I feel like the Latinx community, first of all, they're not

Hear now the voice of Jenna Ortega, whose words echo with both defiance and hope: “I feel like the Latinx community, first of all, they're not often shown on camera in general. But they're also oftentimes not shown in a positive light. I never want to play a maid and I never want to play a cartel leader's daughter. I would much rather play a person of power, a powerful character in a positive way.” In this declaration resounds not only the yearning of an actress, but the cry of an entire people weary of being seen in shadows. It is the cry of one who seeks not caricature, but dignity—not stereotype, but power.

The ancients would have understood this struggle well. For in every age, those without power have often been chained by the stories others tell of them. To control a people’s image is to control their destiny. Thus, Ortega speaks for the Latinx community, declaring that they are not merely servants or criminals, not merely figures in someone else’s tale, but creators of their own legend. In her words is the wisdom of reclaiming narrative, of lifting one’s people into the realm of heroes, scholars, leaders, and builders.

History gives us many mirrors of this struggle. Recall the tale of Frederick Douglass, born into bondage yet rising to become a voice of thunder. In his day, the enslaved were portrayed as voiceless and incapable, defined by the cruel images their masters spread. But Douglass seized the pen and the stage, reshaping how the world saw his people. He refused to play the part assigned to him by oppression. Instead, he chose to be a man of knowledge, eloquence, and vision. His life, like Ortega’s words, teaches us that to refuse the roles imposed upon you is to begin the march toward freedom.

Jenna’s rejection of roles such as the maid or the cartel leader’s daughter is not mere pride—it is resistance against chains unseen. These roles, repeated again and again in film and story, become cages of the mind. They whisper to the world that this is all a people can be. But when she says she would rather embody a person of power, she invokes a sacred truth: that representation is destiny, and that the characters we see shape the possibilities we believe.

Her words are not only for actors or artists, but for all who live under the weight of narrow expectations. Each of us is offered roles by society—some noble, others degrading. Some are told they are destined to fail because of their origin, their gender, or the color of their skin. Others are told to remain silent, to play small parts in someone else’s story. But the lesson here is eternal: do not accept the mask handed to you if it diminishes your light. Instead, claim the mantle of dignity, and walk in roles that honor your worth.

The path forward requires both courage and action. First, recognize the stories that bind you—whether they come from media, culture, or even the voices of those near you. Then, reject the roles that limit you, and seek out those that uplift. Create art, speech, and deeds that portray yourself and your people as strong, wise, and noble. Support others who strive to show communities in their fullness. And above all, live in such a way that your life itself becomes the powerful character that others can look up to.

Thus, the words of Jenna Ortega are not the passing thought of a performer, but the proclamation of a truth as old as humanity: we become the stories we tell of ourselves. If those stories are chains, we must break them. If those stories are shadows, we must bring them into the light. And if those stories are small, we must expand them until they can hold the greatness of our spirit. To future generations, her words shall be remembered as a call to rise—to be seen, to be honored, and to be powerful in the eyes of all.