(Re)Presentation Matters

Confession: I was slow to jump on the Hamilton bandwagon. Though I grew up in New York City and enjoy going to a nice dinner and Broadway show, it took me years to fully appreciate the beauty and complexity of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s work. Compelling from start to finish, Miranda portrays Alexander Hamilton as both ambitious and deeply flawed. Though familiar with the history, I couldn’t help but hope for a different outcome—that somehow, Hamilton would survive the duel with Aaron Burr. Not shying away from the relational struggle Hamilton experienced throughout his life, Miranda shows us the ruthless politician who refuses to “throw away his shot,” and the sensitive, even insecure man, who does in fact throw away his shot, leading to an untimely death at the smoking end of Burr’s pistol. The show and soundtrack are poetry in motion and worthy of multiple viewings and listens.

I realize Hamilton’s cultural influence was largely over by the time I came around to appreciating it. But, I remember exactly where I was (in the dining room) and what I was doing (on my knees tearing out old carpet and installing a new floor) when it finally “clicked.” And I remember texting my wife something like, “Hamilton is just beautiful.” For context: the insurrection at the Capitol occurred just a few days before and I was in the beginning stages of a personal “racial retrieval.” I’ll talk more about this in an upcoming post. For now, though, it’s important to understand I was working through a process of reconciling with my own racial and ethnic identity. It is difficult to describe what it feels like when your heart is simultaneously broken and healing. I liken it to a sun shower—the warm, radiant sun shining brightly; the cold, torrential rain pouring down—a strange confluence of hope and sorrow.

It took a few weeks of listening to the soundtrack and watching the show before it dawned on me: for the first time in my life, someone who looked like me—a Puerto Rican man—was embraced within the majority culture. Even more than that, Lin-Manuel Miranda did it on his own terms. He didn’t acquiesce to a majority culture that often dictates who Hispanics are and should be in their eyes. He didn’t assimilate into a majority culture that often demands Hispanics look and speak like them to be accepted. Instead, he forged a new path—a road untread despite decades of Hispanics portrayed in mainstream movies and media.

I’m a movie fanatic—I’ve seen and love movies from every genre. I can quote movie lines with the best of them and I generally offer thoughtful reviews and recommendations if asked. In recent years, there has been a more concerted—albeit imperfect—effort to diversify movie roles. I’m writing this just a few days after Ke Huy Quan, Michelle Yeoh, and Daniel Kwan took home well-deserved Academy Awards for Everything, Everywhere All at Once. Since 2000, there have been 33 BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, Person of Color) and/or AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander) Oscar winners across the categories. Of those, 9 Hispanics have won, including 5 for Best Director, 2 for Best Supporting Actor, and 2 for Best Supporting Actress. Though a secondary point, it should be noted the last Hispanic male to win an Academy Award for acting was Javier Bardem in 2007 for his role as Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men. Before that, Benicio del Toro won in 2000 for his role as Javier Rodriguez in Traffic. Both deserved their respective Oscars, no doubt; but there is something lamentable when we look deeper.

Representation matters.

But so does the presentation of that representation.

I’ll be blunt: it pains me that Hollywood generally portrays Hispanics as drug dealers, cartel leaders, gang members, corrupt cops, and goofy sidekicks. Benicio del Toro won for portraying a borderline corrupt police officer. Javier Bardem won for portraying a cartel hitman. Beyond the Academy Awards, we often find Hispanics stereo-typecast into reductive characters who are morally reprehensible, selfish, destructive, and violent. In this way, the movies reflect the mainstream media, where Hispanics are often viewed as second-class citizens from third-world countries. This is not only lamentable, but condemnable.

We are so much more. Diverse ethnicities, cultures, and people.

There are so many beautiful stories to tell.

We are deeply influenced by the images we see and the stories we hear. So, when mainstream media refers to Hispanics as “illegals” or only tells stories about cartel violence, these images and stories become embedded in our mind and heart. It makes sense, then, when movies reflect these stereotypes and propagate these narratives. Movies like Sicario paint Mexicans as violent cartel dealers and leaders, and as corrupt cops and government officials. Benicio del Toro stars as a morally ambiguous sicario (“hitman” in Spanish) who is equally as corrupt and violent as the cartels he is working against. Emily Blunt stars as the FBI agent who takes the moral high-ground and wants to bring down the cartel the “right way.” It’s a common, and nauseating, trope—a “White Savior” hell-bent on saving non-white folks from the unfortunate situations they find themselves in.

Recently, our family went to see Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. It quickly became my favorite MCU movie—and if you haven’t seen it, I can’t recommend it enough. The entire film is essentially a tribute to Chadwick Boseman; and, I’ll admit, it was hard to keep the tears from flowing. Despite how much I loved the movie, I still walked away grieving. Namor, played masterfully by Tenoch Huerta Mejia, is reduced to a stereotypical “bad guy” who will do whatever it takes to accomplish his goal. Even when it seemed like Namor would accept his defeat with honor, the movie hints at possible corruption and betrayal. I realize MCU movies loosely follow comic book narratives; but generally, it feels like there is little redemption in so many storylines and character arcs involving Hispanic characters.

And, like dropping a rock in a pond and watching the ripples move outward, there is a profound impact when one is saturated with these tropes and stereotypes—a form of self-loathing and erasure (or at the very least, suppression). Being Hispanic does not make me—or others—morally bankrupt, violent, bad, or corrupt. However, there is a real struggle to make sense of this when media so often portrays Hispanics in these ways.

As a father, I want my three children to see and hear the beauty of diverse Hispanic cultures in movies and shows. I want them to love their Puerto Rican heritage—to enjoy the music, language, food, and history. But I also want them to appreciate other Hispanic cultures and ethnicities—to listen, learn, and celebrate. I want them to resist the temptation to suppress their own ethnic heritage in order to fit in with the majority culture. Instead, I want them to embrace who they are and where they come from—to walk with pride as a Boricua. I want them to celebrate who others are and where they come from—to walk alongside in solidarity.

Tell us stories of bravery and heroism in the face of injustice and oppression. Show us images of Hispanic men, women, and children standing up for justice and righteousness amidst moral corruption and decay. Bring to life those characters who fight for their hopes and dreams—and who see them come true. Give us life instead of death; hope instead of tragedy; beauty instead of violence; redemption instead of degradation.

Representation matters, no doubt.

But so does the presentation of that representation.