the other billion people

who are on to it,
it's your problem.

I'm not saying
you have to accept it

because it's Latin,

I'm saying you shouldn't reject
it because it's Latin.

And so kind of "translating,"
if you will,

became very much a mission.

And I think we've seen
the results of that mission

because now Latin music
is very normalized.

It's thanks to, of course,
many people and many elements,

not just me, obviously,

but it's a beautiful thing
to see,

and I think we're all richer
because of it.

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

(IN SPANISH)

(INSTRUMENT RATTLING)

♪ ("LA CUCARACHA"
BY ANDREA ROCHA PLAYS) ♪

♪ (SONG CONTINUES) ♪

♪ (SINGING IN SPANISH) ♪

♪ (CONTINUES SINGING
IN SPANISH) ♪

♪ (SONG FADES) ♪