An Open Letter by Angelica Rosas McDaniel
As the daughter of a Mexican immigrant growing up in Minnesota on subsidized school lunches, I didn’t come from connections, clout or cash. Despite obstacles and naysayers, I have accomplished a lot with hard work and unrelenting determination.
I became a national radio host at the age of 15, went on to launch The Talk at CBS and became network television’s youngest head of daytime ever, leading my team to a record 116 Emmy wins during my tenure. I’ve also received seven Imagen Awards for creative achievements as a Latina in the entertainment industry.
When I heard about a new musical called In the Heights, created by Puerto Rican Lin-Manuel Miranda and featuring a cast of predominantly Latinx characters, I had to see it. I’ve since had the privilege of experiencing the show multiple times on Broadway, with touring companies in Los Angeles and Minneapolis and, before the pandemic hit, I took my 5-year-old daughter to see a college production, just so she too could witness the powerful interpretation of Latinx pride.
I grew up yearning to see success stories of people who looked like me, both in real-life and on the screen. Years later, when I was in a position to impact change as a TV executive, I challenged others to make room for BIPOC and Latinx characters because I know what it’s like to want to see your community and your stories represented on screen.
Which brings us to the film which I, like so many others, have been anxiously awaiting. I popped some popcorn, got comfortable on the couch and cued it up on HBO Max. I expected I might tear up, it happens every time I watch the musical or listen to the soundtrack. (“Hello, breathe” is my anthem!) I didn’t expect to become so overwhelmed by the awesomeness of this big screen Latinx explosion, that I’d have to break up my viewing over two nights.
A piece of art has never made me feel so seen, valued and heard in the way the two hours and 23 minutes of In the Heights touched my soul. Experiencing that many BIPOC characters on screen, in some scenes more than 100 at a time, can best be described as stunning and awe-inspiring. The stories are emotional and honest. Rooted in universal themes like the fight against displacement, trying to achieve your dreams against impossible odds and the importance of home. It’s also a beautiful tribute to the sacrifices parents make for their children to have a better life.
There’s an overlooked moment in the film that resonated with me and I believe has much bigger implications. My career hasn’t been all Hollywood red carpet moments. I’ve had to navigate lack of representation, conscious and unconscious bias in the workplace. I once had a boss frantically call me into her office to vent about her nanny who had just quit without giving notice. As she went on about what an inconvenience it was, she revealed her nanny was Mexican saying Mexicans make the best nannies because they love your kids like they were their own. She then asked if my mom or any of my aunts were available to start working as her nanny.
The dynamics of this interaction were just like the story Nina Rosario recounts to her dad about being put on the spot at a diversity dinner at Stanford.
It’s a wedge used to turn our community against each other.
Nina says she feels put on the spot, that she has to choose: Is she with us (the wait staff) or is she with them (the fancy Stanford people)? Her dad Kevin (Jimmy Smits) responds, “There’s no shame in waiting tables, and there’s no shame in taking a different path…”
As someone who has taken a different path, there’s a perception that I’m not on the side of “us” that I’m on the side of “them.” But agreeing that these are the two sides means buying into the false dilemma presented by those who want to see us waste our time and energy fighting amongst each other. The true “us” is people who spend their lives and their work trying to lift the human spirit. Whether it’s asserting our dignity in little ways, diligently striving for broad systemic change (like Nina), or persisting with unflinching tenacity to bring the world a movie that is both an amazing piece of filmmaking and a revelation in representation and non-stereotypical storylines.
For that, I would like to say thank you to Lin-Manuel Miranda, the film’s screenplay writer Quiara Alegría Hudes, director Jon M. Chu and everyone involved in this project, from greenlight to release, for showing people and children of color that we’re not invisible and to keep dreaming. The vibrant celebration of resilience had me singing (loudly) and dancing (badly, but enthusiastically) from beginning to end. The heartfelt representation of Latinx people (minus the typically portrayed violence, sex, pregnancy scares and drugs) is the rallying cry to stop minimizing ourselves or apologizing for the space we take up. The cue to proudly lift our cultural banderas (flags) like Miranda did as he rapped his acceptance speech after winning a Tony for Best Original Score while waving a Puerto Rican flag.
As the mother of two young daughters, I was especially moved by the created tribute to strong historical Latinx women like Chita Rivera, Rita Moreno, Frida Kahlo, Celia Cruz, Dolores Huerta, Isabel Allende, Sandra Cisneros, Julia de Burgos, Rigoberta Menchù, the Mirabal Sisters and Sonia Sotomayor and the blink-and-you-miss-it final shot of the film, which felt like a special tribute to all women and girls. And whatever path my daughters take my greatest hope is that they take joy in working, creating, lifting us up.
Alabanza.
About the writer: Angelica Rosas McDaniel is an Emmy Award-winning entertainment executive, mentorship advocate and public speaker with a 27-year career in the entertainment industry. She is the executive vice president of strategy and development for Litton Entertainment, a division of Hearst Television. She previously worked at Warner Bros.’s Telepictures and CBS.