Tanya Lozano danced in the streets. It was election day and We Got Us, an arm of her organization Healthy Hood, was hosting a “Survival Day” on Chicago’s south side to encourage local residents to vote and look after their health. We Got Us offered hot meals, flu shots, HIV and COVID-19 testing, and boxes of fresh produce, free of charge to those who showed proof of having voted.
The Lozano legacy, spearheaded by three generations of unapologetic women activists, has not lost its fire. By combining her mother’s expertise and long-standing relationships with grassroots political leaders with her own modern intersectional methods, Tanya is pioneering a new wave of activism meant to bridge the struggles of Black and Latinx communities. “[Women of color] have always been at the center of civil rights movements, but have never been recognized,” she says. “We are adamant on women being the future of the movement.”
Tanya’s style-conscious approach has given the Chicana entrepreneur access to corporate spaces. She’s been invited to speak at events hosted by Nike, Nordstrom, Champs Sports, and the White Sox. In July, she hosted a TEDx Talk on the construction of resilient communities during crisis. She wore an all-white ensemble, including Fear of God sweatpants, Jordan Retro 6s, and a gold Victorian nameplate necklace. When she spoke with Matthew McConaughey for a Wild Turkey bourbon campaign bringing attention to “local legends,” she sat starstruck in a leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos from her arms down to her fingertips. Recently, she was named one of Chicago magazine’s Chicagoans of the Year. For the spread, Tanya was styled by her 18-year-old niece, Daysha del Valle.
“They literally threw him away like fucking trash,” says Tanya. She explains that through advocacy, her family is simply fulfilling their responsibility to the community. “It’s to be blessed with a burden. I was so aware from such a young age of injustice and I’ve been taught so many ways to combat injustice that I feel like it would be fucking neglectful not to use that to help people.”
Between the pandemic and national uprising against police brutality, Tanya says that in the last four months, Healthy Hood, which had 30 or so part-time employees funded by state grants, has grown by over 1,000 volunteers. “Social justice wasn’t a trend, it wasn’t popular,” says Tanya. “And now the community has grown exponentially, so many more people have awakened their conscience and want to contribute.”
Sitting at a round wooden table tucked in the corner of her kitchen, Emma remembers her most horrific encounter with law enforcement. Her leg, injured in a recent fall, is halfway submerged in a hot pink cast that matches her toenails. The 66-year-old activist, pastor, and two-time breast cancer survivor is surrounded by eclectic relics: traditional art from Cuba and Mexico, crosses and ornaments bearing Bible passages, and a painting of her granddaughter Apollonia dressed up as Frida Kahlo, unibrow and all. It is obvious that this isn’t Emma’s first time telling this story. She sweeps her bleached blonde hair behind her ear and lets out a short sigh.
