Before 2016, there was this version of Jonathan Hernandez who would always say, “… but why does it always have to be about something political?”

Yes, I admit … the 2016 version of myself was the kind of artist who was full of himself. He wanted to make art just because he thought it would be cool, or he would get some sort of significance out of it. In fact, I’ll admit as far as saying he would fantasize about a woman seeing the performance, and he’d want them to think “he’s soooo artistic.” I would wow them so much that they would want to date me, and fall in love with me, BUT because I’m this mysterious man, I would tell her, “I’m flattered but I’m not able to date you, for you see … I am married to the craft.”

… YUCK!

Since 2016 I’d say I’ve never pushed myself so hard to get my voice out there for the sake of others.

What’s strange is I’m not sure if the 2016 U.S. presidential election changed my perspective or if I was already evolving into a more mature artist. Maybe 2016 helped me recognize my purpose. Before the election, I wasn’t really clear on what I was supposed to do. I felt like I needed to do something, but everything I tried to write about felt unnatural and dull. In June of 2017, I went back home to Phoenix, Arizona to take care of my mother. I saw on the local news that President Trump announced he was going to pardon Sheriff Joe Arpaio. For those of you who are reading this and don’t know who Joe Arpaio is, I recommend looking him up, because I definitely don’t have anything nice to say about that man. Arpaio is responsible for degrading an entire ethnicity (Hispanic) with his outlandish laws. He would racially profile anyone who had dark skin, and when he was court-ordered to stop this social injustice he chose to disobey and retaliate on more people. My brother and I had a couple of experiences with the law that I’ll never forget, and as a result of hearing about how Trump was going to basically say, “Hey Joe, don’t worry about it.” I cried.

We protested in the streets that night. I wanted to cause a riot, but I was afraid of going to jail. I wanted to scream, but my voice was already gone. Where do you put all of that emotion?

Then I caught wind of how many families were being separated at the border. Children being locked in these make-shift prisons. I felt devastated. I’ve experienced what jail is like. The food tastes like a gas station, the water tastes like it came out of a hot water hose, you can’t go outside because it’s too damn hot and anything you touch will instantly cause burns. Your toothbrush is the size of a dime, and your blankets aren’t thick enough when it gets cold at night. My stomach sinks when I think about a child in there who has no idea what’s going on, or why this is happening.

I don’t know when, but I felt my tears had passed, my anger had been suppressed, and a new artist had ignited like a Phoenix. That old “Jonathan Hernandez” mentality was gone. It went from being all about me to being all about others. I started asking myself, “How can I be of better service? What can I do right now?” I decided to commit to a lifetime of creating to contribute. I decided to focus on my voice and share stories about the Southwest and the spirits who still live there.

On top of that, I started working on projects that were highlighting my background, my heritage, and my skin. I performed in all kinds of schools, ranging from kindergarten through college. It’s important to inspire younger generations because they have a passion, and right now they are being taught they can’t live that passion because of the color of their skin, their heritage, or their background.

I stand up for them.

I wrote a play and the money I got from selling it online I donated to the Florence Immigration and Refugee Rights project. I felt good to live through my mission: Create to Contribute.

I went to New York for a year to see if I could live as an artist selling my play and get some acting gigs. As an actor I was invited to participate in a workshop called The Corrido of San Patricio, directed by Kinan Valdez. I’ve always wanted to work with him, and the fact that I got to do this in New York felt like a dream come true.

The play is about how a few Irishmen migrated to the United States, were then recruited to fight in the war between U.S. and Mexico, and then decide to switch sides and fight alongside Mexico. It was such an amazing opportunity to work with all kinds of different people. Being homesick for a couple months at that time made me realize I had never felt so close to the cast and crew. This felt like family to me. We enjoyed the rehearsal process and on breaks we would talk about what is happening to our country. Despite the horror and absurdity of what was going on in the political climate, we all found a way to connect with each other. We would even make jokes and laugh about it all, just like my own family would.

I never thought my path to artistry would change. One question that I find myself ruminating on is, “Had the 2016 election not have made such an impact, would I still be that same immature artist?” I feel there is still more that needs to be done. More of what I would like to do creatively, more of what I’m capable to do as an artist, and more of what I’m called to do for my community. The Phoenix rises within me.