One day. That’s all the time I was given.
One day to rally, write, post, plead, and pray that the Community Music Center and the Multnomah Arts Center—two lifelines for Portland’s creative soul—wouldn’t be erased by a city budget cut.
For me, this wasn’t just about buildings. It was about belonging.
The Community Music Center was the first organization to say yes to the Latinx Choral Project. When I was just beginning to shape my vision for a choir that centered Latine voices and stories, this was the space that opened its doors. It was the first grant I ever won that allowed me to use a venue free of charge. And it wasn’t just the room that mattered—it was the staff, who walked me through every step with care and patience, treating my project like it mattered. Because it did.
We had just begun to settle in, feel the echoes of our harmonies in the walls, laugh in the parking lot after rehearsals, and welcome new voices every Monday night. We were finally feeling at home.
Then, the email came.
The Community Music Center—our home—was on the chopping block. Tomorrow, a meeting at 11:30 am at City Hall will decide the fate of our home.
There was no time to sit in disbelief. I sprang into action as if my house were on fire. I blasted every social media channel I had, urging friends, followers, neighbors, and fellow musicians to speak up and show up. I wrote to city council members. I submitted a written testimony. And my incredible choir community? They matched my fire with their own.
Estella, one of our singers, stood before news crews and told the world why this space matters. She spoke with passion and truth about what it means to find a choir that reflects your culture, your stories, and your language; her words were aired for all to hear.
We were loud. We were fast. We were fierce.
And it worked.
Two days later, I received the news: The Community Music Center had been saved.
The wave of relief was immediate, and the gratitude even more powerful. Our city council members heard us. They understood what too often gets forgotten: that performing arts spaces aren’t luxuries. They’re lifelines. They are where people gather to find themselves, to find each other, to learn, to heal, to grow.
Especially for communities like ours—communities that don’t always see themselves reflected in traditional arts programming—affordable, accessible spaces are everything.
We fought for more than a room. We fought for representation. We fought for belonging. And we won.
I'm grateful. I’m exhausted. But above all, I’m reminded of what’s possible when we raise our voices—not just in song, but in solidarity.
To everyone who emailed, shared a post, spoke out, or simply sent a message of support: thank you. We saved our space. We saved our home.
Let this be a reminder: the arts matter. We matter. And when we show up together, we are unstoppable.
— Lynn Mendoza-Khan
Founder & Artistic Director, Latinx Choral Project
Want to keep fighting for the arts in our communities? Follow us on Instagram @LatinxChoralProject, sign up for our newsletter, and come to our Spring Concert on June 14th at 6:30 PM. Let’s fill the space we saved with music, joy, and purpose.