John Leguizamo's Hollywood "Colorism" Revelation & How the Industry Kills Latino Dreams.

There've been some weird comments about John Leguizamo recently; folks attacking him for what he said in an interview for A.Frame's "Seen" series about purposefully staying out the sun so as not to get too dark to be cast in Hollywood roles. 

"I mean, I'd benefitted from being light-skinned and I stayed out of the sun so I could work," he said. "I definitely would not go in the sun for years. A lot of Latinos that made it so far, a lot of them were all light-skinned, you know?"

In speaking about the struggle of Latinos fighting colorism in Hollywood, Leguizamo goes on to say:

"What happened to all the Afro-Latinos and the majority of Indigenous Latinos? They don't get a shot. So there's a lot of things we got to deal with in Hollywood, and we gotta fix them. We gotta speak out and we gotta speak up." 

In typical online fashion, some chose to focus on an out of context part of the quote, accusing Leguizamo of purposefully taking advantage of his privilege of being white-passing in order to get work. To them, his admitting he had to do things to make his physical appearance more appealing to those in power in Hollywood makes him complicit in the continuation of that problem.  And while Leguizamo never did anything to actually lighten his skin, the jokes comparing his experience to baseball great Sammy Sosa were already circulating in the way that the casual cruelty of online mob think typically does. 

This was a highly triggering moment for me.   Like the actor, one might consider me "two toned;" summers and sun give me a rich dark hue, in winter this would fade into an olive undertone that would often lead others to confuse me with those from various Mediterranean or Middle Eastern countries.  If you are Latino you know colorism isn't unique to Hollywood. I've heard my fair share of "get out of the sun before you turn black" comments in my lifetime. I hear them still, just as I am still forced to play the "you-can't-be Puerto-Rican-you-must-be-(enter country here)" game whenever I'm in a cab or a grocery store or an Italian, Greek, or Indian restaurant. At times, this ethnic "ambiguity" has led to some interesting "opportunities" if you call being an unpaid model on recruiting brochures in almost every academic and corporate institution I've been in since 8th grade, "opportunity." 

Two examples of the "Ethnically ambiguous" model being used to recruit or sell books. Times I got paid for these "opportunities:" 0

What I got out of his statement wasn't a forced confession of his privilege, but a testimony of  his survival despite the shackles of trying to fit into preconceived notions of what it means to be an American Latino performer.  Leguizamo isn't alone in speaking about his experience with the limitations of being Latino in Hollywood. In 2016,  Latina actress and activist America Ferrera spoke of an audition where in desperation, she painted her face white in the hopes of landing a movie role.  Despite the accusations, it is doubtful that Leguizamo has been seen as anything other than Latino, and has had his fair share of glass ceilings and brick walls because of it,  regardless of his lack of tan lines. To his credit, his work and tenacity has done a lot to break down these barriers, both for himself and for others. 

I got a glimpse at the industry Leguizamo speaks about when I was a young and hopeful actor.  After struggling to fit into my own surroundings between home and school, I found a place on the stage in junior high and jumped into theater in high school. I auditioned for every play, participated in speaking competitions, found an agent, got headshots and "pounded the pavement" to see if I could get that early big break, before the realities of adulthood and responsibility could set in. But my experience in the industry killed my dream, in a way that it kills many performers of color. 

I remember the roles I auditioned for, and they basically fell into the categories of "young gang member," or "street kid." I remember one particular audition that probably epitomized my experience - a PSA for Covenant House. I said my lines, tears welling up as I looked deeply into the camera, playing the desperate runaway looking for help. I could tell I moved the room.  I didn't get it, though. The feedback was that I spoke to too "well."  I remember the casting director asking me "Hey, you're from the Bronx, right? Can you talk more like that?" When I told him that I talked how I talked - he responded with the phrase no actor wants to hear at an audition: "Ok. Thank you for your time." I think that was the audition that broke me. 

A young Latino male friend of mine was fairing slightly better. I had seen him in a outdoor amateur production playing a young, "street wise" kid who helps a pregnant Latina immigrant woman sneak into the Statue of Liberty after hours so that she could give birth in its crown. Her hope was that her new baby would be a US citizen, and be the hope and future for her family. In this "play," the woman, in full labor, "climbs" to the top of the statue with law enforcement in close pursuit, all the while determined to fulfill the "American Dream." I think they had performed it on the 4th of July.

I remember being envious of my friend being cast in this ridiculous play perpetrating the "anchor baby" stereotype, considered a positive, uplifting Latino story at the time.  I also remember that the kid looked like a younger Ralph Macchio, and was much lighter than me. I shake my head thinking about it now.  You gotta love the late 80s/early 90s.

That is why I bristle reading comments quick to criticize a performer and what they might have had to do for work, or even the potential possibility of work, especially during a time before #hashtag movements and the ability to communicate directly with the public via social media. I learned quickly that in order to even have a shot at a career, I'd have to "pay my dues" by portraying demeaning versions of myself as victim,  criminal, or background, with no real promise that it would get any better.  There were no established "John Leguizamos" speaking truth to power, or advocating for people like me. You were alone, you took what you got, or you disappeared.

My (not Latino) agent thought that perhaps Latin American television would be the place for folks like me, so I was sent to audition for spots on shows and commercials that would play there. Let me just say that at the time - Spanish language TV was (and maybe still is) even worse. Not only were they even more obsessed with projecting almost exclusively Eurocentric images, but they also demanded that one speak "perfect" Latin American Spanish - not the second rate, Caribbean accented, Spanglish that was spoken by everyone around me, even if that was their intended audience. After a while, my agent didn't know what to do with me. I wasn't American enough or "Spanish" enough. So the calls dried up, and I simply moved on to focusing on my school work, my school plays, and preparing for college. 

If I'm honest though, I might say that the constant rejection was too much for me, knowing that I was being passed over for what I couldn't change, which was my name and my skin tone.  I felt that it didn't matter how good I was, the stage and screen didn't want me because they would never be comfortable with my "otherness" enough to let me play anything with dignity or humanity.  So I made a decision that I wasn't going to force myself anywhere I wasn't wanted. Maybe it was the wrong one to make, but my life was hard enough at the time, and to survive, I had to pick my battles. I couldn't have the issues I was having at home, while fighting just to be seen and heard in an industry that couldn't care any less, and still do well in school. So I chose to leave the professional acting world behind, hoping that an education would be my best shot of getting ahead. 

While I was struggling with all of this I saw Mambo mouth on HBO. There was this young actor who was only about 10 yrs older than I was at the time, was performing a one man show he had written,  playing characters HE wanted to play. He cursed and talked about sex and sexuality, immigration and love, with bold characters that jumped off the stage at you. He painted pictures of life in the barrio, among people I recognized and could relate to.  I felt pride in his success, like he was there for me and for all of us trying to do what we love in our own unique way. 

A few years later, I'd perform Mambo Mouth as my high school senior project in theater. My drama teacher, a magnificent woman named Sue, took a risk with my choice. A high school student undulating, cursing, and cross-dressing on stage in front of Upper West Side parents, even LIBERAL Upper West Side parents, was bound to make administrators nervous. 

I remember that each character made me reflect about myself.  I had to understand the anger behind the immigrant caught by "la migra," the regret of a boy who grew up too soon, the desperation of a lothario who had to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. I remember struggling the most with the Manny character, afraid of what my friends would think of me strutting in a long blonde wig and high heels.  I had to come to terms with why I was uncomfortable with that character, and how I was going to see thru it. I had to see past the jokes, the outfit, and the mannerisms, and focus on the fact that Manny was a survivor of abuse, and she was trying to save her friend.  These were multi-dimensional characters I was never offered outside of the school setting, and it allowed me to tap into everything I had, if only for one last time. 

Pictures from my 1994 Senior Theater Project. John Leguizamo's "Mambo Mouth."

John Leguizamo and Mambo Mouth threw me an emotional lifeline when I most needed it by helping me understand that maybe my bad luck in the industry wasn't really about me, or a lack of talent or drive, but that the industry itself was not ready. It helped me make peace with leaving this dream, and choosing a different path toward other dreams.  I may have decided to leave acting behind, but I now knew that yes, Latinos are entitled to have a place on stage and screen, and they deserve to write their own stories. It gave me hope for the future, and for a brief moment, I was a part of that future. 

Those that denigrate Leguizamo for trying  to scratch out a career don't understand that for years, the entertainment industry has been in an abusive relationship with the people who love it the most, it's performers. It has set unattainable images of youth, beauty and success, and many have destroyed themselves trying to chase those ideals, all the while hiding their pain to entertain the public.  There are multitudes of headstones marking the graves of those who were swallowed up in it all.  And there are exponentially more, who like me, never got the opportunity to find out what path they could have set for themselves.  

It took decades later for me to start seeing the progress I had hoped for, seeing stories and faces that better reflected the real world around us. And it's just the beginning.  I credit Leguizamo's works with helping to inspire kids to find their voice, and perhaps, to not give up their dreams. Could there have been a Hamilton on Broadway without a Mambo Mouth paving the way?  Could we have seen the beautiful diversity of Encanto had we not proved that Latino stories not only sell, but have a place in the American narrative?  Leguizamo isn't just making his money and going home as many successful performers have done; he is being brave enough to say out loud, and at the risk of his own career, what all of us know to be true, using his privilege to bring attention to it and demand long term change.  This is exactly what we should be expecting from many more successful performers of color on stage and screen. 

Who else will finally say enough is enough, and demand that the industry show us our stories, and present to us our beautiful people, in all our shades and colors?  

I think it's important for you to see the full interview for yourself. John Leguizamo is not only an artistic inspiration, but a real agent of change. I only wish I had heard these words 30 years ago.