Slightly Inaccurate

You use just 10% of your brain.

Chameleons change color to match their surroundings.

The Great Wall of China is the only human-made object visible from space.

These are all well-established, commonly known “facts” that are, alas, completely wrong. To this list of misconceptions, untruths, and erroneous assertions, we must add another whooper.

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The Never-ending Crisis

In 1937, a young Cuban woman became America’s first “illegal immigrant.”

No, she wasn’t the first person to enter the country without permission (that would be Christopher Columbus). But when the New York Times wrote about Sara J. Rodriguez’s attempted suicide, she became the first person to be described as an “illegal immigrant” in an American news story.

Naturally, the bastards would start all this off by slandering a Latina. Damn.

In any case, the subsequent decades have seen terms such as “illegal immigrant,” “the undocumented,” or even “the brown invasion” used to describe people who cross or crowd America’s southern border.

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Debut

So I’ve recently accepted a position as the political editor for a new publication. Mano is the brainchild of my friend Hector Luis Alamo, and I’m thrilled to join him on the quest to amplify strong voices from the Latino counterculture.

You can catch my first article here. Thanks.

The Roaring Twenties Redux

We are approaching 100 years of cool.

Yes, for the vast majority of human existence, nobody was cool or hip or happenin or tight or flexing or phat or badass or whatever the kids are saying today.

Those concepts didn’t exist.

So everyone — from kings to peasants, from farmers to pirates — just went about their business, devoid of coolness, until the day they died.

And then the 1920s arrived.

All of a sudden, we had jazz and nightclubs and drinking and carousing. We had crazy parties, hipster lingo (e.g., “the bee’s knees”) and America’s first wild women, the flappers.

Seriously, how cool were the flappers?

But the development of this new human state of mind provoked an equally strong backlash. So we had the first scolds, the first self-righteous hypocrites, and the first moral panics.

Why did this happen?

Well, as usual in America, you can blame it on Black people… or more accurately, you can blame it on White people who blamed it on Black people.

You see, the 1920s saw the rise of jazz, often proclaimed as the only music genre created in the United States. Of course, I would argue that the blues is an original music form that was born in America, and the same can be said of rock and roll as well as rap/hip-hop (and yes, Black people invented all of them).

In any case, jazz musicians were primarily Black, and the White audience that danced to those crazy beats had upended a cultural norm that no one ever thought would be upended.

For the first time in American history, Black people were influencing White people. Never before had White Americans admired or respected Black people the way they did with jazz musicians. This was simply unprecedented, and to many White people, it was unimaginable and abominable as well.

And this inversion of societal mores promptly caused much of White America to freak the fuck out.

The criminalization of drug use, the demonization of the younger generation, the hysteria about loud music, the terror over premarital sex — all of it had its roots in the 1920s. And all of these cultural fears were based upon the jagged foundation of racism, the true root fear for so much of our country’s hatred and paranoia.

This particular set of horrors is closing in on a century of cultivation. And as we all know, these fears are stronger than ever with a very large and very loud portion of America.

But to be fair, without apocalyptic sermonizing and uptight judgement and close-minded intolerance, we would not have their antithesis: the concept of being cool.

So here’s a salute to those wild, bawdy, and edgy 1920s jazz lovers, partying until sunrise and drinking bathtub gin and dancing bizarre jitterbugs like the chicken flip, the kangaroo dip, and the monkey glide (all real dances, by the way).

We can all only hope to be half as cool as they were.

Now They Tell Us

So I recently finished watching Kingdom, a Korean television show set in the Middle Ages that features my favorite scenario in any medium:

A full-scale zombie apocalypse.

Really, is there anything cooler than a massive swarm of zombies attacking?

No, there isn’t. I answered for you.

In any case, even though Kingdom rocked, I’m dismayed to realize that, when it comes to Hollywood, you’re more likely to see medieval Korean zombies than contemporary Latinos.

You see, Netflix recently admitted that while it “has made progress adding diverse content created by and starring women, Black and Asian people on its platform in recent years, the streaming service and film studio hasn't had the same success yet with increasing Latinx representation.”

Just how poorly do Latinos fare on Netflix? Well, the studio would have to quadruple the number of Latino actors in its movies and shows just to match our percentage of the US population. So double it and double it again, and then we’re getting warm.

Netflix’s self-incriminating report came out around the same time that Oscar nominations were announced. The 20 acting nominees represent the most diverse field in Academy Awards history. That’s undeniably great news.

But the odd thing is that this most diverse field ever does not contain a single Latino. As in not one.

In fact, Panamanian-American director Shaka King appears to be the only Latino to have nabbed a major nomination (The Judas and The Black Messiah director was nominated for best picture and best original screenplay).

Unfortunately, this is an old story. For its entire history, Hollywood has had “a major problem greenlighting films and shows made by and starring Latinos,” despite the fact that Hispanics purchase more movie tickets per capita than any other US racial demographic group.

Damn, there are more movies about the Hasidim than there are about Hispanics.

Of course, every now and then, Hollywood will roll out some initiative to discover Latino storytellers (as if we’re hiding and trying to evade capture). But these programs seem to last only a year or two before studio execs mumble, “Well, we tried,” and get back to creating shows about white people in Brooklyn. A sustained effort is necessary, but most likely not coming.

If Netflix is listening, however, I have a great idea for a show about a Latino detective. Call me.