AGMA Communications Coordinator Eldee Eyimife spoke with AGMA Soloist Oswaldo Iraheta about identity, belonging, and the realities of being a first-generation American in today’s political climate. In this candid conversation, Oswaldo reflects on his family’s journey, the challenges of navigating higher education and the performing arts as the son of Salvadoran immigrants, and how those experiences inspired his advocacy and artistic work, including Unheard Voices: An Immigrant’s Dream.
As a first-generation immigrant, AGMA soloist Oswaldo Iraheta has had to traverse American society and the education system. Among his family of Salvadoran immigrants, he would also be the first to attend college, an achievement he was celebrated for but had to navigate on his own. He relied on school counselors and friends to figure out his path, switching majors and schools more than once as he tried to find his place. While navigating this unfamiliar terrain, he was also faced with the pressure of what it meant to be an immigrant in the United States.
“When you go to college, you realize you may be American, but you’re still seen as Latino first. I remember my first college tour at a small school in Wisconsin, where I stood out because of my skin color,” he says. “ I had a meeting with the Dean of Cultural Affairs, and she told me I might have to work harder; that being a person of color would make things different. No one had ever told me that before.”
Oswaldo reminded her that he was born in this country and is an American, to which the Dean said the first thing people will see is his skin color. That interaction stayed with him ever since.
The pressure that Oswaldo and many immigrants experience has intensified in the past year, taking on a sharper, more directed edge given the social and political climate. He may have been born in the United States, but as a Latino living in New Jersey, he has felt the political climate shift in ways that touch his daily life. Raids by ICE in his community have changed how safe it feels to simply come home.
“Ever since the ICE raids began, I’ve had to carry my U.S. passport with me, looking over my shoulder. That level of fear and anxiety, on top of everyday anxieties, is unnecessary, especially in my own country. Coming home after working in Europe has become, ‘Am I going to be stopped? Am I going to be detained?’ It’s something I shouldn’t have to worry about, but I do,” he adds. “There’s pride in being a first-generation American, but now it feels like that doesn’t matter; I’m seen as an immigrant. My parents worked so hard to get here, went through so much, and now they tell me they feel bad for what we’re going through; they thought it would be different for their children.”
Oswaldo shares these feelings with other AGMA members and performers who may not feel comfortable sharing their anxieties.
“A lot of artists in and out of AGMA are feeling this, but they may only talk about it within their circle of friends or family. Latino artists who feel targeted need to know they’re not alone, that we all feel it, that we’re in community and looking out for each other, like AGMA does for all of us collectively.”
He drew from the sentiment that there needs to be a collective voice of solidarity when he created Unheard Voices: An Immigrant’s Dream. The project began during the early days of the pandemic. Oswaldo found himself searching for a way to respond to everything happening around him: the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, the surge in anti-Asian violence, and the broader wave of civil unrest that touched nearly every community in the country.
He brought the idea to Nancy Rhodes, the founder and artistic director of Encompass Opera, and together, they built Unheard Voices around the idea that classical music—often seen as distant from these conversations—could speak directly to the immigrant experience. The project drew on Oswaldo’s own family’s story, including a recording session along the rivers near Peekskill, where footage of people crossing into the United States was set against music that, for him, had come to represent grounding and the search for peace amid chaos.
The project drew real attention. Telemundo and the New Jersey Journal both covered it, and El Diario, the country’s oldest Spanish-language newspaper in the U.S., also ran a story. Word reached the mayor of Guttenberg, New Jersey, Wayne D. Zitt Jr., where Oswaldo lives, in a town where the overwhelming majority of residents are immigrants. The mayor sent a busload of residents to a live performance at The Greene Space in Manhattan, a display of support that Oswaldo still describes with real warmth.
Rhodes passed away last year, but before she died, she and Oswaldo had been planning to take Unheard Voices into schools and neighborhoods in New York and New Jersey, and into Oswaldo’s hometown of Chicago, inviting other immigrants to share their own stories alongside the music. This year, he is continuing the project and their vision with her in spirit.
Through it all, Oswaldo Iraheta keeps returning to one idea that grounds and keeps him optimistic: that history moves in cycles and hard moments, however real, don’t last forever.
“This too shall pass,” he says. “We’ve endured terrible things before, and history has shown us that more will come. But history has also taught us that this will pass, too. So when it gets really good, appreciate it and let it carry you through the harder times. And let people know they’re not alone, encourage them to spread love. That’s what’s going to make the difference. That’s going to conquer hate.”