Alegrías y lágrimas. Photo: Courtesy
Imagine having to flee everything you’ve ever known because of poverty, violence or extreme oppression. To arrive at the Rio Grande high on the hopes of a better life only to be stripped of all your dignity and deemed an illegal alien, as if you now embodied some foreign body the U.S. hadn’t yet acknowledged. Broken down to a bunch of fragmented pieces that once resembled someone complete and full of confidence, stuck between alegrías y lágrimas.
Directed by Ruth Camargo, Alegrías y lágrimas intertwines the real life narratives of Latin American immigrants and refugees with traditional songs and dances from their countries of origin to create a colorful and brutally honest depiction of the struggles that immigrants and refugees face on a daily basis. From the oppressive dictatorships of Fidel Castro and Pinochet in Cuba and Chile, to Mexican and Central American immigrants fleeing poverty and violence, Camargo intimately immerses audience members into the personal stories of these men and women.
The life of an immigrant or refugee is a constant contrast between what is known and foreign, what is traditional and what is to become customary. This dichotomy first comes to light with a Chilean couple stuck between not wanting to return to the living hell that was Pinochet’s regime, and running out of grant money to stay in the United States. A dark mood lingered on stage while the two conversed back and forth about the time of theirs that was slowly coming to a close. They both had tirelessly searched for work with the hopes of being the professors they had always dreamed of being. As the two reminisced on the beautiful Tango style of dance they learned in their native land, a song unfolds with the name ‘Tango USA,’ representing the traditional parts of their culture that they still cling to while trying to fit into a new and very different way of life in the states.
From Chilean immigrants in Texas, the audience is then transported into the lives of two Mexican immigrants living in Chicago. And although the two couples come from two different parts of Latin America, their realities tell an eerily similar tale. Softly silhouetted to the far right of the stage, the woman chokes back tears as she plunges back into her path to the deportation center behind closed eyes, trying to divert the painful memories of rape and abuse. Is this life she now leads, filled with the extreme solitude that comes with working all day and going to English classes all night, only to still feel ostracized by those around her, really worth it? Her present reality offered little light, but she quickly transitioned into memories of home that illuminated a past that once burst with joy.
In an instance, the mood shifted as traditional tap dancers emerged on stage. Personally, this scene took me back to a time and place I miss even more during Chicago’s winter months. Back to the Parque de Santiago in the northwest corner of the quiet, but magical capital city of Mexico’s Yucatan state, Merida. Where a couple of us would venture to after classes on Tuesdays to hear the local bands play as friends and neighbors danced well into the night. The stark contrast between the woman’s tear stained and then gleaming eyes demonstrated the sheer difficulty of embracing your own culture and what makes you who you are, while also trying to fit into a place that isn’t quite ready to accept you yet. As quickly as the joyous moments surface, they’re just as quickly washed away as the stories of a Cuban and a Colombian immigrant unfold.
Ousted from Castro’s oppressive Cuba for not overtly standing against communism, one man goes on to chronicle his struggles bearing witness to tourists and tourism taking over the beautiful scenery and Caribbean culture of his homeland, while those same people reserve only the most undesirable jobs and obscure working hours for him in their homeland. Every bit as disconcerting, the play then transitioned into the narrative of the Colombian immigrant who was forced to flee after not voting for the mayoral candidate the narcos backed. If he didn’t leave, the narcos would have no problem adding him and his family to the list of those disappeared. These immigrants and refugees don’t want to leave, but they’re not given any other choice. If they could go back they would, but they can’t, and the safety of their loved ones far exceeds the risk of migrating.
It’s impossible to even imagine, being an 18-year-old traveling for the better part of four to five months on little to no food or water with nothing more than the clothes on your back and a small piece of paper with a lone telephone number on it. Only to finally succeed on your fourth attempt after being apprehended at various points along the way the previous three times. Although Camargo genuinely makes you feel like you understand their pain, that you can feel their struggle weighing down inside yourself, it’s impossible to ever fully comprehend unless you’ve walked in their shoes.
There’s no doubt that these testimonies are heartbreaking, but knowing that a place like Centro Romero, where a lot of these testimonies came from, is available for immigrants and refugees is enough to remain hopeful for a brighter future. Founded in Chicago in the early 1980s, Centro Romero has continued with their mission of providing opportunities for those community residents with the fewest options by emphasizing the development of the whole family unit, the creation of community leadership and self-reliance. Without Centro Romero and the narratives that unfolded in Alegrías y lágrimas, there wouldn’t be a way to gain a true understanding and closely support immigrants and refugees as they work through their struggles.
At first glance Alegrías y lágrimas might seem a bit daunting in the pure honesty of the material, but it’s much more than that. Although today’s reality for immigrants and refugees is uncertain, Camargo contrasted the heavy narratives with heartwarming memories of home all across Latin America to showcase how sure we all should be about welcoming immigrants and refugees. They do not pose a threat, but an opportunity. An opportunity to be welcoming to new cultures and traditions with the hopes of learning a little bit more about the people around us to try and create a more inclusive world.
Alegrías y lágrimas. Photo: Courtesy
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Parker Asmann is a 2015 graduate of DePaul University with degrees in Journalism and Spanish, along with a minor in Latin American and Latino Studies. He is currently residing in Chicago while focusing on issues of social justice and human rights. He is a member of El BeiSMans Editorial Board.
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Alegrías y Lágrimas/Happiness and Tears
December 2 – December 11
Instituto Cervantes Chicago
31 W. Ohio St, Chicago, Illinois 60654