Gay men haircut caracas, venezuela

Later, as he pursued a career as a makeup artist, Hernandez had a crown tattooed on each of his wrists. His family says the tattoos were a symbol of his beloved Three Kings festival. But they are also, according to U. government records, what landed him on a plane full of Venezuelan men the Trump administration deported to a megaprison in El Salvador.

Today, and belatedly for Black History month, Mediático is delighted to present a piece by regular contributor Natália Pinaz z a on the Venezuelan film Pelo Malo Mariana Rondón Pelo Malo , the critically appraised film by Mariana Rondón, centres on the life of a nine-year-old boy, Junior, who is chastised by his mother for his obsession with straightening his hair and performing. Although this transnational funding structure means that Pelo Malo is inserted into both local and global contexts, and there are aspects of colonialist voyeurism in the way it screens a poverty-stricken Caracas, the film also provides fresh insight into local anxieties over gender norms and racial issues. Pelo Malo encourages spectatorial identification with the child protagonist through the extensive use of point-of view shots, thereby creating an empathetic subject-viewer relationship with Junior.

When Andry Hernández got a pair of tattoos on his wrists with the words mom and dad, he thought they would look even more striking if he added something else to them, according to the tattoo artist, José Manuel Mora. The crown is the symbol of the Catholic annual Three Kings Day celebrations for which Mr Hernández's Venezuelan hometown, Capacho Nuevo, is famed. Seven years later, those crowns may have led to Mr Hernández - who describes himself as a gay barber - being locked up in El Salvador's mega-prison. He and dozens of other Venezuelans alleged by US President Donald Trump to be members of the Tren de Aragua gang were deported to the Central American nation in March.

In a poor neighbourhood of the Venezuelan city of Maracay, the mother of year-old Francisco José García Casique was waiting for him on Saturday. It had been 18 months since he had migrated to the US to begin a new life but he had told her that he was now being deported back to Caracas, Venezuela's capital, for being in the US illegally. They had spoken that morning, just before he was due to depart. She wanted him home.