OSCAR DIAZ (she/they)
Creative Director, Organizer
Crown Heights, Brooklyn
Tijuana, Mexico & San Diego, California
I work a lot with trans communities and my friends Rojo Hennessy and Sophia Lorena in Mexico City were talking about fascism in the United States and how communities here are really shocked to see it happen here, how there is this lineage of queer and trans resistance in the 1970s and 80s, and how there's an erasure of queer and trans lineages of resistance in the Global South, particularly in Abya Yala. Why is that? Because there were US-backed dictatorships in many of the places in which queer and trans life was also thriving and also resisting and also encountering a lot of the international plights like AIDS and war…. but you don't necessarily hear about the different collectives or resistant movements. Latinidad, in myth-making, erases a lot of the Global South and its history and the ways that it has been impacted by the U.S. I think that there's a very poignant motive to paint Latinidad in this positive light here and to associate it with a more positive image for first generation immigrants and for this American Dream, but that does not erase the generations of of physical, emotional, spiritual trauma that a lot of us carrying and in very distinct, different ways from wherever our lands are. There's a lineage that I relate to that connects a lot of dots for me, and a lot of the concepts that I explore through my artwork are centered around this element of ‘contra natura,’ which is against nature. And that happens across different spheres of who is able to be defined as human, right? Specifically within the realm of trans and queer communities, I relate a lot to a lot of the identities – and this is part of this investigation that I'm doing, but like across Brazil, Colombia, and Mexico – trans and queer identities that were criminalized in the 1400s, 1500s, 1600s. And there's not only juridical records of, like, just secular society criminalizing it, but also an ecclesiastical one, which is like the, you know, the church… I feel a part of that lineage, these different dissidences that have continued to resist into existence in these type of ways. The ways in which trans and queer people are criminalized and ostracized in society is not necessarily anything new, but the way that it plays out in Latinidad is very particular to that aspect of colonialism and to the learned ways of what is natural, what is right, and what is just. I'm in no position to argue with a white man about, you know, transness or what is human, but I will gladly accept the term of contra natura, because I know that I'm above and beyond any limited definition of humanity that you're able to prescribe to me.
What does A Great Day in Ñiu Yor look like for?
I think that there's very particular moments in New York that make a perfect day. And a large part of the throughline of all those experiences that come to mind is the sun. When the sun is on my skin, I’m a happy girl. And that can be at the park, whether it's Prospect or even just watching the sunset, literally at Sunset Park with some tacos. But I think primarily, some wet skin at Riis (Beach) surrounded by other faggots and other trans folks, being in the ocean, being in touch with the ocean in that way in New York is a very unique feeling. There is a sense of euphoria on the sand, and then there is this sense of calmness in the water, which is a clash of, like, human emotion and pushing the body to physical extremes. It's beautiful to be tugged in that way and to push your mind to those emotional limits, these euphoric elements: you get a little thrashing, but also, maybe sometimes a little romance, a little kiss on the beach. A little flirtation. A little blushing in the cheeks… Riis is a very sacred space. I have a lot of special memories at Riis with my mother Cecilia, my chosen family, with lovers. I think a perfect day for me is definitely over 80 degrees, below 90 preferably, at Riis.
Photographed & Interviewed by Shaira Chaer
