For many, the Underground Railroad conjures images of secret routes leading North, aiding enslaved people to freedom in the American states. However, there’s another, lesser-known chapter: the thousands who journeyed south.
This hidden history captivated Brian Quijada in 2017 when he learned about enslaved individuals fleeing to Mexico in the 19th century. Already deeply invested in immigration narratives, as seen in his autobiographical ‘Where Did We Sit on the Bus’ (2016) and ‘Somewhere Over the Border’ (2022), Quijada was inspired to tell this story.
In 2020, he partnered with fellow composer Nygel D. Robinson, envisioning a musical that would not only chronicle this southward migration but also resonate with contemporary debates on immigration. Their collaborative effort, ‘Mexodus,’ is a dynamic production that blends live instrumental performance with innovative looping technology, creating an immersive and powerful experience.
‘Mexodus’ draws comparisons to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s ‘Hamilton’ and John Leguizamo’s ‘Latin History for Morons,’ both in its format and its exploration of complex historical narratives through engaging theatrical forms.
Following acclaimed runs in Washington, D.C., Baltimore, and Berkeley, ‘Mexodus’ made its New York City debut this month at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theater, with its run concluding on October 18. The New York Times’ Brittani Samuel praised it as an ‘electrifying theatrical experience,’ noting how Quijada and Robinson embody the message of unity central to their work.
Image: Nygel D. Robinson, left, and Brian Quijada pose on a city street near a lamppost. Both men, dressed in white tops and blue jeans, are creators and performers in ‘Mexodus,’ currently running at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theater in Manhattan.
At its heart, ‘Mexodus’ champions Black and brown unity. Directed by David Mendizábal, the narrative follows Henry, a Black man escaping slavery in Texas, as he crosses the Rio Grande into Mexico, where he encounters Carlos, a former Mexican American War soldier.
In a recent interview, Chicago-native Quijada, 36, and La Grange, N.C.-native Robinson, 32, discussed their creative process, the musical’s political relevance, and their personal connections to its themes. These excerpts offer a glimpse into their conversation.
How much were you thinking about contemporary immigration politics when writing this musical?
NYGEL D. ROBINSON I would say a lot — in trying to talk about the parallels. It was always at the forefront of our minds whether or not we were trying to comment on it.
BRIAN QUIJADA I’ve been writing about immigration since 2013. And I think the tragedy is that it’s gotten worse.
What has gotten worse specifically?
QUIJADA The rhetoric. The policy. The millions of more dollars that are going into ICE. You read these articles about [former President] Obama deporting a bunch of people as well, but I think now there’s vitriol in a way that there didn’t exist back when I started writing about immigration.
Do you feel the show has more urgency now than when you first had the idea for it?
QUIJADA Now it feels dire.
Being onstage offers a platform in which to spit hot fire. We get to express rage weirdly, joyfully and, in community, express rage, and offer ourselves and our audience a balm; a little bit of hope that if we stick together, we might be able to overcome.
ROBINSON Also, the approach is different. We’re not yelling at you to change. We’re showing you what we can do if we put these things aside.
Image: Two men in white tops and blue jeans stand in the middle of a city street, seemingly mid-conversation or performance. They are the creators of ‘Mexodus.’
How did you decide to tell this historical story as a hip-hop musical?
QUIJADA That’s the music that I feel most comfortable writing. Hip-hop was my music and Nygel’s too.
ROBINSON To quote Lin-Manuel, because I think what he said is beautiful, he was like “hip-hop is the language of revolution.” So whenever you need to say something emphatically, something that you feel is very important and pointed and aggressive, I think hip-hop is the best medium to use.
Image: Two men, one in a maroon tracksuit and the other in a jean vest suit, are captured mid-performance onstage, gesturing dynamically as they sing. This production seamlessly combines live instrumental performance with innovative looping technology and is scheduled to run at the Minetta Lane Theater until October 18.
How much did “Hamilton” either influence the work or factor into your thinking as you developed the story?
QUIJADA I remember seeing that piece and being absolutely blown away, and being like, “Wow, this has changed musical theater forever.” Not only me, myself, feeling represented as all the actors who were up onstage, but being like, “Holy moly, this is the music, a music that I understand really, really well.” It undeniably opened the door.
Is there “Mexodus” without “Hamilton”?
ROBINSON I just want to add a little bit of nuance to it. There is “Mexodus” without “Hamilton.” There’s this form of musical without it. The accessibility and the palatability is absolutely affected by “Hamilton” because that made hip-hop musicals mainstream. It made white people would be like, “I could walk into the theater and listen to rap and be OK.”
Image: Two men in white tops and blue jeans pose casually outside a building on a city street, looking towards the camera.
In the show, you ask the audience: “What are you choosing to do with the days your ancestors have earned you?” What would be your response?
ROBINSON This play. I talk about it in that monologue. I grew up around a lot of old Black women who bossed me around and told me what they think I should do or what I shouldn’t do, but loved me in a way that doesn’t make any sense.
Knowing that they live lives working at a plant or a factory for 30 years just so they can retire and have a little bit of money and do something to try and send me off to do better — the very least I can do is try to succeed and work as hard as I can to try and pay them back a little of what they’ve given me.
QUIJADA I remember having a really terrible nightmare where all of my ancestors — laborers, people who would work, blood and tears, going into their manual labor back in El Salvador — being like, “Oh, you’re choosing to do art? You’re choosing this flighty occupation?”
And it bothered me for so long. That’s why I think I write about my family and my community: If I can prove them wrong, that I can live off being an artist, but also pay my respects to my parents so that their sacrifices aren’t in vain? The mission statement for me is to try to bring empathy to people like them, people like my folks.