His parents have always supported him in his career. They never questioned him and let him follow his dreams.
For José “Hoozay” Velasquez, comedy has become his profession, his job, and his life. But it is also a form of survival. Whether facing difficult situations, suffering from slight depression, or feeling joyful, for him, laughing is the best medicine. “I tell you, it’s a way to show that we are more than what happens to us; we are present and see everything positively, as something that will change,” says this Salvadoran who has made his way into the entertainment world from the backyard of his home in Compton to stages in Hollywood and across Los Angeles and the country.
“I was always the funny guy. ‘Look how funny he is!’ people would say. I don’t know where all that came from. Jokes just come to me, and I think, ‘Well, people like them; they make them laugh,’” says José.
His parents migrated to California like thousands of Salvadorans, victims of the terrible civil war in El Salvador. His mother started working in the hotel industry, and his father built beds. “They were very hard workers; we never lacked anything. We weren’t rich, but they met our basic needs. The neighborhood we lived in was tough—gangs, violence. But I never participated in that. I was a ‘good boy,’ very studious,” he says.
He adopted the nickname ‘Hoozay’ because that’s how people who didn’t speak Spanish pronounced his name, and José laughs. “Everyone in El Salvador has a middle name. Mine is Armando, but I thought, I’m going to go with ‘Hoozay’; it sounded funny and it fit my project,” he adds.
As a child, he did everything… “except sports,” he claims, laughing. José has a robust build, which he makes numerous jokes about in his performances. “One day I thought, ‘People laugh at my jokes; maybe I should do something with this,’” and he and his friends began exploring venues where they could perform. They were denied space everywhere; they were new, inexperienced, and… Salvadoran.
“I proclaimed myself the Ambassador of Salvadoran culture,” and that contagious laughter returns. “No one appointed me, so I did it myself.” His passion and commitment to his roots are part of his DNA. “As a kid, I was told not to tell anyone I was Salvadoran. They couldn’t hear my accent because I was discriminated against. At that time, Mexicans and Salvadorans didn’t get along well, so I had to be careful. I only spoke English. But since I lived with my family—uncles, aunts, cousins, and so on—my connection to Salvadoran culture is very deep. From those years, I became the first Salvadoran comedian in Los Angeles; I didn’t know any others,” he adds.
“’Crying from a joke is one of the best experiences. Comedy is a remedy for sadness; it’s a coping mechanism.'”, he said.
His life changed while he was in high school. After seeing theatrical performances, he told himself, “I can do this.” The drama teacher, a woman who welcomed several students and instilled a love for acting in them, included him in the famous play “Stand and Deliver,” where he portrayed the legendary East LA teacher Jaime Escalante. “I liked it, but I didn’t know where to start. I began going to festivals, comedy venues, and saw people laughing. While attending City College, I would write jokes during my breaks. At first, I saw it as a hobby, but then it started to grow,” he says.
After being denied at places where to perform, he formed his own small community. The shows in his backyard were a success; his mom sold pupusas, his friends helped, and dozens of people began attending, wanting to see José, the Salvadoran. “Being Salvadoran means a lot to me. In my shows, I always make jokes about it; people laugh. For me, it’s something serious. Serious things can be said while laughing. Salvadorans haven’t had the recognition we deserve in Los Angeles. We’ve contributed a lot to this culture, to this city. When the idea of the Salvadoran Corridor began a few years ago, I didn’t hesitate to support them. I have many followers, and I need to leverage that platform. Many young people approach me after my shows and say, ‘I felt like you; I was embarrassed to say I was Salvadoran; I had issues with my identity.’ They feel better when they hear me and laugh with me. We are living the Salvi Renaissance; we are rediscovering ourselves. We continue to fight for recognition; little by little, we are doing great things.”
This year, José set out to do a show in Spanish for Salvadoran communities. He had never done it before. He also wanted to perform in El Salvador so that his father could understand his jokes. “My dad always attended my shows, but he doesn’t speak English. He would look at the audience and see everyone laughing; he would laugh too. When I performed in front of him in El Salvador, I felt immense happiness. These shows in Spanish were a challenge. I wasn’t sure if they would understand me. But everything went well; I want to keep doing this,” he adds proudly.
“Being Salvadoran means a lot to me. In my shows, I always make jokes about it; people laugh. For me, it’s something serious. Serious things can be said while laughing. Salvadorans haven’t had the recognition we deserve in Los Angeles. We’ve contributed a lot to this culture, to this city.
For him, his work has a positive impact for his community, like many professions. “We have the same goals: to help people, the community, by bringing a positive light into their lives. I want to change the perspective people have of Salvadorans. There are many stigmas surrounding us; they think of gangs and violence, but the majority of us are god positive people,” he says.
The comedian’s goals are to keep working with different communities. “If we want to transform our society, we must fight together, not separately, regardless of anything else. We are doing it,” he adds.
His impact can already be seen not only in Latino communities but also in other cultures. His shows can be seen in the best comedy clubs, and now he has his own productions on social media, Amazon Prime, and Apple TV. “I make jokes about all kinds of things. One night, I was taking a friend to the airport when we suddenly saw a police patrol behind us, lights flashing. When they stopped us, they got out and looked at us. Both police officers said, ‘We know these guys; slow down they told us,” and they left. Days earlier, we had done a show for the police,” he laughs.
His humor has crossed borders. His wife scolds him when she gets angry: ‘José, can you ever be serious?!’ And Hoozay both laughs and cries.
“’Crying from a joke is one of the best experiences. Comedy is a remedy for sadness; it’s a coping mechanism.'”, he said.
