They came from Latin America, now they are changing Nashville. Here's how.

Fabian Bedne never planned to leave Argentina permanently.

But filled with anger and resentment, Bedne decided to depart following his oldest brother's disappearance at the hands of the Argentinian military. He later accepted an academic scholarship that brought him to the United States.

In Columbus, Ohio, Bedne worked for an organization focused on revitalizing inner city neighborhoods. By the late 1990s, he and his wife had relocated to Nashville, where he became the first Latino immigrant elected to the Metro Council.

While diversity on the Metro Council has enjoyed significant progress in recent elections, including a record number of female council members and the first openly transgender councilmember, the governing body still lacks Hispanic representation. Sandra Sepulveda, a councilmember for District 30, is currently the lone Hispanic.

Bedne believes Latinos and other immigrants are too busy surviving in Nashville and beyond to serve on boards and commissions.

"Although they love this country and they want to give back and they are happy to have a chance to serve, they have to make a choice between surviving or serving," said Bedne, who served on Metro Council from 2011-19.

"I can't blame them for choosing to survive and to help their family."

Despite the roadblocks, nearly a half-million Latinos in Tennessee continue to be a thriving, vibrant force, bringing with them the sights, sounds and flavors of their home countries. In Nashville, from groups of women teaching Spanish and female empowerment to musicians bringing communities together in intimate spaces, Music City is home to many who overcome adversity to make their presence known.

In 2020, eight Hispanic groups amassed a population of a million or more in the U.S. — a total of 62.1 million, according to the U.S.Census Bureau. The Mexican population represents the largest Hispanic group in America. In 2020, the Mexican population reached 35.9 million, or 58% of the nation’s overall Hispanic population.

Eliminating the language barrier and empowering women

Eight years ago, Celia Aguilar, an immigrant from Jalisco, Mexico, was in a Nashville-area shopping center speaking Spanish with her children.

Suddenly, she was stopped and berated for speaking Spanish. "You're in a country where English is spoken," someone said to her.

"That made me feel very sad, it made me want to cry," Aguilar remembered, telling her story in Spanish. "I also saw sadness in my children's faces; they thought, 'Why can't we speak Spanish?'"

Aguilar is a teacher with Voces de Nashville, an organization that teaches English and Spanish language courses. Founded in late 2020, the organization aims to facilitate relationships between English- and Spanish-speaking communities by eliminating language barriers.

What began as a small class with only 20 students has grown into a locally recognized program of 100 pupils.

Co-founder Beatriz Ordaz, an immigrant from Oaxaca, Mexico, said she considers the elimination of the language barrier beneficial to Spanish- and English-speaking communities, as it allows for unification. Courses are six weeks long and classes are offered three days a week on mornings and evenings.

"It makes me feel that I'm doing something good for our community," Ordaz said. "It makes me feel very proud."

For Aguilar, it's a huge honor to see how many people take an interest in learning Spanish, from doctors to lawyers to teachers.

"We feel very proud," said Aguilar. "It's an honor being able to teach our language."

Ordaz said having the opportunity to teach Spanish at her children's school allows teachers to understand just how difficult it can be to have a student from a foreign country who doesn't understand class material.

"Communication is important," said Ordaz. "I believe teachers and parents are a team."

Ordaz said she has also felt discrimination on various occasions for not speaking English, from both the English- and Spanish-speaking communities.

"I've heard many English speakers say that we as Latinos must learn English, however, they shouldn't learn Spanish, because we're in their country," she said. "I think that's irrelevant because we're in a country where there's a diversity of languages."

While both women acknowledge that there is a fear associated with learning a language different from one's own, they encourage people to let go of that fear and take the risk.

In addition to language courses, Voces aims to empower the women in their community by giving them the tools needed to be independent in all aspects of life. The program currently includes four teachers — all women and all from Mexico.

"Sometimes we're the ones with less opportunity, so our focus is helping one another," Ordaz said. "Teaching them how to be teachers, helping them how to participate in their children's schools or be able to give some kind of course at their work."

Equipping Latinos in Nashville with the necessary resources

Yuri Cunza, originally from Lima, Peru, never saw himself involved in advocacy work. An entertainer at heart, he dreamed of being on stage. But his parents wanted him to take a safer and more traditional route, so he enrolled in medical school in Argentina.

When he arrived in the U.S. in 1992, none of his medical school credits were transferrable. Still dreaming of a career in media or entertainment, Cunza wanted to go to the West Coast. But he had family in Nashville, so it eventually became home.

"The people that you meet and the things you do suddenly become the reason why you stay somewhere," Cunza said.

He started gaining recognition in the late 1990s as a Latino in media. Local organizations began urging him to be involved. Cunza thought it would be a nice thing to do, but he wasn't very knowledgeable of the community he was being urged to represent.

Nonetheless, he made the effort.

Cunza eventually befriended Eliud Trevino, publisher of El Crucero de Tennessee, one of Nashville's few Spanish language newspapers. Realizing the lack of Latino voices in Nashville media, Cunza frequently contributed to the publication, writing about culture and entertainment.

In 2003, Cunza was approached by then-Tennessean reporter Linda Bryant, who asked him what would be the best way to reach and help Latinos in Nashville.

He responded: "A newspaper."

In 2003, after only a month of preparation, Cunza founded La Noticia, or The News, a newspaper aimed at offering resources for the Latino community.

"I had no idea about how to make a paper … and then I felt, well, I can learn a lot in a month. And then that's how it launched," he said. "Our communities, we are in the shadows because of different reasons — legal, language, socioeconomic status. We are not in the same playing field like everybody else."

Today, Cunza serves as president and CEO of the Nashville Area Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, the oldest and longest running Hispanic business association in Tennessee, promoting and empowering the economic growth and development of Hispanic entrepreneurs.

Finding a sense of belonging through live music

When Raul Oyarce first moved to Nashville in 2005 from his hometown of Santiago, Chile, he was like most recent high school graduates: unsure what to study, unsure what path to take. However, he enjoyed studying English and had a love for music. So when a friend extended an invitation to him to visit Nashville for four months, he accepted.

Those four months turned into 18 years.

"I always felt a closeness to music. I played my guitar but it was nothing serious, I never dreamt of composing songs or organizing events," Oyarce said in Spanish. "But as an immigrant, the years spent away from home and your family start to accumulate, and my guitar became my biggest company. It was my therapy, little by little, it ceased to be a hobby."

Playing music would become an obligation for him.

He began writing songs and slowly integrated himself into the Nashville music scene.

"I became wrapped up in the music," he said.

In 2015, Oyarce formed his band, Aprendiz. Together, group members started playing different venues, eventually landing their first big gig a year later at the Basement East in Nashville. They shared the stage at a Latin night event with other local artists.

They called it "Intimo," Spanish for intimate. Oyarce said the name came from the desire to showcase the intimacy between artists, audiences and music.

However, they quickly realized the venue was too big. They were drawing crowds of 100 in a space that was meant for 500. So after doing two shows at the Basement East, they relocated to a smaller venue, Radio Cafe (now closed).

"We could tap into the essence there," he said. "That's where we could truly live that intimacy that I was hoping to find."

As time went on, Oyarce taught himself how to be a promoter. He began networking and using the power of social media to reach fans. After seven months, the band began to draw crowds too big for Radio Cafe, so they moved on to the Analog at Hutton Hotel.

The band found success at Analog, performing tribute shows to artists like Alejandro Sanz, Luis Miguel and Ricardo Arjona. Intimo became more widely known throughout the city. They would perform there for three years until the COVID-19 pandemic.

After COVID-19, the band decided it was finally ready for bigger venues such as Basement East and Exit In. In 2023, Intimo performed a tribute to rock, performing songs by Mana, Soda Stereo and Enanitos Verdes in front of a crowd of 700.

On Sept. 30, Intimo celebrated its sixth anniversary at the Brooklyn Bowl, the biggest venue it's ever played. The band was joined by musicians from across Latin America — from Panteón Rococó (Mexico), the headliner, to Los Amigos Invisibles (Venezuela) and Gondwana from his home country of Chile.

"I want to give a distinct opportunity to my community, a chance to play somewhere besides the typical venues like Plaza Mariachi or Bucanas," he said. "My idea was to always put another option on the table for my people."

Oyarce said the venues love the events as well, as they don't normally cater to Latin audiences. That makes him feel really proud of what they've accomplished.

For Oyarce, being able to share his heritage and culture with others is something he describes as "fundamental." Intimo is like going back home, for even just a few hours.

"We (immigrants) know that we're not in our country and things will be different, however, there is still that need for belonging," he said. "You can go to Broadway and have fun and it's all good but at some point we need a place where we are surrounded by people who think like us, people who understand us, places where we can eat our food and listen to our music. Those places make us feel at home, away from home."

Oyarce said he doesn't know what the future holds, just that he would like to continue creating opportunities for Latin musicians in Nashville. Currently, he has his sights set on creating a recording studio.

From Argentina to city council

Soon after Bedne and his wife arrived in Nashville, he encountered an issue where he didn't feel his city councilmember listened to the community's needs. The experience shocked him. A not-so-pleasant reminder of his home country, where he felt rights were not considered.

"It was just making me angry," he said. "I thought, wait a minute, this is the U.S., people are supposed to be heard and considered when it comes to decision-making."

After being vocal in meetings, people began encouraging Bedne to run for City Council. Others weren't so supportive.

"People said to me, 'You'll never get elected because you're an immigrant,'" he said. "And then I thought, 'Well, I'll show you.'"

And he did, serving from 2011 to 2019.

"I was very emotional," he said, remembering his swearing-in ceremony. "I was fighting tears and there were a lot of people that believed in me that came to the courthouse."

Besides being attracted to advocacy and service work, Bedne said the disappearance of his brother is largely what inspired him to be involved in politics.

"It's something that really marked me, marked my family," he said. " And it made me want to get into public service and make the world a better place, and a lot of things I've done afterwards are related to what happened when I was 16.

"I was just a young, middle class kid, I didn't have any clue, I was on another planet. And then all of a sudden, I had a crash, fell to Earth and I had to look around and see what was happening."

Bedne believes a lack in representation leads to many of the roadblocks limiting Nashville's Hispanic and immigrant communities.

"I have met people that are surgeons back in Mexico and they come here and they work as framers," he said. "I have known people that were diplomats back in Venezuela and now they're working in a warehouse. The system was designed by people over many years that benefits the people that created that system. We are way behind in developing a way for people to be able to get to the city and give back as much as they could give back."

Besides being a former councilmember, Bedne is also a dedicated wedding officiant. To date, he has married more than 2,000 couples across Middle Tennessee.

Bedne's hope for Nashville's council is that it remains at 40 members so it may be representative of all backgrounds, as many communities are still without representation. For example, he said, Somalis, and Kurdish.

"We need people from all backgrounds at the decision table," he said.

"Having people from all different backgrounds in places of power helps us have a better city for everybody."

Diana Leyva covers trending news and service for The Tennessean. Contact her at [email protected] or follow her on X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, at @_leyvadiana

This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: How these Hispanic leaders are changing Nashville and their lives