MUSICA AGAINST DRUGS: FIGHTING AIDS WITH SALSA
Musica Against Drugs' emphasis on Puerto Rican identity and culture, as expressed through music and art, is working because it builds on the legacy of previous struggles in the Puerto Rican community. Musica celebrates life and gives hope to those with HIV and/or living with AIDS.
By Cathy Schneider
The music echoed down Broadway as the salsa musicians drummed their congas, blew their horns, and sang on one of the busiest streets in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Men and women, old and young, grabbed other members of a growing crowd and whirled them to a sultry salsa beat. A bearded poet took the microphone to recite passionate verse about poverty and drug abuse. Two children swung their hips to a rhumba, drawing the attention of several adults, who began to clap in rhythm. Several exhausted dancers entered the building—headquarters of a group called Musica Against Drugs—to cool off, and to contemplate the exhibition of Latino art.
A photography exhibit included pictures from East Harlem, accompanied by the transcribed observations of a woman from the barrio. Next to it were sketches by several ex-drug addicts, each showing neighborhood efforts to fight drug abuse and AIDS. In another part of the building, there was a video exhibit of Williamsburg residents speaking about their lives. Some viewers signed up for the free art, poetry, dance, theater, photography and music workshops. Others gorged on the plentiful array of entrées, which included rice and peas, roast chicken, red beans and salad. Soda, juice and coffee were also available, but not alcohol or drugs. Musica Against Drugs threw this party to inaugurate the installation of the new art exhibit in their building. The party was "clean and sober."
Musica Against Drugs is the realization of the dreams of Manny Maldonado. Maldonado grew up in the Puerto Rican part of Williamsburg in the 1960s—a decade of drugs, street gangs and social activism. His earliest memories involved music. He remembers his parents listening to boleros and plenas, while the kids in the street blasted music from WADO, the only Spanish-language radio station at the time. Since he can remember, he played congas in the street and in the park. Later, he learned to play the trumpet as well.
By the time he was a teenager, the music had become political, and addressed Vietnam, the barrio and social revolution. During this period Maldonado joined a street gang called the Keep Baysa gang politicized by the radical social activism of the time. The Young Lords, a political organization that emerged out of Puerto Rican gangs in Chicago, had a particularly profound impact on young Puerto Ricans in New York. It was the Young Lords that shaped Maldonado's understanding of the relationship between culture, self-esteem and social activism. They revived "a sense of pride and identity in Puerto Rican culture," he recalls, "especially among those born in New York City." Colonization and assimilation in the United States had left many Puerto Ricans feeling alienated and lacking in selfesteem. "To feel goodabout who you are," notes Maldonado, "you must know your roots."
In 1968 Maldonado was elected president of the Aspira club, an organization designed to encourage excellence and leadership among talented Latino youth. Later he emerged as a leader of the student movement at Brooklyn's Eastern District high school. Maldonado may have been a leader in the community, but he was already addicted to heroin. "Drugs were what was happening in the sixties," he recalls, "and there was a lot of peer pressure. Combine that with poverty and feelings of inadequacy, getting high was an escape." For about 20 years, Maldonado was a heroin addict. During that time, he gave up both music and social activism. He had lost the discipline. He entered detox over 20 times, but each time he ended up back on heroin. Desperate, he attempted suicide. "There is a lot of pain and suffering in drug addiction," he says, "that society doesn't pay any attention to."
In 1986, buoyed by his return to music at Boy's Harbor, a social agency in Harlem, Maldonado quit drugs for good. It was at Boy's Harbor that he met and studied congas with Frankie Malave, who he calls "the greatest Puerto Rican congero." As he practiced the instrument that had given him so much pleasure in his youth, Maldonado felt a growing sense of pride and identity.
Music also gave Maldonado a way to celebrate and socialize without drugs or alcohol. Too often recovering addicts find that after a lifetime of drug-oriented social relations, they have lost simple social skills like dancing and conversation. Further, says Maldonado, "the Latin clubs are often about drinking a lot of alcohol. We needed a place people in recovery could go and not be subjected to it."
Several professional musicians in recovery—including Ralph Irizarry, the timbale player for Ruben Blades, Ray Cruz and Tomas Santiago of Cruz Control, and Maldonado—began to get together and play during "12-step" anniversaries. Eventually, these musicians began to form recovery bands. "We started a workshop called Get Your Chops Together," recalls Maldonado. "That is how we got the idea for Musica Against Drugs."
Two years into recovery Maldonado discovered he had AIDS, a disease which had already reached epidemic proportions in the recovery community. Addicts were quitting drugs only to find they now had to face even deadlier prospects. Maldonado and several friends decided to broaden Musica Against Drugs, using music to bring people together and educate them about AIDS. Musica volunteers and paid peer educators began canvassing heavy drug-trafficking areas, giving users information on AIDS and referrals to detox programs and other healthcare facilities. The group is now creating a community dining hall for people with AIDS, replete with a nutritionist and a van to provide food to those confined at home. Last year Musica Against Drugs was awarded close to a million dollars in federal, state, city and private grants.
Musica Against Drug's emphasis on Puerto Rican identity and culture, as expressed though music and art, works because it builds on the legacy of previous struggles in the Puerto Rican community. Musica was born of the conviction, Maldonado notes, "that we could build self-esteem through culture and identity. You have to offer people something to aim for. Using our culture as a tool facilitates organizing for us." Confronting the deadliest consequences of urban poverty and demoralization, Musica celebrates life, builds solidarity, and gives some hope and even joy to those with HIV or already suffering from AIDS. The group's modest success offers a hopeful model for creative community organizing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Cathy Schneider is an assistant professor at the School of International Service at American University. She conducted research for this article while she was an Aaron Diamond post-doctoral fellow at the Hunter College Center on AIDS, Drugs and Community Health.
