The Shows That Saved Us
Story by Luis Ramirez
Edited by Abigail Vela and Nina Alegre
Note from the Editors: This article was written by one of the five fellows who participated in the 2025 Pluma Libre Journalism Fellowship. This year’s fellowship focused on developing stories and projects about local immigration and social issues.
The air surrounding the clammy living room felt heavy with anticipation. There was a sense of tension and energy around every word spoken that night. The noises made were raw, messy, and full of teenage angst.
In all the chaos, I found something I didn’t realize I was missing: a sense of belonging. For once, I wasn’t thinking about trying to fit in or change who I was. I was a part of something bigger than me. That night reminded me that identity isn’t found in the silence; it’s found in the noise.
Growing up between two cultures leaves you with a lot of fear and confusion. The fear of fitting in or standing out. The fear of discrimination and of saying the wrong thing. The fear of ICE, of raids, of checkpoints, and the casualties in which racism is found. In all that fear, you start to lose sight of who you really are. This is the story about how I found myself again.
Living Between Two Worlds
Much of my childhood was spent in the in-between, moving back and forth from the U.S. and Mexico. I felt a pressure to assimilate into the culture surrounding me, often feeling too brown for the white kids and too white for the brown kids.
I lost touch with my roots to the point of losing my accent in an effort to fit in with the kids around me. I changed the foods I ate out of fear of being judged for the plates my mom prepared for me. I would laugh off every single racist remark, every single “they’re here for you” joke whenever there was a cop around, every time someone assumed I was undocumented when I mentioned that I was born in Mexico. I was constantly made to feel like I didn’t belong, and the worst part was that I started to believe it.
“Growing up in the Rio Grande Valley is something unique,” said a local musician. “It’s like we’re caught between two sides. People in Mexico don’t see us as fully Mexican, and people here don’t see us as fully American.” That in-between feeling shaped how I saw myself for years.
Finding a Voice Through Sound
Music gave me a way forward. Around the time I turned 17, my friends invited me to my first house show. I almost didn’t go. The whole situation was out of my comfort zone. I felt anxious about being in a stranger’s house, surrounded by people I didn’t know, listening to music I might not like, and afraid to feel excluded once again. But something overcame me that night, and I said yes.
As I walked into that dim and smoky living room, my heart began to race. I was shoulder to shoulder with strangers, but felt included. Everyone was dressed like me, looked like me, and moved through the world the same way I did.
It was at that moment that the band Yruama started to perform, and I instantly clicked with the music. I had been to concerts before, usually big arena shows, but this performance was raw and vulnerable in a way I had never experienced. After the show, I felt compelled to talk to the singer, Amaury, who was just an everyday guy, who encouraged me to pursue music. I took that advice to heart and started my own band, The Culture, that same year.
It was through playing and supporting multiple shows that I began to find my crowd. I started booking bands and organizing events across the RGV. For the first time, I felt useful and a part of something. I met people who looked like me, talked like me, and felt the same sense of disconnection. We all felt as if we were building something loud and beautiful.
ICE and Its Effects on Our Community
Recent ICE activity has cast a shadow over the country, with many in the Valley too afraid to even leave their homes. This fear doesn’t just affect individuals. It affects the places that bring us together. From pulgas and restaurants to backyard shows and community events, the spaces where we gather are hurting.
“We don’t see what happens after ICE takes someone,” said Elias Cantu, Communications Director of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), in an interview with the Rio Grande Guardian. “They are being separated from their families.”
Cantu also pointed out how these raids are hitting local businesses hard. “Each vacancy represents a human being that was taken,” he said, explaining that many restaurants have had to cut their hours because they don’t have the staff.
Cynthia Sakulenzki, President and CEO of the RGV Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, said in an interview that she’s heard it nonstop from local business owners. “They have complained about what’s going on,” she said. “Complained about ICE taking their family members. They are saying their business has been hurt so, so bad. Worse than what COVID did. They are asking me, what can the Chamber do to help?”
These ripple effects reach the music scene, too. “ICE has definitely had a big impact on a lot of people in the Valley. It’s sad to see so many families torn apart because of these policies,” said the same local musician on the topic of the ICE raids. The people being taken are often those who run food stands, set up sound, design flyers, play in bands, or simply show up to support.
When fear keeps people from gathering, creating, and building community, we lose more than just workers or customers. We lose culture. We lose the very spaces that helped so many of us feel like we finally belonged.
The Show Must Go On
Music gave me a reason to stay, to speak, and to fight for something. It gave me a voice. We need more spaces where kids can scream their lungs out, where culture is celebrated, not watered down, and where showing up as you are is enough.
And people are showing up. From pop-up punk shows during ICE protests to 4th of July events that flip nationalism on its head, the people are reclaiming their space. They aren’t afraid to make noise, and there’s power in that.
So, support local shows. Share a flyer you see. Invite your friends. Make room for local voices.
Later this Fall, Trucha will be organizing a show to celebrate and welcome the next round of Pluma Libre fellows—the very same fellowship that gave me the chance to share my voice and tell my story.
Protect the spaces where our stories can be told loudly, honestly, and without shame. Because for some of us, music isn’t just background noise or an aesthetic, it’s the one thing keeping us alive.
