Guest Post: For this, and so much more, thank you Ricky Martin

PHOTO: Ricky Martin fan and queer poet and author extraordinaire Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano!

Last year, when Ricky Martin came out, I found myself searching for words to express just how monumental a step it had been for the Latino LGBT movement. I wasn't necessarily able to find my own words to describe my feelings but I did find an amazing blog post by my friend Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano on the subject, which I ran as a guest post ("Why Ricky Martin Matters", March 30, 2010 ).

A little more than a year after I featured that post, Lorenzo is back to explain how he felt when he had the chance to catch Ricky Martin's current 'M+A+S' music tour.  Cross-posted from his blog Hairspray & Fideo, here is Lorenzo's 2nd guest post on Blabbeando. Enjoy!

Ricky Martin's MAS Tour: Por esto, y tanto más, gracias. 

by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano

I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m a huge Ricky Martin fan. I’ve been a lover of his music since the longhair days of “Fuego Contra Fuego.” In the early 90’s, I’d rush home to catch him as “Pablo” in Alcanzar una Estrella II, and Sundays I would be glued to the tv waiting for Ricky to make an appearance on Siempre en Domingo.

Years later, the very thought of Ricky’s music takes me back to my pre-teen years of crushes on boys in Secundaria, and the silence that stood between us. Having collected all of his albums and holding “Las Almas del Silencio” as his most artistic effort yet, I couldn’t help but (literally) jump out of bed when a cousin sent a text offering me tickets to Ricky’s MAS concert in San José.

After inviting and coordinating with a few friends, we were on the road from San Francisco to my hometown of San José. On the way, I played a number of Ricky’s songs ranging from “Dime Que Me Quieres,” stopping at the infamous “Livin’ la Vida Loca” crossover days, cruising through his tattooed reggaetón days of LIFE, and landing with the music video for “Lo Mejor de Mi Vida Eres Tú.” I was ready.

Although much of my time thinking and writing about Ricky this past year has been less about his music and more about his coming out and what it means for our communities, I wasn’t expecting anything overtly queer at the concert. Well, except for the sea of brown gay & bi men, of course.

As we arrived at the venue, I was happy to see my fellow jotos and patos representing with fierce rhinestone shirts and enough sharp eyebrows to cut a Luis Miguel fan. What I didn’t expect were the Christian protestors holding up the “Gay Sex is Sin” signs I’m used to seeing at Gay Pride.

I felt terrible thinking I had underestimated Ricky and that the Christians knew him better than I did. Never had I imagined a Ricky Martin concert would be worthy of warnings of a burning Sodom and Gomorra. The Christians did. And they were right.

Ricky’s MAS tour delivered on each letter of its acronym. He brought the música, he gave the alma, and baby, he delivered on the sexo.

I realize this is sacrilegious, but Ricky’s concert was gayer than any of the seven Juan Gabriel concerts I’ve been to. Yes, Juanga prances about, says things like “Si me caigo me cogen,” and has grown mustache-sporting men crying like Sanjaya’s preteen fan on American Idol. However, for all of Juan Gabriel’s beautiful femme fierceness and the lovemaking that goes on between him and his audience, it all remains masked under the clout of the unspeakable.

Ricky, on the other hand, left me speechless when he held one of his male dancer’s head as the dancer slid his hands down Ricky’s thighs. I’ve been gay long enough to know, that there is a gay move. And he didn’t stop there. The electrifying erotically sensual bi-gendered orgy-like performance that took place on a long sofa while he sang “I Am,” was enough to have the gays fanning ourselves and clutching our pearls (pay attention at 0:24 and on):

Still, for those who thought they had room to dismiss the (not-so)subtle sensual man-on-man moments in the concert, Ricky made the queerness explicit. In what reminded me of Madonna’s “Confessions” moment in the Confessions Tour, one of Ricky’s dancers performed solo as his coming out experience was narrated overhead. Beginning with the struggles of growing up with a father who insisted he learn to box and arriving with his libratory moment of discovering his love for dance and his revelation as a gay man. The screaming of the crowd erased all remaining ambiguity: This was a queer Latino concert.

Topping off what was a surprisingly gay and expectedly delicious concert, was Ricky’s encore performance of “Lo Mejor de Mi Vida Eres Tú.” The feel-good song that brought us the queer and different-affirming video, was brought to a close by Ricky offering the following words:

“Lo único que necesitamos en este momento son los mismos derechos para todo el mundo. Lo único que queremos es igualdad, ni más ni menos… I’m talking about equality, ladies and gentlemen, not more, not less, just equality.”

Now all you bitter gays who dismissed Ricky Martin’s coming out as inconsequential and cowardly too late, imagine an arena of Latinas and Latinos, many of whom speak Spanish as their primary (perhaps only) language, applauding an openly gay, culturally rooted and historically present artist delivering words that many queer Latino men like myself could never say to our own families.

Early on, I saw Ricky Martin’s coming out as an important opportunity for queer boys in the U.S. and Latino América who, in their isolation, would now have the opportunity to bear witness to a Latin superstar move openly in his public’s eyes as gay. Months after his coming out, I hailed Ricky’s appearance on the front cover of People en Español’s Father’s Day issue as an important historical moment for our communities. With a readership of 6.4 million people, Ricky, with his two children (Valentino and Matteo) in arms, would be on Supermercado stands and coffee tables across the country.

And yet, it took Christian protestors to make me realize that even I, in all my pro-Ricky arguments, had underestimated just how important he has become. I only hope that in the future I am not blindsided by my own limited capacity to imagine what Ricky Martin has in store for the future.

As the poet, Marvin K. White, recently said, “As with Don Lemmon, Ricky Martin is one of the few who came out with his ethnicity intact.”

Por esto, y tanto más, Ricky, gracias.

Related:

• P.D.: Soy Fan de Ricky Martin  (Enrique Torremolina)

Previously:

• Guest Post: "Why Ricky Martin Matters" by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano (March 30, 2010)

Some self-promotion: Go read about me and how great I am!

OMG! My friend (and amazing queer activist) Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano, who writes for Change.org, told me he'd be writing something about the homophobic poll Univision removed from their sites over the weekend and asked me for a photo he could use for the piece.

Instead, he goes an writes this: "LGBT Latino, Andrés Duque, a Force To Be Reckoned With". Click on the link if you dare and read on.

Gack! Or perhaps *blush*!  Thanks, Lorenzo!

Guest post: "La Mission" and Latino Masculinities

In late March, I asked my friend Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano if I could post an essay he wrote about Ricky Martin's coming out as a guest post on this blog ("Why Ricky Martin matters", March 30, 2010). It was the first ever blog post on Blabbeando.

Today, I am posting his thoughts about the recently released movie, "La Mission".  I posted a preview of the film based on it's appearance at the 2009 Sundance Film Festival but I have yet to see the actual movie now that it's out in the theatres.

Lorenzo's essay, though, not only raises a number of interesting issues about the film, but also about representation of Latino queerness and masculinity in media.  Enjoy.

Thoughts on La Mission and the Ongoing Struggle to Broaden Notions of Latino Masculinities

by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to see a screening of Peter Bratt’s La Mission. The screening, which was part of a limited release, was at San Francisco’s Metreon Theaters. My compañero and I, joined by two of our queer sisters of color, were lucky enough to find seats in relative proximity to each other in the sold-out space.

It was a late night screening and the vast majority of folks in the theater were people of color. In fact, I’d say most of the people there were Latina/o, with a nice mix of generations representing. The experience was unforgettable as all four of us, none of which were born and raised in San Francisco, were sitting in what seemed to be an intimate living room screening of La Mission.

We all smiled and were occasionally misty-eyed as people in the crowd, youth and adults, loudly expressed their pride in the various shots of San Francisco portrayed in the film. During the movie, I realized that this was the first time I had ever witnessed the screening of a film that embodied the geographic and cultural identities of the audience. People not only saw themselves on the big screen, they also saw the places that have shaped and witnessed them.

All in all, I found La Mission to be a beautiful film. I’m not a film critic and will leave that to those who know better. Instead, I’ll limit my thoughts on what moved me most about the movie, and those areas I wish it had gone deeper.

The relationship of Benjamin Bratt’s character, Che Rivera, and his son Jesse, played by Jeremy Ray Valdez, was sweet, raw and in many ways reflective of my own experience with my father. I was further moved by the depiction of comunidad and the ways in which we, as a village, honor our shared responsibility and opportunity to support each other and our children. Even as the father struggled with the realization of his son’s sexuality, their community intervened, loved and supported both of them in a way that rings true to my experiences of community engagement in times of family crisis. This particularly resonated with memories of how my family responded to the teenage pregnancies of cousins and to my own coming out. This isn’t to say my family, or our communities are romantic portraits reminiscent of Norman Rockwell. Rather, it is necessary to honor the fact that even in our messiness and pain, we managed to love each other in the only ways we knew how.

A question I had throughout the film was the extent to which audience members knew what the film was actually about. This was somewhat answered by the collective surprise when Jesse first kissed his boyfriend, Jordan. However, after the initial shock, people seemed to settle with the idea, though I wouldn’t suggest this was a celebration or affirmation of queerness; yet another reflection on my coming out experience.

In addition to the possibility that some in the audience were unaware of the gay theme in the story, people were very surprised when Benjamin and Peter Bratt entered the theater. The Q&A with the actor and the director was a bit all over the place. Nonetheless, I was excited to hear Peter Bratt, who was both the writer and director, talk about his process.

Something that resonated with me was Bratt’s reasoning for the gay theme in the film. To paraphrase, the writer wanted to portray Latino masculinity in its most vulnerable state. According to Bratt, the best way to expose ultimate vulnerability in a Latino who is deeply rooted in what some would argue is a stereotypical depiction of Latino maleness (dare I say machismo), would be in the realization of his son being gay. Hearing this evoked the memory of hearing my father crying inconsolably on the phone while he asked if his suspicions of my sexuality were true. The call, which ended with my father saying I was a dried-up branch of his family, exposed the darkest and scariest of both his and my vulnerability as Latino men.

I appreciate Bratt’s analysis and his courage to quite literally breakdown Latino masculinity on the big screen. However, I am saddened by the fact that he only focused on exposing the vulnerability of the father’s masculinity, and in doing so, left a gaping whole in exploring the vulnerability and possibility of the gay Latino son. Instead, the story seemed to use the son and his sexuality as a conduit, rather than truly honoring the experience of gay Latino men and our relationship with our fathers.

I was also concerned with Bratt’s reinforcement of the notion that gayness is white construct and something that only exists openly in white-defined spaces such as San Francisco’s Castro District. This is not to say that the Castro is not an important space in queer culture and one that many queer men of color, myself included, have traveled through in the formation of our identities and experience. Yet, to continue leaving gayness within the realm of whiteness speaks to our ongoing inability to claim the many facets of Latina/o sexualities and the many ways we express and manifest gender.

Furthermore, leaving gayness to be embodied by the Castro and a white boyfriend also overlooked the rich history of queer Latinidad that has long been an integral part to San Francisco’s Mission District. As a queer brown man, the LGBT Latina/o community of the Mission, including such spaces as Esta Noche, heavily shaped my identity. Horacio Roque Ramírez, a professor at UC Santa Barbara, has done extensive work on the LGBT Latina/o community of La Misión and has done an excellent job in honoring the legacies of organizing and community building that has taken place over several decades.

To be clear, I am not arguing against depictions of the Castro or against mixed-race relationships. Rather, I ask that we think about what continues to stand in our way of fully acknowledging that LGBT Latinidad can and has long existed outside of the confines and direct influence of white LGBTness. Perhaps acknowledging that queerness can be just as inherently Latina/o as it is to white communities is a vulnerability we are not prepared to experience.

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Related: For local showings of "La Mission" try an online movie ticket sale site such as Fandango.

About Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano: A Queer Xicano writer, Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano is the author of the Lambda Literary Award-nominated  Santo de la Pata Alzada: Poems from the Queer/Xicano/Positive Pen (Evelyn Street Press, 2005).  He is also the editor of Queer Codex: Chile Love (allgo/Evelyn Street Press, 2004), an anthology of visual and literary works by queer men of color from across the U.S.; and, Queer Codex: Rooted (allgo/Evelyn Street Press, 2008), a mix-genre anthology by queer women and trans-identified writers and visual artists. His work also appears in  Mariposas: A Modern Anthology of Queer Latino Poetry (Floricanto Press, 2008), edited by Emanuel Xavier. A native born, raised and perpetually residing in Aztlán, Lorenzo was born in San José, CA, raised in Estación Adela, Chihuahua, and schooled in Austin, Tejas. Along with his compañero of nine years, Lorenzo now makes home in San Francisco, CA. 

Oh, and he also blogs, sometimes, at Hairspray & Fideo. Oh, and he has a personal website.

Guest post: "Why Ricky Matters" by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano

[NOTE: Another Latina music star came out this month. To find out who it is, please click here]

Hello! And welcome to the first ever guest post on this blog. My friend Lorenzo tagged me on a Facebook note he wrote this morning and I thought it was so great that I asked him if I could share it. So...

Why Ricky Matters (to me.. and maybe a few other boys)

by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano

There’s been a lot of commotion regarding Ricky Martin’s recent coming out statement on his official website. As with most things in life these days, I learned about the news on Facebook. So, I immediately posted about the news as well and quickly joined in the jubilee of queerness and pranced about the office like a middle school-aged boy who accidently touched hands with his classroom crush. I even committed the blasphemy of comparing the news to that of Health Care Reform and the release of Apple’s iPad (insert sound of angel choir here).

And then, of course, there was the storm of cattiness that followed the news. As a queer Xicano, I admit that sarcasm is built into my genetic code. The survivor of four Christian-themed religions and 500+ years of white supremacist occupation, I find humor, irony and disbelief in most things. Still, yesterday I just wanted to celebrate.

I agree that the fact that Ricky is gay is not all that shocking. Queer men and not long speculated or asserted that he shook his bon bon far too well to be straight. Plus, for us jotos/maricones/patos, there was the added benefit of dreaming him up queer, which somehow put us that much closer to his arms.

Still, as the catty remarks continue, as people boast about how they knew and think he should have done this 10 years ago, or sassy queens dismiss the news as inconsequential, I say, look beyond our borders (geographic, cultural, and age-based) and take a minute to honor the fact that for many, Ricky’s coming out is groundbreaking, perhaps even life-saving.

So Ricky was doing more than living la vida loca; he was, in fact, a loca. To the trained eye, this is just confirmation that our gaydar runs on more than hormones and dreams.

Hormones, dreams and cattiness aside, I challenge the ungleeful remarks about Ricky’s coming out.

As with most performers who began as Spanish-language artists, Ricky began over 10 years ago. The Barbara Walters interview (assuming it was Barbara, I can never tell who is behind that cloud of light) did have me on the edge of my teenage self, hoping he’d come out and proclaim his gayness, but it wasn’t his beginning. Ricky’s career began decades ago.

Long before the Latin Explosion, which was more of a Latin Spark, Ricky had left his imprint on the Spanish pop scene of the late 80’s and early to mid-90’s. Back when Thalía and Paulina were still artists and relevant, before Gloria Trevi’s traumatic (for her and her fans) imprisonment in Brazil, and before Alejandra Guzmán would be hospitalized for too much botox on her behind, there was a cultural movement in Latin America.

As a pre-teen growing up in a rural town of 300 in northern México, Thalía, Paulina, Gloria, Alejandra and Ricky were my window into another world. Their performances pushed, albeit at times gently and censured, the boundaries of repressive cultural norms. From flowers wrapped around a microphone to songs about teen pregnancy and abortion, these young performers were resisting and embodying another realm of cultural possibilities. Ricky gave boys the excuse (and perhaps reason) to shake our hips in ways that would otherwise be condemned as obscene.

The dismissal of Ricky’s coming out seems to be rooted in an U.S.-centric perspective where we have the opportunity to stop celebrating any queer image on TV and offer our critique. There is so much gayness these days that we can spend our days and dissertations balking at how a character isn’t gay enough, is too gay, is too white, etc. And although we don’t actually have the type of representation GLAAD and I would like to see, we have a whole lot more than we did in México in 1992 (except, of course, Ricky gently caressing his long hair on stage… oh, and Locomía).

I am not critiquing the fact that we spend so much time criticizing queer portrayals in the media. To the contrary, I am celebrating the fact that we can. In fact, I’d go further and ask why queer people of color media performance and productions are so weak, lame and superficial. Having once curating a queer people of color cultural arts program, I know we can do better.

What I am critiquing is that our criticisms of Ricky’s coming out has us falling into the pitfall of imagining and defining all things queer through a U.S. lens. I even joked about the fact that he used the term “homosexual” to define himself. And now, in retrospect I find that identifying as a “fortunate homosexual” was much more powerful than a simple “gay.”

Perhaps for the jaded queen living in urban U.S., the oversaturation of gayness in the media has deemed Ricky insignificant and worthy of our dismissal. For that frightened and confused 12 year old in rural Chihuahua, it’s monumental.

My coming out process was stumped by the fact that I could not even imagine my queerness, let alone live it. At the time, the saturation of gayness was mostly strictly white. It wasn’t until queer brown men like Jaime Cortez and Emanuel Xavier fearlessly (or perhaps fearfully) exposed their work and their bodies to the sun of public criticism, that I was able to imagine myself.

Whether U.S. fags approve or not, Ricky is a prominent figure here, and more importantly, in Latino América. Ricky’s coming out makes it possible for young boys in countless homes to imagine themselves as something other than confused.

For this, I say to Ricky: gracias. And, you know where to find me.

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About Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano: A Queer Xicano writer, Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano is the author of the Lambda Literary Award-nominated Santo de la Pata Alzada: Poems from the Queer/Xicano/Positive Pen (Evelyn Street Press, 2005).  He is also the editor of Queer Codex: Chile Love (allgo/Evelyn Street Press, 2004), an anthology of visual and literary works by queer men of color from across the U.S.; and, Queer Codex: Rooted (allgo/Evelyn Street Press, 2008), a mix-genre anthology by queer women and trans-identified writers and visual artists. His work also appears in Mariposas: A Modern Anthology of Queer Latino Poetry (Floricanto Press, 2008), edited by Emanuel Xavier. A native born, raised and perpetually residing in Aztlán, Lorenzo was born in San José, CA, raised in Estación Adela, Chihuahua, and schooled in Austin, Tejas. Along with his compañero of nine years, Lorenzo now makes home in San Francisco, CA. 

Oh, and he also blogs, sometimes, at Hairspray & Fideo. Oh, and he has a personal website.

[Related: My friend Dan Vera wrote to say that he'd just posted a similar essay on Ricky Martin's coming out. He says that he had no idea Lorenzo had written this piece and was struck by the similarity of their thoughts.  His post can be found below].

• "Why Ricky Martin Matters" by Dan Vera (April 2, 2010)

Lorenzo is quoted in the San Francisco Chronicle

"There's almost this narrative that if you want to vote as LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender), you're Clinton. If you're a person of color you're Obama. And if you're both, what do you do?"

That's Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano (right) as quoted in a San Francisco Chronicle article today ("For Clinton, they're crucial - Texan Latinos") - even if the paper gets the name of his organization wrong (it's ALLGO not ARGO,a statewide queer people of color organization based in Austin, Texas).

Lorenzo is one of the LGBT leaders that signed on to the LGBT Latinos for Obama statement last week. He also blogs at God is Brown.

A public confession: I am no longer Latino or Hispanic

So there's something truly shameful that I have been hiding from you. And, yes, I tried to keep it under control but now I feel the need to come clean. I hope you'll be understanding and also be able to forgive me...

It all began a few weeks ago when Jorge Valdivia, the Vice President of the Association for Latino Men in Chicago/ALMA, sent a message to me with a subject that read "Frida Fascination."

I was shocked! I mean, everybody certainly knows ABBA but nobody that I know truly adores ABBA's Anni-Frid Lyngstad, better known as Frida, for her solo work. And I guess I am specifically talking about her 1982 album "Something's Going On" which was produced by the then-great Phil Collins immediately following his first successful bid as a solo artist with 1981's "Face Value" (also a great album). Both albums document the disintegration of each artist's marriages and they also share one song, the beautiful "If Leaving Me is Easy." Collins also provided back-up vocals and drums for several tracks on the Frida album. I recommend it highly.

Anyway, so I'm about to write to Jorge to tell him that I can't believe that he also loves Frida and the moment I open the message I just know my Latino cred has just been shot to hell - maybe forever. Jorge, of course, was sending a note about a successful showing of Mexican artist Frida Khalo paintings or some sort of retrospective, NOT the other Frida. OMG!

The first to react was, well, Jorge himself who said he was ashamed and that I should really consider enrolling in a "Latin American icons 101" class.

Because I needed understanding and support I reached out to others and, well, I got no such thing. Pedro Julio Serrano from New York, Monica Taher from Los Angeles and Lorenzo Herrera y Solano from Austin engaged in cross-country cyberterrorism and plastered images of Frida Khalo on my MySpace page (hm, my MySpace page disappeared this weekend by the way, what's up with that?). So much for friendship.

So, like, am I still Latino?

Television host says she didn't know expression was homophobic, should she have been fired?

A wide array of Latino LGBT leaders throughout the United States took notice of the recent firing of the host of a popular Spanish-language television gossip show for using a word that might be interpreted as homophobic in Cuba but not necessarily in other Latin American countries. I mean, I'm certainly as knowledgeable as most people when it comes to homophobic expressions in Latino culture and even I had no idea that the word cherna could be interpreted to mean "faggot." Then again I am not of Cuban or Caribbean descent (nor is Luisa Fernanda, the fired host).

Today's Miami Herald takes a look at Telemundo's swiftness in terminating Luisa Fernanda's contract as the host of "Cotorreando" and the mixed reaction from Latino gay leaders including Ron Brenesky of Miami's Unity Coalition - who is of Cuban descent - and says she should not have been fired ("Host had 'no idea' of gay slur").

The groovy, amazing and lovely Monica Taher of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (not to say that Ron isn't just as lovely or amazing) also expresses ambivalence about the firing, praising Telemundo's willingness to address instances of homophobia on the programs they broadcast, but also stating that the context in which the word was said was not necessarily homophobic.

Last week, Monica did an informal survey of Latino LGBT leaders throughout the United States and got a varied response, mostly supporting Luisa Fernanda.

How some of us came to defend a host in as trashy a gossip show as "Cotorreando" still makes me giggle a bit.

El muy groovy and amazing Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano (OMG, I love that name) put up his thoughts over on his blog God is Brown on Friday.

Here is what I sent to Monica last week as well:

When CBS radio fired Don Imus over the racially-insensitive comments he made on air a couple of months ago, it seemed to me that the radio company was responding to the escalating national outrage and the potential impact on their advertising dollars rather than purely because Imus had crossed the line. As has been reported, Imus and his on-air cohorts had crossed that line over and over again with nary a peep from CBS radio UNTIL it became a national controversy.

Similarly, Spanish-language radio shows such as "El Vacilon de la Manana" have long been the target of protests by Latino LGBT organizations and activists for more than a decade and none of the radio stations that carry El Vacilon have ever deemed that it was appropriate to suspend or fire a radio personality for skits, call pranks or comments that not only crossed the line but probably violated FCC regulations as well (case in point: a skit song about a man enjoying being raped and wanting more that was on "El Vacilon" at the time that radio personality Luis Jimenez was part of the crew).

The recent suspension of Luis Jimenez who made a move to Univision radio after he was offered a multi-million dollar contract was shockingly swift and must have been embarrassing for Jimenez. According to the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD), the move came after Jimenez used pejorative language to refer to lesbians.

But don’t look for an explanation from Jimenez or Univision radio: Jimenez has yet to officially speak about the incident – or apologize – and Univision radio has only put out a vague statement about “inappropriate comments” and its commitment to upholding the “highest standards.”

But, come on! Univision must have known exactly what Jimenez would bring to the show (Jimenez has a well documented history of homophobic outbursts on and off the air).

Most probably, in the wake of Imus, Univision felt threatened by GLAAD’s interest in Jimenez’ show and potential repercussions if advertisers got wind of it.

The firing of Luisa Fernanda from Cotorreando shows that these punitive actions are probably a passing trend rather than Latino media finally having found its "conscience."

I have had a long personal and professional interest in being a watchdog over the representation of the LGBT community in Spanish-language media so perhaps I've been more involved than others on this topic. So I guess I can say that it frustrates me that some in our own community side with those who say that we are humorless censors looking for any opportunity to shut down anyone or anything that does not portray the LGBT community in the best light – when that could not be further from the case.

The Latino LGBT community is incredibly diverse. We come in all hues and degrees of masculinity or femininity, with all sorts of political and ideological backgrounds. There should be effeminate gay men or butch lesbian women represented on out television or radio shows, as well as femme lesbians and macho gay guys. There are good and bad and semi-good and semi-bad gay people. The issue is not to block out aspects of our community we might not like or to concentrate exclusively on the greatness of the LGBT community (although we ARE great!) but to stop being ridiculed and assaulted through Spanish-language media at our expense.

There is humor to be had through skits, songs or comedies that portray the LGBT community in Spanish language media (see the now defunct and groundbreaking Telemundo comedy "Los Beltran") but one thing is to laugh with us and quite another at us.

So, having said this, it might shock some people to hear me say that Luisa Fernanda should not have been fired from Cotorreando. By all intents and purposes, she has had an on air and off air history of supporting the Latino gay community in ways that other supposedly pro-gay personalities have not done. And if she says that she had no idea that the comment she made was pejorative of lesbians in the Caribbean, she has more than earned the right for us to take those comments at face value.

Still, Jimenez is the superstar radio personality that Univision hopes will bring millions to the station – and he only gets a month's suspension (he is back on air as I write this) - while Luisa Fernanda is off-the air at Telemundo for good.

To me, this shows a case of commercial skittishness and fear from the national radio and television broadcasters rather than a true desire to curve some of the most offensive content on Spanish-language radio or television today.

It's great that Telemundo and Luisa Fernanda met this week with Miami's Unity Coalition. Hopefully the conversations will lead Telemundo to ask Luisa Fernanda back on the show.

But the networks and radio producers have a long way to truly change a culture that promotes extreme offensiveness in exchange for increased ratings even if they do have the power to edit content despite their contention that it's "what the public wants."

Censoring expression, even if its language that offends, is not the way to change cultural stereotypes. It’s whether that language incites hate, prejudice and violence against others that matters and needs to be challenged.

Related stories:

• Cotorreando's Luisa Fernanda is Fired (People in Español)

Blog Posts:

• Luisa Fernanda, fired for a word she didn't know (Alex Blaze in Bilerico)
  
• Luisa Fernanda should not have been fired (j.brotherlove)
  
• Unity Coalition to honor Luisa Fernanda on Sunday (Miami Herald's Gay South Florida blog)
  
• Hard Face (Stuck on the Palmetto)