In my work as a Southern storyteller, I know that my region is often viewed through one lens, often by outside observers out of touch with who we Southerners really are. This is a driving force in my documentary approach. And as a Mexican-American in the South, I’m learning there’s no better asset to my own people than showing what’s hidden, respecting the beauty of our culture and celebrating it. In many ways, this is how the GRITO project grew into existence.
I grew up a military brat, landing in Wayne County, North Carolina (home to Seymour Johnson Air Force Base). I was a cheerleader, sang in show choir and geeked out in photo club. But the only remotely Mexican experience in my public education were the days my mom visited my classroom during Hispanic Heritage Month. She’d lead all of us in a lesson on making tortillas and teach us how to dance “La Raspa,” a folklórico dance she grew up learning.
It wasn’t until after I graduated college that my mother, Saralynn, took those lessons to the next level. My mom grew up dancing with her siblings in south Texas. My grandma Sara led a dance troupe of her own six children and other Mexican-American kids for years. They not only learned technique and performed for large crowds, but they also hand-made their costumes! Ballet folklórico is steeped in tradition and passed down through generations of Mexican families, no matter where they end up.
Much of the Mexican youth in eastern North Carolina, though, still don’t have a way to celebrate their culture publicly, let alone dance through it. The majority of Latino immigrant kids in the rural South are children of field workers and other laborers who work hard to maintain a balance of speaking Spanish at home while hoping their kids fit in and excel at school, both socially and academically.
This is why my mom—the always-tenacious school teacher—stepped in. She realized that many of these kids didn't participate in school activities because of parents’ work schedules, the inability to pay for programs and simply not having a way to get to and from activities while their parents worked.
My mom created Ballet Folklórico De Colores as a way to connect with Latino families while also teaching the greater community of Wayne County about Mexican culture, trying to break down the barrier between them. De Colores’ first performance was in the summer of 2014. My mom asked me to photograph their performance. I spent a couple of years documenting the dances so that the kids would have photos that made themselves proud.
After the 2016 election, the social climate changed drastically. Students were (and are) extremely afraid of losing DACA as they prep for college, compounded with uncertainty over their families’ futures. I realized then that this project meant much more than showing up to photograph performances. I dove into it unlike ever before. I started interviewing kids, attending their practices and meeting their parents. As political tensions got worse, there was a greater need to stop talking about what this documentary work could be, and just do it. I applied for a VSCO Voices and was accepted among just five creators in the U.S.
This became the birth of the project I am most proud of: GRITO.
I am incredibly grateful to the VSCO Voices program (a joint effort of VSCO and Access Ventures) for funding this work. My project includes a short documentary film about De Colores and life-size portraits of the youth in their costumes, and a public exhibition that was launched right in the center of Goldsboro, N.C.
When I say “public exhibition” I really mean a fiesta. We prepared for months and, to our delight, more than 300 people attended. We had street tacos (cochinita, barbacoa) and flautas, aguas frescas, esquites, pan dulce, fruit cups chicharrones, arroz con leche and champurrado—all made by the parents of De Colores with donations from our community!
Seeing this all come to fruition was perhaps one of the most emotional experiences I’ve had doing this work. We had a large community altar where people placed photos and objects of their lost loved ones. Many non-Mexican people in Wayne County had ever seen anything like this, saying they had no idea that Día de los Muertos was a reverent holiday. It meant so much to see lightbulbs click for people, and a shared communion happening.
During the process, the kids (my heart!) were very excited because they kept saying I was going to make them famous. The parents were solemnly excited. After I first presented a rough cut of my film and photographs to the families one evening at dance practice, a few of the moms thanked me for showing the world that their kids “aren't bad people.” That gutted me. I never really understood how meaningful this could be. While hearing that was hugely validating, it put pressure on me to truly produce a project that made an impact and forced people to think.
On a personal level, documenting De Colores was a way for me to connect with both my mom and grandma, my ancestors, and my Chicana culture—and finally own it. I don't dance ballet folkórico like the women in my family who came before me, but GRITO helped me continue the preservation of my family’s culture the way they always have. I’m extremely proud of the kids for bravely telling their stories so they can be the voices of their generation and role models for others. They took control of their narrative, and that inspires me to keep at it.
Special thanks to my family, community and unyielding creative support system who made this personal project a reality.
GRITO: a VSCO Voices Project
All event photography by Mackenzie Smith Kelley.