How minority communities overcome barriers to outdoor spaces in Utah

Story by CATIE QUIGLEY

Most outdoor spaces are dominated by white people, in the United States and in Utah. That is beginning to change with organizations like Outdoor Afro and Latino Outdoors, which encourage minority communities to participate in nature activities and overcome the systemic barriers that they face.

Until the 1950s, national parks and most outdoor recreational spaces were segregated, further alienating Black people.

Meanwhile, white culture experienced a surge of interest in the outdoors, especially with the Transcendentalist Movement in the 1800s. This cultural shift ultimately led to the barriers that people of color now face in experiencing the outdoors.

Perhaps the biggest barrier faced is the economic challenges. People of color and more diverse communities often have lower income rates, which poses a barrier to outdoor interactions in many ways.

Victoria Ramirez, 26, is a graduate student at Utah State University studying archaeology and working as an archaeologist at Capitol Reef this summer, as well as a member of Latino Outdoors. She talked about how her father worked two jobs and her mother worked a job and took care of the family while she was growing up. This is a common experience for minority families.

Many people of color work several jobs in order to just make ends meet and care for their families. When given the opportunity to spend hard-earned money for outdoorsy hobbies versus something that may be more comfortable, it makes sense to choose the comfortable option that is familiar.

Javier Campos, an avid cyclist and member of Latino Outdoors, discussed the expenses outdoor activities can hold, and why minority communities are often less inclined to buy things like tents or hiking boots or bicycles or climbing gear.

Too often, people have to worry about paying the bills or making a car payment or putting food on the table, Campos said in a Zoom interview. Buying a bike is often seen as a luxury.

Nkenna Onwuzuruoha is a Black woman from Georgia who moved to Utah with very little money. She relied on cycling to commute in Salt Lake City. Though she had little interest in nature when she moved, she gained a passion for biking as she relied on it to get around.

Now an avid cyclist, Onwuzuruoha said she recognizes the differences between biking on the more affluent east side of Salt Lake City, versus the more diverse west side of the Salt Lake Valley.

She talked about how the east side of the Salt Lake Valley has better bike infrastructure, such as bike lanes and ways that cyclists can be more visible on the streets. On the west side, money doesn’t go toward things like bike lanes.

She also said African Americans are encouraged to better themselves economically, but this pressure can lead to neglecting physical and emotional well-being.

“I think sometimes that exists in marginalized communities and communities of color that these [nature activities] are not things that we do, because these are leisurely activities,” Onwuzuruoha said in a Zoom interview. “These are things that help us kind of rise up in the world and kind of secure a certain type of socio-economic status, but you can’t have that really nice socio-economic status or middle-class kind of status unless you’re still healthy, happy and healthy.”

Although she began skiing this year, she said she had to overcome a cultural barrier. “For the longest time,” she said, “I was like, I don’t ski, people like me don’t ski, and that is a narrative I had in my mind.”

Victoria Ramirez, the archaeology student at Utah State University, said she faced the challenges of integrating into a new and predominantly white culture when she moved to Utah from Los Angeles.

“I felt like maybe I had to present myself differently, at least in the sense of like, I’m going to buy Chacos (a type of outdoor sandal) or something like that to fit in with everyone else and not wear my hoops (earrings) and make sure that I’m speaking correctly,” she said. She even started pronouncing her name to make it easier for English speakers to say.

The pressure to fit into white society is prevalent in outdoor culture, especially in Utah, whose population is 90% white and clearly reflected in natural spaces. Jonny Gonzalez, the coordinator of the Salt Lake City branch of Latino Outdoors, said it is common while enjoying the outdoors to encounter white people in groups.

To a person of color, looking different can bring unwanted attention and an awareness of the sense of being other. “It’s just one of those things that on a subconscious level just might give people the feeling of ‘well, do I belong here?’” Gonzalez said in a Zoom interview.

In order to create a sense of belonging for people of color who have an interest in the outdoors, groups like Latino Outdoors and Outdoor Afro have been created. They look for ways to create a space that is welcoming for groups that face specific barriers because of the color of their skin.

These groups often work together to create an intersectional environment that promotes outdoor activity for all people.

Campos said, “I think that’s the biggest point of this group is making sure that people feel heard and seen and understood and given that opportunity. And basically … being told hey, this space is also yours, not just theirs. This space belongs to everyone. And you have and you should have equal and equitable access to it. Regardless of your socioeconomic standing, regardless of your social perception of the sport or the outdoors. This is your space and you can own it.”

Teacher Recruitment Scholarship: A program to combat Utah’s shortage of diverse teachers

Story by TESS ROUNDY

Sixteen years ago, a group of professors visited a student-wide assembly at Highland High School. Watching the audience, they admired the diverse group of students.

But the professors couldn’t ignore one section. A group of white individuals stood in contrast to the rest of the audience — the faculty.

This assembly put the professors face-to-face with the reality that ethnically diverse students in Utah are not represented by their educators. They knew something needed to be done to increase diverse representation in Utah K-12 schools.

This is where Dale Smith enters the picture. Smith is the associate dean of education, family, human studies, and social work at Salt Lake Community College. The professors agreed that SLCC would be the best place to start a program bringing diverse students to Utah’s teaching force. It’s Utah’s most diverse college, and as Smith explained in a Zoom interview, it’s less intimidating than the University of Utah high on a hill in Salt Lake City’s east side.

The Teacher Recruitment Scholarship for Diverse Students is a full-ride scholarship designed to bring ethnically diverse educators to Utah schools.

School districts in the Wasatch Front, SLCC and the U work in tandem to fund these future educators’ schooling. School districts identify those eligible for the scholarship, then these students spend two years at SLCC and the remaining two at the U. Working together, these institutions cover tuition and fees for a four-year education.

Pictured from left to right: Michelle Bachman, a West High School teacher, who helped start the program; Mary Burbank, the U’s program affiliate; Melissa Gutierrez, one of the first scholarship recipients to graduate from SLCC and the University of Utah; and Dale Smith. Photo courtesy of Dale Smith.

The Scholarship doesn’t only support students monetarily, but it also offers a support system of peers, professors and advisors who want to help recipients thrive.

And the program is doing well. Its graduation rate at SLCC is nearly 60% — over double that of the college’s graduation rate as a whole.

In fact, the program is doing so well that SLCC’s provost asked Smith to write a proposal to the state legislature that mimicked the scholarship plan. But instead of recruiting diverse teachers, it was meant to combat Utah’s teacher shortage in general. This is how the Teacher Education Initiative came about.

Smith said, “If you’re at Salt Lake Community College and going into education, we can usually help you out in some way.”

But the Teacher Recruitment Scholarship hasn’t always been a success.

“The first year was a disaster,” Smith said.

Many of the minority students who were eligible for the scholarship were getting recruited to four-year universities offering financial assistance. They didn’t see the benefit of attending a community college when they could go straight to a university.

School districts identifying students for the scholarship who weren’t ready for college courses was another early problem. Smith said this meant scholarship money was paying for low-level classes, and it took multiple semesters until some of these students could take education focused courses.

It wasn’t all disastrous at first though. From the beginning, Smith knew a support system was key to success in college, especially for diverse students. So, from the outset the program required a one-credit class that meets weekly. Its purpose is to check in with students to see how they’re doing academically. It also checks with students’ progress making friends.

Scholarship recipients graduating from SLCC in 2013. Photo courtesy of Dale Smith.

Mekenna Thomas, a scholarship recipient in her last semester at SLCC, said meeting other students is her favorite part of the program.

In a Zoom interview, Thomas said she’s never had a class that’s “all minorities.” Having this social network of future educators has been nice.

Thomas, who is Black, was adopted soon after she was born and grew up in Cottonwood Heights, Utah. As a child she loved elementary school. But, she said, she never had a teacher who was a person of color.

After elementary school, Thomas said, school wasn’t as great. In middle school kids called her “smackie blackie.” In high school, bullies called her the N-word. She thinks if she had a teacher of color, she would have felt safe and comfortable sharing these experiences with an adult.

This is one reason she wants to teach elementary school in Utah. Thomas didn’t have a Black role model in school, so she knows it will benefit her future students of color. “I think it’ll be great for them to see someone who is like them in a teaching position,” Thomas said.

Chantelle Zamora, a Latina scholarship recipient, is in her last semester at the U. Now, she’s student-teaching Spanish at her alma mater, West High School. After graduating this semester she’ll continue teaching Spanish with an English as a Second Language endorsement.

Chantelle Zamora has always wanted to work in education. Photo courtesy of Chantelle Zamora.

She always knew she wanted to be in education, but when she was younger, she dreamed of being a librarian.

In middle school she expressed this desire to a teacher, and, in front of the class, he laughed and told her she’d “end up like every other Latina,” pregnant and unwed at 15.

This humiliating experience didn’t deter Zamora. “I actually feel like it motivated me more,” she said. After this event, she wanted to prove that she would not fall into that stereotype, that she would “make it happen.”

While her lifelong dream was to become a librarian, she decided she wanted more access to students. This led her to teaching. Now, with teaching experience under her belt, she can’t imagine bringing a student down or making them feel like they can’t accomplish their dreams.

When Zamora was offered the Teacher Recruitment Scholarship, it wasn’t an obvious choice. She wanted to start at the U because she was afraid that by going to SLCC she’d be “cutting [her]self short.”

Now, less than a month from graduating, she’s happy with her decision. In fact, she said if it weren’t for the program, she doesn’t know if she’d have been able to finish college at all.

Associate Dean Smith said he knows some students may be hesitant to start their undergraduate studies at a community college. But he recommends SLCC. Between the scholarship and supportive faculty, students will get a personalized education that will begin preparing them to become teachers and mentors.

Finding order in the chaos: how the pandemic has taken its toll on the mental health of athletes

Story by BRYNNA MAXWELL

The benefits of playing a sport at any level are endless. From cool gear, to free food, to notoriety and fame, who would not want to be in their shoes? Athletes have it all … or do they?

Looking back at the year 2020, everyone knows it was not easy. The pandemic impacted so many people and has been talked about so much, that it has become normalized, commonplace, mundane, even boring. 

However, one topic that seems to have been glossed over is the effect COVID-19 has had on athletes — whether high school, collegiate, or professional. 

The toll the pandemic has taken on the mental health of these competitors has been monumental and has affected every level of athletics.

Meghan Edwards is a senior at Gig Harbor High School in Washington state this year. She has played varsity basketball for three years and has played competitive basketball since middle school. 2021 is her final year of playing basketball. Or it would have been if not for the worldwide pandemic. 

Meghan Edwards shoots a jumper during a game against Eastlake High School in 2019. Photo courtesy of Meghan Edwards.

Her last year of playing the sport she loves has been stripped away and cut down to just a few short weeks beginning in May.

It has impacted her acutely and has robbed her of some of the joy she used to have for the game she loves.

“COVID-19 is slowly tearing away the love I have for basketball,” Edwards said in a phone interview. “Since I am forced to be away from the basketball atmosphere and self-isolate, it is making me feel unmotivated to train and practice.”

This emotional spiral resulting from isolation is very common for athletes who are being forced to shut down team activities and stay away from each other.

Edwards has endured quite a few changes because of this.

“I have noticed I would rather be at home by myself than hanging out with people, especially people I am not extremely close to,” Edwards said. “I have also been going through different phases where my mental health is great, and I am super motivated and productive. And then some days I am super hard on myself and then feel very unmotivated.”

Edwards has since developed new hobbies such as painting and listening to podcasts to give herself a mental break from the emotional chaos resulting from all of the ups and downs and unknowns of this year. 

Every sport has been affected in one way or another.

Utah sophomore and softball player A.J. Militello has had her first two collegiate seasons dramatically impacted because of COVID-19.

“It was really strange, really surreal,” Militello said in a FaceTime interview. “You got to this point of asking yourself what’s the point of even playing sports?”

Because Militello plays a spring sport, her team is just starting their 2021 season and so far, COVID-19 has still been a huge factor in everything they do. It has changed the way they conduct practices, travel, lift weights, and even room together on road trips. 

The fall softball season was canceled and so were all of the other activities over the last six months of the 2020 year, forcing the team to adapt and live day to day, never knowing what will happen.

Militello said, “We weren’t allowed to practice when we came back (from summer break). All we were allowed to do was individual groups.  And then we finally got cleared to do full team practice on a taped-off field wearing a mask the entire time. If your mask was below your nose, you got sent home. We weren’t allowed to break the rules.”

These strict guidelines carried over into the 2021 softball season where there are rules on how to eat, act, and even stand when doing team events and activities. The players have to make sure they are at least 6 feet apart at all times and when eating a group meal, they have to eat by themselves. In their own rooms. In total isolation. 

All this has taken quite the mental toll on Militello and her team. 

“Because of all the time we weren’t allowed to play, a lot of people were really struggling with figuring out who they were outside of being a Division I athlete,” she said. “A lot of people put all their worth into their sport and when it gets taken away, they don’t know what to do.”

Professional soccer player Stephanie Cox , an Olympian and a gold medalist, can relate to that and more when reflecting on the past year. 

Stephanie Cox with her daughter and husband after a soccer match. Photo courtesy of Stephanie Cox.

For her, she was one of the few who was allowed to play through the pandemonium of the pandemic. 

The National Women’s Soccer League played a short season in one location in Salt Lake City. Cox’s team, the Reign, was lucky enough to get through the short spurt of a season with no negative impact from COVID-19.

However, having to play through the heart of the pandemic caused her and her team to become emotionally exhausted. 

“The hardest part was that it was a shorter season and most players wanted to make the most of it, so they played super tight,” Cox said in a phone interview. “There was not a lot of time to warm up into the season.”

Normally, Reign FC plays around 25 games in a season before playoffs. However, the 2020 season was cut short because of the pandemic. 

Even though these athletes were beat up the past year emotionally and mentally, the players interviewed all had a common theme from their experiences: growth.

Cox said, “I have gotten a fresh appreciation for being able to play. Next time I get the chance to play, I am not going to feel any pressure and tension and just soak it all in.”

That “next time” is coming fast as the 2021 season is set to start April 9.

Softball player A.J. Militello learned a life lesson that some athletes never fully grasp. When reflecting, she said, “Sports are not what you are, it’s what you do. You should never put your identity into something like a sport that can be taken away just like that.”

One Latinx drag artist’s journey and integration of QTBIPOC spaces in Salt Lake City

Story and photo by JASMINE BARLOW

*Editor’s Note: QTBIPOC represents an acronym for Queer & Trans Black, Indigenous, People of Color.

Salt Lake City is making strides in opening diverse, engaging spaces for QTBIPOC artists and youth to express themselves in a variety of art, healing, and community programs.

Justice Legacy, a 20-year-old Latinx drag artist (pronouns: they/them), has passionately immersed themself into such spaces, honing and experimenting with their craft and personas. Featured as a performer across several venues, including the Utah Pride Center and Queer Haven SLC, their “coming-of-stage” story is steeped in courage, vitality, and being true to oneself.

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Complexities surrounding Legacy’s upbringing weren’t always so glamorous. “I didn’t grow up with my biological father,” Legacy says. “He was an alcoholic, so our mom kicked him out because she didn’t really want that negativity around us. He was eventually deported to Mexico, so I grew up with my mother and my sister’s father.”

Reflecting on this change, Legacy realized that the absence of their father meant an absence of their Latinx roots. “Since I didn’t grow up with my dad, he carried the Hispanic side because my mom is white,” they says. “Although my sister’s dad was of Mexican descent, I was dipped into [Latinx culture] more than completely engulfed. I feel I have been ripped from a culture I really wanted to be a part of.”

Aching to rekindle this part of their identity, Legacy recently began teaching themself Spanish, learning more deeply about Latinx culture, and discovering what it means to be Latinx. For example, their primary onstage persona derives from traditional beauty ideals of Latinx women. “[My Latinx background] has definitely played into my look the most,” Legacy says. “I love the long black hair, bold red lips; very Selena!”

Sexuality and gender expression, another major aspect of Legacy’s identity, was explored at a young age. However, it wasn’t always met with acceptance. “If I wanted a Barbie or something not necessarily made for a boy, it was almost always met with a ‘no,’” Legacy says. “It was because my [father figure] wasn’t very accepting with what I wanted to do or what I wanted to be.” On the other hand, Legacy’s mother responded differently. “My mom grew and adapted, so I didn’t really have to come out to her. She always knew.”

It was in high school that exploration began to manifest as outward expression. “In high school, I did not understand my gender or who I wanted to be, so I came out as gender fluid,” Legacy says. “Basically, I wanted to wake up every day and dress as the gender I felt.”

The transition of gender fluidity subsequently sparked an interest in pursuing drag and makeup artistry. “I eventually came to realize that I want to identify as male, and use drag to express my feminine side,” Legacy says. “My styling is all self-taught. I woke up one morning and I was like ‘I wanna be a hairstylist, a makeup artist, all of it.’ I started practicing makeup, and my mom showed me.”

A big break emerged for Legacy when they were invited to perform at Queer Prom, an annual LGBTQ+ youth dance hosted by the Utah Pride Center (UPC). “I was ecstatic,” Legacy says. “I ordered a really good wig, and I thought I would splurge on my outfit.” The invitation also evoked feelings of nervousness, as it was one of UPC’s major events during the year and the young artist was fairly new to the drag performance industry.

Ultimately, it proved to be one of the most memorable, life-changing performances up to date. “It was a really crazy awakening,” Legacy says. “They asked me to stand by the photo booth, and people would come up and say: ‘You are such an inspiration, it’s so amazing what you do, you are so gorgeous.’ I couldn’t believe the impact I was making.”

Following the Queer Prom experience, Justice Legacy was invited to perform at other UPC events, including Masqueerade and another year of Queer Prom, as well as Queer Haven shows hosted at the Beerhive.

When asked about the inspiration behind the name “Justice Legacy,” it came from an affinity for “strong powerful heroines” and a twist of the “Justice League” series title. “It felt like a perfect name for me,” Legacy says. “I wanted to feel like Wonder Woman or Power Girl.”

If Legacy could go back in time, they would want to let their younger self know how much power they truly hold. “Sometimes I get too much into my head. I had really bad anxiety in high school,” Legacy says. “I would remind myself that where my mind is taking me to is not actually going to happen. It still takes a lot of reminding myself now that everything is going to be OK.”

Justice Legacy commends the amazing love, support, and authenticity imbued in the city’s queer spaces for supporting their journey.

Existimos is an inclusive, artistic community devoted to supporting QTBIPOC individuals like Justice Legacy. “We created Existimos because we wanted more art-focused spaces and events made for diverse and marginalized communities in [Salt Lake City],” says Graciela Campos, co-founder of Existimos with her sister, Patricia. “We just wanted our own community space that was ours.”

In response to how the broader Utah community can better serve the interests and needs of Latinx artists, Campos encourages tangible, meaningful action steps. “Buy art from them, hire them for gigs, go to local shows, pass the mic,” Campos says in an email interview. “Sometimes the broader art community only cares about what’s happening in bigger organizations or the biggest institutions where, honestly, a lot of local artists are better than what you see in museums and more diverse.”

To gain exposure and find more resources, Existimos decided to participate in Utah’s annual 2019 summer Pride event for the first time, despite the “crunch time” to make it happen. “We worked with local creatives Clover and Marqueza to plan it because we wanted more views and opinions,” Campos says. “My sister and I can’t speak for everyone in the QTBIPOC community.”

Campos believes that Pride should be a celebration about “community and existing unapologetically.” “[It] isn’t about cute slogans or pricey merch[andise] or rainbows everywhere,” she says.

Campos has a deep purpose and yearning for starting Existimos and creating the dynamic it is today. “I think [QTBIPOC] want to be in a space where they feel loved and accepted,” she says. “A space where they meet fellow creatives and feel inspired. A place to escape from the harsh realities they deal with. At the end of the day, they just want to find love and a sense of family and I believe we bring that.”

Running and maintaining the space (located at 7677 S. Main St. in Midvale) can be challenging: from working a day job, to balancing all of the responsibilities with a personal life. Funding the space seems to be the most pressing challenge. “We have a GoFundMe that everyone should check out and spread. It gives us funding to keep the space open every month,” Campos says.

Despite these challenges, the events reportedly turn out to be an intimate, heart-warming experience for everyone involved. “We don’t really care about turnouts or calculate those types of things,” Campos says. “We hold Zumba classes to like eight people and those are so uplifting. We have dance parties, movie nights, and art shows. We don’t care who shows up as long as people know there is space for them and they feel at ease and welcomed.”

For QTBIPOC feeling disempowered and struggling to find their voices, Campos imparts a message of hope: “There is a community out there, and it does get better. No one can ever be you, and the world would be less bright without you. So be authentically yourself.”

Mestizo high school senior shows resilience amid COVID-19

Story by ALISON TANNER

Blossoms are blooming. The sun is shining. Temperatures are rising. Utah has welcomed a beautiful, hopeful spring. Although the familiarity of this shifting season has arrived, there’s no denying that there is a different feeling this year. 

Coronavirus has struck the nation and the world like a lightning bolt. It appears that no one is exempt from some sort of sacrifice or challenge. 

Parks are closed. Roads are sparse. Schools everywhere have transitioned online. Healthcare workers tirelessly tend to patients. Small businesses are holding on by a thread. People are losing jobs. Events are being cancelled seemingly every day. Those being mourned, must be celebrated with what has now been coined as “digital funerals.”

Everything happened so fast that the transition has been difficult for many. Lupita Galvez Zamora, a senior at the Salt Lake Center for Science Education, was told repeatedly by teachers and leaders that there wasn’t anything to worry about. But the school was shut down a week later.

“I really envisioned my senior year being so memorable and important, but it’s like it’s been taken away from me,” Zamora said in a video call. 

During what was supposed to be Zamora’s spring break, teachers began to add coursework online for students. Without a proper system of online communication, expectations weren’t clear. This resulted in students missing assignments and having more homework than they realized owing to the change, including unanticipated due dates during their break.

Luckily, Zamora had a close network of friends who helped each other communicate about their new digital reality and responsibilities. 

She added that many of her classmates are very upset, feeling deprived of their senior year experiences and upcoming graduation. “It is what it is,” Zamora said. “We have to accept it and move forward.”

lupita galvez

Lupita graduates from the Salt Lake Center for Science Education this spring. Image courtesy of Lupita Galvez Zamora.

She, too, is making sacrifices. Zamora said her family was planning a large party with friends and family to celebrate her high school graduation. Being a first-generation student, she emphasized the monumental occasion this was in her life, as well as what it meant to her parents.

Despite these setbacks, Zamora has chosen to look toward the future with hope and is reflecting on her positive experiences to help cope with her disappointments. 

During her middle school years, Zamora was involved with the Mestizo Arts & Activism Collective, an organization dedicated to removing barriers for minority groups to pursue higher education. She began participating full-time once she was in high school. Her experiences with MAA and the people she has met have inspired her to be more involved in her community and learn relevant information about issues that are often ignored or forgotten. 

“They’ve taught me so many things. It’s something that I’ve cherished and has shaped the direction I want my education to go,” Zamora said.

Though the details of the future are uncertain for many, Zamora has been accepted to the University of Utah and plans on attending soon. 

“Listening to people’s stories is so important,” Zamora said. Showing an interest in social justice, political science, ethnic studies and the possibility of law school in the future, she knows that whatever she pursues, she’ll always be an advocate for her community. 

Mindfulness and holistic wellness blossoms in Salt Lake City’s Latinx community

Story and photo by JASMINE BARLOW

Sacred Energy Empowerment Center (SEEC) and Latino Behavioral Health Services are creating dynamic, inclusive, and accessible spaces for Latinx individuals in the Salt Lake City area to explore holistic health options.

Jomar Hernandez, an accredited holistic coach from Venezuela, is leading Spanish-speaking group meditations and healing circles at SEEC. Additionally, Hernandez offers private coaching and organizes large-scale events. She says her events are amassing an impressive turnout, and she is excited for future projects.

Hernandez’s unwavering passion and commitment to holistic wellness stem from her bravery of battling an early phase of cancer, diagnosed in 2013. “I was very scared of what was going on and how it will affect my family,” Hernandez says. “I returned to my meditation practice and participated in healing circles for comfort, like I did back in Venezuela.”

Hernandez recalls an “empowering treatment experience” during her stay at the Sanoviv Holistic Institute in Mexico. A variety of holistic-based treatments were implemented, a type of medical experience unfamiliar to Western societies. “It was there I began to connect with health coaches, and I fell in love [with this path],” Hernandez says.

Jomar Hernandezsmall

When it comes to addressing individual client needs, she has a simple approach: “The biggest question I ask [my clients] is this: ‘How open are you?’ And that’s where the process of true healing begins.” In relation to her Latin American roots, she feels the overarching culture surrounding holistic healing in Latin America is an “ancient practice,” and says she is honored to bring this essence of sacredness to helping Latinx women, her target client demographic.

Her line of work is not exempt from challenges, with difficulties ranging from establishing a client network to tackling misconceptions surrounding coaching. “It has been a little bit complicated because the people really don’t know about how a coach can help,” Hernandez says. “They usually come to me if they want to lose weight. [However], when [the clients] start asking questions about their health problems and diet, they realize there is an emotional part that we need to go deeper into.”

Hernandez believes her “Before and After” photo approach is a highly-effective tool, where clients can see a physical manifestation of emotional progression and positive change in their demeanor following a session. “It brings me so much joy to see how much they are glowing and growing,” she says.

Healing takes many forms, and mental health therapy is a crucial aspect of the holistic equation. For Latinx communities, there is a dimension of unique importance. Latino Behavioral Health Services (LBHS) serves such a purpose in the heart of Salt Lake City. It is dedicated to helping vulnerable members of Utah’s Latinx community recover from mental illness and addiction.

Diana Aguilera, a Peer Programs coordinator at LBHS, describes the foundational incentive in creating the award-winning, nonprofit organization: “[LBHS] saw the need for mental health services in Spanish,” she says. “It is a peer-run organization, helping substance abuse and mental health issues for individuals and family members.” Deemed a “softer approach,” Aguilera finds that peer mentorship “makes it easier for people to open up, as if everyone in the room completely understands you.”

Aguilera says deep stigma and economic barriers are prominent factors that may discourage the local Latinx community from seeking help. “Mental health services are so unapproachable,” she says. “You are calling someone up, saying you need help. It’s hard for people to do. On top of that, it can be very expensive.”

Aguilera believes that Latinx cultures may view mental health as a “character weakness” or something that is chosen. “We have families come in, where parents feel they have failed as caretakers,” she says. Empathizing and addressing these commonly-held beliefs, LBHS offers a rich variety of mental health education and support classes to deconstruct stigma and strengthen connection with the self and others. Additionally, therapy services are offered by licensed professionals at a reduced cost to accommodate all economic levels.

Despite these challenges, Aguilera says she believes there is positive progress being made. “In the grand scheme, mental health is gradually becoming more accessible. At [LBHS], we are creating a wonderful community to heal. We don’t have the power to do it all, but we are creating a space where we are not ashamed to share our stories.”

Whether an individual’s healing journey aligns with mental health therapy, holistic health coaching, or both, Aguilera and Jomar Hernandez both emphasize the importance of spreading awareness and strengthening local outreach. These efforts cast a welcoming net to reach those who can benefit from their guidance and resources.

Mestizo youth make difference on Capitol Hill

Story by ALISON TANNER

Though it varies by seasons, the sun rises early over Salt Lake City. The bright glow peeks over the Wasatch Mountains until the entire Valley is bathed in golden light. Cars flood Interstate 15, as drivers make their commute north, south, and everywhere in between.

The hustle and bustle of the day-to-day continues outside, while dedicated students gather on Capitol Hill right as the doors open at 7 a.m. They engage in powerful discussions regarding political implications of bills in the state of Utah. Then they head to their respective schools to continue the rest of their day. 

For over 10 years, students of color — primarily those in high school — have been determined to let their voices be heard.

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The Mestizo Arts & Activism Legislative Internship provides an opportunity for high school students to a gain valuable learning experience during the 2020 State Legislative Session. Image courtesy of Itzél Nava.

In 2009, the Mestizo Arts & Activism Legislative Internship (MAALI) was created by University of Utah professor Matt Bradley to inform students about educational and political pipelines. This opportunity provides young students with hands-on working experience and a chance to interact in a legislative environment.

Although Bradley died in 2012, his legacy is felt and cherished by minority groups and his impact is seen across the Salt Lake area. Also serving as a co-founder for the Mestizo Arts & Activism Collective, Bradley created MAALI to help people of color and minority groups remove barriers toward higher education.

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MAALI students attending the HB 271 committee hearing. Image courtesy of Itzél Nava.

The internship usually includes five to seven students, who are high school sophomores and juniors. From the end of January to mid-March, students meet regularly three times a week or more, often spending hours at a time to discuss perspectives and make plans. The diverse group of youth track bills, write analyses and interview legislators, while participating in lobby and liaison engagement.

Itzél Nava, University of Utah student and mentor at the Mestizo Arts & Activism Collective, also oversees responsibilities for the MAALI internship. Nava coordinates much of the program assigning reading and curriculum, facilitating discussion, managing recruitment of students each year and scheduling.

Nava said that although many people want to help minority communities, they often don’t listen when people of color share their voice. She added that in order to understand what issues minority groups are facing, you have to go to the source. “We are that source,” Nava said in a video call. 

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The students follow bills that could potentially affect SLC’s west-side communities and prepare themselves to continue lobbying. Image courtesy of Itzél Nava.

One high school student shared with Nava that until participating in MAALI, they hadn’t considered attending college as an option in their future. Once they had meaningful experiences and learned how they could impact their community for the better, they felt empowered and capable of pursuing higher education.

“Our voices matter,” Nava said. “Young people are the future of our country. People of color should take up space. They’re just as qualified and intelligent and their experiences matter.”

 

Family-owned taxi service brings success to Salt Lake City’s west side

Story by CHEYENNE PETERSON

Passengers from an arrival flight at the Salt Lake City International Airport make their way to the outside pickup location. Cellphones are pulled out within seconds and with a simple tap on an app, ride-share drivers swarm, like busy bees picking up their pollen. 

Corporate ride sharing has dominated the field, casting taxi drivers to the curb. But not all taxi companies have lost their edge. A family-owned business stays competitive in this evolving marketplace. 

Ricardo Mendosa has been a taxi driver for the past 18 years in the Salt Lake City area. 

AAA Latino Transportation owner Ricardo Mendosa at Salt Lake City International Airport. Image from Google Photos.

Mendosa first worked seven years for a major taxi service, but decided that he could create a better transportation business of his own. He calls it AAA Latino Transportation. 

AAA Latino Transportation is located west of Salt Lake City’s Interstate 15, conveniently on 1007 S. 800 West.

According to AAA Latino Transportation’s website, the business provides an efficient and reliable taxi service, without the struggle of getting a rental car and for a good value. Owners stress the importance of helping clientele reach their destination without draining their wallet.

Mendosa generally takes most of his rides to the Salt Lake City area and to the Salt Lake City International Airport. 

“And if you want to drive to Vegas, I’ll drive you to Vegas,” Mendosa said in a phone interview.

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AAA Latino Transportation at the border of Idaho. Image from Google Photos.

The transportation service areas include Salt Lake City, Ogden, Provo, Park City, Tooele, Layton, Logan, and Heber. 

Ride Sharing has become lucrative and convenient for many. Either as a part time or transitional work. Julie Bennett moved from Georgia and as she was transitioning to her new home in Utah, she had not secured a job. While applying to potential careers, she spent two months driving for Lyft. 

According to Bennett, as a Lyft driver, she would not go any farther than a 20-minute drive. 

Drivers are unable to see a passenger’s destination, until they accept the fare.

“You can’t see where they want to go or where they need you to pick them up. Unless you have a certain amount of rides, which I had not done. Every time I would pick someone up and notice they would need to be driven more than 15 to 20 minutes. I would reject the ride. Nothing more than 20 minutes, just because I didn’t get paid to drive the 20 minutes back,” Bennett said in a phone interview. 

She said many other ride-share drivers also would not go the longer distances.

“I do know some other Lyft drivers. I bet they would not drive more than 20 minutes, because it’s a waste of their time, money, and miles on their car,” Bennett said.

Bennett said she would take Mendosa’s transportation services, since she could confirm that they have great reviews. Google reviews rates AAA Latino Transportation at a solid 4.6 stars, whereas other company reviews like Yellow Cab have 2.4 stars. 

“I would definitely take a taxi to Las Vegas, if I knew they were reliable and at a good price. If I knew what the rate of it was, before they even took me, I would trust them a lot more. I just know that if I were to request a Lyft, they would reject my ride. I don’t even know if any ride-share would even allow a ride that far. I don’t like that I won’t know who I’d be riding with either, until they accepted the ride. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with someone that I would be uncomfortable with,” Bennett said. 

Haley Meyer lives on the west side of Salt Lake City and uses ride-share companies frequently.

“I’m a big skier and sometimes I take an Uber to Solitude [Mountain Resort, a ski area near Salt Lake City]. Solitude at the beginning of the season started enforcing pay parking. Probably to get traffic off the roads. There was a lot of traffic and blockage on the roads up there, last season,” Meyer said in a phone interview. 

Although Meyer takes an Uber to go skiing, she runs into some issues getting rides. 

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AAA Latino Transportation will take you anywhere, in any weather. Image from Google Photos.

“My favorite time to go skiing is when it’s snowing, that’s when there’s fresh powder. That’s when most people go skiing anyways. It’s hard to find an Uber that will pick me up and take me to Solitude when it’s snowing,” Meyer said.

Mendosa’s company will take you to all the ski resorts. 

According to the website, “Our mission is to take you where you need to go, no matter if it’s raining, snowing, lightning, day or night. We are your best option for Taxi Service in Utah. Twenty-four hours, 7 days a week, and 365 days.” 

There is no need to take a shuttle to the ski resorts. 

“Taking a shuttle is not really that convenient. They stop at so many places and I feel like I wasted so much time,” Meyer said.

AAA Latino Transportation promises to be on time, professional, courteous, knowledgeable, and offer a safe taxi service.

Marisa’s Fashion is a model for west-side Hispanic-owned businesses

Story and photos by JACOB RUEDA

Hispanic-owned businesses in Salt Lake City are becoming the staple in the local economic landscape. The rise of such businesses began in the early to mid-1980s and has become prevalent due to the influx of people migrating from other states and other countries. U.S. Census Bureau data from 2019 says Hispanics or Latinos are the largest non-white ethnic group in the city.

Despite their growing numbers in Salt Lake City, the presence of Hispanics is not as commonplace compared to places like Los Angeles or Houston. While Hispanic-owned businesses in those cities are typical in their local economies, their impact went unrecognized in Salt Lake City until recently.

Marisa’s Fashion was one of the first Hispanic-owned businesses in Salt Lake City. The store is located at 67 W. 1700 South.

“Marisa’s Fashion is one of the first Hispanic-owned stores in Salt Lake City,” says Refugio Perez, a local business owner and entrepreneur who started the clothing and general retail store 40 years ago. After arriving from California and receiving settlement money from a work-related injury, he started Perez Enterprises and created Marisa’s Fashion from it, naming the store after one of his children.

“It is the only one that is still in business out of an initial group of five stores that were established,” Perez says in Spanish.

The store located at 67 W. 1700 South has had the support of the Hispanic community from the beginning. Although at the time the Hispanic population in Salt Lake City was small, people around the Wasatch Front and other states knew of Marisa’s Fashion and came to shop there.

“We started to grow quickly because there weren’t that many places and people were limited as to where they could shop,” Perez says. “We had people from as far as Ogden, Park City and Wendover [Nevada] coming to our store so it worked out for us and we were able to grow our business.”

Refugio Perez is the founder of Perez Enterprises. He started Marisa’s Fashion in the early to mid-1980s.

Marisa’s Fashion grew as a result of demand but also from knowing the responsibilities of running a store. One of the challenges in today’s business world is lacking that knowledge. Perez says some Hispanic entrepreneurs today go in ambitiously without being aware of basic operational skills.

“Nowadays, someone starts a business and they do it without knowing the basics of how to start or run a business,” he says. Aside from the legal and financial responsibilities, staying on top of technological advancements in the digital age is essential in today’s market.

“There have been a lot of professional Hispanic businesses of late and that’s why they are important tools for success,” Perez says.

The longevity of Hispanic-owned businesses is determined by the ability to overcome obstacles. Perez says it has not always been easy staying on track, especially in times of a national crisis.

“9/11 really affected us,” Perez says. “I felt at that time that the State of Utah was the last to get hit economically because of what happened in New York.” An analysis from online small business website The Balance says the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, caused a recession at the time to worsen. Perez decided to hand over responsibility of Marisa’s Fashion to his brother as a result.

“I told him that if any of the businesses survived, I’d prefer it be his and that’s what happened,” Perez says. Since then, the business has carried on in Salt Lake City’s west side. Economic downturns and other setbacks aside, Hispanic-owned businesses like Marisa’s Fashion and Perez Enterprises continue to grow and establish themselves permanently in the area’s commercial landscape because of the economic and social influence they have.

Aaron Quarnberg, chairman of the Utah Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, says “understanding the Hispanic business community” is necessary “for any company looking to grow.”

In his welcome letter to the 2019 Hispanic Small Business Summit, Aaron Quarnberg, chairman of the Utah Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, says “understanding the Hispanic business community” is necessary “for any company looking to grow.” Statistics website Statista reports the buying power of the Hispanic community in the United States is expected to reach $1.7 trillion by the end of 2020. (That figure was calculated before the impact of COVID-19 in March 2020.)

“Latinos are contributing a lot not only with their businesses but with their taxes and it’s something that I think governments should really pay attention to,” says Moises Olivares, a Realtor and author based in Los Angeles, in a Facebook chat. He also says Salt Lake City can learn from cities like Los Angeles by expanding the perception of the Hispanic community as more than just what is propagated through stereotype.

A February 2019 study from the Peterson Institution for International Economics says “Hispanics, especially the foreign born, exhibit higher levels of entrepreneurship than other ethnic groups in the United States.” Despite these findings, Perez from Perez Enterprises says the Hispanic community in Salt Lake City still lacks recognition for its overall economic contribution. 

The Utah Hispanic Chamber of Commerce helps Hispanic-owned businesses thrive in the local economy while helping them comply with city regulations.

“People like to spend cash,” Perez says. “We know that helps business, even [non-Hispanic] businesses. If they did not have the economic support from the Hispanic community, they wouldn’t be in business.”

Regardless, Salt Lake City’s west-side Hispanic-owned businesses continue in spite of setbacks, crises or perceptions from others. Weathering the ups and downs of the market, cultural shifts, and technological changes helps businesses like Perez Enterprises and Marisa’s Fashion endure for as long as they have.

“When one is patient and is secure in the knowledge that they have to keep at it and keep going,” Perez says, “it becomes important so we can keep fighting and not give up to the last breath.”

Editor’s Note: Read more stories about local entrepreneurs, the Utah Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, and the impact of the Hispanic community in Utah.

 

Ballet Folklórico de las Américas: a home away from home

Details on a costume used by the group.

Story and photos by PALAK JAYSWAL

On the edge of downtown Salt Lake City, just behind the Gateway Mall, resides a small building in a fenced-off area. During the day, the white brick shines, the title on top proudly giving it an identity. The Centro Civico Mexicano, on 155 S. 600 West, is a nonprofit organization that is home to many different local groups. 

Late on a weekday night, you’re bound to run into a youth soccer group in the middle of practice. On the opposite side of the gym, behind a polyester red curtain, lives a stage. It is set for the dancers from Ballet Folklórico de las Américas. The oldest Latin American folk dancing group in Utah practices in the building twice a week, undeterred by conditions such as freezing cold temperatures in the winter. Each member arrives with a smile and a welcoming hug to all the members (and guests alike). They’re ready to immerse themselves in cultural dance for the next two hours. The silent message from the group is clear: everyone is welcome here. 

Ballet Folklórico de las Américas celebrated its 40th anniversary in November 2019. The group, originally formed in 1979, has continued to uphold its original mission “to unite the community under one heart as we communicate with the universal language of music and dance to show that Latinos are an important group contributing in our mainstream society with traditions and celebrations that bring enrichment to families and communities together as we celebrate diversity.” 

Legacy and Roots 

Members of Ballet Folklórico de las Américas.

The group celebrates diversity within Latin American countries as well as within a community of Latinos in Utah. Giselle Cornejo, a past dancer and continued supporter of the organization, identifies as Afro-Latina. She has been with the group since it originated when she was 15 years old. Her mother is one of the original founders and Cornejo’s experience and legacy with the group has helped her find her own identity. “When you’re learning a dance from Latin America, you learn why you do things a certain way. You learn what the movement means. It’s deeper than just a dance. It’s a projection of a culture,” Cornejo said. 

It is a culture that Cornejo has passed along to her own two daughters, now older, who also joined the group. The folk dance group not only becomes a second home for many immigrants, helping them adjust to their new lives and retain their identities, but also helps them stay in touch with their culture. In fact, Cornejo encourages involvement for this very reason. “If you have Latin American roots, I would say this would be a good place to bring your kids. It’s a fun group and it keeps families together. I think it helps [kids] identify who they are,” she said. 

Hats used in one of the dances.

While Cornejo is a generational legacy within the group, even the newer participants share the same sentiment. Miztly Montero, another dancer, has only been dancing for three months and she can already attest to the difference she feels in her life. “It’s an extended family, in a way, and it’s part of the culture you don’t get in any other scenarios where other people dominate the sectors,” Montero said.

As a first-generation child of an immigrant, Montero felt increased pressure to prove herself to her family and to the world. “You feel like people are looking down on you,” she said. “Part of that led me to work harder in school, at work, but it also led me to miss part of my culture and not embrace it as much.” The part of her culture that Montero missed out on is rediscovered through folk dancing — where she gets to learn about her heritage through songs, dance moves and community. 

Montero urges everyone to support groups like Ballet Folklórico de las Américas through attendance and inclusion. “It’s cool to embrace the value groups like this bring. Not just to the Hispanic population, but to other cultures and how we can come together and embrace those differences.” 

Resiliency, Teamwork and Patience 

Those differences are exactly what led Artistic Director Irma Hofer to her discovery of the dance group over 36 years ago. Hofer found herself drawn in by the different cultures of Latin America, not just the sole focus on her own Mexican heritage. “Latin American folk dancing has more variety and more stories. I learned history, traditions, celebrations and customs through that. The idiosyncrasies of Latin Americans,” Hofer said.  Through learning dances like the merengue, salsa, mamba and others she continues to grow. 

Boots and Decorations used during the dances.

Through her leadership, Hofer strives to make the group a place where her dancers can not only embrace their identities, but also learn to be better people. “We learn a lot of our personal and human values in this group,” Hofer said. “We learn resiliency, teamwork and patience.” 

All three of these traits are being put to work as the folk dance group, among various others who use the civic center, raise funds for a new building. With so many different groups using one center, there is simply not enough room for everyone. More often than not, Ballet Folklórico de las Américas has its practices canceled because other groups can’t get their work done with music playing. 

“The Mexican Civic Center is in much need of funding because we need a new building. We need dance classrooms, art classrooms, conference rooms where people can meet and not be canceled,” Hofer said. “This is the space we have. This is it.” 

The Mexican flag at the Civic Center.

Despite the circumstances, the dancers and members of Ballet Folkórico de las Américas continue to dance away, committed to making the most of what they have with a group that has offered so many of them a home away from home. The energizing music of the mambo, the dance the group is practicing, fills the cold building. Costumes are brought out for the dancers’ performance that weekend and a Mexican flag proudly waves next to the stage at the Centro Civico Mexicano, welcoming anyone who is looking for a place to belong.