Luis

Venezuelan popular artist Luis Mariano Rivera was born on August 19, 1906. His music is a tribute to life and a commitment to his community’s identity and cultural sovereignty. Rivera’s works remind us that when a people sow their land and tell their stories, they become resistant to oppression and invincible against foreign domination.

A brief and affectionate profile

In the fertile and sunny lands of eastern Venezuela, specifically in the lush village of Canchunchú in Bermúdez Municipality, Sucre State, Luis Mariano Rivera was born on August 19, 1906, 120 years ago. His life was shaped by the rural realities of this area, which combined the abundance of nature with the profound inequalities of a latifundista-dominated agrarian economy.

His childhood was marked by early orphanhood and farm labor. Far from leading to resentment or resignation, this experience shaped in Rivera a loving and vital sensibility that allowed him to dismantle traditional notions of property and patriarchal-landowner hierarchy, enabling him to identify with the land, plants, and animals that surrounded him. This connection to the land enriched his imagination, and his extended family ultimately came to encompass the entire territory.

Rivera’s creative work blossomed after he turned 48. A self-taught musician, poet, and playwright, he composed his first verses using the Venezuelan four-stringed cuatro guitar as his primary instrument. His artistic output became an act of defiance that placed elements dismissed by the dominant culture at the center of Venezuelan poetry: local biodiversity, manual labor, trees, fruits, and wildlife.

Through his popular theater plays and musical compositions, Rivera portrayed a cosmogony in which nature is not merely a resource to be exploited, but a subject with rights to be loved and respected.

Although he never joined any political party nor sought public office, his approach to life and art constitutes a profound political statement. In a Caribbean and Venezuelan context where the neocolonial oil rentier model displaced agricultural production and fueled the exodus from the countryside to the city, Rivera’s insistence on staying in Canchunchú and singing about rural life was a clear act of resistance.

His politics were rooted in pacifism, fraternity, and love for the land. In the face of the metastasizing commodification of life, he prioritized the ethics of care, respect for natural cycles, and community solidarity. Various artists of national and international renown, including Alí Primera, Lilia Vera, Cecilia Todd, Soledad Bravo, Gualberto Ibarreto, and Morella Muñoz, performed his songs, transforming his local message into a banner of continental identity. Alí Primera, in particular, saw Rivera as a beacon of popular dignity, celebrating his ability to transform everyday rural life into revolutionary and loving poetry.

Luis Mariano Rivera passed away on March 15, 2002, in Carúpano, Sucre State, at the age of 95, after nearly a century devoted to cultivating the poetry of life, simplicity, and affection. His legacy is recognized as a symbol of the musical identity that flows directly from the harmonious relationship with the land and the wisdom of the people.

Sound, memory, and collective identity

In many of the ancestral cultures of Abya Yala, sound is part of the creation myth of the women and men who originally inhabited these territories. For all of humanity, sounds have played an important role in the formation of identities. Languages and music stem from this very relationship and our need to connect, to name ourselves, and to determine our own destinies.

Every landscape has its own sonority. In other words, a set of sounds that form its geohistory. This includes our ways of speaking and our music, but also the sounds of the wind, the rain, the sea, the river, birds, insects. In short, all the sounds of life expressing itself, as well as the sounds of human inventions that are now part of our daily lives.

Within this spectrum, there are human beings who manage to connect the sounds of past, present, and future memories to bequeath a sonic identity that transcends the purely artistic realm, becoming the very landscape narrated in their poetry. Luis Mariano Rivera is an example of this transcendental audacity to place oneself beyond time with a unique music.

At the age of 48, driven by the desire to express himself without relying on others to write his letters and thoughts, he taught himself to read and write. Already in his mature years, he began composing verses, parrandas, merengues, and eastern joropos through which he paid tribute to the flora, fauna, and everyday life of his village.

Rivera’s remarkable sensitivity stems from his direct observation of the countryside. His lyrics preserve idioms, sayings, and oral expressions from eastern Venezuela that would otherwise have been lost. Long before the rise of globalized environmental movements, his songs already championed the balance between humans, wildlife, and flora from a local, community-based, and decolonizing perspective. Rivera’s legacy transcends mere musical composition; he represents a defense of communal life and a living example of how it is possible to reclaim one’s own history to create sounds that cement collective identity.

For him, Canchunchú was not merely a geographical reference point, but the center of the world. By singing about his village and embracing rural daily life as a symbol of belonging with a claim to universality, he created an affective geohistory that recognized the dignity of life as equivalent to that of the cherry, the guácara [snail], and the mango. He showed to his community that their own reality is worthy of being celebrated and sung about. As such, his work did not stem from ego. It was born out of the village’s celebrations and gatherings, and like collective knowledge, it has no other purpose than enjoyment and the strengthening of collective unity.

Singing honestly about one’s own village, honoring the vernacular of one’s community without resorting to artificial language, taught us a sense of pride in our ways of feeling, understanding, and reasoning. 

Rivera’s music, paraphrasing Alí Primera, grounds us in our own land, with the profound simplicity of one who surrenders to the magnitude of the surrounding beauty. His deep connection to his native Canchunchú never served as chauvinistic isolation or picturesque folklorism. Rather, it was a gateway to the human condition prior to the violent irruption of Western capitalist modernity, with its imposition of individuality, the commodification of nature, and linear progress, at the expense of communal memory. Rivera’s work operates in the opposite direction: it reconnects with an organic body of knowledge that does not require academia to be legitimate, because it is engraved in the lived collective experience.

It is no secret to anyone that traditional community music, as well as rural poetry, serves as a means of transmitting memory. It is not mere entertainment. Rhythmic patterns, melodic turns, and poetic meter interact with the biological, agricultural, and communal cycles that humankind has cultivated for millennia.

Rivera did not theorize about nature: he embodied it. His philosophy sprang from working the land, from sweat, and from the sounds of the countryside. It is the knowledge transmitted through the body and emotion, that “communal way of life” that predates modernity and remains a reservoir from which to conceive alternatives to capitalism, fascism, imperialism, and Zionism.

True universality does not consist in erasing differences under a single mold with domineering hegemonic pretensions, but rather in reaching our very roots. When we reaffirm the dignity of our communities, we validate the “peripheries” as the center of our own worldviews without the need for external recognition.

Rivera demonstrates that the periphery is a center in and of itself by stripping away the pretensions of colonial modernity. His music taps into the common core of humanity: the wonder of being alive, communal solidarity, and respect for the sacred meaning of life. And this is not a nostalgic gaze toward the past, but rather a reservoir of meaning and hope for the present. It reminds us that beneath the veneer of modernity, the human species remains hardwired to come together, celebrate, and sustain communities.

Finally, Rivera’s production is above all an expression of love. Love toward the full life experience. But when a poet sings about love, it is usually limited to romantic love, or heartbreak in the absence of corresponding feelings. Nevertheless, Rivera did count on a “spiritual companion,” to use his own words: Maximina Marsella, known as La Negra Marsella and whom he affectionately called “la negra,” in what is a very common expression in Venezuela. She was presented as the only woman capable of understanding his silences and his late passion for words. He dedicated many love verses to her, expressing how they shared feelings and devotion for the small things in life and the land.

Writing our own history and cultural sovereignty

The act by which a dispossessed individual reclaims control over the written word is, in essence, an act of sociopolitical liberation. For Luis Mariano Rivera, the decision to learn to read and write on his own as an adult was not merely a matter of functional education or an attempt to conform to bourgeois standards. It represented taking control of his own narrative and a fundamental reaffirmation of his personal and communal sovereignty. In a system dominated by the colonialism of knowledge, where official writing has historically functioned as a mechanism of subordination and administrative control, mastering the alphabet from the campesino perspective means dismantling the monopoly on truth. Rivera lucidly understood that mastering the written code granted him the historical ability to cease being a passive subject, an object of study in folklorism, and become the chronicler and philosopher of his own time. He ceased to be narrated by others and assumed authorship of his territorial memory.

This literacy and poetic endeavor took place against a profoundly adverse historical backdrop. Throughout the twentieth century, Venezuela underwent a traumatic transformation driven by the emergence of the neocolonial oil enclave. Urban modernization advanced aggressively through its ideological and economic strategy of marginalizing the countryside, dismantling traditional community structures, and promoting rural depopulation in favor of slums in the major cities.

The extraction of hydrocarbons by transnational corporations tied to the geopolitical interests of US and European imperialism came alongside an overwhelming wave of cultural propaganda. This ideological penetration sought to impose the American consumerist lifestyle, eroding peasant identity and dismissing local agriculture as synonymous with backwardness and savagery. Venezuela, which was barely emerging from the devastating aftermath of the war of independence and successive nineteenth-century insurrections, revolutions, and civil wars stoked by local elites and foreign capital, saw its food sovereignty and historical memory shaken.

Amid this landscape of alienation, where the country was rapidly transforming into a consumerist, import-dependent enclave, Rivera’s insistence on remaining in his Canchunchú valley and singing about the communal way of life was not a nostalgic or folkloric retreat, but rather a deeply political and assertive affirmation of cultural re-existence.

He sang with such transparent and loving clarity that his powerful message took root in the national collective imagination, ethically reframing the traditions, sufferings, joys, and experiences of campesinos in eastern Venezuela. Against the aesthetics of waste and the logic of neocolonial dispossession, he countered with the ethics of care and the sacredness of everyday life. His compositions served as a mechanism for preserving historical memory: he warned against the collective amnesia regarding the communal way of life driven by the discourse of developmental modernity; he championed food sovereignty in the face of dependence on the globalizing market; he dignified rural labor in the face of urban prejudice, revealing the profound ecological philosophy inherent in popular knowledge. But, moreover, his profound poetic work demonstrates that true national sovereignty is more than just the defense of natural resources or borders. It requires the preservation of the collective soul, the dignity of the living word, and the self-determination of the people’s power.

Luis Mariano Rivera’s life journey teaches us that decolonization is not achieved solely through theoretical confrontation or bellicose rhetoric, but above all through an organic connection to the land and the community. By recognizing himself through his own voice, he prevented imperialist corporations and the oil industry’s maelstrom from erasing the humanity of his surroundings. His music endures as an indestructible testament to cultural sovereignty: living proof that a people who remember their roots, cultivate their land, and tell their own stories become resilient in the face of modern oppressions and invincible against any attempt at external domination.

Fabiola José is a Venezuelan singer. She has performed in countries across South America, Africa, Europe, and Asia. Her singles and albums are available on all digital platforms. She hosted and produced “Cantante y Sonante” for Radio Nacional de Venezuela. In 2018–2019, she created a series of videos for social media, published on her YouTube channel #HechoEnCasa. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Music from IUDEM, Caracas (2005); specialized under Maestro Tom Krause in Spain (2007); and an M.A. in Arts and Cultures of the South from UNEARTE, Venezuela (2020).

Fidel Barbarito is a Venezuelan musician and researcher, with a bachelor’s and master’s degrees in music and history, respectively. He teaches in the undergraduate and graduate programs at the National Experimental University of the Arts (UNEARTE). Together with Fabiola José, he promotes several musical projects aimed at disseminating traditional repertoires, integrating them with contemporary compositions inspired by these sounds. Joropo llanero. Parranda de reexistencia is one of his published essays.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Venezuelanalysis editorial staff.

There are many dedicated figures devoted to Chicano empowerment in America. But in the arts, playwright-director-impresario Luis Valdez — the migrant farmworkers’ son behind the defiantly consciousness-raising El Teatro Campesino and the historic hits “Zoot Suit” and “La Bamba” — holds a singular place, achieved with remarkable perseverance. It’s a trajectory that the immensely appealing, rollicking documentary “American Pachuco: The Legend of Luis Valdez” tracks with a vitality and purpose befitting its subject.

Anchored by Valdez himself, now in his 80s and filling the camera frame like a grandfatherly lion, the film supplements his vivid biographical details with rich archival footage and testimonials from family members, collaborators and peers. There’s also the bold but sneakily effective narrator choice in Edward James Olmos, reviving his snarling, star-making El Pachuco growl from “Zoot Suit” to remind us of one of Valdez’s essential contributions to the theatrical canon. (Olmos is also an interviewee, as is Cheech Marin, Taylor Hackford, Lou Diamond Philips and labor leader Dolores Huerta.)

Born in Delano, Calif., and drawn to literature and language as a way to combat racist assumptions about a Mexican American’s destiny, Valdez found his gifts sharpened by puppet shows, school plays and finally, the union movement in his hometown. Valdez saw that pointed, raw satire was not only necessary but a recruitment tool for the fight. We hear the underdog aesthetic term rasquachismo used to describe these early impromptu performances: essentially a colorful funkiness, “so funky that nothing can undermine you,” Valdez says. As if something earthier and stronger had been harvested in the fields with all those valuable grapes.

After the labor battles of the Vietnam War era, Valdez took El Teatro Campesino’s mission nationwide. Excerpts from a televised adaptation of his play “Los Vendidos (The Sellouts)” — about a shop selling automatons representing Chicano stereotypes — underscore the continuing tensions of assimilation, a trap disguised as acceptance. But the piece also reflected feelings Valdez had about his long-estranged brother Frank, an engineer whose alienating efforts to deny his own background and fit in formed a heavy undercurrent in Valdez’s life.

“Zoot Suit,” an ambitious, musicalized, slang-flavored staging of the violent injustice behind L.A.’s notorious 1943 Zoot Suit riots, became a smash in 1978 (its narrow-minded New York reception notwithstanding). The story of how the Ritchie Valens biopic “La Bamba” came to be — a delicate mix of legacy tending and savvy casting — is similarly rousing and illuminating, even if it seems like an omission not to dig into why, after such a big hit, more movies didn’t follow. (Although, since this is Hollywood, we can guess the reasons.)

There’s so much to chew on in David Alvarado’s portrait of life, art and activism that “American Pachuco” plays like a joyful challenge to those searching for their own voice or meaning. As engaging a chronicler of his own life as Valdez is, his lessons in how to be seen and heard — and how to stay that way — feel especially timely. In our demonizing present, the story of such a pioneering truth-teller speaks powerfully to the needs of our blended American future.

The classic Chicano film “Zoot Suit” is celebrating its 45th anniversary this year in style.

The Golden Globe-nominated movie, featuring a lead performance by Edward James Olmos, was based on a stage play penned by legendary screenwriter and director Luis Valdez, who drew inspiration from a pamphlet about the 1942 Sleepy Lagoon murder case and the riots that it sparked.

On Thursday it was announced that the flick will be screened at The Ford amphitheater on July 8 to honor its notable benchmark and enduring legacy. The special screening will include a conversation with Valdez, Olmos and actor-educator Cristina Frías, who will discuss the movie’s production, influence and place in the L.A. film canon.

“‘Zoot Suit’ changed the way our stories could be seen on screen,” Olmos said in a statement. “It gave voice to a history that many people had never been taught and showed the beauty, strength and complexity of the Chicano experience. Forty-five years later, the film continues to inspire because it is about more than one moment in time. It is about identity, dignity and the responsibility we have to remember where we come from.”

The screening will also feature a vintage car show put on by the Pachuco Car Club, which will showcase the rides reminiscent of the time period shown in the movie.

In June 1943, L.A. was engulfed in the lawlessness and violence that became known as the Zoot Suit Riots. The name is misleading because it suggests that the zoot suiters — the young Mexican, Black and Filipino men and boys who wore the flamboyant outfits — were the perpetrators.

In fact, they were the victims.

The attacks by servicemen and white Angelenos on zoot suiters, derided as “gamin dandies” in The Times, were driven by prejudice and the anti-immigrant attitudes of the era. The roots of the unrest can be traced to events that occurred more than a year earlier — such as the incarceration of Japanese Americans after Pearl Harbor, as well as the murder of a young man, which was later known as the Sleepy Lagoon murder case.

In his 1981 review of the film, The Times’ former film critic Kevin Thomas praised Valdez’s direction and the strength of the cast.

“Valdez has captured well many of the elements of the era that contributed to the fate of the Sleepy Lagoon defendants — the sensationalist press, the feverish patriotism of wartime and the rampant bigotry directed at all minorities,” Thomas wrote. “At the same time, Valdez makes clear that various people outside the Mexican-American community helped in the struggle to mount an appeal for the Sleepy Lagoon defendants. And he questions the entire validity of the switch-bladed, cynical pachuco mystique as [Daniel Valdez’s] Henry comes to realize that El Pachuco [Olmos] is at once his best friend — and worst enemy.”

The original 1979 Broadway run of the “Zoot Suit” play catapulted Olmos to the national stage and led to him getting a Tony nomination for best featured actor in a play.

“It was a monumental moment in time, and we captured lightning in a bottle,” Olmos told The Times in 2023. “Not only did it change the course of Latinos in theater but it touched the very soul of the culture. It was catching the voice of the pachuco.”

The star winger scores a goal and sets up another, as Colombia make a winning return to the FIFA World Cup.

Colombia opened their World Cup Group K campaign with a 3-1 victory over Uzbekistan at the Estadio Azteca on Wednesday, as Daniel Munoz, Luis Diaz and Jaminton Campaz ⁠struck to overcome a spirited second-half response from the tournament debutants.

Uzbekistan were disciplined for long periods under their Italian coach Fabio Cannavaro, but Colombia’s greater quality stood out in front of a crowd of over 80,000 on a cool, rain-tinged evening in Mexico City.

Colombia, the Copa ⁠America runners-up, had early sights of goal through Jhon Arias and James Rodriguez, but Uzbekistan sat deep, scrapped gamely and waited for mistakes. Bekhruz Karimov almost profited when he burst forward, only for Jhon Lucumi to intervene before he could shoot.

Diaz had the clearest chance of the opening half when he struck the post, before Abdukodir Khusanov slid in after the winger ‌had knocked the ball past him, taking out both the Colombian player and a pitchside cameraman who required medical treatment.

Uzbekistan’s resistance finally cracked in the 40th minute. Diaz gathered the ball after an attack had broken down and clipped a fine pass into the path of Munoz, who guided home a neat finish for his third international goal.

The large Colombian contingent erupted, their yellow shirts making the Azteca look and sound almost like home. Chants of “Vamos Colombia”, adapted from a Club America-style chorus, rolled around the ground, while Uzbekistan’s small band ⁠of supporters answered with drums of their own.

Fayzullaev scores Uzbekistan’s maiden World Cup goal

Uzbekistan improved after the ⁠break and equalised on the hour with the country’s first World Cup goal.

Dostonbek Khamdamov fed Eldor Shomurodov, whose shot from the right side of the box was saved low by Camilo Vargas. The goalkeeper could not hold it, however, and Abbosbek Fayzullaev nodded in the rebound from ⁠close range.

However, Uzbekistan’s joy lasted only five minutes.

Gustavo Puerta released Diaz in the 65th minute, and the forward side-footed across goal to restore Colombia’s lead. The crowd ⁠responded with chants of “Lucho, Lucho”.

Uzbekistan kept pushing. Akmal Mozgovoy shot narrowly off ⁠target in stoppage time, Karimov hit the bar with an effort from distance, and Azizbek Amonov had a shot blocked after Otabek Shukurov’s pass.

But Colombia had the final word, Campaz scoring in the ninth minute of stoppage time to settle a contest in which Nestor Lorenzo’s side had 15 attempts to Uzbekistan’s nine, ‌and extended their strong recent group-stage record to seven wins in eight World Cup matches.

Colombia face DR Congo on Tuesday in Guadalajara, after Uzbekistan play Portugal on the same day in Houston.

The FIFA World Cup begins on June 11. You can follow the action on Al Jazeera’s dedicated World Cup 2026 page with all the latest news, match build-up and live text commentary, and keep up to date with group standings, real-time match results and schedules.

Winger Luis Diaz scores a goal and sets up another, as Colombia make a winning return to the FIFA World Cup after missing the last edition.

Colombia opened their World Cup Group K campaign with a 3-1 victory over Uzbekistan at the Estadio Azteca on Wednesday, as Daniel Munoz, Luis Diaz and Jaminton Campaz ⁠struck to overcome a spirited second-half response from the tournament debutants.

Uzbekistan were disciplined for long periods under their Italian coach Fabio Cannavaro, but Colombia’s greater quality stood out in front of a crowd of over 80,000 on a cool, rain-tinged evening in Mexico City.

Colombia, the Copa ⁠America runners-up, had early sights of goal through Jhon Arias and James Rodriguez, but Uzbekistan sat deep, scrapped gamely and waited for mistakes. Bekhruz Karimov almost profited when he burst forward, only for Jhon Lucumi to intervene before he could shoot.

Diaz had the clearest chance of the opening half when he struck the post, before Abdukodir Khusanov slid in after the winger ‌had knocked the ball past him, taking out both the Colombian player and a pitchside cameraman who required medical treatment.

Uzbekistan’s resistance finally cracked in the 40th minute. Diaz gathered the ball after an attack had broken down and clipped a fine pass into the path of Munoz, who guided home a neat finish for his third international goal.

The large Colombian contingent erupted, their yellow shirts making the Azteca look and sound almost like home. Chants of “Vamos Colombia”, adapted from a Club America-style chorus, rolled around the ground, while Uzbekistan’s small band ⁠of supporters answered with drums of their own.

Fayzullaev scores Uzbekistan’s maiden World Cup goal

Uzbekistan improved after the ⁠break and equalised on the hour with the country’s first World Cup goal.

Dostonbek Khamdamov fed Eldor Shomurodov, whose shot from the right side of the box was saved low by Camilo Vargas. The goalkeeper could not hold it, however, and Abbosbek Fayzullaev nodded in the rebound from ⁠close range.

However, Uzbekistan’s joy lasted only five minutes.

Gustavo Puerta released Diaz in the 65th minute, and the forward side-footed across goal to restore Colombia’s lead. The crowd ⁠responded with chants of “Lucho, Lucho”.

Uzbekistan kept pushing. Akmal Mozgovoy shot narrowly off ⁠target in stoppage time, Karimov hit the bar with an effort from distance, and Azizbek Amonov had a shot blocked after Otabek Shukurov’s pass.

But Colombia had the final word, Campaz scoring in the ninth minute of stoppage time to settle a contest in which Nestor Lorenzo’s side had 15 attempts to Uzbekistan’s nine, ‌and extended their strong recent group-stage record to seven wins in eight World Cup matches.

Colombia face DR Congo on Tuesday in Guadalajara, after Uzbekistan play Portugal on the same day in Houston.

The FIFA World Cup begins on June 11. You can follow the action on Al Jazeera’s dedicated World Cup 2026 page with all the latest news, match build-up and live text commentary, and keep up to date with group standings, real-time match results and schedules.