Nezza's anthem in Spanish at Dodger Stadium ignites debate over team's immigrant support
Associated Press
LOS ANGELES (AP) — As fans removed their caps and stood for the national anthem Saturday night at Dodger Stadium, they were met with a surprising rendition of 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' Latin pop and R&B singer Nezza stood in front of the crowd, closed her eyes and belted the song out — in Spanish.
Her 90-second rendition, and a behind-the-scenes video she shared on social media of team representatives discouraging it beforehand, quickly went viral and have become a flashpoint for Dodgers fans frustrated by the team's lack of vocal support for immigrant communities impacted by the deportation raids across the U.S., including numerous neighborhoods in and around Los Angeles.
Protests over the arrests made by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have captured international attention and mostly been held in areas a short drive from Dodger Stadium.
Nezza says even after the discouragement from the team's representative, she hadn't yet decided whether to sing in English or Spanish until she walked out onto the field and saw the stands filled with Latino families in Dodger blue.
'This is my moment to show everyone that I am with them that we have a voice and with everything that's happening it's not OK. I'm super proud that I did it. No regrets,' the 30-year-old singer told The Associated Press.
The team has yet to make a statement on the record regarding the arrests and raids.
Manager Dave Roberts has said he doesn't know enough about the issue to comment, but Dodgers hitter Kike Hernandez separately spoke out on Instagram over the weekend.
'I am saddened and infuriated by what's happening in our country and our city,' he said in a post in English and Spanish. 'I cannot stand to see our community being violated, profiled, abused and ripped apart. ALL people deserve to be treated with respect, dignity and human rights.' The response to Nezza's anthem performance
In her viral TikTok video, Nezza is shown speaking with an off-camera Dodgers employee who tells her, 'We are going to do the song in English today, so I'm not sure if that wasn't transferred or if that wasn't relayed.' She's received an outpouring of support since Saturday from celebrities like Jason Mraz, Kehlani, Chiquis, Ava DuVernay, The Kid Mero, Becky G and more.
'Don't you dare turn your backs on us now. We, as a city, have embraced you and need your support more than ever. Think about who fills up your stadium,' said Becky G, addressing the Dodgers in her Instagram story.
The Spanish-language version Nezza sang, 'El Pendón Estrellado,' is the official translation of the national anthem and was commissioned in 1945 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt from Peruvian-American composer Clotilde Arias.
Nezza says her manager immediately received a call from an unidentified Dodgers employee saying their clients were not welcome at the stadium again, but the baseball team said in a statement to the AP: 'There were no consequences or hard feelings from the Dodgers regarding her performance. She was not asked to leave. We would be happy to have her back.' The Dodgers' history with Latinos and immigrants in Los Angeles
Dodger Stadium has a long history with immigrant communities in Los Angeles.
Many proudly wear Dodger blue jerseys and merchandise as an extension of their love for the city — the team still sells special 'Los Dodgers' jerseys on its official website — and attend the stadium's multiple heritage nights honoring Mexican, Salvadoran, Guatemalan and more immigrant communities, including those from outside Latin America. The Dodgers' fan base is heavily Latino, and the team is among the select few to offer Spanish-language television broadcasts.
The franchise is also frequently praised for its history seeking out diverse talent, including Jackie Robinson (baseball's first Black player), Fernando Valenzuela (a Mexican icon who transcended baseball) and Chan Ho Park (the first Korean in the big leagues).
But the relationship is not without tension, with some Mexican American and Latino residents resentful of the team's forceful eviction of Latino families in the 1950s to build Dodger Stadium in what is popularly known as Chavez Ravine.
Fans have since called for a boycott online, while others say they'd be willing to return if the team spoke out.
'We love you. You've been so much a big part of our lives. … We would like to understand that you love us just the same. Or are we just money to you?' asked Power 106's Brown Bag Mornings host Letty Peniche in an Instagram video.
Los Angeles resident Alora Murray is considering a temporary boycott.
'Nobody is messing around about this,' said Murray. 'Los Angeles is built upon the Dodgers. For them to not kind of be with us, I feel like us boycotting or not going to games will send that message.' Fans cite inconsistencies about the Dodgers' political stances
Many in the Latino community have been sharing videos of stadium security confronting fans who have political signs or messages on their clothing.
Longtime Dodger fan Emeli Avalos says she doesn't believe the team is apolitical since they released a statement to condemn Hamas' Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.
'If it's really about staying out of politics, then why do they support that? But when people down the street from them are getting taken, kidnapped, why do they stay silent?' she said.
Avalos attended Pride Night on June 13 wearing a shirt that said 'Abolish ICE' on the front and 'FDT' — an acronym for an expletive directed at President Donald Trump — on the back. In a popular TikTok video, Avalos is seen speaking with Dodgers security. She says she thought she was going to be asked to leave but was instead asked to cover the back of her shirt with her jersey.
'They told me, 'The front is fine, you just gotta cover the back,'' said Avalos, who said she will not be returning to the stadium.
Another video of a fan being confronted by security for holding a banner with 'ICE' crossed out circulated online over the weekend, furthering criticism of the team.
When asked about the incidents, a Dodgers spokesperson pointed to the team's stadium guidelines, which state the team 'does not allow signs or banners of any kind.' Also prohibited is any attire the Dodgers deem — at their sole discretion — to be obscene, profane, vulgar, indecent, violent, threatening, abusive or prejudiced against any individual or group.
Nezza does not think she will return to the stadium, despite the Dodgers' statement, but says she hopes her performance will inspire others to use their voice and speak out.
'It's just shown me like how much power there is in the Latin community,' she said. 'We gotta be the voice right now.'
recommended
in this topic
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
San Francisco Chronicle
38 minutes ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Immigration raid at Louisiana racetrack ends with more than 80 arrests
NEW ORLEANS (AP) — The U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrested upward of 80 people unlawfully in the country during a raid at a southwest Louisiana racetrack, the agency announced Tuesday. ICE said it raided the Delta Downs Racetrack, Hotel and Casino in Calcasieu Parish on Monday alongside other state and federal agencies, including the FBI and the U.S. Border Patrol. The raid angered one racehorse industry group and comes at a time when the Trump administration is pursuing more arrests. Stephen Miller, White House deputy chief of staff and the main architect of Trump's immigration policies, has pushed ICE to aim for at least 3,000 arrests a day, up from about 650 a day during the first five months of Trump's second term. ICE said authorities had 'received intelligence' that businesses operating at the racetrack's stables employed 'unauthorized workers' who were then targeted in the raid. Of the dozens of workers detained during the raid, 'at least two' had prior criminal records, according to the agency. 'These enforcement operations aim to disrupt illegal employment networks that threaten the integrity of our labor systems, put American jobs at risk and create pathways for exploitation within critical sectors of our economy,' said Steven Stavinoha, U.S. Customs and Border Protection director of field operations in New Orleans, in a written statement. But some racing industry leaders were livid. 'To come in and take that many workers away and leave the horse racing operation stranded and without workers is unacceptable,' said Peter Ecabert, general counsel for the National Horsemen's Benevolent and Protective Association, which represents 29,000 thoroughbred racehorse owners and trainers, including at Delta Downs. 'If they (ICE) were willing to come in and try and work with us, we are willing to make sure things are done in an orderly way," Ecabert added. "But what they have done here leaves everyone in a bad situation.' Groomers and other stable workers are essential and allow horses to receive round-the-clock skilled care, Ecabert said, noting that the work is grueling and it can be very difficult to find people willing to do the job. David Strow, a spokesperson for the racetrack's owner, Boyd Gaming Corporation, said that the company 'complies fully' with federal labor laws and that 'no Delta Downs team members were involved.' 'We will cooperate with law enforcement as requested," he added in an emailed statement. In the past few weeks, ICE has engaged in other large-scale raids across Louisiana. On May 27, the agency raided a federally funded flood-reduction project in New Orleans and reported arresting 15 Central American workers. And the agency said it arrested 10 Chinese nationals working at massage parlors in Baton Rouge during a June 11 raid. Rachel Taber, an organizer with the Louisiana-based immigrant rights group Unión Migrante, criticized the raids as harmful and hypocritical. 'Our economy runs on immigrants,' Taber said. 'And when we let ourselves be divided by racial hatred, our economy for everyone suffers.' ___
Time Magazine
an hour ago
- Time Magazine
28 Years Later Is an Ambitious, Gorgeously Somber, Never-Boring Zombie-Fest
In John Wyndham's 1951 science-fiction novel Day of the Triffids, which screenwriter Alex Garland has cited as an inspiration for the now-classic 2002 zombie-horror reverie 28 Days Later, a mysterious green meteor shower has blinded most of the world's inhabitants—an army of giant, carnivorous creeping plants may have something to do with it, though they're almost a red herring. A group of sighted survivors take to the English countryside to rebuild society, with all the freedom and danger such an enterprise implies. If you were free to remake your world just as you wanted it, with no influence or input from any other country or group of outsiders, would it be a utopia or a disaster? Wyndham's novel is layered with strata of coziness and unease, twin moods that Garland and director Danny Boyle also evoked in 28 Days Later, in which a virus has turned much of the population into rage-fueled zombies. Boyle and Garland's new sequel to that first film, 28 Years Later, is both more Wyndhamlike and more overtly topical: For one thing, we ourselves are now survivors of a pandemic. And this new movie, emerging onto a geopolitical landscape that's vastly different from 2002's, riffs directly on all the dreams those who voted for Brexit hoped might come to pass—and all the ways Brexit created more problems than it solved. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's cut to the chase: 28 Years Later is mostly about zombies, which is, after all, the thing most of us are lining up for. Boyle has said that he doesn't like to use the word zombies to describe the angry, hungry beings of this movie and the earlier one; it only serves to dehumanize them, and we need to remember that they were once thinking, feeling humans. He prefers the term infected. That's all well and good, but infecteds don't sell tickets. And isn't a zombie by any other name just as sweet? 28 Years Later —even though Cillian Murphy, the heart and soul of the first picture, doesn't appear in it—delivers everything it promises, chiefly lots of mindlessly determined zombie-infecteds bearing down, and chomping down, on terrified non-infecteds. And it's undoubtedly the true sequel to the duo's earlier film, a poetic apocalyptic downer if ever there were one: Juan Carlos Fresnadillo's reasonably effective standalone follow-up 28 Weeks Later, from 2007, now feels like just a brief digression in the franchise. But if 28 Years Later contains a little bit of everything that made the first film great, it also, somehow, adds up to less. It's gorgeous to look at—cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle has returned to work some of his verdant magic. The editing is snappy and clever—the plot is interrupted here and there with what looks like ominous World War II-era newsreel footage, as well as clips from Laurence Olivier's 1944 Henry V. This is an ambitious picture, filled with grand ideas. Parts of it are wondrously beautiful; some sections are so mawkishly morbid they might make you groan. But at least you won't be bored. 28 Years Later opens with a terrifying snippet of child-endangerment: a group of trembling tykes huddle together in a house somewhere in the Scottish highlands, watching a scratchy Teletubbies VHS. The inevitable thing happens: the rage-virus-infected zombies invade the house, doing their thing and vomiting blood all over the place, but one child escapes and runs to a nearby church. You'll have to wait till the movie's end to find out what happens to him, but in between, Boyle and Garland have devised plenty of horrors to distract, disgust, and delight you. The story's hero-in-training is a 12-year-old boy, Spike, played by a marvelously expressive young actor named Alfie Williams. He and his father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and mother Isla (Jodie Comer) live on an island that, in a Great Britain that has been essentially destroyed by the virus, has managed to remain infection-free, thanks to the vigilance of these sturdy settlers. (A title card near the beginning of the movie tells us that Europe and the rest of the world have managed to fend off the virus, making this scourge a—Brexit metaphor alert!—Britain-centric problem.) These hardy souls have built a beautiful, self-sustaining, hippielike community: Sheep graze placidly in the fields. Sturdy men work with their hands, forging arrows with which to kill zombie interlopers. The women and girls flounce around charmingly as they go about fulfilling various womanly household tasks. Aye, but it's exactly how the world should be, innit? This bucolic island is separated from the mainland only by a narrow causeway, guarded, on the island side, by a mighty, zombie-proof fortress. One of the jobs of the island menfolk is to cross to the mainland and kill zombies with the arrows they've forged with their very hands. Spike is a bit young for this, though father Jamie thinks he's ready, and he too is eager to prove his manhood. But his mother would prefer to keep her son close: she's bedridden and clearly not well. She drifts in and out of lucidity. Something is desperately wrong, and Jamie is losing patience with her; Spike, however, remains devoted The less you know about Spike and Jamie's zombie-hunting expedition and the revelations it triggers, the better. I will tell you only that there are fat, slow-moving zombies that look like overgrown babies and slurp worms from the ground, and fast-moving, harder-to-catch zombies with free-floating fury in their eyes. Boyle makes it clear that in some ways, the infected are much more sympathetic than the cloistered islanders: they're driven only by impulse and need, not by some blinkered desire to return to life to the way it used to be—but then, you've been forewarned about all that. Ralph Fiennes turns up late in the movie, just when you might be wondering if you're getting a little bored, as a tenderly wacky character who almost single-handedly shifts the movie's tone. His performance is terrific. Another actor who shall not be named shows up a little later, with bad teeth and a fantastic tracksuit. That, too, is something to look forward to. Boyle and Garland are superb at building and releasing tension: just when you think you can't bear any more bloody entrails or sinewy detached spinal cords, they lighten the mood. There are places where 28 Years Later is gorgeously somber, echoing the desolate lyricism of the first movie. And Mantle shoots the countryside, a place of both solace and menace, of both restorative greenery and end-of-life sunset skies, as if he were making a pagan offering to Jack Cardiff, the god of cinematic British beauty who shot most of the films of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. There's much that's terrifying and wonderful about 28 Years Later, but the ending is jarring and dumb, in a kick-ass heavy-metal way, and it breaks the mood. It's as if Boyle had gotten cold feet about ending the movie on too solemn a note. But this ending, no matter how you feel about it, is really just a beginning. Boyle and Garland have two follow-up movies in the works. The next, already filmed, is directed by Nia DaCosta, of Candyman and The Marvels; Boyle will return for the third. We'll be living in the world of 28 Years Later for a few more years to come. Come for the zombies; stay for the metaphors—no spoiler alert necessary for those.
Chicago Tribune
an hour ago
- Chicago Tribune
Advocates call for hate crime charges for woman who defaced Pilsen mural
A nonprofit civil rights advocacy group called Wednesday for hate crime charges to be brought against a woman accused of attacking another woman, who caught her defacing a painting of a Palestinian man on a mural in the Pilsen neighborhood. Natalie Figueroa said she was walking home from her workplace late Friday when she noticed a woman defacing the mural on 16th Street and Ashland Avenue. When Figueroa tried to interfere, the woman struck her in the head with a metal three-hole punch and pummeled her face. Onlookers called the police, who arrived at the scene but made no arrests. Representatives at CAIR-Chicago, which advocates for civil rights for Muslims, urged Chicago police to charge the suspect with aggravated assault and a hate crime. Various speakers at the news conference lamented the desecration of a mural that they saw as a symbol of peace. No arrests had been made in the alleged attack, police said Wednesday evening. The mural, painted by Palestinian artist Taqi Spateen, depicts a Mexican man lying in a field with a Palestinian man, and is meant to represent solidarity between the Latino and Palestinian communities. The woman who vandalized the artwork burned off the section depicting the Palestinian man's face. 'Here in Chicago, we are seeing a significant escalation of hate crimes rooted in anti-Islamic and anti-Arab sentiment,' said Heena Musabji, legal director at CAIR. 'We are here to demand … that criminal actions based on hate are charged as actual hate crimes.' A still-bruised Figueroa, who sported a sizable lump on her forehead, told reporters she approached the woman and yelled at her to stop defacing the mural. The woman, she said, swung around with a metal three-hole punch in her hand and hit Figueroa on her head. As the women fought, Figueroa ended up on the ground, the other woman pinning her down and repeatedly pummeling her face. Figueroa said that her assailant taunted her during the attack, jeering that police would not arrest her. So far, Figueroa has been unable to prove her wrong. CAIR's news conference urged Chicago police to arrest the suspect, who, according to Figueroa, walked away from the scene after police had arrived and was not followed. Four days after the attack, Figueroa still had two black eyes and a bruised left arm. Arriving at her job at the event space Hoste on Wednesday morning, she said, she was confronted with 'Nazi symbols' spraypainted on the building. She believes them to be related to Friday's incident. Human rights attorney Farah Chalisa is working in partnership with the legal team at CAIR to represent Figueroa and another victim, who was attacked by the same woman at the same mural in May. 'What happened was not simply an act of vandalism — it was a hate-driven assault,' Chalisa said. A hate crime charge is a Class 4 felony in Illinois. Spateen's mural was commissioned as part of the Mural Movement, founded in 2020 by Delilah Martinez. All 231 murals Martinez has organized nationwide are related to social justice and peace. Spateen is from Bethlehem, a Palestinian town, and is staying in Chicago as part of an art residency. His mural, one of dozens in Pilsen, is the only work that the suspect has defaced. According to Figueroa and the other victim, she has thrown trash at the mural and placed feces around it. 'This mural — if that's not an artwork of love, I don't know what love is,' said CAIR Executive Director Ahmed Rehab. 'The defacing of that mural — if that's not an act of hate, I don't know what hate is.' Ald. Byron Sigcho Lopez, 25th, explained that many people in Pilsen view the attacker as a threat. Last week, Lopez said, she showed up at a community meeting wearing a wig and sunglasses and prompted Lopez's staff to call security.
