Ricardo "El Mandril" Sánchez
For example, there is Ricardo Sánchez, better known as El Mandril (The Baboon), the morning DJ on KBUE, La Qué Buena (The How Great). In the 1990s, KBUE became one of LA's top three Spanish-language stations by featuring loudmouthed announcers and ranchera, or Mexican regional music, and startled media pundits by exceeding the listenership of almost all the English-language broadcasters. Calling itself "La mamá de los corridos," (the mother of the corridos), it blazoned the hard-hitting outlaw ballads of drugs and gunfighters made popular by the recently murdered star Chalino Sánchez and his flock of imitators. When other stations picked up on that trend, KBUE broke controversial new ground by showcasing corridistas like Los Razos, who specialized in bleeped obscenities and feuds with other bands — a publicity device borrowed from the gangsta rappers who share LA's working class neighborhoods.
Indeed, in some ways, the station is a ranchera equivalent of street-oriented hip-hop stations like New York's "Hot 97." Sánchez says that the thing that made KBUE unique even on the Spanish scene was its openness to local musicians: "La Que Buena is the only station where if you show up with a record, let's say a goodcorrido, we play it," he says. "The other stations, their formats are more stylized, more 'nice,' they're not like us. Of course, some people have said that the corridos were bad for the radio, that they were bad for the community. [With their celebrations of colorful drug lords, the songs have in fact been banned in much of northern Mexico.] But look, when the corridos took off, they got so popular that people will actually pay to have acorrido written about their lives. People come up to me all the time saying, 'I've got acorrido about me,' or they say they'll write one for me. I always say, 'Just don't have them kill me like this or that — ' because in the corridos you always end badly."
Sánchez chuckles. Though he has recently become known as an engaged community figure, he is clearly more accustomed to being a comedian. A small, dark, solidly-built man from Mexico's coastal state of Veracruz, Sánchez got his name from the character in Disney's The Lion King. "He's very clever, and someone said to me, 'You're like the baboon,'" Sánchez recalls, speaking in Spanish. "At first I didn't like it, because I said, 'Ay, cabrón, he's so ugly! What an ugly name!' But I decided to accept it, and I realized it was good because there's no name more offensive — people can call me anything, insult my mother, but they can't go beyond that name."
Sánchez normally does his best to live up to the monicker. He and his sidekicks, who wryly call themselves "Los Guapos de la Mañana" (The Handsome Guys in the Morning), specialize in double-entendre humor and practical jokes — before sitting down for this interview, he recorded a crank call to a businessman in Mexico, switching voices as he played the parts of an abusive client and an officious attorney.
Nonetheless, Sánchez says he slipped with relative ease into his new role as a conduit for immigrant rights organizations: "People think of me as a joker, always hah hah hah, but this is something serious," he says. "I've never been an activist, but there came a moment when people came to me and asked me to participate. And yes, I can be a loudspeaker, to say to the people, 'We're getting together, we're protesting, let's do it peacefully...' This meant something to me, because it's something for the wellbeing of all of us. Not to be aggressive, but to get together, to let people see who we are, and to ask for something that is due to us — because we have given a great deal to this country, both in work and in taxes."
Sánchez emphasizes that, although some news reports credited him and his competitors on LA's other major Mexican stations — El Piolín (The Tweetie Bird) and El Cucuy (The Boogeyman) — with being major instigators of the march, they simply provided a platform for the real organizers: "There are people who have said that we announcers were the leaders," he says. "But we're not going to be taking credit, saying it was all because of us. You know, the people aren't stupid. The people know who you are."
Sánchez himself has only been in the United States for three years, and he came legally, lured away from a popular broadcasting job in Tijuana. Nonetheless, he feels a great deal of empathy for his countrymen who are eking out a difficult living while having to constantly worry about arrest and deportation. His success came only after years working as a janitor, first in a school and then in a radio station, where he gradually eased himself onto the sales staff, and — by way of commercials he taped himself to keep his budget low — onto the air. Even today, although he is considered a Spanish-language media star, he says that he is constantly reminded of his outsider status.
"I'll tell you," he says, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm from the south, the area of the Mayas, and my features are indigenous. So when I have the opportunity to stay in a good hotel in Las Vegas, people say, 'What's that guy doing here? Who is he, to be in the Bellagio? Who is he to be on the eighteenth floor, where they have the Presidential Suite?' When I go to get my car in a valet parking, a convertible or a Mercedes Benz, they say, 'He must be the chauffeur; his boss must be on vacation.' You are constantly aware.
"Just before the marches, coincidentally, the police took away my son's car. To buy that car, my son worked in a bakery for four months, burning his hands in the oven — I could have helped him, but I wanted him to work, so he would understand what it is to make a living. So he bought the car, with a lot of self-sacrifice, and just when he was finishing the paperwork, the last day, the police stopped him and took it away. He has a Mexican driver's license, and they said it wasn't valid here — when a driver's license is international; it's valid here, in Japan, wherever. But when they see a brown guy driving..."
Along with the racism, Sánchez is bothered by the demagoguery of the anti-immigrant movement. "They say we're coming and taking advantage of the medical system. Listen, a man who comes here to work, he very rarely takes advantage of any medical services. If we feel sick, we go to the pharmacy, buy a Tylenol or something, it may take a few days, but we try to fight it off. The people, the men come here to work."
Sanchez adds that it is ridiculous for groups like the Minutemen to try to frame their arguments as a matter of national security in the age of terrorism. "What are these people afraid of?" he asks rhetorically. "I have heard an official say that, of all the cargo that enters the United States, five percent is inspected and 95 percent isn't. You can see that these immigrants aren't carrying bombs or chemical weapons: they're carrying a little backpack and a plastic jug of water to help them survive in the terrain they have to cross. So why, when this person comes with a dream of bettering himself, of building a house for his mother, to give his children something because there is no work in Mexico because of the bad governance, why talk about national security, when on the other hand a truck can cross carrying a weapon that could really cause harm?
"Another thing: why only worry about the border with Mexico and not the border with Canada? That's twice as long, and any smart person will say, 'On this side you have a thousand guards, and they're going to put two thousand more, but if you come in from there, they'll even welcome you.'"
Sánchez has become completely serious, and it is odd to remember that just twenty minutes ago he was recording a prank phone call. But it is that combination of sharp intelligence and rowdy comedy that has made him a star. On air he is a clown, playing the latest regional Mexican hits, but he says that at home he listens to jazz, salsa, or most recently a New Age recording of music inspired by the Mayan pyramids. Indeed, while he has often featured corridos on his shows, this seems to have been largely a matter of popular trends, not personal taste.
Now, he says, the genre is diminishing in popularity, and he is shifting his format accordingly: "There was a period when thecorrido was very strong, but other styles have appeared. The pasito duranguense [a perky, keyboard-powered dance style from Chicago] came along, and that made the corridos go down a bit. For some people, they still are very important, but fifty percent, not eighty percent like they once were. And I understand this, because suppose I say to you in the morning, 'Hey, do you feel like having a pizza?' Who wants to eat a pizza in the morning? And it's the same if someone calls me up at eight o'clock and says, 'Play thecorrido about Quintero...' [Rafael Caro Quintero, one of the most famous Mexican drug lords]. I say, 'Wait, in the morning people want to hear something else.' Who wants to get worked up at eight in the morning, when you're driving in all that traffic? You want to hear something that cheers you up, a joke, something that gives you a positive feeling."
So Sánchez goes on joking, playing pop songs, and occasionally turning the microphone over to his new acquaintances among immigrant rights groups and politicians. He is excited by his new role — he reels off a list of Mexican media personalities who have interviewed him in the last few months — but is keeping it in perspective. And as for his own plans, he says that although he is very happy with his current situation, he does not expect to remain permanently in the United States.
"I'm not complaining. This country has given me a great deal, and I admire many things here. When it comes to discipline, to organization — not so much when it comes to freedom of expression, but it's not as easy to commit a fraud, there's not so much corruption. If you leave your car out on the day when they're cleaning the streets, you get a ticket. Small things, but they make a difference. But I'm planning to go back to Mexico, definitely. I want to go back with my head up, leaving a good reputation, but I'm not one of those people who always wants to climb higher. So one of these days I'd like to go back to Ensenada or to Veracruz to live out my days. But with the pride of having done what I could do."
10 Classic Corridos of the Immigrant Experience
English
Last March, television screens and front pages around the world were filled with images of downtown Los Angeles, its streets filled with Mexican and Central American immigrants waving flags and banners. It was a protest march, called to express the community's anger at a bill passed by the House of Representatives that threatens to clamp down on undocumented immigrants, criminalizing both them and anyone who provides them with shelter or medical care.
But it was also a celebration. The marchers, many of them teenagers, were obviously thrilled to be in a crowd of up to a million people who looked like them and shared their heritage, and their faces showed more pride and excitement than anger. The biggest Latino march in the history of the United States, it was also the biggest block party. Which is not entirely surprising, considering that many of the marchers had been drawn by announcements on the main Mexican pop radio stations, made by disc jockeys who are more often compared to Howard Stern or Don Imus than to César Chávez.
Ricardo "El Mandril" Sánchez
For example, there is Ricardo Sánchez, better known as El Mandril (The Baboon), the morning DJ on KBUE, La Qué Buena (The How Great). In the 1990s, KBUE became one of LA's top three Spanish-language stations by featuring loudmouthed announcers and ranchera, or Mexican regional music, and startled media pundits by exceeding the listenership of almost all the English-language broadcasters. Calling itself "La mamá de los corridos," (the mother of the corridos), it blazoned the hard-hitting outlaw ballads of drugs and gunfighters made popular by the recently murdered star Chalino Sánchez and his flock of imitators. When other stations picked up on that trend, KBUE broke controversial new ground by showcasing corridistas like Los Razos, who specialized in bleeped obscenities and feuds with other bands -- a publicity device borrowed from the gangsta rappers who share LA's working class neighborhoods.
Indeed, in some ways, the station is a ranchera equivalent of street-oriented hip-hop stations like New York's "Hot 97." Sánchez says that the thing that made KBUE unique even on the Spanish scene was its openness to local musicians: "La Que Buena is the only station where if you show up with a record, let's say a goodcorrido, we play it," he says. "The other stations, their formats are more stylized, more 'nice,' they're not like us. Of course, some people have said that the corridos were bad for the radio, that they were bad for the community. [With their celebrations of colorful drug lords, the songs have in fact been banned in much of northern Mexico.] But look, when the corridos took off, they got so popular that people will actually pay to have acorrido written about their lives. People come up to me all the time saying, 'I've got acorrido about me,' or they say they'll write one for me. I always say, 'Just don't have them kill me like this or that -- ' because in the corridos you always end badly."
Sánchez chuckles. Though he has recently become known as an engaged community figure, he is clearly more accustomed to being a comedian. A small, dark, solidly-built man from Mexico's coastal state of Veracruz, Sánchez got his name from the character in Disney's The Lion King. "He's very clever, and someone said to me, 'You're like the baboon,'" Sánchez recalls, speaking in Spanish. "At first I didn't like it, because I said, 'Ay, cabrón, he's so ugly! What an ugly name!' But I decided to accept it, and I realized it was good because there's no name more offensive -- people can call me anything, insult my mother, but they can't go beyond that name."
Sánchez normally does his best to live up to the monicker. He and his sidekicks, who wryly call themselves "Los Guapos de la Mañana" (The Handsome Guys in the Morning), specialize in double-entendre humor and practical jokes -- before sitting down for this interview, he recorded a crank call to a businessman in Mexico, switching voices as he played the parts of an abusive client and an officious attorney.
Nonetheless, Sánchez says he slipped with relative ease into his new role as a conduit for immigrant rights organizations: "People think of me as a joker, always hah hah hah, but this is something serious," he says. "I've never been an activist, but there came a moment when people came to me and asked me to participate. And yes, I can be a loudspeaker, to say to the people, 'We're getting together, we're protesting, let's do it peacefully...' This meant something to me, because it's something for the wellbeing of all of us. Not to be aggressive, but to get together, to let people see who we are, and to ask for something that is due to us -- because we have given a great deal to this country, both in work and in taxes."
Sánchez emphasizes that, although some news reports credited him and his competitors on LA's other major Mexican stations -- El Piolín (The Tweetie Bird) and El Cucuy (The Boogeyman) -- with being major instigators of the march, they simply provided a platform for the real organizers: "There are people who have said that we announcers were the leaders," he says. "But we're not going to be taking credit, saying it was all because of us. You know, the people aren't stupid. The people know who you are."
Sánchez himself has only been in the United States for three years, and he came legally, lured away from a popular broadcasting job in Tijuana. Nonetheless, he feels a great deal of empathy for his countrymen who are eking out a difficult living while having to constantly worry about arrest and deportation. His success came only after years working as a janitor, first in a school and then in a radio station, where he gradually eased himself onto the sales staff, and -- by way of commercials he taped himself to keep his budget low -- onto the air. Even today, although he is considered a Spanish-language media star, he says that he is constantly reminded of his outsider status.
"I'll tell you," he says, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm from the south, the area of the Mayas, and my features are indigenous. So when I have the opportunity to stay in a good hotel in Las Vegas, people say, 'What's that guy doing here? Who is he, to be in the Bellagio? Who is he to be on the eighteenth floor, where they have the Presidential Suite?' When I go to get my car in a valet parking, a convertible or a Mercedes Benz, they say, 'He must be the chauffeur; his boss must be on vacation.' You are constantly aware.
"Just before the marches, coincidentally, the police took away my son's car. To buy that car, my son worked in a bakery for four months, burning his hands in the oven -- I could have helped him, but I wanted him to work, so he would understand what it is to make a living. So he bought the car, with a lot of self-sacrifice, and just when he was finishing the paperwork, the last day, the police stopped him and took it away. He has a Mexican driver's license, and they said it wasn't valid here -- when a driver's license is international; it's valid here, in Japan, wherever. But when they see a brown guy driving..."
Along with the racism, Sánchez is bothered by the demagoguery of the anti-immigrant movement. "They say we're coming and taking advantage of the medical system. Listen, a man who comes here to work, he very rarely takes advantage of any medical services. If we feel sick, we go to the pharmacy, buy a Tylenol or something, it may take a few days, but we try to fight it off. The people, the men come here to work."
Sanchez adds that it is ridiculous for groups like the Minutemen to try to frame their arguments as a matter of national security in the age of terrorism. "What are these people afraid of?" he asks rhetorically. "I have heard an official say that, of all the cargo that enters the United States, five percent is inspected and 95 percent isn't. You can see that these immigrants aren't carrying bombs or chemical weapons: they're carrying a little backpack and a plastic jug of water to help them survive in the terrain they have to cross. So why, when this person comes with a dream of bettering himself, of building a house for his mother, to give his children something because there is no work in Mexico because of the bad governance, why talk about national security, when on the other hand a truck can cross carrying a weapon that could really cause harm?
"Another thing: why only worry about the border with Mexico and not the border with Canada? That's twice as long, and any smart person will say, 'On this side you have a thousand guards, and they're going to put two thousand more, but if you come in from there, they'll even welcome you.'"
Sánchez has become completely serious, and it is odd to remember that just twenty minutes ago he was recording a prank phone call. But it is that combination of sharp intelligence and rowdy comedy that has made him a star. On air he is a clown, playing the latest regional Mexican hits, but he says that at home he listens to jazz, salsa, or most recently a New Age recording of music inspired by the Mayan pyramids. Indeed, while he has often featured corridos on his shows, this seems to have been largely a matter of popular trends, not personal taste.
Now, he says, the genre is diminishing in popularity, and he is shifting his format accordingly: "There was a period when thecorrido was very strong, but other styles have appeared. The pasito duranguense [a perky, keyboard-powered dance style from Chicago] came along, and that made the corridos go down a bit. For some people, they still are very important, but fifty percent, not eighty percent like they once were. And I understand this, because suppose I say to you in the morning, 'Hey, do you feel like having a pizza?' Who wants to eat a pizza in the morning? And it's the same if someone calls me up at eight o'clock and says, 'Play thecorrido about Quintero...' [Rafael Caro Quintero, one of the most famous Mexican drug lords]. I say, 'Wait, in the morning people want to hear something else.' Who wants to get worked up at eight in the morning, when you're driving in all that traffic? You want to hear something that cheers you up, a joke, something that gives you a positive feeling."
So Sánchez goes on joking, playing pop songs, and occasionally turning the microphone over to his new acquaintances among immigrant rights groups and politicians. He is excited by his new role -- he reels off a list of Mexican media personalities who have interviewed him in the last few months -- but is keeping it in perspective. And as for his own plans, he says that although he is very happy with his current situation, he does not expect to remain permanently in the United States.
"I'm not complaining. This country has given me a great deal, and I admire many things here. When it comes to discipline, to organization -- not so much when it comes to freedom of expression, but it's not as easy to commit a fraud, there's not so much corruption. If you leave your car out on the day when they're cleaning the streets, you get a ticket. Small things, but they make a difference. But I'm planning to go back to Mexico, definitely. I want to go back with my head up, leaving a good reputation, but I'm not one of those people who always wants to climb higher. So one of these days I'd like to go back to Ensenada or to Veracruz to live out my days. But with the pride of having done what I could do."
10 Classic Corridos of the Immigrant Experience
-
Vivan los Mojados (Long Live the Wetbacks!)
(Jessie Armenta)
Performed by Los Tigres del Norte
The first big hit to deal with the problems of mojados (literally
"wetbacks," though it does not have the same pejorative sense in
Spanish) back in the 1970s. This semi-comic song pioneered the "day
without a Mexican" theme. -
La Tumba del Mojado (The Wetback's Grave)
(Paulino Vargas)
Performed by Los Tigres del Norte
A poetic evocation of the dangers of illegal immigration: "The Mexicali Rose and the blood in the Rio Grande/ Are different things, but in color they are brothers/ And the borderline is the wetback's grave." -
La Jaula de Oro (The Cage of Gold)
(Enrique Franco)
Performed by Los Tigres del Norte
The song of a migrant who has made good, but his children do not speak
his language and he still lives in constant fear of being deported: "Even
though the cage is made of gold, it remains a prison." -
Ni Aquí Ni Allá (Neither Here Nor There)
(Jessie Armenta)
Performed by Los Tigres del Norte
The lament of a man who feels torn between two nations. -
Somos Más Americanos (We Are More American)
(Enrique Valencia)
Performed by Los Tigres del Norte
The proud song of a Mexican-American who recalls that he was here before
the first Anglo-Saxons: "I didn't cross the border, the border crossed me." -
Brian Barker
(Adalberto Robles)
Performed by Pedro Rivera
A true corrido about racist police brutality: "When God made people ... He
made them of all colors, and he did not choose a flag." -
Voy a Hacerme Ciudadano (I'm Going to Become a Citizen)
(Enrique Franco)
Performed by La Tradicion del Norte
A song about becoming an American citizen and changing the country by
voting. -
Un Mojado Sin Licencia (A Wetback Without a License)
(Composer Unknown)
Performed by Flaco Jimenez
A comic corrido about the trials of a poor immigrant without a driver's
license. -
El Deportado (The Deported)
(Composer Unknown)
Performed by Los Hermanos Bañuelos
This classic corrido from the 1930s tells the story of a man
deported back to Mexico. -
Ni de Aquí Ni De Allá (Neither From Here Nor From There)
(Byron and Cecilia Brizuela)
Performed by Jae-P
A modern corrido-rap by a Los Angeles performer: "I'm not from here and
I'm not from there/ But here is where I like to be, and here I'm
staying/ ... Like it or not, they have to accept me."
-- Elijah Wald
Ricardo "El Mandril" Sanchez
El pasado mes de marzo, las televisiones y las primeras páginas de los periódicos de todo el mundo se inundaron de imágenes del centro de Los ángeles -- sus calles fueron tomadas por cientos de miles de inmigrantes mexicanos y centro-americanos que ondeaban banderas y pancartas. Fue una marcha-protesta, organizada con el fin de expresar el enfado de la comunidad a una nueva ley gubernamental aprobada por el Congreso y que amenaza con acechar a los inmigrantes indocumentados, criminalizándolos a ellos y a aquellos que los acojen y prestan ayuda médica.
Pero la marcha también fue motivo de celebración. Los participantes, la mayoría de ellos adolescentes, reaccionaron entusiasmados al estar rodeados de una multitud cercana al millón de personas que se parecían a ellos y con los que, además, compartían su sangre. Sus caras eran más reflejo de orgullo que no de enfado. La mayor matcha latina de la historia de los Estados Unidos también fue la fiesta más numerosa. Lo que no resultó sorprendente, teniendo en cuenta que sus participantes habían sido congregados siguiendo las consignas de las principales estaciones de radio mexicanas, realizadas por presentadores de programas que son más comparados con Howard Stern o Don Imus que con César Chávez.
Ricardo "El Mandril" Sánchez
Uno de ellos fue Ricardo Sánchez, más conocido como El Mandril, presentador matutino del programa "La qué buena," en KBUE. En los años 90, KBUE se convirtió en una de las tres estaciones de radio líderes de audiencia en Los ángeles, gracias a sus presentadores escandalosos y a las rancheras. Los más sorprendidos fueron los supuestos especialistas en medios, que quedaron con la boca abierta al comprobar que su audiencia excedía la de la mayoría de las estaciones de habla inglesa. Llamándose a sí misma como "La mamá de los corridos," la estación se hizo eco de las baladas de los fuera de la ley, traficantes de drogas y asesinos, que fueron popularizadas por el recientemente asesinado Chalino Sánchez y una legión de imitadores. Cuando otras emisoras siguieron su ejemplo, KBUE rompió más barreras al presentar corridistas como Los Razos, que se especializaron en emplear un lenguaje obsceno y en entablar peleas con otras bandas -- una estrategia publicitaria que nació de los raperos, con los que aquéllos comparten algunos de los barrios de las clases trabajadoras de Los Ángeles.
De hecho, de alguna forma, la estación es la equivalente ranchera a la de otras emisoras especializadas en hip-hop, como "Hot 97" en Nueva York. Sánchez asegura que lo que hizo de KBUE una estación única fue su política de puertas abiertas a los músicos locales. "'La qué buena' es la única emisora donde si alguien se presenta con un disco, un buen corrido, se lo ponemos en antena, " afirma." Las otras emisoras, debido a sus formatos más estrictos, más "agradables," no son como nosotros. Por supuesto, hay gente que piensa que los corridos con dañinos para la radio, que son malos para la comunidad. [Debido a su celebración del estilo de vida de los traficantes de droga, las canciones han sido prohibidas en la mayoría de localidades del norte de México.] Pero hay una cosa clara: cuando los corridos empezaron a tener éxito, alcanzaron tal popularidad que la gente pagó para tener un corrido escrito sobre sus vidas. La gente se me acerca diciéndome 'Tengo un corrido sobre mí,' o que van a escribir uno acerca de mí. Y siempre les respondo, 'No me mateis de ninguna forma,' porque los corridos siempre acaban mal."
Sánchez sonríe. Aunque recientemente se ha convertido en una figura emblemática de la comunidad, es evidente que él está más acostumbrado a ser un cómico. De aspecto fuerte, figura pequeña y con rasgos oscuros, teniendo en cuenta que nació en el estado de Veracruz, Sánchez obtuvo su nombre de uno de los personajes de The Lion King, de los estudios Disney. "Es alguien inteligente. Una vez alguien me dijo, 'eres como un mandril,'" recuerda. "Al principio no me gustó, porque me fijé en él y pensé: '¡Ay, cabrón, pero qué feo que es! ¡Y qué nombre más desagradable!.' Pero al final decidí aceptarlo y me di cuenta de que estaba bien, porque no hay un nombre más ofensivo. La gente me puede llamar lo que quiera, puede insultar a mi madre... pero no hay nada peor que ese nombre."
Sánchez hace lo imposible para merecer el nombre. Él y sus acólitos, que se llaman a sí mismos "Los guapos de la mañana," se especializan en un humor formado por indirectas y bromas-antes de sentarse para esta entrevista, grabó una llamada de broma a un hombre de negocios en México, cambiando su voz dependiendo de a quien encarnaba: primero a un cliente abusivo y después a un fiscal de la ciudad.
A pesar de todo, Sánchez asegura que se ha adaptado facilmente a su nuevo papel de eje de las organizaciones que apoyan los derechos de los inmigrantes. "La gente cree que siempre soy un bromista y que no paro de reirme. Pero esto es algo serio," afirma. "Nunca he sido un activista, pero llegó un momento en el que la gente venía a mí para que formara parte del movimiento. Y sí, puedo ser muy escandaloso, pero en este caso lo he utilizado para decirle a la gente, 'Vamos a estar juntos en esto, vamos a protestar. Pero lo vamos a hacer de forma pacífica...' Esto significó mucho para mí. Porque es algo que nos beneficiará a todos. No hay que ser agresivo. Lo único que hay que hacer es reunirse, estar juntos, para ver quiénes somos y para pedir lo que nos merecemos -- porque hemos dado mucho a este país, tanto en trabajo como en impuestos."
Sánchez destaca que, aunque algunas informaciones de la prensa le acreditaron a él y a algunos de sus competidores radiofónicos en Los ángeles -- como El Piolín y El Cucuy -- como los máximos instigadores de la marcha, ellos simplemente se limitaron a proveer a los organizadores reales de una plataforma para dar a conocer sus planteamientos. "Hay quien ha dicho que nosotros, los presentadores, fuimos los líderes," comenta. "Pero no queremos ser los que reciben los laureles. Lo que pasó no fue sólo por nosotros. La gente no es tonta. La gente sabe quiénes somos."
Sánchez sólo ha vivido en los Estados Unidos durante los últimos tres años. Pero él llegó legalmente, tras triunfar en las ondas radiofónicas de Tijuana. A pesar de ello, se siente identificado con aquellos conciudadanos suyos que sobreviven como pueden y, al mismo tiempo, se deben preocupar debido a su condición, lo que les puede llevar al arresto y a ser deportados. Su éxito le llegó tras trabajar de portero, primero en un colegio y después en una emisora de radio. Fue allí donde, gradualmente, pasó al departamento de ventas y, gracias a los anuncios que él mismo grabó con el fin de reducir el presupuesto, acabó como presentador. Incluso hoy, aunque es considerado como una estrella de la radio en español, asegura que siempre tiene presente su condición de "intruso."
"Hay una cosa clara," advierte inclinándose en su silla. "Soy del sur, del área de los mayas. Y mis rasgos son indígenas. Y cuando tengo la oportunidad de alojarme en un buen hotel de Las Vegas, la gente se pregunta, '¿Qué hace éste aquí? ¿Quién es él para quedarse en el Bellagio? ¿Quién es el para tener una habitación en la planta 18, donde está la suite presidencial?'. Cuando voy a coger mi coche en el 'valet' y me traen mi Mercedes Benz o un descapotable, se dicen, 'Seguro que es el chófer y su jefe está de vacaciones'. Siempre te das cuentas de estos detalles."
"Justo antes de las marchas, por casualidad, la policía se llevó el carro de mi hijo. Para comprarse ese carro, mi hijo trabajó en una panadería durante cuatro meses, quemándose las manos en un horno -- podría haberle ayudado, pero yo quise que trabajara, para que así entendiera lo que significa ganarse un salario. Así que se compró el carro tras mucho esfuerzo, y justo cuando acabó de formalizar la compra, el último día, la policía lo paró y se lo llevó. Porque él tiene una licencia de México y le dijeron que aquí no era válida -- cuando una licencia es internacional, es válida aquí, en Japón y en todo el mundo. Pero cuando el que conduce tiene la piel oscura...."
Además del racismo, a Sánchez le preocupa la demagogia del movimiento anti-inmigrante. "Dicen que llegamos aquí y nos aprovechamos del sistema médico. Y yo digo, un hombre que viene aquí a trabajar, que pocas veces necesita un médico, si enferma, tiene que ir a la farmacia. Allí se compra un Tylenol y quizá tarde unos días, pero al final se cura. La gente, los hombres, vienen aquí a trabajar."
Sánchez añade que es ridículo que grupos como los Minutemen aseguren que se trata de un caso de seguridad nacional en la era del terrorismo. "¿A qué le tienen miedo esta gente?," se pregunta retoricamente. "He oído a un oficial decir que, de toda la carga que llega a los Estados Unidos por mar, sólo un 5 por ciento es inspeccionada. El 95 por ciento restante no lo es. Es obvio que los inmigrantes no llevan bombas ni armas químicas: llevan pequeñas bolsas y una botella de agua que les ayude a sobrevivir el terreno que tienen que cruzar. Así que me pregunto por qué, cuando una persona llega a este país con la intención de mejorar, de construir una casa para su madre, de dar a sus hijos aquello que no pueden tener en México debido al mal gobierno, por qué hablan de seguridad nacional, cuando un camión facilmente puede atravesar el país cargando con un arma que sí puede causar un daño real."
"Además me pregunto porqué sólo se preocupan de la frontera con México y no de la canadiense. Es el doble de larga y cualquier persona inteligente se dirá, 'A este lado teneis mil guardias, y vais a poner dos mil más. Pero si vienes por el otro lado, hasta te darán la bienvenida."
Sánchez adopta una mirada seria. Resulta extraño pensar que sólo hace veinte minutos estaba grabando una broma telefónica. Pero es esta combinación de inteligencia aguda y comedia desmadrada lo que le ha convertido en una estrella. En el aire es un payaso, recomendando los éxitos más recientes de la música regional mexicana. Pero en casa asegura que escucha jazz, salsa y, más recientemente, grabaciones new age inspiradas en las pirámides mayas. De hecho, cuando presenta corridos en su programa, es más por la moda actual que no por su gusto personal.
Asegura que el género del corrido está perdiendo popularidad y que, por ello, se adapta a su nuevo formato. "Hubo una época en la que el corrido era brusco. Pero han aparecido otros estilos. El pasito duranguense [un estilo de baile surgido en Chicago] ha aparecido de repente, y desde entonces, los corridos han dejado de ser imbatibles. Para algunos oyentes aún son importantes, pero quizá sea el cincuenta por ciento de la audiencia, no el ochenta, como solía ser. Está claro que me tengo que adaptar. Porque, ¿qué pasaría si les dijera a mis oyentes 'Quién quiere comer pizza'? ¿Y se puede saber quién quiere comer pizza a esa hora? Pues es lo mismo si alguien me llama a las ocho de la mañana y me pide que ponga un corrido sobre Quintero [Rafael Caro Quintero, uno de los traficantes de drogas más importantes de México.] Yo le responderé que a esas horas la gente quiere escuchar cosas distintas. ¿Quién quiere escuchar eso a las ocho de la mañana, mientras maneja al trabajo, en medio del tráfico? La gente quiere escuchar música que le anime, una broma, algo que sea positivo."
Así que Sánchez apuesta por las bromas, la música pop y, a veces, presta el micrófono a sus nuevos amigos en los grupos en defensa de los derechos de los inmigrantes y hasta a los políticos. Está entusiasmado por su nuevo papel -- y muestra una lista de personalidades de los medios de comunicación mexicanos que le han entrevistado durante los últimos meses. Pero mantiene la perspectiva. Y por lo que respecta a sus propios planes, asegura que, a pesar de ser feliz, no espera quedarse a vivir en los Estados Unidos para siempre.
"No me quejo. Este país me ha dado un trato único y admiro lo que hay aquí: disciplina, organización, quizá no en el campo de la libertad de expresión... pero al menos no es tan fácil cometer fraude o ser un corrupto. Si uno deja su carro en la calle cuando limpian la calle, le ponen una multa. Son cosas pequeñas, pero marcan la diferencia. Pero planeo regresar a México, sin lugar a dudas. Quiero regresar con la cabeza bien alta. Uno de estos días me gustaría regresar a Ensenada o Veracruz, para relajarme. Pero con el orgullo de haber hecho lo que pude."
10 Classic Corridos of the Immigrant Experience
-
Vivan los Mojados (Long Live the Wetbacks!)
(Jessie Armenta)
Realizado por Los Tigres del Norte -
La Tumba del Mojado (The Wetback's Grave)
(Paulino Vargas)
Realizado por Los Tigres del Norte -
La Jaula de Oro (The Cage of Gold)
(Enrique Franco)
Realizado por Los Tigres del Norte -
Ni Aquí Ni Allá (Neither Here Nor There)
(Jessie Armenta)
Realizado por Los Tigres del Norte -
Somos Más Americanos (We Are More American)
(Enrique Valencia)
Realizado por Los Tigres del Norte -
Brian Barker
(Adalberto Robles)
Realizado por Pedro Rivera -
Voy a Hacerme Ciudadano (I'm Going to Become a Citizen)
(Enrique Franco)
Realizado por La Tradicion del Norte -
Un Mojado Sin Licencia (A Wetback Without a License)
(Composer Unknown)
Realizado por Flaco Jimenez -
El Deportado (The Deported)
(Composer Unknown)
Realizado por Los Hermanos Bañuelos -
Ni de Aquí Ni De Allá (Neither From Here Nor From There)
(Byron and Cecilia Brizuela)
Realizado por Jae-P
-- Elijah Wald