“Us” or “them”?

Rincó Criollo

Photo: Michael Kirby

An Asian-American in the Latino Bronx

“So you’re on urban safari, huh?” says Carlos “Tato” Torres, executive director of Bronx nonprofit Rincón Criollo. I had just explained to him the premise of my assignment: to immerse myself in the Bronx’s Latin community. The borough has the largest number (644,705) and highest percentage (48 percent) of Latinos in New York. He was right to call me out: I’m a Korean-American West Coast transplant living in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and I’d set foot in the Bronx only once before—last year.

During that trip, a 12-year-old black girl scolded me for walking in a dodgy area near Arthur Avenue in broad daylight and told me to take the bus; another time, my white roommate was called a “snowflake” by a passerby. Venturing beyond my Brooklyn-Manhattan circuit was exotic for me, but not one of the Puerto Rico–born locals batted an eye when I breezed into Rincón Criollo (Brook Ave at 157th St, myspace.com/rinconcriollo), a tiny neon-green shack in a former dilapidated South Bronx lot off the 2 line. “Everyone is welcome here,” explains Torres, a 32-year-old former resident of Ponce, Puerto Rico, and member of old-school Latin band Yerba Buena. He was first attracted to the spot’s impromptu jam sessions, held on weekends in its lush garden. “Our founder, Jose ‘Chema’ Soto, is very fond of music,” he adds. “We play bomba and plena—they’re both styles associated with people of color, the working class, those who are marginalized.” The neighborhood also shares a history of institutional neglect: During the ’70s, the Bronx resembled a rubble-strewn war zone. Soto reclaimed a burned-down lot after his basement club went up in flames, recruiting friends, their furniture and donations to build this casita—or social club, named for a type of house in the Puerto Rican countryside—which is among hundreds of similar structures dotting the borough.

52 People for Progress

Photo: Michael Kirby

“You want some food?” asks Kenneth, a 28-year-old volunteer who’s here, along with four others. He opens up a massive pot of arroz con patitas y habichuelas, rice with pig trotters and beans.

Back on the 2 train, I head to another nearby organization, 52 People for Progress, which holds free Wednesday-night concerts in amphitheater El Teatro Miranda (Kelly St between Ave St. John and Leggett Ave). “Man, this is where salsa was born,” says cofounder and promoter Al Quinones. Across the street is Middle School 302, formerly P.S. 52, which el cantante Héctor Lavoe attended.

According to Quinones, the 27-year-old organization, which charges $1 admission to benefit local cultural programs, is “empowered by the people—not the Parks Department.” The crowd—mostly Puerto Ricans tonight—reflects Quinones’s zeal for salsa with dancing couples, and a few folks providing accompaniment via maracas, a cowbell and a whistle. “Man, people come from all over here because they like to swing! We don’t punk out even if there’s rain.”

South Bronx

Photo: Michael Kirby

I end my day with Adaina Vélez, a media buyer for a Manhattan ad agency who has offered to sit with me on her stoop in Allerton, a nabe in the northeastern part of the Bronx. It ends up being too chilly (“Most people hang out there when it’s really hot,” she explains), so we move, oddly enough, to Team USA Martial Arts Fitness Center (2704 White Plains Rd at Allerton Ave, 718-994-4300), a tae kwon do studio where Vélez volunteers. We chat about my day and my concern that I would be called yellow snow. “Yeah, a lot of people typecast the Bronx that it’s so ghetto,” she laughs. “And it really isn’t.” I also realize that the Bronx isn’t all that foreign to me, either: The sight of teenagers kicking to a pumping merengue soundtrack recalls my childhood karate lessons. “I know how to count to ten in Korean,” says Vélez. “Plus, I’ve learned all about discipline, character and respect.” Sadly, I hardly speak a word of Spanish.—Helen Yun

48%of the Bronx is Latino