Culturally groundbreaking, healing, and with revolutionary visibility. Netflix’s newest Mexican series, The Secret of the River, masterfully weaves queerness, gender identity, and Mexican Indigenous representation into an intricate story full of twists that subvert old tropes. Rarely do we see these themes explored in mainstream media—and even more rarely with this level of cultural care and nuance. For me, as a queer Latina, watching this show was also healing. It felt like seeing our inner child being seen, heard, and acknowledged in a way that’s long been overdue.
The series pulls viewers in from the very first scene, opening with a climactic flashforward: two boys, locked in a struggle to fight off an older man, a confrontation that accidentally results in his death. Then, we’re taken back in time to meet Manuelito—a sensitive, introspective boy who arrives by bus to live with his grandmother in a more remote, unfamiliar town.
Oaxaca, Muxes, & Indigenous Culture
Largely directed by Ernesto Contreras, the eight-episode series takes place in Isthmus, Oaxaca, Mexico. One of the few places in Latin America where Indigenous traditions still thrive despite centuries of violent erasure. Hearing the Zapotec language on screen, my heart melted. A language that had once been banned in schools is now in one of the most-watched TV shows on Netflix.
Stay with me. Because even more groundbreaking? For centuries, Oaxaca has been home to muxes, queer people revered as a third gender within Zapotec culture, embodying both masculine and feminine spirits. Long before European colonization, they’ve been regarded as blessed or even sacred within their communities. Just like in several other pre-colonial cultures around the world, from Thailand to India.
Manuelito is soft, curious, and “distincto,” as he repeats throughout the first few episodes. Distinct (different). But without the exposure nor understanding to articulate queerness or gender identity, he struggles with these feelings. Not just because he’s a young boy in Mexico but because the show is set decades back, in a time and place where discussion about this was even more limited and unspoken.
So from the moment Manuelito first sees Solange at a market, resplendent in traditional Zapotec long ribboned braids, and interacting with the community with such joy and confidence, she becomes a vision of possibility. Solange becomes a life-changing figure for Manuelito, offering guidance and support. The fairy godmother and mentor we all dreamed of growing up as the queer/black sheep kids.
Machismo vs. Friendship
The first four episodes center on the boys’ childhoods. The friendship between Manuelito and Erick develops into something quietly rebellious and revolutionary. As young boys, they build a profound bond, something that is rarely seen between men culturally (not just in Mexico, in the USA–men are so lonely) and in a world where loyal family obedience is expected to radically outweigh friendship. Especially in Latin America, we’re told growing up, that friends are ephemeral and that we’re to obediently serve the family we’re born into and then the one we’re married into.
When Erick, further defying the toxic machismo around him, protects Manuelito from bullies, it threatens his social position in the town as other boys start to bully him. A realistic consequence of what happens when boys don’t succumb to bullying culture but rather empathize and protect the bullied. Especially if that includes what many men are taught to taunt and hate: femininity.
The show takes a deep dive into machismo, a hyper-masculine ideal that demands dominance, emotional restraint, and conformity to traditional gender roles. It’s an unspoken contract that boys inherit and learn to perform or else risk rejection. It dictates how men should behave, how women should defer, and how deviation is punished. As a man, you either embody machismo, or you face the consequences. As a Dominican, I grew up seeing how young boys in the barrio are pressured to be “tigeres”—aggressive, assertive “alpha” types—or else find themselves bullied by the very tigres they’re pressured to emulate. It’s a self-perpetuating system, a catch-22: eat or be eaten.
Family & Conditional Love
And Erick’s father embodies this oppressive ideal to the point of violence. While simultaneously expressing his love for his son in other ways: giving Erick a prized rare baseball card, insisting that he’s doing things in Erick’s best interest, etc. And while making it heartbreakingly clear: he would rather have a dead son than a gay one. Threats many queers have heard in real life: that love from family is conditional, and queerness is a dealbreaker. Even though Erick isn’t even gay. But he also isn’t straight, right? While this isn’t explicitly stated, no one is 100% gay or straight since sexuality is a spectrum.
Anyways, this notion—that parental love can come with strings attached, that it can be taken back at the slightest hint of nonconformity—is a trauma many kids around the world, and especially queer, Latino, immigrant, super religious/macho-raised ones can relate to. It’s the “don’t embarrass me” clause we all know, a demand to fit into a narrow script or be prepared to face consequences.
We also see Erick’s mother, often standing helplessly on the sidelines as a bystander, watching but unable to intervene. It’s a sight that can feel almost triggering for so many of us who grew up with mothers forced into silence as the “man of the house” asserted his will, often tyrannically. Erick’s mother’s powerlessness is depicted with painful accuracy—a reminder of the countless mothers who, bound by tradition and fear, could only stand by as the weight of machismo bore down on their families. Thankfully, she at least tries to speak up even if it’s futile.
Alongside Erick and Manuelito, we also meet Paulina, a sweet girl who Erick has been quietly admiring since the show began. Their connection deepens as they protect Manuelito, forming a bond between the three that becomes a testament to their friendship. Watching these three look out for one another felt like another inner queer childhood dream fulfilled—so many of us grew up longing for friendships that would see and support us through the lonely trials of being distincto. Ugh, my heart!
But the story soon takes a hard turn, adding to the life-changing secret they’re already keeping. After losing his mother, Manuelito’s father—a man deeply entrenched in machismo and homophobia (shocker)—returns to claim him. In a heartbreaking scene, Manuelito’s father rips him away, tossing him into a car with barely a word, as his crying grandmother and Solange wave goodbye. Erick, desperate for a proper goodbye, stops the car just long enough to give Manuelito a parting kiss on the cheek. It’s a sweet and innocent gesture but one that only further enrages Manuelito’s father, feeding into the homophobia, bullying, and brutality he’ll face growing up with his half-brothers.
How This Show is Healing & Subverts Tropes
I cried watching this show—never from sadness, but a rare kind of cry, of seeing beauty and feeling hope. Finally, representation. Finally, stories that feel like ours, nuanced and real, without slipping into tragedy corn.
One of the most touching moments comes when Solange teaches the boys how to defend themselves. They gather on the beach, and she shows them karate moves and self-defense tactics. When the boys later use those skills to stand up to the bullies, they win, and run off to the same beach to celebrate. I cried. How often do we get to see this kind of inspirational joy and resilience portrayed? This matters. Media shapes our aspirations, our social fabric, and even our values. I couldn’t help but think of the millions watching, who’ll see themselves in these queer characters or their allies and realize they, too, collectively may have the power to push back against prejudice, to cherish friendship, and to embrace their identities. It’s the kind of representation that doesn’t just depict reality—it creates it.
Throughout the show, I never found myself “shipping” Erick and Manuelito/Sicaru because their bond felt more powerful than sexual or romantic; it was deeper. It was chosen family. Best friends.
In the last half of the eight-episode miniseries, the show fast forwards to a more present time. We meet a beautiful trans woman waking up beside a man in a modern condo overlooking an American city. It’s Sicaru, and her life seems worlds away. But as she takes a phone call, she hears news of Solange’s passing, and our hearts break along with hers.
The second half of the show also takes on a different more Mexican telenovela tone, probably because there are two new directors: Alba Gil and Alejandro Zuno. Erick, now older and married to Paulina, initially reacts with rejection when he reconnects with Sicaru. His father’s conditioning lingers, and he struggles with deeply ingrained biases that push him to distance himself from his old friend. Paulina and Sicaru successfully challenge Erick’s prejudices, a reminder of how powerful and pervasive our social conditioning can be until we make an effort to learn and unlearn.
The show introduces another complex layer of identity as Sicaru navigates the cross-cultural and intersectional challenges of identifying as a trans woman versus a muxe. Initially, she distances herself from her muxe identity, but as she heals, she finds a way to beautifully integrate, reframe, and embrace it.
While the show does take some dramatic turns—like poking at the possibility of romance between Erick and Sicaru, which I didn’t love because, let’s face it, it does our girl Paulina dirty—it ultimately uses this tension to explore a very real part of queer experience: what to do with deep love that doesn’t fit into traditional boxes.
Un gran amigo, vale más que mil amores. – Solange
They communicate openly about their bond, acknowledging each other’s growth and beauty and both agreeing that they do not want to move beyond that. I absolutely love that the show avoids that trope, allowing them instead to become something even more meaningful—deeply and almost spiritually connected chosen family. “A great friend is worth more than a thousand lovers,” they agree, repeating Solange’s teachings. And I couldn’t agree more. As queer people, friends are our lifelines, our refuge, and our chosen family.
In the end (through some other side plot twists that go down), Sicaru also becomes the mentor she once needed, saving and guiding another young child (Eli) who will grow up to be a muxe.
PS: If you loved this show and are sapphic, you need to watch Desenfrenadas (Unstoppable) on Netflix. Another queer Mexican masterpiece.
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