Working out is tough - finding inclusive, safe spaces to do so is even harder. Until The Queer Gym came along.
The Queer Gym is an online gym owned by Nathalie Huerta, or Coach Nat as her clients know her, that works to create an inclusive space for everyone looking to make healthier lifestyle choices - regardless of how you identify.
COVID had a big impact on The Queer Gym’s operations with the pandemic leading to the closure of the gym’s physical location. With that came a new era of opportunity for Huerta and the mission of The Queer Gym: to create an even more inclusive method of delivering high-quality workouts, education, and offerings fully online.
The Queer Gym was launched in 2010 in Oakland, California, as an inclusive, safe place to work out that included gender-neutral locker rooms and facilities. Huerta previously worked as a fitness coach in other gyms only to notice that once she cut her hair to be less “feminine presenting” (in her words) that she experienced a significant change in how she was treated.
Huerta’s work helps transform and challenge gender norms that are often harmful for the queer community. From making an active effort to educate herself on everything from diet recommendations for those undergoing hormone therapy to creating entirely new class offerings to fit every kind of schedule, Huerta is achieving success by being the epitome of adapting with the times while caring for her customers.
Regular classes offered include the cleverly named Bicep-tuals class for strength training, Anti-Fascist Fight Club for cardio and kickboxing, and so much more. Social events also supplement the community giving The Queer Gym clients that extra sense of connection, making it truly an experience for everyone.
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I force a plastered smile explaining (again) that yes, they’re a Salvadorian gang but it was actually formed in the United States. And no, my family isn’t involved.
In my nearly 30 years of life, I have seen a slow evolution of how Salvadorian and Central American, which were synonymous with Mexican, grew into its own category. I’ll be the first to admit that growing up I had no idea Afro and Asian Latinos existed, or that not all Latinos are Indigenous because I hadn’t met any. My family consists of mestizos, and the media I consumed portrayed similar or lighter features which I accepted as canon–anything different was uncommon.
I was wrong. Latinos are primarily mixed, which gives us our broad range of features, shades, and cultural identities. Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic have a strong African influence that is evidenced in the food and music. Peru’s Asian population has left a mark as well, blending cultures and ingredients to create chifa, a cuisine of Peruvian and Chinese ingredients. The Indigenous communities have been around for millennia, with many traditions blending into mainstream Latino culture. Neither of these is less Latino than the other. Each is a piece of Latin America and our identities.
Historically, the United States hasn’t viewed Latinos in a positive light. Despite the contributions and sacrifices made in both world wars, Latinos have been treated as second-class, even when the intentions appear to be genuine. The Bracero Program was meant to prevent labor shortages but resulted in abuse of workers that continues to this day. The Zoot Suit Riots targeted Mexicans, African Americans, and other minorities. It took the 1954 Supreme Court ruling in Hernandez v. State of Texas, which held that the Fourteenth Amendment applied to all racial and ethnic groups facing discrimination, to broaden the scope and determine that civil rights laws included Hispanics and all other non-whites. Discrimination against Latinos–and especially people who are assumed to be Latino based on their appearance–is ongoing (looking at you, SB-1070).
In the media, there’s an interesting juxtaposition of Latinos being portrayed as either sultry lovers or criminals, with over-the-top performances that drive the “feisty” stereotype.
We’ve come a long way from the Old Hollywood depictions showing only what they believed was what a Latino looks like, but Black and Indigenous voices have either been erased completely or fallen to the criminal role. Stories that center the POC struggle shouldn’t be the only narrative point of view because there are so many other beautiful stories waiting to be told.
Social media is the more recent source that has been promoting various Latino voices. Social media platforms allow you to become whoever you want, no matter the niche, which becomes an easy way to educate others. Additionally, with the rising number of Latinos in academia, it’s becoming much easier for kids and young adults to see themselves in a positive light. It’s estimated that by 2025, Hispanic enrollment in higher education will exceed 4.4 million students, which surpasses the growth rate of any other racial or ethnic group. The percentage of Hispanics with STEM degrees rose from 9.8% to 14% between 2009 to 2018 and is only rising.
With hashtags such as #LatinasInSTEM or #Poderosas, and accounts dedicated to elevating Black, Indigenous, and Brown voices it is now much easier to learn about our communities. And with Black and Indigenous voices having been erased for years, creators are diving deep into the oftentimes ugly history of our countries and how we immigrated to the United States and discriminated against our own people, unafraid of having authentic discussions that involve colorism and machismo.
Slowly, educating others in our communities and those outside of it have become possible with the labor done by those committed to breaking the stereotypical barriers. Even as recent as five years ago, if you wanted to educate yourself on Afro-Latino history in Central America you’d come across several hurdles. But with a growing network of Latinos dedicated to unearthing this information it’s just a few clicks away.
Words are powerful. Connecting with others is powerful.
We are not the dirty immigrants, criminals, or spicy Latinas that we’ve seen on our screens for a century. We fit no mold because there truly isn’t one. Not all Latinos speak Spanish, and our features and customs range from country to country. We are now controlling our narratives, and the narratives that the next generation will see.
First things first: I’m a “mande” girlie. That’s just how my mama raised me, even though I won’t say it’s right.
Having had the experience of interacting with people from different cultures in the classroom, there’s this one thing that always gets a strong reaction from me: when a professor addresses a student and the student responds with: “WHAT?” Or “WHAT’S THAT?”
I’m telling you, the reaction from me is instant. My eyes dart back to the professor, my fight or flight kicks in, and I’m almost drafting a mental apology for this person who, in my opinion, has just been particularly rude.
Of course, that never happens. The thing is, it’s not universally seen that way, right? Maybe it’s just the Mexican in me reacting based on what I’ve been taught.
“Se dice mande,” my mom would correct me if I responded with any other answer to her calls like, “Qué? Qué pasó? Eh? Mm?”
“Se dice mande!” Apologies would follow, and naturally, I’d switch to the “mande” to continue our chat, otherwise, a flying chancla might have been my fate.
In recent years, an intriguing debate has surfaced: is “mande” polite, or is it a subtle form of teaching submissiveness?
In a culture that places immense value on respecting our elders, it's unsurprising that "mande" has been deeply instilled in us from a young age. We say it out of respect. Yet, it still amuses me how I react to someone not using it. My immediate response is to be on guard, as if I'm bracing for someone to become angry or reprimand them. That’s rooted in my upbringing, a conditioned reflex.
Where does the term “mande come from?
To trace the roots of "mande," we need to explore Mexico's colonial past. When the Spanish colonized Mexico in the 16th century, they introduced not only their religion and administration but also their language, customs, and societal norms. The indigenous populations were subjugated and served the Spanish rulers.
It is in this backdrop that "mande" is believed to have been born. Directly translated, "mande" means "order me" or "command me." The indigenous or lower-class people were expected to reply with "mande" when addressed by Spanish rulers, signaling their readiness to obey. Over time, this phrase permeated the common vernacular, evolving into a way for Mexicans to say, "Pardon?" or "Excuse me?".
For many, especially older generations, saying "mande" is akin to "please" and "thank you." They see it as a sign of respect, especially towards elders or authority figures. However, many believe it's a colonial relic, symbolizing the historical subjugation of the Mexican people. Using "mande," they argue, maintains the power dynamics of colonial times, subtly promoting submission.
This debate is so potent, it’s even become a marketing strategy. Ever seen the Corona “Yo Mando” campaign?
Corona wants Mexicans to transition from “mande” to “mando.” It’s a bold move, but will it stick?
Language is dynamic. It changes and evolves, reflecting shifts in societal values and understanding. Take the “Latine/Latinx” debacle, for example. Whether you like either of the terms, actually use them, or feel so strongly against them you need to comment on every social media post using them with a flurry of insults, the terms exist. The terms are used by some, or by many. And they are here to stay.
Similarly, with “mande,” there's no definitive answer. With the rise of decolonial movements and a broader awareness of historical contexts, there's been a noticeable shift in how younger generations approach the term. Many choose to opt for neutral alternatives like “Qué?” “Qué pasó?” “Sí?” which are all perfectly valid. If you value “mande” as polite, “Dime?” or “Diga?” can be just as courteous.
This is not just an attempt to break away from colonial ties but also a part of the larger global trend where societies are reflecting on and challenging their historical and cultural baggage.
So, is saying "mande" wrong?
Here’s a hot take: there's no right or wrong way to express oneself (provided you aren't being hurtful or discriminatory to anyone), and I’m certainly not here to tell you what is right or what is wrong. What is important is that we challenge and question our language, our words, and the way we express ourselves and interact with the world, because language has been around for ages and, well, times change.
It’s great that we’re even having this debate, and it’s great that many of us are now taking a pause to ponder which word better suits us - and that’s the beauty of the Spanish language, and any language, really. It’s also the beauty of our choice to participate in the changing of norms that no longer match the times.
Ever since President Joe Biden announced on Sunday afternoon that he would not seek a second term and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as the 2024 Democratic Party nominee, several Latino Democrats and organizations have been sharing statements of support. Here is just a sampling of the Harris endorsements.
(FYI, the New York Times has a comprehensive list of all Democratic elected officials who are all in for Harris as of Monday morning. This list is being updated, and other Latino Democrats are on the complete list.)
Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY)
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Sen. Alex Padilla (D-CA)
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Sen. Catherine Cortez Masto (D-NV)
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Rep. Ruben Gallego (D-AZ)
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Rep, Nydia M. Velázquez (D-NY)
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Rep. Joaquin Castro (D-TX)
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Rep. Veronica Escobar (D-TX)
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Rep. Greg Casar (D-TX)
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Rep. Pete Aguilar (D-CA)
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Rep. Yadira Caraveo (D-CO)
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Rep. Robert Garcia (D-CA)
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Rep. Andrea Salinas (D-OR)
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Rep. Delia Ramirez (D-IL)
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Rep. Maxwell Alejando Frost (D-FL)
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Rep. Sylvia R. Garcia (D-TX)
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Rep. Raúl Grijalva (D-AZ)
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Rep. Jesús “Chuy” García (D-IL)
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Several Democratic-leaning Latino organizations also shared support for Harris. Here are links to four of those groups and their statements:
