Trump Wins Support — in China | Meet the New King of Latin Trap

Chinese state media ridicules the U.S. president, but for many young Han nationalists, he's a “visionary leader.”

Growing up in the volatile Xinjiang province, Liu Jì was taught that the Han were wealthier than the region’s Muslim Uighur minority because they were more industrious workers. Like many Han, Liu resented the Uighurs and blamed them for violence and rioting — never mind that currently more than 1 million Uighurs are locked up in internment camps.

Now 29, Liu is among a growing number of Chinese millennials who have embraced a radical nationalist ideology. They identify themselves as “Han nationalists” on popular Chinese social media platforms Zhihu, Weibo and WeChat. Their anxieties include the discriminatory treatment of the Han people and low Han fertility rates. They believe German Chancellor Angela Merkel has ruined Europe. But core to their beliefs is another, unlikely recurrent theme: that Donald Trump is a visionary leader. And they call their liberal, politically correct critics in the West Báizuǒ — a mocking term that translates to “White left.”

This beloved beverage from the Andean highlands warms and wows.

Year-round in Quito, Ecuador, the days are hot and the nights chilly. (That’s what happens when you’re 9,000 feet above sea level and on the equator.) It’s no surprise, then, that for an evening’s tipple quiteños (residents of the city) turn to something warm when the temperature drops: canelazo.

Popular among mountain-dwelling Ecuadorians (and Peruvians and Colombians), the sweet and spicy alcoholic beverage is relatively unknown outside of the Andean highlands. So if you want to spice up your holiday party, try this snazzed-up version of a hot toddy. Infused with boiled cinnamon, sugar, spices and citrus juice, it’s likely to have guests asking, “What is this?” before swiftly requesting another glass.

As the genre expands, Ryen is at the forefront of the players defining its sound.

Ryan Lara was fighting himself. He’d found success with an independent record deal for his electro-pop band but felt underappreciated. As he put it, the label consisted of “a bunch of grown men who would yell” at them, tarnishing what he felt was the dream.

“I took a break from music,” the 25-year-old Chicago native says of that uncertain time in 2016. “I started to question, do I really want to make music, or why do I want to do music? I feel like I lost that little kid in me.”

But estrangement from the very thing he loved most became the breeding ground for Lara to become the next big thing in Latin trap, emboldening him with a creed that would mark the rest of his career: “I don’t make music if I’m not passionate about what I’m touching.”