For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life's most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.
I've always viewed comedy as a coping mechanism for people who are in lower economic situations or just dealing with very hard circumstances. In the words of Kevin Hart: "Laugh at my pain." My upbringing was no different. I didn't really engage in comedy as much when I was younger because I was a very shy and timid kid. But humor was always around me, and I learned at a very young age the power of laughter.
My grandmother was a very funny woman. She had this amazing ability to present heavy topics like poverty and even death in ways that were humorous. At first, I used to think it was insensitive, but I quickly learned that it was just a coping mechanism and a way to make things digestible because life was already hard enough. Growing up, I saw it all. There was poverty. There was violence. There were drugs, adultery, and misogyny. For some people, laughter was the only tool they had to navigate all that.
It was at school that I really started to find my comedic voice. Comedy became my way of surviving bullies and mean people. It became my armor and way of protecting myself from the kids who were clearly going through stuff at home but needed to poke fun at others to feel better about themselves. Instead of being confrontational or volatile, I was just funny.
My grandmother and mother heavily influenced my comedy and sense of humor. They were naturally funny women. My mom is a very confrontational woman. She would get into it with the other women in the building or in the neighborhood, and would always come out winning because she knew how to shut people down with her words - and oftentimes, the things she said were just straight-up funny. My grandmother was always so witty with it. It's funny when I hear people say that women aren't funny, or I'll occasionally hear Latino men say they don't really like women comedians, and then you hear them tell their stories. They're always talking about how hilarious their grandmothers or their mothers are. Latinas are really the comedians in the family. A lot of us are naturally funny - it's in our blood.
I started watching stand-up comedy when I was little. My uncle used to listen to Richard Pryor. That was my first introduction to stand-up comedy. I loved Johnny Carson, and I loved "I Love Lucy." I used to watch El Chavo and La Chilindrina with my grandmother. In Miami, they had a show called "QuA(c) Pasa USA." It was a show about a Cuban family, and the grandmother on the show was one of the funniest people I've ever seen. I started appreciating humor and experienced the relief it provided at a relatively young age. But it was not until later in my life that I realized I wanted to do this for a living.
Comedy came after acting. I was a model for years, and I moved to LA in 2000 to become an actor. I started doing stand-up in 2008. I had gone out for brunch to celebrate a friend's birthday, and she asked us to roast her. I roasted her, and a friend there said, "Oh, you should be doing stand-up. You're naturally funny." He gave me the address and information to an open mic, and I went and did it, and I never stopped.
Once I started performing at open mics, I started noticing how healing comedy was - not just for the audience but also for me. I didn't really start with observational humor. I went straight to the wound. My first jokes were about my modeling career and becoming anorexic. I addressed difficult things I had experienced in my own life, and it helped me heal from those experiences while also making folks who could relate feel seen.
My work became cathartic when I started writing material about my childhood. People would approach me after my sets and say, "Oh my god. Thank you. I've never seen a version of myself or a reflection of myself." My childhood started to influence so much of my material that it became like therapy for me. I started unpacking and healing from many traumas I experienced growing up, eventually inspiring me to write my memoir, "Legitimate Kid." It made me realize how much our stories matter, and we shouldn't belittle them because white America is telling us they don't matter. That is what has kept the fuel going for me.
Making jokes about my family, my neighborhood, and the hard things I experienced growing up has allowed others to see themselves in my stories. In terms of my own healing, that relatability was part of it. It was seeing that I wasn't alone and that there are others who also didn't grow up having their fathers in their lives. It was the first time I started to feel proud of where I came from, and it helped me work through some of the stuff I was dealing with. Even with the jokes about my mom, many people would come up to me and tell me their mom was the same way. In many ways, it's also healed my relationship with my mom because performing and having people heal through my words contributes to my own healing.
As a Latina, we're raised with this mentality that you don't share the family's business. So, while I initially had my hesitations, they approved every joke I've ever told about the family before it made it to the stage. I always make sure that they're cool with it. I was especially careful when it came to my mom and my daughter because sexism and misogyny, especially in our communities, are rampant and real, and people love to demonize women. So, I was always very leery about presenting them in a way where it would take off on its own, and people would talk shit.
Making jokes about the things I experienced growing up has also allowed me to see the beauty in my upbringing. It wasn't all dark, and it wasn't all bad. When I started doing stand-up, I used to hear all the time people say things like, "All these Black and Latino comedians talk about is their lives in the hood, food stamps, and being broke." You would hear that from white comics how our comedy wasn't "elevated." But I never allowed them to push me into a corner where I felt like I had to emulate them to be of value because a lot of people do. At the beginning of my career, I definitely saw that there was a lot of pressure placed on comedians of color not to perpetuate stereotypes, but the truth is that some of our relatives are hood. Some of our relatives did behave a certain way, and there's nothing wrong with that, and that's not just exclusive to people of color - there are white people like that as well.
Comedy brings us all together. There's a connective tissue there, especially in a community with so much diversity. Through humor, we can find each other and find relatability. People loved when George Lopez talked about his grandmother because that's something many of us have in common. Comedy also works as a universal language. Even if we're not from the same culture, everybody laughs because it has this connective tissue. Comedy connects people of all backgrounds and walks of life through laughter.
- As told to Johanna Ferreira
There's a cultural maxim within Latinidad that's always left me a bit unsettled: "Lo que pasa en casa se queda en casa." It means what happens at home stays at home - aka loyalty above everything.
Growing up in a subjectively funny family taught me invaluable lessons about the power of humor and its role as a survival tool, especially during challenging times. In my Ecuadorian immigrant family, our main coping mechanism was finding solace in humor amid chaos. But there was always a boundary, an invisible line to how far we could share drawn by the "lo que pasa en la casa" mentality - the notion that certain things should never leave the confines of our home. It became clear to me early on that this mentality stemmed from a desire to maintain appearances, protect the family's reputation, and uphold the value of privacy.
The "lo que pasa en la casa" mentality always felt like a type of silencing or secrecy that prohibited many of my tAas, tAos, cousins, and older siblings from seeking out things like therapy. It was also an invisible shackle placed around my artistry before it began. Some may argue that "lo que pasa en casa" is all about "privacy" or "protection," but it's a double-edged sword. There are situations where it's crucial (say, if someone in the family wins the lottery and you don't want everyone coming out of the woodwork for a piece of the pie). In those cases, it's about protection. But for me, the weighty subtext that demands allegiance rears its ugly head when "lo que pasa en casa'' is presented as privacy. It's always bugged me how Latine culture seems to value what other people think more than the actual truth. It's all about "el quA(c) dirA!n!" - the fear of what other people will say - which is something that haunts me as a creative person. And trust me, after over a decade as a social-first writer and producer, I figure I can't be alone in that.
As a comedic storyteller and griot who has utilized the internet as a personal testing ground, much like how a stand-up comic utilizes the stage, I've often felt the weight of this mentality bearing down on me. Although most of my content initially focused on pop culture and comedic rants, covering everything from J Lo's relationship drama to New York City characters, my pivot into personal perspectives was much easier for me in concept than in practice. It was convenient to start with truths that always painted my family in the best light - for example, a story of how my mother's fearless determination helped me get a rhinoplasty at the age of 3 to stop childhood bullying.
Tiptoeing around the easier stories with a hint of realness was second nature to me; it's how I navigated the world throughout my formative years, never truly being allowed to admit how hard things were economically, how violent my father was towards my mother, or eventually how hostile one of my sisters would become toward me. Although my mother refused to let us share the truth with teachers, friends, or even extended family, I was fortunate that her strength and wisdom decided to sign us up for family counseling when I was around 6. Unfortunately, by then, my sisters were so entrenched with the fear and consequences of "lo que pasa en casa" that they refused to talk until they stopped attending altogether.
As the youngest who longed to be understood, I toughed it out. Still, I spent years perfecting the art of omission to ensure my mother would never have to face her greatest fear in "me las van a quitar," a phrase that translates to "they're going to take them away from me." For 13 years, I'd spend my therapy sessions feeling mentally limited to how real I could be, which ultimately prolonged my healing and creativity.
Still, my first therapist must've seen I was struggling behind untold truths and advised my mother to sign me up for acting lessons. In the theater, I found the first creative outlet for my pain. The words on the page were never mine, but the emotions were, and for many years, that was enough. I eventually yearned to tell my stories, but the fear of exposing others through telling my truth kept me from exploring.
There are many different types of comedic griots: stand-ups and sketch artists, to name a few. The one I always admired most was the solo performer. I have always been a longtime fan of one-man show icons like John Leguizamo. But he's also paid the price - and validated my "lo que pasa en casa" worries when I learned his father nearly sued him for defamation of character because of his impressions of his dysfunctional family in his 1998 show "Freak."
The internet has been my most notable outlet for creativity, but I'm finally ready to explore more. As a result, I've recently decided to challenge and nurture my inner artist. The notion of "lo que pasa en la casa" has confined me to staying on the surface of my truths, but the tides are changing. I think one of the best examples of someone who leaned into her truth is Mayan Lopez, co-creator of "Lopez vs. Lopez," with her willingness to reveal parts of her family that are arguably private matters. Her choice to do a whole series dubbed "Why do my divorced parents still act like they're married?" led her to get greenlit by a studio. She told The Los Angeles Times, "Culturally, yeah, we don't air that stuff out. But that's part of some of the issues within our community - the generational trauma and the machismo aren't addressed."
It's easy to say her content went viral with much help from her recognizably famous father. Still, it was the behind-the-curtain take only she had the right and bravery to share, along with her father's support, that helped her challenge the "lo que pasa en casa" mentality. In the series, Lopez tackles themes of abandonment and daddy issues in a way that renegotiates the narrative of "the united Latine family."
Given that we're a wonderfully diverse community, it's time we prove that Latines are not a monolith. Some of us have darkness, awkwardness, rawness, realness, and unfamiliar stories that need to be told to give our community its true, varied humanity and help us all heal through laughter. Our art will expand when we, as artists, embrace our messiness.
So here I am, at a crossroads, throwing caution to the wind and ready to share some unfavorable stories with the world. I'm learning, and inviting others to challenge the "lo que pasa en la casa" mentality with me. My "content" is developing into monologues with no limitations. I've returned to the theater, and this time, I'll tell my true stories. I've taken some risks, cracking jokes about stuff like being the daughter of a dad who advocated for my mom's failed abortion to skip out on his responsibilities. While I recognize that many family members and bystanders will judge my choices, I must honor my truth, even if it ruffles a few feathers.
I'll always start with respecting others' humanity and fallibility. Culture and family are important, but so is my right to share my story. Some of us use humor to hide our darkness, but we can't be afraid to let our bold truths shine through. So, what if people don't get me? Those who resonate with my story are the ones I make comedy for.
Honestly, I think you get to choose what you keep private. Humor is personal, but we're moving into an age where authenticity is essential. And comedic storytelling isn't a one-size-fits-all deal. I'm a true believer that creativity is in all of us, but some of us keep it locked up behind secrets we're forced to keep. Art flourishes when it's relatable and healing, regardless of how it's perceived. It's not about putting on a front; it's about embracing the truth, about having the guts to challenge the norms that "lo que pasa en casa" throws at us to keep everyone else comfortable. And hey, sure, "lo que pasa en casa" has its place, but it's time to kick that custom to the curb. It's not all bad a it's like a coin with two sides a but man, that "el que diran!" part! It's one of the many things that's holding us back as a community.
For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life's most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.
Fabrizio Copano, a rising star in the world of stand-up comedy, isn't your typical Latine comic. His journey, shaped by his Chilean upbringing under a dictatorship and his subsequent disillusionment with the American Dream, fuels a unique comedic perspective that tackles serious political and cultural themes.
Copano's early life in Chile was marked by the tail-end of political turmoil. Growing up, he witnessed firsthand the harsh repercussions of Augusto Pinochet's dictatorship, a period characterized by repression, human rights abuses, and a stifling political climate. This experience undoubtedly contrasts the idealized image of the US he received through the media.
"Chile is very Americanized in certain ways, and we look up [to] the US," Copano says. "The culture shock was when I figured out that we are ahead of the US in so many ways because we have already lived through many of the traumas that the US is just now confronting."
When Copano realized America is "just as messy," it allowed him to view Americans from a more humanistic lens. "The system isn't as perfect as it pretends to be. I now use this idea in my stand-up, that we're ahead of the US - we are from the future," Copano says.
Indeed, Copano uses comedy to explore the disillusionment that sets in when the romanticized American dream confronts America's often harsh realities. Copano weaves jokes about America's obsession with individualism clashing with the collectivist values instilled in him during his Chilean upbringing.
Unlike many US-born Latine comics who mine humor from the shared experience of navigating American life as a minority, Copano offers a fresh perspective. He injects Chilean history, culture, and political sensibilities into his routines, creating a richer and more nuanced portrayal of the Latine experience.
"A comedian can touch a nerve of [what's going on in] society. Through laughter, you can open yourself a little bit more to think or view things in a certain way that the comedian is proposing. You can take advantage of the chaos," he says. "That's why I like putting little nuggets of my point of view. I think we Latinos are the future. We're everywhere, but at the same time, we're always [portrayed as] the victim in a very narrow way that is not the reality."Copano's achievement as the first South American comedian to land a Netflix special is a testament to his talent and perseverance. But paving this path wasn't easy. He faced challenges, including limited spaces for comedic exposure or the pressure to conform to stereotypical expectations of Latino humor. However, his success has paved the way for future Latin American comedians, demonstrating the global appeal of their unique perspectives.
When Netflix approached him for his special "Solo pienso en mi," which was released in 2017, he wanted his comedy to resonate with viewers no matter where they were from.
"I have to make comedy travel," Copano says. "Then doing comedy in English was another layer of a challenge - how do you connect with people who have nothing to do with you and figure out things that are universal or so personal that you bring them to your world and they can connect through their own lens?"
Copano's US touring stand-up show "Baby Coup" tackles the concerning resurgence of fascism worldwide. He recognizes the power of humor to disarm audiences and makes complex political issues more accessible. Laughter can create a sense of connection, allowing him to plant critical seeds while keeping the audience engaged. He uses satire to expose the manipulative tactics of fascist leaders and employs dark humor to highlight the dangers of complacency in the face of rising authoritarianism.
"Funny things are universal - misery is everywhere, so you can find the funny things in misery," Copano says. "Through trauma and experience, you can still see the scars, but if you can find a funny way to talk about these topics and bring it back, you kind of refresh people's memories and reflect on how absurd it is."Copano is looking forward to taping his first ever hour-long special in English in the near future.
"It's kind of about my first years in the US, the cultural clash, the disappointments, but also all of the things that were great," Copano explains.
Copano's comedy reminds us that humor can be a powerful tool for sparking dialogue and challenging the status quo. Particularly in Latine communities, humor tends to play a vital role when it comes to survival. It serves as a coping mechanism for dealing with difficult circumstances, a way to bond over shared experiences, and a tool for challenging authority.
Copano's unique point of view not only offers valuable lessons but also shows us how to confront darkness with laughter, find strength in shared experiences, and perhaps even inspire change, one joke at a time.
"I just try to give this perspective that while many Latinos are victims of wrongdoings from our own governments, we are also humans," he says. "We have our own thoughts, we are super smart, driven, we know what we want, and we know what the US needs now and can be very useful when democracy is in danger."
For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life's most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.
We don't talk enough about the healing powers of humor. The old saying, "laughter is the best medicine," as clichA(c) as it may be, actually has a lot of truth to it. I learned about the power of laughter at a relatively young age. In Latino families, we often use humor to heal from traumas and hardships. It helps us get through so much. At home, we made jokes about everything from the government, cheese we ate, to the broke, kid games we played. I greatly touched on this in my Amazon Prime special, "The Floor is Lava."