Coconut: On Writing a Latino Version of Jungle Fever

I am currently developing my new play, Coconut (as in, a Latino who acts white or does things to appease white people), and the more I think of the story, the more scared I am to tell it. Since I was a kid, this has been an issue. The things that interest me have a bigger chance of upsetting people than pleasing them. When I was in high school in South Carolina, a decidedly conservative, anti-union state, I was selected to audition for a prestigious state arts school, me, being me, wrote for my submission packet a story about a union organizer whose strike is met by state violence. The union and strikers were clearly the heroes, and the capitalist critique was blatant and being a teenager, no doubt heavy handed.

Needless to say, I wasn’t accepted into the school.

My first stories were horror and crime stories, and I was criticized by my relatives, teachers, and most other adults for being “dark” and “edgy”. Why couldn’t I write a comedy? They would ask. And when I got older and started writing about Puerto Rican independence, the scolding from my family increased — You have to be careful, Jon. You can’t love your country too much, my titi Magda warned me once. But her mom, my abuela Rosaura, loved my writings on independence, and encouraged me to keep doing my thing.

When Puerto Rican Nocturne was first being developed, pre-Hurricane Maria, I was told by some theater producers I knew that it wouldn’t do well because I might offend pro-Statehood Puerto Ricans, and therefore limit the audience. Post-Maria, the play gained a lot more support, although other producers in New York, Chicago, and Orlando, felt the story too risky. By the time play was finally produced in Summer of 2022, the tides had turned, independence supporters were more vocal than they had been in 25 years, since the Vieques protests. The politics were far more acceptable, but when I was first writing it, it was all risk, and I felt scared then as well.

From 2014–2020 I wrote for op-eds for Latino Rebels that often skirted controversy by calling out hypocrisies in the publishing world, internet activism, and Latino politics, particularly the conservative and white supremacist undercurrents of the immigration movement (for more on that, you can look up my articles on the site, but in short, my main criticism is that immigrants, particularly DREAMers, are only embraced by white progressives because they denounce their culture and promote the greatness of the US). I once got harassed so hard on Twitter I had to deactivate my account for a while. I’ve gotten death threats for some of the articles I did. And writing those articles did scare me, but at the time I was kinda high on my own supply. And then it imploded dramatically and I find myself walking into a hard-fought second act.

During my first run-in with artistic recognition and success I was young, immature in a number of ways, and arrogant as hell. A lot of those articles make me cringe now. I was incredibly judgmental and holier than thou, which is really what made the articles popular, that is the default internet attitude after all. But they were empty emotionally, and I wasn’t satisfied creatively or personally. My time in theater has been more fruitful because I have learned to collaborate and humble myself, as well as to trust others and their interpretation of my work. I may still be provocative, but I am more thoughtful about it. Ultimately, to talk about controversial topics one can’t have too much nuance, because the provocation needs to sting. You have to take a side, otherwise what was the point of even broaching the subject to begin with?

Yet with this new piece, I find myself in a position that is different than my LR articles and previous stories. I could provoke people online because I didn’t know them. I was not in activist circles when I was criticizing them. This new play, however, will probably cause some difficult conversations with some of my friends. The narrative beats and arc of the characters could lead to couples in the audience having arguments afterwards. I don’t want to write about this topic in a sarcastic way, or be arrogant whatsoever. I really want to understand relationships between Latinos and white people. I see Latinos write about a lot of topics, but interracial relationships seem to be hands off, and I have a theory as to why, and it’s the reason I want to write the play.

Here it is: Latinos can never truly be radical because they rely on white access to public spaces. We were raised to view white people as successful and a necessary evil, so we avoid the hard questions about the way we relate to white people because it could alienate them. This inability to truly be ourselves is because we fear losing our cash cow, and this is most prevalent in the arts.

The Latino addiction to whiteness is something that has impacted me especially as a Puerto Rican. When we talk about “de-colonizing” it isn’t esoteric. We are literally a colony and the United States is our oppressor. For progressive Puerto Ricans in particular, we should be, at most, cordial to white people, but keeping them at arms length. Yet the Latino movement is run by assimilationist Mexicans who are all about La Raza and being anti-racist until it comes to appealing to organizations for grant money, and also, in our dating lives. To be a progressive Latino who isn’t dating or married to a white person puts me in a minority in Denver. It is a strange experience, because in terms of ideology, we may be able to allow white people into our homes, but we never should let them into our beds.

Ideology, however, is a prison of the mind. Ideology doesn’t take into account reality, and I can’t in any seriousness demand that all Latinos keep icy relationships with white people as a matter of personal pride and ethics.

My story looks at this subject from a leftist point of view, much like Get Out did (not saying my work is even on par with that movie, just that it takes a similar approach), because the conservative version of this story is nothing but low hanging fruit. The jokes write themselves out of being funny, they’re so obvious. When Key & Peele did the sketch about Black conservatives and it ends with them all going home to their white wives, the joke hit but was a bit too easy. Yet going the other route, that’s tricky. Even Jordan Peele knew when he made Get Out that he could get away with demonizing the white progressives but he couldn’t condemn the main character, a Black liberal, for dating a white woman.

So my play is going to do just that, and it feels like holding a stick of dynamite.

This is the premise: Joaquín, a liberal Puerto Rican activist and artist, has been in a relationship with Amy for the last two years. One night he attends a gala for a fellow Latina, Teresa, who is also in a relationship with a white person. They each give speeches about cultural pride and decolonizing education and the arts to the applause of their peers. Afterwards, Joaquín is having drinks with his friends Manuel and Diego (these names might change), and the more they drink, the more abrasive Joaquín becomes, tooting his own horn and bragging to an obnoxious degree. Manuel finally snaps and tells Joaquín if he so progressive, why is he with a white woman. An argument ensues but Diego defuses the situation, yet Joaquín is shaken by this, as he never thought his friends disapproved of his relationship. He begins questioning his relationship with as well, and goes to a therapist to figure out why Manuel’s comment bothers him so much. After questioning Joaquín on his relationship with Amy and what his defense is for being with her, the therapist suggests that Joaquín might have more animosity toward Amy than he’s ever admitted. This leads him down deeper and darker internal investigations, as his dreams start to comment on his internalized racism, his insecurities about being Latino enough, and his fear of being rejected by Latinas. As Joaquín feels his personal image breaking apart and he grows more distant from Amy, he seeks advice from Teresa and ultimately, he must confront Manuel in an effort to piece his life back together, but with unforeseen consequences.

While the story begins as a confrontation about race, the way it plays out is more complicated. The journey Joaquín is on is the journey one takes when they realize that their ideology is used to avoid hard questions that have more to do with human nature and less to do with checking boxes or fitting into political movements. The idea of decolonization lacks the acknowledgment that we have more control over our self-perception and choices in life than we want to admit. The ideology of this present progressive movement denies us autonomy of our actions. The biggest oppressor, it turns out, is our own mind.

Writing it out, it sounds more accessible and thoughtful than I had been imagining it. Maybe it will turn off some people, especially when he talks to Teresa and she gives him a candid speech that is both heartless and heartbreaking. It’s a portrait of a woman taking pragmatism to an extreme, but it’s also a way of masking defeat when confronting a lifetime of disappointment. It’s a character I’ve wanted to write because so many of the women I grew up around were like this: strong on the outside, yet spiritually distraught.

And the story is a chance to write about the shortcomings of men. The way men latch on to convenient narratives in order to avoid hard truths about our personal failures. The fragility of our egos and how hard it is for us to love imperfection, especially our own. Race in the play is a red herring, much like it is in the real world. Yet in the pursuit of avoiding facing ourselves, we commit the worst sins humanity is capable of.

Maybe that is a message my fellow progressive Latinos will welcome, and a dialogue can emerge that wrestles with humanity and what it is to live and love in a broken community. I started writing this piece worried about this story, and now I feel confident in its convictions and in its ability to move people. I hope when I finish it that you’ll give it a chance.