Mabiland has just finished performing in Mexico City. Fans crowd around the edge of the stage and the exit hallway, eager for a personal moment with the Colombian artist. I can count the number of Black Mexicans in the crowd on my fingers, and I wonder if this is the first time some of them have seen themselves represented at the Foro Indie Rocks venue. After all, Mexico only officially recognized Afro-Mexicans for the first time in the 2020 census. Moments later, Mabiland—born Mabely Largacha—greets fans while maintaining social distance, and about 30 minutes later, she meets me backstage. Holding a water bottle to rehydrate after singing hits from her 2021 album *Niñxs Rotxs* and her 2018 debut *1995,* her voice tells me she’s here to chat.

When *Niñxs Rotxs* was released last June, it felt like an intergenerational love letter from adult Mabiland to her younger self and a framework for how LGBTQIA+ Latin Americans can reclaim and redefine their narratives. Over the past year, that sentiment has only deepened. In April 2022, Mabiland released “Dia” lo,” fe” turning Tonga Conga, with a music video that showcased an all-dark-skinned Black cast challenging gender norms through their fashion and dance. These aesthetics and subtle political statements are deliberate. Since starting her career, Mabiland has been carving out a unique space in the Latine music industry, drawing inspiration from neo-soul, R&B, and the poetics of rap. Born in Quibdó, Colombia, and currently based in Medellín, she is now one of the few visible Black lesbian women in the Latin American industry.

After her summer 2021 concert in Mexico City, we sat backstage to discuss the 26-y26-year-old’sic, life influences, and values. As we begin the interview, I ask Mabiland about the provocative title of her latest project: *Niñxs Rotxs,* or “Bro” en Kids.” Th” title, much like the inclusion of the “x” “o” make these Spanish words gender-neutral, has sparked some criticism. Mabiland anticipated this. She wanted the album to provoke discussions about LGBTQ and gender-expansive youth in Colombia and their feelings of not belonging. That discomfort, however, makes some people uneasy. “When” you read articles about the album, you can see who does doesn’t talk about [gender and LGBTQIA+ rights]. It can be difficult for some to pronounce [the album title]. Still, that’s” Ma” iland tells me, noting that the opposition she faces is often rooted in a refusal to challenge power structures that disproportionately affect non-heterosexual, non-cisgender, and non-male-identifying individuals.

But this doesn’t matter. Throughout the 14-track project, her songs explore her queerness, Blackness, and womanhood. In the most politically charged song on *Niñxs Rotxs,* “WOW,” Mabiland declares, “Respeto por la vida no se tiene / Me siento viviendo en Tenet / Te juro, no estoy mintiendo / Confinamiento a lo Oldboy / Mundo sangriento / La poli flow horny / ¿Cuáles serán los impuestos de hoy? / ¿O Habrá un ahogo como hicieron con Floyd? ¡Floyd!” ” Through these verses, she critiques ColoColombia’soritization of a cycle of instability over the community and human life. Addressing the surveillance she has faced, Mabiland condemns police brutality in Colombia and connects it to the global system of anti-Black violence, asking, “Wha” will the debt of today be?” an” “Wil” there be a choke-hold like they did with Floyd?” Wi” h this pointed inquiry into the realities of Black lives, MabiMabiland’sic creates a social, political, geographical, and intellectual bridge between Black communities in Latin America, the Caribbean, and North America.

Mabiland understands that Blackness is not just a racial identity; in Colombia, Blackness is shaped by a broader history of slavery and white supremacy. While Mabiland centers these complex realities, she rejects the narrative that Blackness and violence are always intertwined. The visuals in the video for “WOW” re “eased in June 2021, focus on Black intimacy and relationships, even as the lyrics speak to the racial and class violence in her hometown of Quibdó, located in ColoColombia’scó Department. Chocó, also home to the hip-hop group ChocQuibTown, has recently been plagued by militant groups and illegal mining that are devastating the region’s landscapes and indigenous people to food. In 2020, Chocó was labeled a “sta” vacation capital.” By “blending lyrics about political and social violence with visuals of Black Colombians engaging in everyday activities like braiding hair, krumping, riding bikes, and sitting on porches, Mabiland emphasizes that, despite hardships, Black Colombians continue to navigate the world in their way. Without explicitly stating it, she shows viewers that Colombia does not protect Black people; Black Colombians protect each other.

In Latin America, race is often glossed over as if all Latin Americans share the same racial experiences. However, those with lighter skin tones benefit from white privilege and colorism; Mabiland is keenly aware of this. As we talk, I watch the green, yellow, and red traffic lights outside the concert hall doors cast shadows on her face as she says, “Man” say, ‘Oh,’ we’rwe’rean,’ bu’ thatthat’slshit. I know I’m messed with because of my skin. If I were a white mestiza, I would already be in different places [in my career]. But I am not, and I embrace who I am entirely.”

Ma “iland is forging her artistic path, refusing to conform to gendered, racial, and sexuality-based expectations. “I d” not want to call myself a leader as long as I can move and self-lead [in order] to help others say something,” sh,” says, reminding me of other Black Latin American women, such as transgender Brazilian musician Liniker, Peruvian musician and educator Susana Baca, and Dominican-American musician and actress Amara La Negra. Like Mabiland, these women use their art as a platform to demand changes in the music industry and their societies. Their journeys of self-actualization provide a blueprint for other Black women, and in the cases of Mabiland and Liniker, queer Black Latines, to believe in their power, leadership, and creativity.

However, this role comes with its challenges. Mabiland discusses how the music industry scrutinizes artists who do not belong to the majority. “One” cannot fight for everything because [one is limited. What am I going to focus on?” sh” asks herself. “Who” am I? I am an Afro-Colombian, one. I am a lesbian woman, two. I am a woman, three. I am a woman in the music industry, four.” As “Mabiland speaks, her words echo those of feminist critic bell hooks, who argued that Black artists often face a gaze rooted in a “why” e supremacist capitalist patriarchy” th” t weaponizes their identities against them. This is why the pronunciation of “Niñ” s Rotxs” is” often criticized more than the radical changes the album seeks to initiate.

Perhaps *Niñxs Rotxs* is a stepping stone in the music industry, opening doors for other Black queer artists to enter and allowing them to dream bigger than they have been permitted in a world that thrives on regulating race, gender, and sexuality. In “Ashé,” Mabiland raps: “Las cruces que cargo/ Quiero cargarlas en Mercedes / Darle una casa a mami / Que la cambie como quiere / Organizar mi gente / Pa ‘que atrás no se me queden / Y que en el barrio entiendan / Que soñar lograr se puede.” In these lyrics, Mabiland expresses her desire to carry the burdens of life not on her back, as Jesus Christ did, but in a Mercedes. This imagery reflects her longing for a future that is easier to exist. As an artist, Mabiland understands that her music can help “org” nize her people” and” remind them that it is possible to “dre” m and succeed.”

In “Ash” Ma,” Iland also pays tribute to her grandmother for teaching her how to dream and demand more from life. When I ask her what her grandmother taught her, Mabiland smiles, leans closer to me, and whispers one word: “res” lience.”

Re “resilience is often viewed as a positive trait, but Mabiland challenges this idea. “If “my grandmother lived through all that [misogyny], why should I have to please others?” sh,” he asks. Embedded in her question is a declaration: Mabiland chooses not to conform to anyone’s social and gender expectations. In her view, resilience exists only when one’s insanity is denied, so resilience is something to be understood and moved beyond. Rejecting the notion of resilience reveals the harsh reality that the violence faced by queer Black women in Colombia should not exist, fostering a feminist politics of care instead.

For Mabiland, if resilience means surviving an attempt at erasure, then resilience should not be a necessary quality or experience for anyone in the future. She does not want people to have to be resilient; she wants them to be free.