50 Events That Shaped Latino History: An Encyclopedia of the American Mosaic [2 Vols] 1440837627, 9781440837623

Table of contents :
Cover
......Page 1
Title Page
......Page 4
Copyright
......Page 5
Contents
......Page 6
Preface......Page 10
Acknowledgments......Page 14
Introduction......Page 16
Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE......Page 24
Spanish Colonization of the Americas, 1492–1898
......Page 40
Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521
......Page 59
Pueblo Revolt of 1680
......Page 77
Latin American Independence, 1810–1898......Page 98
Anglo-American Colonization of Northern Mexico, 1820–1846
......Page 119
Texas Independence, 1835–1836
......Page 139
U.S.-Mexican War, 1846–1848......Page 156
Cuban Wars of Independence,
1868–1898......Page 175
Settlement of Ybor City, 1885–1930
......Page 195
Spanish-American
War, 1898......Page 219
Caribbean Migration to New York City, 1870s–1920s
......Page 248
Insular Cases, 1901–1922......Page 268
The Mexican Revolution, 1910–1921
......Page 285
Texas Revolt, 1915
......Page 304
Rise of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, 1922–1954
......Page 318
Founding of LULAC, 1929......Page 336
Mexican Repatriation, 1930–1935
......Page 352
Birth of Latin Jazz, 1930s–1940s
......Page 367
Labor Activism during the Great Depression, 1930–1939
......Page 387
World War II, 1939–1945......Page 406
The Bracero Program, 1942–1964
......Page 423
Mendez v. Westminster, 1945–1947
......Page 440
Operation Bootstrap and Puerto Rican Migration, 1948–1964
......Page 457
The Cuban Revolution, 1953–1959
......Page 472
Destruction of Chavez Ravine, 1953–1959
......Page 490
Hernandez v. Texas, 1954
......Page 504
Operation Wetback, 1954
......Page 523
The Chicano Movement, 1960s–1970s......Page 540
Chicana Feminist Movement, 1960s–1970s
......Page 559
Urban Uprisings, 1960s–1970s
......Page 579
Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s
......Page 595
Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965
......Page 614
Delano Grape Strike and the United Farm Workers Movement, 1965–1970
......Page 631
Founding of the Young Lords, 1968–1972
......Page 648
Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs,
1968–1974......Page 664
Gay Rights Movement, 1969–1990
......Page 683
Central American Civil Wars and Migration, 1970s–1980s
......Page 700
Lau v. Nichols, 1973–1974......Page 718
Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976
......Page 734
The Sanctuary Movement, 1980s......Page 752
Mariel Boatlift, 1980
......Page 777
Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986
......Page 792
Founding of Univision, 1987
......Page 815
North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 1994
......Page 828
California’s Proposition 187, 1994
......Page 847
Latin Explosion in Popular Music, 1990s
......Page 869
Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st Century, 2000–Present
......Page 888
Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006
......Page 908
Lin-Manuel
Miranda’s Debut on Broadway, 2008–2015......Page 922
Recommended Resources
......Page 946
About the Editor and Contributors......Page 954
Index......Page 962

Citation preview

50 Events That S­ haped Latino History

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50 Events That ­Shaped Latino History An Encyclopedia of the American Mosaic

Volume 1 Volume 2 Lilia Fernández, Editor

Copyright © 2018 by ABC-­CLIO, LLC All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other­wise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Fernández, Lilia, editor. Title: 50 events that shaped Latino history : an encyclopedia of the American   mosaic / Lilia Fernandez, editor. Other titles: Fifty events that shaped Latino history Description: Santa Barbara, California : Greenwood, 2018. | Includes index. |   Identifiers: LCCN 2017038050 (print) | LCCN 2017042419 (ebook) |   ISBN 9781440837630 (ebook) | ISBN 9781440849039 (vol. 1 : alk. paper) |   ISBN 9781440849046 (vol. 2 : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781440837623 (set) Subjects: LCSH: Hispanic Americans—History—Encyclopedias. Classification: LCC E184.S75 (ebook) | LCC E184.S75 A615 2018 (print) |   DDC 973/.0468—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017038050 ISBN: 978-1-4408-3762-3 (set) 978-1-4408-4903-9 (vol. 1) 978-1-4408-4904-6 (vol. 2) 978-1-4408-3763-0 (ebook) 22 21 20 19 18   1 2 3 4 5 This book is also available as an eBook. Greenwood An Imprint of ABC-­CLIO, LLC ABC-­CLIO, LLC 130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911 Santa Barbara, California 93116​-1­ 911 www.abc​-­clio​.­com This book is printed on acid-­free paper Manufactured in the United States of Amer­ic­ a

Contents

Preface ix Acknowl­edgments

xiii

Introduction xv Lilia Fernández VOLUME 1 1  Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810 Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE Spencer Tyce

1 1

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 Cameron D. Jones

17

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 Spencer Tyce

36

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 Cameron D. Jones

54

2  Changing Flags, 1810–1846 Latin American In­de­pen­dence, 1810–1898 Mauricio Espinoza Anglo-­American Colonization of Northern Mexico, 1820–1846 Erika Pérez Texas In­de­pen­dence, 1835–1836 Kris Klein Hernández

75 75 96 116

3  Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 U.S.-Mexican War, 1846–1848 Maria E. Montoya v

133 133

vi | Contents

Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence, 1868–1898 Sitela Alvarez

152

Settlement of Ybor City, 1885–1930 Sarah McNamara

172

Spanish-­American War, 1898 Bonnie A. Lucero

196

Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City, 1870s–1920s William Noseworthy

225

4 Immigration, World War I, and Community Formation, 1900–1929 245 Insular Cases, 1901–1922 245 Gabriel Mayora The Mexican Revolution, 1910–1921 Lilia Fernández

262

Texas Revolt, 1915 Trinidad Gonzales

281

Rise of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, 1922–1954 Margaret Power

295

5 ­Great Depression and Repatriation, 1929–1941 Founding of LULAC, 1929 Trinidad Gonzales

313 313

Mexican Repatriation, 1930–1935 Delia Fernández

329

Birth of Latin Jazz, 1930s–1940s Bobby Sanabria

344

­ abor Activism during the ­Great Depression, 1930–1939 L Salvador Zárate

364

6  World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959 World War II, 1939–1945 Jesus “Jesse” Esparza and Laura Lee Oviedo

383 383

The Bracero Program, 1942–1964 Maria L. Quintana

400

Mendez v. Westminster, 1945–1947 David-­James Gonzales

417

Contents | vii

Operation Bootstrap and Puerto Rican Migration, 1948–1964 Delia Fernández

434

The Cuban Revolution, 1953–1959 Mauricio Castro

449

Destruction of Chavez Ravine, 1953–1959 Ronald W. Lopez

467

Hernandez v. Texas, 1954 Lisa Y. Ramos

481

Operation Wetback, 1954 Daniel Morales

500

VOLUME 2 7 Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 The Chicano Movement, 1960s–1970s Oliver A. Rosales

517 517

Chicana Feminist Movement, 1960s–1970s Leticia Rose Wiggins

536

Urban Uprisings, 1960s–1970s Pedro Amaury Regalado

556

Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s Danielle Nicole Grevious and Lilia Fernández

572

Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 Maysan Haydar

591

Delano Grape Strike and the United Farm Workers Movement, 1965–1970 608 Luis H. Moreno Founding of the Young Lords, 1968–1972 Lilia Fernández

625

Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs, 1968–1974 641 Sarajaneé Davis Gay Rights Movement, 1969–1990 Gabriel Mayora

660

Central American Civil Wars and Migration, 1970s–1980s Susan E. Montgomery

677

viii | Contents

Lau v. Nichols, 1973–1974 Jonathan T. Hernandez

695

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 Walter Wilson

711

8  The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 729 The Sanctuary Movement, 1980s 729 Felipe Hinojosa Mariel Boatlift, 1980 Mauricio Castro

754

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 Lisa Michelle Paulin

769

Founding of Univision, 1987 Jillian M. Báez

792

North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 1994 Lilia Fernández

805

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 Justin D. García

824

Latin Explosion in Popu­lar ­Music, 1990s Jillian M. Báez and Michelle M. Rivera

846

9  Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st ­Century, 2000–­Present Walter Wilson

865 865

Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006 Amalia Pallares

885

Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway, 2008–2015 Gabriel Mayora

899

Recommended Resources

923

About the Editor and Contributors

931

Index 939

Preface

The first ­people whom we might call Latino or Hispanic ­today inhabited the continental United States long before the arrival of British colonists in the Amer­i­cas. Although the terms Latino and Hispanic are relatively recent inventions, they describe a population that was born out of the colonial encounters between Spaniards and other Eu­ro­pe­ans, Africans, and the indigenous ­peoples of the Amer­i­cas. When Christopher Columbus and his Spanish fleet first set foot on the island they named “Hispaniola” (present-­day Dominican Republic and Haiti), they unleashed a colossal demographic amalgamation—at times by choice but frequently by force— of ­these vari­ous populations from disparate parts of the globe. Latinos are thus understood to be ­people of varying degrees of African, indigenous, and Eu­ro­pean descent. The Eu­ro­pean ele­ment of that heritage generally refers specifically to Spanish, though in some cases also Portuguese, ancestry. ­There are vari­ous debates over how inclusive the terms Latino or Hispanic should be. Some argue that ­people who live in Spain (and perhaps have never lived in the Amer­i­cas) should be incorporated ­under this umbrella. ­Others suggest that the labels should not be limited to Spanish-­speaking ­people, but should also include the Portuguese, French, Dutch, and even English-­speaking colonies of Latin Amer­ i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean. Still o­ thers point out that limiting the bound­aries of this group to Spanish speakers leaves out ­those who speak indigenous languages in Spain’s former colonies and may not speak Spanish at all. ­Needless to say, the discussion is ongoing and constantly evolving. Latinos and their history are incredibly diverse, complicated, and ever-­changing, depending on who is narrating the story. ­Because this story’s founding moment begins in the former Spanish colonies of the Amer­i­cas, Latino history is necessarily transnational, meaning it transcends national geopo­liti­cal bound­aries and stretches beyond the continental United States to the Amer­i­cas more broadly—­ Mexico, the Ca­rib­bean, Central Amer­i­ca, and South Amer­i­ca. Taking a cue from Cuban in­de­pen­dence leader Jose Martí and o­ thers who have defined the Amer­i­cas as a collection of interrelated, interdependent nations, this publication approaches ix

x | Preface

the subject of Latino history as one that spans América—­the entire hemisphere—­ rather than only the United States of Amer­i­ca. In other words, the stories told ­here do not stop at the U.S.-­Mexico border, but rather extend to many places farther south. ­These two volumes do not cover ­every single event in the past that has been significant to the history of Latinos in the United States ­today. Certainly, ­there ­were difficult editorial choices to make, and not all the pivotal moments of this collective past have made it into ­these pages. Nonetheless, we have tried to capture at least some of the most noteworthy happenings over the past five centuries.

Features 50 Events That S­ haped Latino History is a comprehensive reference account of selected events. Nearly e­ very entry includes t­ hese features: (1) a chronology to put the event into context with its time period; (2) an essay that describes the event; (3) short sidebars of in­ter­est­ing or significant topics related to the event; (4) biographies of notable p­ eople related to the event, often allowing a more personal look into the experiences of ­those who influenced its history; (5) excerpts from official documents, letters, and other primary sources to bring the events to life; and (6) further reading for references to relevant and impor­tant sources.

Subjects 50 Events That ­Shaped Latino History is designed to be an authoritative and comprehensive resource with detailed information on a vast array of topics, including: • Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) empire • Latin American in­de­pen­dence • The U.S.-­Mexican War • Anglo colonization of northern Mexico • The Mexican Revolution and immigration • Ca­rib­bean migration to New York City • The Bracero Program • The fall of the Trujillo dictatorship and Dominican migration • Central American civil wars and migration • The Chicana feminist movement • Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus • The Mariel boatlift • The North American F ­ ree Trade Agreement (NAFTA) • Immigrant rights marches of 2006

Preface | xi

Some of the entries capture events that occurred over a span of only a few days, weeks, or months (like the Mariel boatlift), but had a lasting impact. O ­ thers w ­ ere more extended events that took years to play out (like Latin American in­de­pen­dence strug­gles). All of t­hese moments, however, have played formative roles in shaping the pres­ent status of Latinos in the United States. Since the 1960s, more than 40 million foreigners have made their way to the United States, and nearly half of ­those individuals have hailed from Latin Amer­ i­ca. Indeed, Latinos have had a tremendous impact on the nation over the past five decades—on its politics, its culture, its entertainment, and even its diet. 50 Events That ­Shaped Latino History draws on a critical theoretical premise about what has prompted that enormous migration from the south: the role that the United States has played in Latin Amer­i­ca. As journalist Juan Gonzalez informs us in Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in Amer­i­ca (2011), “U.S. economic and po­liti­cal domination over Latin Amer­i­ca has always been—­and continues to be—­the under­lying reason for the massive Latino presence ­here. . . . ​[Latinos in the United States] are the unintended harvest of the U.S. empire.” In other words, the Latino population in the United States has grown so dramatically in the late 20th ­century ­because of American influence, control, and intervention in the economies and po­liti­cal affairs of its neighbors to the south. As readers turn the pages, they ­will discover how t­ hese dynamics have unfolded over the past several centuries. They ­will also take away another impor­tant lesson, which renowned historian Vicki L. Ruiz once pronounced in her 2006 presidential address at the Organ­ization of American Historians annual meeting: that Latino history is American history.

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Acknowl­edgments

As with all proj­ects of this magnitude, it took the concerted efforts of many p­ eople to bring this to completion. First, thanks go to the contributors for their dedicated research, excellent writing, meeting of deadlines, patience awaiting revisions, and overall cooperation through what has been a lengthy pro­cess. Thanks also to Kim Kennedy-­White for inviting me to help produce this work. It has provided me with many unexpected rewards and ­great satisfaction. My sincerest thanks go to the indefatigable, amazing, and heroic Jane Glenn, the development editor who shepherded this enormous proj­ect to the submission stage. She demonstrated such patience and grace in dealing with my delays, answering my constant queries, and cheering me along. She also brought much-­needed humor to what could be at times a painstaking, tedious, and bewildering pro­cess. I also owe my gratitude to the entire editorial and production team who worked tirelessly to bring this publication to press. Thanks as well to The Ohio State University and the History Department, which I called home ­until 2016. The administration and my colleagues provided me ­great resources during my years at the university. Danielle Grevious served as a very capable research assistant on this proj­ect. Since 2016 I have enjoyed the support of the departments of Latino and Ca­rib­bean Studies and History at Rutgers University. Special thanks go to my research assistants Amy Castillo and Aziel Rosado, and to my editorial assistant, Lissette Flores. All three provided outstanding support. I thank my f­ amily also for their love and support. Fi­nally, I reserve my greatest appreciation for Juan Gonzalez. Though we have shared only the last few years together, and our time has been filled with challenges and transitions, I am grateful for ­every day that we have had. He has imparted invaluable lessons that have made me much wiser. He lived through and helped make some of the history in t­hese pages and has taught me an enormous amount about the current po­liti­cal moment in which we are living and the alternative world we might imagine. I trea­sure his intellectually stimulating conversation, as well as his kindness, patience, humility, and enduring love. xiii

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Introduction Lilia Fernández

Historians debate when Latino history begins and how far back they should start narrating events. For our purposes, we start with the indigenous ­peoples of the Amer­ i­cas, and the Spanish explorers who first came into contact with them, as the colonization pro­cess unleashed the demographic transformations that would produce the populations we call “Latinos” ­today. We then trace the events that followed in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. The 20th ­century understandably has the greatest amount of coverage, as this period has been more thoroughly researched than any other and it is most familiar to us ­because it is the recent past. Overall, the events are classified into nine distinct periods.

Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810 Before the arrival of the Spanish in the area that would become known as “the Amer­ i­cas,” dozens of native civilizations and hundreds of tribes inhabited the long stretch of continent from the northernmost reaches of the hemi­sphere to its southernmost point. The Olmec, Zapotec, and other p­ eoples lived in the territory that Eu­ro­pe­ans described as “Mesoamerica”: what is now present-­day Mexico. The Maya also had a rich civilization that traced its beginnings back centuries before the Spanish first entered their lands. The Mexica (Aztecs), however, ­rose to power much more recently, only a few hundred years before Hernán Cortés’s arrival in 1519, and they had managed to exert their force over many smaller tribes in Central Mexico. When Cortés approached their capital city, Tenochtitlán, the Tlaxcalan p­ eople, who had long chafed u­ nder Aztec rule, w ­ ere willing to help defeat the empire. While native ­peoples accommodated the presence of Spanish colonizers, who usually took over by force, many revolted and rejected Spanish domination. In present-­day New Mexico, the Pueblo did just that, successfully expelling the colonizers and keeping them at bay for a dozen years.

xv

xvi | Introduction

Changing Flags, 1810–1846 By the 19th ­century, colonial subjects in the region from Central Amer­i­ca through the present-­day U.S. Southwest (known as New Spain) had grown weary of what they perceived as an overbearing Spanish crown, which ruled from afar, imposed high taxes, and favored t­hose born in Spain over the Spanish-­descended population in the colonies. ­These criollos (creoles), as they w ­ ere called, initiated the spark that led to in­de­pen­dence from Spain. They would have the support of many indigenous, African, and mixed-­race inhabitants who had fared even worse in colonial society and w ­ ere generally relegated to the bottom of the social, po­liti­cal, and economic hierarchies. For Mexicans, however, their hard-­won in­de­pen­dence would soon be challenged. First, Anglo colonizers and their Tejano sympathizers in the Mexican state of Texas would rise up in revolt against Mexico’s central government. Then the United States provoked war with Mexico by sending U.S. troops into disputed territory and initiating a military contest that would eventually result in Mexico losing half of its territory and vast tracts of mineral wealth and arable land.

Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 ­ fter the end of the war with Mexico, Americans quickly began moving westward to A colonize the United States’ newly acquired territory. Americans had in fact lived in the region prior to the war, when that area had still been part of Mexico. ­After the war, however, the number of Americans flooding the region grew dramatically. While the region was changing flags, however, in the Ca­rib­bean, Cubans and Puerto Ricans remained ­under Spanish colonial rule and dreamed of in­de­pen­dence. As freedom fighters launched their campaigns, some fled po­liti­cal persecution and sought refuge in the United States. O ­ thers saw commercial opportunities in relocating their business operations to the rapidly rising economic power­house. This period marked the beginning of the Cuban-­American presence in South Florida, for example, long before the arrival of Castro-­era exiles. In 1898, the United States went to war against Spain, ostensibly to help liberate Cuba’s p­ eople from Spanish tyranny and oppression. In the end, however, just as the United States had expanded its landmass on the continent, it soon acquired two new islands in the Ca­rib­bean and more in the Pacific.

Immigration, World War I, and Community Formation, 1900–1929 While the United States determined what to do with its new Ca­rib­bean possessions, the question of Puerto Ricans’ ­legal status emerged. Would the island’s residents be made U.S. citizens? Would the island become a state as other territories in the Southwest had become? And ­were the bound­aries between nations permanently

Introduction | xvii

settled? The early 20th ­century in fact revealed that the United States’ fate remained closely tied to that of its neighbors to the south. Along the Texas-­Mexico border, for example, Tejanos (Mexican Americans) started uprisings and insurgencies against Anglo domination and the vio­lence and brutality of the Texas Rangers. Meanwhile, in Mexico, Mexicans had grown impatient with the 35-­year dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz and ­were swept up by the stirrings of revolution. Both the Mexican Revolution and the Spanish-­American War and subsequent po­liti­cal turmoil in the Ca­rib­bean set off the first large waves of migration to the mainland United States. ­These migrations would lay the foundation for ­later waves of immigrants from Mexico, Cuba, and Puerto Rico in cities like San Antonio, Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York.

­Great Depression and Repatriation, 1929–1941 Life in the U.S. Southwest proved challenging for Mexican Americans in the early de­cades of the 20th ­century, even as they or­ga­nized themselves into civic groups to challenge discrimination and assert their po­liti­cal rights as Americans. During the ­Great Depression, however, many Mexican Americans learned that American citizenship did not fully protect them. Nearly half a million Mexican immigrants and their U.S.-­born ­children w ­ ere deported or coercively repatriated to Mexico during the economic crisis. Despite this widespread persecution, however, many Latinos persisted in their new communities. Cubans and Puerto Ricans in New York City created a flourishing cultural re­nais­sance of ­music, politics, and culture. ­There, in Tampa, and throughout the Southwest, Latino workers also joined other Americans during the Depression in dramatic efforts to defend ­labor rights. In Puerto Rico, ­those who longed for in­de­pen­dence and an end to colonial rule launched a nationalist campaign that would challenge the United States’ authority.

World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959 World War II brought a new set of opportunities and challenges as Latinos went off to war, served on the home front, or gained access to highly paid defense jobs. Moreover, the United States’ dependence on ­labor from Latin Amer­i­ca also became apparent at this time. American officials enlisted both the Mexican and Puerto Rican governments to recruit thousands of workers during World War II to work the nation’s agricultural fields, canning factories, and railroads, to help keep the nation ­running smoothly in the effort to defeat the Axis powers. Still, Mexican Americans ­were particularly disappointed to learn, when they came home, that prejudice and discrimination against them persisted in the Southwest. Thus, they turned to the courts to challenge segregation in public schools and discrimination on juries.

xviii | Introduction

New challenges appeared in the mid-20th ­century, however. Urban renewal began to displace many working-­class and poor populations in inner cities as bulldozers demolished deteriorated housing for newer, upscale buildings and public facilities such as stadiums, concert halls, and universities. ­After World War II, the Bracero Program introduced a growing number of undocumented Mexican immigrants who became the subject of increased public scrutiny. By 1954, they w ­ ere the target of massive deportation campaigns. More than 1 million immigrants w ­ ere forcefully deported to Mexico by the mid-1950s. Meanwhile, as the United States expelled unauthorized Mexican immigrants, it soon began welcoming other Spanish-­ speaking immigrants: Cubans. The Communist takeover of Cuba, through a revolution led by Fidel Castro, would change the face of Miami, and the relationship between Latinos and the U.S. federal government, forever. The arrival of thousands of Cuban refugees represented a new wave of Latino mi­grants in the United States, one that was much more welcome and accommodated than any other.

Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 By the 1960s, growing social unrest and po­liti­cal upheaval had reached many parts of the United States and all corners of the globe. In the United States, immigration policy underwent dramatic liberal reform meant to end discriminatory quotas by country of origin. Although the new policy was an improvement for many immigrant groups, it in fact signaled the first time in U.S. history that immigrants from Mexico or Latin Amer­i­ca ­were subjected to quotas. Ironically, however, the new laws also prioritized f­amily reunification, thus encouraging subsequent waves of Latin American immigrants e­ ager to join f­amily members already living in the country. The new policies also coincided with major po­liti­cal turmoil and civil wars in the Dominican Republic and Central Amer­ic­ a. ­These upheavals, in which the United States in fact played a critical role, would create a new population of Latinos in the United States for the first time: Dominicans, Salvadorans, Guatemalans, and Nicaraguans. At the same time, young Mexican Americans and Puerto Ricans, inspired by the civil rights, ­women’s, and anti-­war movements, and committed as well to social justice and democracy, joined numerous campaigns. Americans from California to New ­England learned about and supported the United Farm Workers grape boycott. Mexican American youth, inspired by the cultural production and po­liti­cal energy of the era, took up the terms Chicano and Chicana to identify themselves as socially conscious young p­ eople proud of their ethnic identity. Gay and lesbian Latinos and Latinas and w ­ omen also marched and or­ga­nized around issues of sexuality and gender discrimination and called for equality for gays, lesbians, transgender ­people, and w ­ omen.

Introduction | xix

While some protested in the streets, ­others waged b­ attles on college campuses. Latino students at universities around the country held sit-­ins, or­ga­nized protests, and used other efforts to open up universities to students of color and to demand that the country’s higher education institutions better reflect the racial and ethnic mosaic of the nation. This led to the creation of Chicano, Boricua, and Latino Studies programs around the country. Meanwhile, in public K-12 education, a Supreme Court ruling on bilingual education had dramatic implications for Spanish-­speaking school c­ hildren, among o­ thers. ­Whether voluntarily or by force, the United States was reckoning with its increasingly multicultural population. This became evident even in the highest halls of power, as Latinos entered the United States House of Representatives and began to or­ga­nize themselves as a Hispanic caucus.

The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 The social movements of the 1960s and 1970s produced tangible results by the 1980s. More Latino students ­were attending college. Some had broken down the discriminatory barriers to employment in some sectors, the media, and even popu­ lar culture. The visibility of Latinos grew in t­ hese de­cades with the expansion of Spanish-­language media, including the first Spanish-­language tele­vi­sion stations in the 1970s. ­These signaled Latinos’ growing po­liti­cal and economic power in the country. New immigration crises, however, presented challenges yet again. A new wave of Cuban refugees threatened the pro­gress and favorable status that Cuban Americans had enjoyed. The earlier waves of exiles had established themselves successfully in Miami and other cities; resumed their professional lives; and become “model minorities,” examples of how hard work paid off and how anyone could achieve the American dream. Cubans of the Mariel Boatlift, however, began tarnishing that image. In the case of Central Americans, the violent civil wars in their countries spurred tens of thousands of ­people to seek refuge in the United States and elsewhere. ­Because of past and recent immigration policies, however, many could not get authorization to enter the country legally. In response, religious communities created a sanctuary network to clandestinely move refugees to safety. Immigration reform in 1986 would make significant changes to the nation’s policies, however, and make it even more difficult for ­future immigrants from Mexico or Latin Amer­i­ca to enter the United States legally, leading eventually to an immigration crisis at the turn of the ­century. This, in concert with a new regional ­free trade agreement, led to increased backlash against Mexican and Latino immigrants. Ironically, at the same time that Latinos became hypervisible in the public sphere as “illegal immigrants,” they also drew more positive attention as producers

xx | Introduction

of popu­lar culture. The ­music and movie industries in par­tic­u­lar sought to capitalize on the popularity of Latino performers and launched several global pop superstars at the end of the ­century.

Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present In the first two de­cades of the 21st ­century the rightful place of Latinos in U.S. society has continued to spark debate and pres­ent dilemmas. ­Because of f­ ree trade and immigration enforcement policies, by 2006, the nation faced an unauthorized immigrant population of nearly 12 million p­ eople. The overwhelming majority was estimated to come from Mexico and Latin Amer­i­ca. In response to restrictive and punitive legislative proposals, however, immigrants from many dif­fer­ent backgrounds (not just Latinos), their allies, and religious communities came together to or­ga­nize and defend the ­human rights of undocumented immigrants. Si­mul­ta­neously, newly elected and appointed officials, in the nation’s capital and beyond, demonstrated Latinos’ growing po­liti­cal power and the recognition by mainstream leaders that the Latino vote represents an impor­tant part of the nation’s ­future. ­These years have witnessed many historical firsts, including the appointment of a Latina (Puerto Rican) Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayor. In popu­lar culture, Latinos have continued to earn fame for their role in entertainment, the media, and professional sports. Perhaps none has been more successful than New York-­born Puerto Rican playwright, Lin-­Manuel Miranda, whose hit Broadway musical Hamilton has broken box office rec­ords. While Americans contemplate their history, the question of who Americans are, and who gets to be an American t­ oday, Miranda has brought to the stage a quin­tes­sen­tial American story of Alexander Hamilton and the Founding ­Fathers—­but he has added a twist: he cast the leading roles with African American and Latino actors and wrote the story as a hip-­hop musical. This hybrid blending of Latino art, culture, and creativity with the history of Americans’ po­liti­cal heritage and traditions captures the integration of Latinos into the nation’s fabric. ­These 50 events mark just some of the most significant cultural, economic, and po­liti­cal contributions Latinos have made to the United States, from the 16th ­century to the pres­ent. From ­these pages, it is hoped that readers ­will take away the lesson that Latino history is deeply embedded in the history of the United States and that it is an integral component of the nation’s past.

A Note on Terminology Throughout this text we use the term Latino to simplify and keep consistent what are rather complex and fluctuating labels. Some individuals ­favor the term Hispanic

Introduction | xxi

for a variety of dif­fer­ent reasons. The heated debates over which of t­hese is most appropriate have raged on for de­cades. We have chosen to use primarily Latino throughout most of this publication, although Hispanic also appears in some entries where it is historically accurate. De­cades ago, feminist scholars raised the critique that the gendered nature of the term Latino, which ends in an “o” and thus signals a male or masculine form, ignores or diminishes the existence of w ­ omen as members of the population. As a result, the terms Latino/a or Latina/o came into popu­lar usage as well, as a way to be more gender inclusive and recognize ­women and ­those gendered as female. Since then, writers and scholars have continued to experiment with other ideas and language. As of the publication of this text, some have begun using the label Latinx to reflect an even greater degree of gender fluidity, inclusivity, and an acknowledgement of LGBT or queer ­people and identities. This most recent iteration is still being debated among academics, writers, and po­liti­cal leaders. In sum, the labels that ­people use remain highly contested, contextually dependent, and constantly shifting. For the sake of simplicity and consistency, we have chosen to use Latino with an “o” throughout. While we recognize the gender limitations and exclusions that this Spanish-­language word pres­ents, we hope that the content in ­these pages reflects our effort to include the histories and contributions of ­women, LGBT populations, and ­others who have been marginalized or overlooked in historical narratives.

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1 Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810

Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE Spencer Tyce

Chronology 10,000 BCE North American tribal groups develop stone tools and weapons. 7500 BCE

Drought eliminates big game animals such as mammoths, forcing Mesoamerican tribal groups to hunt smaller animals and adopt plants, seafood, nuts, and berries into their diets.

5000 BCE

North American cultures domesticate plants and develop agricultural techniques.

1200 BCE

The Olmec culture begins to thrive on the Mexican Gulf Coast. Po­liti­cal, cultural, and social advances evolve into systems that are shared by Mesoamerican cultures for the following two millennia.

500 BCE

The Zapotecs, an Olmec-­influenced society based out of Monte Albán in modern-­day Oaxaca, begin to thrive. The Zapotecs are one of the first Mesoamerican groups to institute colonization policies in the region so as to spread their po­liti­cal and cultural power.

400 BCE

The decline of the Olmec culture leads to the temporary end of widespread Mesoamerican trade and religious rituals. Other groups begin to adopt the cultural traits that the Olmecs had introduced to Mesoamerica, such as po­liti­cal structures, solar and religious calendar systems, advanced engineering, and the construction of buildings. 1

2 | Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810

100 BCE

The city-­state of Teotihuacán (near modern-­day Mexico City) dominates the po­liti­cal, religious, and economic cultures of Mesoamerica. Commercial networks connect the Valley of Mexico with the Gulf Coast, Central Amer­i­ca, and the northern frontiers of Mesoamerica, spreading cultural traits as well as trade goods.

250 CE

Beginning of what archaeologists call the Maya Classic Period. Although the Maya had been in the southern lowlands of Mesoamerica as early as 400 BCE, the Classic Maya develop advanced building proj­ects, cosmology, astronomy, agricultural techniques, writing, and artistic skills. Culturally and eco­nom­ically connected, the Maya did not form an empire like the Mexica (Aztecs). The Maya developed in­de­pen­dent city-­states that competed for resources and po­liti­ cal power.

292 CE

Earliest date inscribed within the city of Tikal, a Classic Maya center of more than 50,000 ­people. Tikal’s pyramids, access to fresh ­water, and cultural development make it one of the most impor­tant cities within the Classic Maya world.

500 CE

Zapotec cities and economic centers begin to develop on their own and break away from the central authorities of Monte Albán. The Zapotec culture remains intact, kept alive through po­liti­cal alliances and marriages through the 16th ­century.

650 CE

Though supporting a population of some 150,000 at its height, Teotihuacán diminishes in importance. The city’s inhabitants leave for a variety of reasons, including vio­lence, famine, and lack of w ­ ater. The city is virtually abandoned within 100 years.

750 CE

The Classic Maya suffer multiple social crises due to drought, famine, and the environmental repercussions of slash-­and-­burn farming and forest felling. Common ­people rebel against po­liti­cal and religious officials when leaders prove in­effec­tive in addressing t­hese prob­lems. Vio­lence appears to have been common, but most conflict occurred at the local level. Some cities suffer invasion from northern competitors, whereas ­others fight over ­water and farmland access. This is recognized as the end of the Classic Period.

800 CE

Invaders of the Puebla area destroy Cholula, a religious center connected culturally to Teotihuacán. The city had boasted the largest pyramid in the Amer­i­cas—­a ­temple to Quetzalcoatl—­that was even larger than Egypt’s G ­ reat Pyramid of Giza.

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900 CE

Classic Maya sites such as Tikal, Palenque, and Copán are abandoned. Local vio­lence and invaders from the north lead to the end of or­ga­nized society in the lowlands. Refugees flee to the Yucatán, Central Amer­i­ca, or into less developed regions of Mesoamerica.

968 CE

Toltecs, a northern Mesoamerican group that migrated into the Valley of Mexico during the ninth c­ entury, found the city of Tula. Their culture thrives through the obsidian trade.

1000 CE

The Mixtecs, inhabitants of the western Mesoamerican mountains, begin to practice highly advanced metallurgy skills.

1100 CE

Yucatec Mayan cities, prob­ably influenced by Toltec traders, begin to re­create ele­ments of central Mexico. Building proj­ects and my­thol­ ogy share more in common with groups from the Valley of Mexico than with ethnic Maya traits. The pyramid at Chichén Itzá is a notable example of this similarity.

1244 CE

The Mexica p­ eople from northern Mesoamerica begin to invade the Valley of Mexico.

1325 CE

The Mexica are driven to the frontiers of the Valley of Mexico by stronger groups. They start a settlement, Tenochtitlán, on a swampy island in the ­middle of Lake Texcoco. This remains their capital ­until the arrival of Eu­ro­pe­ans.

1440 CE

Tenochtitlán is the most power­ful city in the region and the Mexica dominate the po­liti­cal world of the Valley of Mexico. Much of this power comes ­under the rule of Moctezuma I, who consolidates power through diplomacy and conquest.

1502 CE

Moctezuma II is selected as the Mexica’s emperor. The Mexica (Aztec) Empire stretches across most of central Mesoamerica.

1519 CE

Eu­ro­pean invaders, including Hernán Cortés, land on the eastern coast of the Mexica Empire.

Narrative Mesoamerica saw the rise of multiple civilizations that spanned the time from the beginnings of Asiatic nomads migrating into North Amer­i­ca to the mass arrival of Eu­ro­pe­ans in the Amer­i­cas in the 15th ­century. Archeologists, historians, and other scholars have spent lifetimes attempting to uncover the details of the many cultures that flourished in the region during this period. While ­there is no complete picture

4 | Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810

The Olmec culture (1200 BCE) was one of many early Mesoamerican cultures that influenced ­future civilizations, such as the Maya and Aztecs. (Steve Estvanik​/­Dreamstime​.­com)

as yet, t­here is a new discovery or interpretation nearly e­ very year that better illustrates the complex, colorful world of Mesoamerica’s indigenous history. Many of ­these civilizations ­adopted po­liti­cal, social, cultural, and artistic traits from one another. Cultures and civilizations in decline do not simply vanish, but rather adapt to new pressures or blend into emerging socie­ties. The history of the indigenous ­peoples of Mesoamerica is one of adaptation and consolidation. Archaeologists believe that ­humans crossed the Bering Strait that connected North Amer­ic­ a to Asia by 10,000 BCE. Evidence suggests that ­human settlement existed in the Valley of Mexico—­the central region of Mesoamerica—as early as 9000 BCE. Most ­humans lived in small tribal communities, travelling throughout the area b­ ehind herds of big game like mammoth. Over time, t­ hese groups deci­ded to devote more energy to remaining in one area by building permanent settlements from which to hunt smaller prey or cultivate wild plants such as maize or squash. As ­these settlements prospered, Mesoamericans began to structure themselves

Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE | 5

differently, allocating resources and responsibility to specific individuals, trading with neighboring settlements, expressing themselves artistically, and considering how the spiritual world affected the ­human world. Artifacts uncovered at settlements like Tlatilco, a valley city founded in 1300 BCE, suggest that its inhabitants w ­ ere interested in the dichotomies between good and evil, elites and commoners, men and ­women, and ­humans and animals. One of the earliest cultures to leave a lasting impression on Mesoamerican civilization was that of the Olmecs. They established three major cities in the Gulf Coast region as early as 1500 BCE. From ­these central locations, the Olmecs exerted their cultural influence over smaller towns and settlements in the area, spreading their po­liti­cal, economic, and religious systems to ­others. The Olmecs created a calendar system that not only recognized the dif­fer­ent planting seasons, but also incorporated religious ele­ments to ensure that deities w ­ ere properly venerated. This calendar was essential for h­ uman sacrifice, a practice that became common in Mesoamerica and the Valley of Mexico, in par­tic­u­lar. ­Because h­ uman sacrifice was a ritual practice, specific places and individuals became associated with t­ hese events: The Olmecs built several large pyramids and ceremonial centers where they could perform ­these religious ceremonies. Specialists in religion and cosmology, essentially serving as priests, directed the ritual based on their reading of the calendar and other ­factors. The priests ­were thought to maintain contact between the h­ uman and the super­natural worlds, and could explore or solve any prob­lem or phenomenon. As the Olmecs’ civilization progressed, the priests and elite members of society gained considerable influence over society and the daily lives of common ­people. It was common in the history of Mesoamerica’s indigenous civilizations for po­liti­cal and cultural influences of cities and regions to diminish over a period of time, rather than for cultures to dis­appear quickly. Eventually, the decline of influential regions forced p­ eople to find alternate sources of po­liti­cal, cultural, and economic authority. Olmec culture was one of many that dissolved and reformed as new socie­ties arose in Mesoamerica. Sometime around 500 BCE, the Olmecs began to decline as a major power. Their culture did not collapse or dis­appear, but the influence of the major Olmec centers waned and became less impor­tant than that of other areas of the region. ­People still lived in the Olmec centers by 400 BCE, but they ­were part of dif­fer­ent po­liti­cal and trade networks. Nevertheless, scholars can still see the Olmec cultural heritage in the oft-­used calendar system, building techniques, and social stratification that became part of Maya, Toltec, and Nahua culture. By 1000 BCE, several groups w ­ ere competing for power in central Mesoamerica, replicating Olmec building and artisanal techniques as early as 600 BCE. ­These groups continued to develop for the next few centuries ­until the establishment of a major city west of the g­ reat lake in the Valley of Mexico. By 100 CE, the ­great city of Teotihuacán had become a thriving metropolis. With a population of

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80,000 and growing, the city boasted massive pyramids, multiple city centers, a defensive force, and a network of subservient towns and cities beyond its own territory. The ­great city’s zenith was close to 500 CE, when the population may have been 150,000 and the city itself took up more than 7 square miles, making it one of the largest metropolises in the world at that time. With its vassal towns and settlements, the entire population ­under Teotihuacán’s control may have been as large as 1 million p­ eople. Teotihuacán came to prominence in the valley for a number of reasons. Abundant rainfall in the first few centuries of the Common Era prob­ably gave the ­people of the Valley of Mexico a surplus of w ­ ater and the desire to create reservoir systems. The w ­ ater also helped spur the agricultural economy. Maize was grown in extraordinary quantities and was part of the daily diet for the majority of individuals in the region. The Valley is essentially the remains of an ancient volcano, so obsidian—­volcanic glass that is formed by rapidly cooled lava—­was plentiful. Obsidian can be crafted into tools with razor-­like blades and points. Weapons, hunting tools, and farming implements with obsidian blades ­were essential for keeping communities safe and well fed. Thus, Teotihuacán thrived due to its control over the obsidian trade and its skilled craftspeople. This economic superiority forced competing economic and po­liti­cal centers to submit to Teotihuacán’s authority. ­People from all over the region worked to maintain the power of the ­great city, even if they ­were not tied to it ethnically or culturally. Obsidian workshops in Teotihuacán and surrounding towns suggest that as much as 10 ­percent of the population of the city worked to keep the flow of obsidian tools in heavy circulation. Teotihuacán also spread its cultural power, not just its economic resources. The large pyramids and ceremonial centers had an impor­tant religious purpose: to serve the gods and perform ­human sacrifice when it was needed. The central deity in Teotihuacán was Tlaloc, a god that represented fertility and rebirth. Although the main city considered Tlaloc to be the most impor­tant god, satellite cities and towns began to reject Tlaloc in f­ avor of the feathered serpent god, known ­later as Quetzalcoatl. The feathered serpent god is common in Mesoamerican history, with depictions as early as the Olmec period. Teotihuacán even had a t­emple devoted to this deity. It is unclear why the Teotihuacán borderlands began to devote more time and energy to pleasing the feathered serpent god, but ­after Teotihuacán’s decline, the followers of the feathered serpent god remained devout well into the era of Eu­ro­pean contact. Sometime around 650 CE, Teotihuacán was set ablaze—by whom and why remains a mystery. Many of the monuments ­were destroyed, artistic creations ­were defaced, and the two g­ reat pyramids ­were burned. While ­there is no evidence of mass death, the remnants of fire and destruction suggest a significant level of disorder in the city. Evidence suggests that roughly 100  years a­ fter this event, the

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Who Was Quetzalcoatl? The depiction of a feathered serpent began to appear in inscriptions, art, and building designs during the first ­century of the Common Era. Thought to have originated in Teotihuacán, the deity Quetzalcoatl represented dif­fer­ent ­things to dif­fer­ent cultures and times within Mesoamerica. To the residents of Teotihuacán, Quetzalcoatl was a symbol for the passage of time, fertility, and even the bright light of Venus. The Maya, who made contact with central Mesoamerica on regular occasions, ­adopted the deity as well. Some Maya groups associated the plumed snake god with ­water and the afterlife, whereas ­others recognized Quetzalcoatl as a symbol of their po­liti­cal power. The Toltecs and Mexica (Aztecs) also worshipped the deity as the creator of humanity. Scholars have long fought over the prob­lem of how to interpret multiple myths and beliefs about Quetzalcoatl. One prob­lem associated with the god is that Toltec my­thol­ogy tells of a g­ reat king who shared the same name and perhaps the same powers as the god itself. In many instances, it is difficult to separate the deity from the king. Inhabitants of the Valley of Mexico forced the king-­god to abandon his home and flee to the far reaches of the world: the Yucatán. The king-­god re­created his home at Chichén Itzá and vowed to return to the Valley one day. Other Nahua cultures celebrated the deity of Quetzalcoatl who, like the king-­god, fled the valley for the Yucatán. The cults of Quetzalcoatl thrived in central Mesoamerica and may have played a part in the conquest of the Mexica empire. Years ­after Hernán Cortés captured Tenochtitlán, Mexica scribes wrote the history of the conquest and suggested that the state fell b­ ecause the ­people and their ruler, Moctezuma II, believed that Cortés was Quetzalcoatl returning to his home. Thinking their god was returning, the Mexica allowed the Eu­ro­pe­ans to enter their city unopposed, leading to the destruction of the empire. Most scholars reject this explanation. While the two Quetzalcoatl repre­sen­ta­tions may have existed in the religious and cultural traditions of Mesoamerica, t­here is no evidence to suggest that the indigenous p­ eoples of Mesoamerica believed the Eu­ro­pe­ ans to be gods of any kind (Restall, 2004, pp. 112–116; Townsend, 2003, pp. 659–687; Florescano, 1999, pp. 7–23). residents of Teotihuacán began to leave the city for neighboring areas. A g­ reat pre-­ Columbian metropolis surrounded by a network of submissive cities and towns soon became a large religious center populated only by a few priests, encircled by a growing cluster of city-­states with no strong ties to Teotihuacán. Art from this period shows armies and specialized warriors, suggesting a new era of vio­lence and

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po­liti­cal power that shifted quite rapidly. A lack of w ­ ater may have been a f­ actor as well, as drought ravaged the Valley between 500–650 CE. Two centuries ­after the fires that devastated Teotihuacán, the city was virtually abandoned ­because it was unable to provide ser­vices such as defense, food, and religious guidance. The population left in search of other communities that could better provide for its needs. During the significant cultural developments in central Mesoamerica, parallel developments ­were occurring in the southern frontiers of the Yucatán peninsula in the southern highlands and lowlands. From 900 BCE to 200 BCE, multiple ceremonial centers appeared, drawing from Olmec styles and o­ thers emerging from the southern regions of Mesoamerica and Central Amer­i­ca. The p­ eople who lived in and around ­these centers, the Maya, moved into the region as early as 2000 BCE, but physical evidence supporting agricultural and po­liti­cal development in the region is minimal. What is known is that by 600 BCE, Maya development was substantial and rivaled most Mesoamerican cultures in po­liti­cal, cultural, and economic complexity. Despite the earlier development, scholars describe the period between 200 CE to 800 CE as the Classic Maya period. During the Classic period, the Maya built and maintained multiple city-­states in what is now modern-­day Guatemala, Belize, and the Yucatán peninsula of Mexico. Although many of the city-­states formed alliances with one another and engaged in vicious warfare with each other at times, t­ here is no evidence of a “Maya empire.” Rather, the Maya world during the Classic period was one of city-­states engaging in trade, agriculture, politics, and religious development in localized regions. At the head of ­these city-­states ­were holy lords who ­were responsible for carry­ing out the religious rituals that directed daily life and maintained the social order in the cities. ­These lords held positions of high status ­because the Maya believed they could communicate with the gods. To maintain this line of communication, the holy lords required certain materials to practice their rituals. Obsidian, sting ray spines, jade, intricate feathers, and goods from as far away as northern Mesoamerica and Teotihuacán ­were required for religious ceremonies. Without t­hese goods, the ceremonies could not be completed, potentially bringing bad fortune and setting off pos­si­ble calamity. In this way, the holy lords and secular elites ­were able to accumulate high-­ value goods through the trade networks in order to fuel religious ceremonies that maintained their lofty place in the social hierarchy. This came with a significant caveat, however. If rituals did not appear to be effective in pleasing the gods, the common ­people eventually turned against their elites and religious officials, upsetting the social order. Like the Olmecs, the Maya utilized an intricate calendar that tracked both secular and religious time. The religious calendar was a cycle of 260 days with 13 numbered days coordinated with 20 named days. Each day variation within the religious calendar was linked to a par­tic­u­lar deity, and c­ hildren born or decisions

Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE | 9

made on a par­tic­u­lar day would have astrological meaning. The secular calendar had a 365-­day cycle comprised of 20 days within 18 months. At the end of the year was a special 5-­day month, which was considered to be unlucky. The Maya encouraged their c­ hildren not to make special plans or carry out work during ­these days. ­Because the two calendars used separate counting systems, dates would repeat once ­every 52 years. ­These calendar systems allowed for such a highly accurate counting of dates that scholars have determined that Maya calendar systems count from a par­tic­u­lar date in time: August 11, 3114 BCE, the day when the Maya gods created the h­ uman race from maize (Coe, 1992, pp. 61–62). In the ninth ­century and leading in to the tenth, the Classic Maya cities and ceremonial centers declined in importance and power. Some cities appeared to have been attacked by foreign invaders from the north. Entire cities w ­ ere consumed by fire and g­ reat monuments w ­ ere destroyed. Other cities appear to have suffered from the aftereffects of a g­ reat drought that rocked the region. As the holy lords of t­ hese ­great cities demanded luxury goods to maintain rain and good health, the lack of ­water and proliferation of disease signaled to common p­ eople that the holy lords ­were no longer in the good f­ avor of the gods. Entire populations abandoned their cities for better, more hospitable lands. Other Maya cities suffered from environmental catastrophes such as mudslides and nutrient-­deprived farmland. It is a mystery where all of the Maya went, but they did not dis­appear and their civilization did not collapse. Many moved northeast, deeper into the Yucatán, while o­ thers dispersed into other parts of Mesoamerica (Demarest, 2004, pp. 246–276; Webster, 2002, pp. 327–348). In the 10th ­century, multiple ethnic groups from the northern frontier of Mesoamerica fought their way south into the Valley of Mexico. From t­hese initial migrations, the Toltecs emerged as one of the strongest groups in terms of military power. By 968 CE, the Toltecs had moved into the Valley and established themselves near Lake Texcoco, where they founded a city known as Tula. ­There, the Toltecs mirrored the actions of the city-­state of Teotihuacán centuries before them by taking over the obsidian trade that reached the Yucatán. They also created a strong religious culture, and instituted an aggressive building program that made Tula one of the finest cities in Mesoamerica. Quetzalcoatl was one of the Toltecs’ main deities, but by the 11th ­century, another deity had risen to ­favor: Tezcotlipoca, a god that demanded more rigorous h­ uman sacrifice than ever before. Tezcotlipoca’s rise also happened during a period of drought and famine in the valley, which might explain Quetzalcoatl’s decline in cultural power. Although the city-­state of Tula had welcomed northern Mesoamerican groups in an effort to build its power base and expand throughout the Valley of Mexico, the lack of w ­ ater and food forced groups to fight one another for control of resources and authority. Northern invaders and localized vio­lence brought down

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Maya Writing: Deciphering a Forgotten Language System Written language can be identified as being symbolic, syllabic, or alphabetic. Alphabetic language is ­simple to understand, as certain characters represent specific sounds. Syllabic languages are more complicated, such as the Cherokee language, which uses characters to represent the more than 80 dif­fer­ent syllable sounds a Cherokee speaker uses in speech. Symbolic languages, such as Japa­nese and Chinese, often use specific characters to represent words and sometimes sounds. The Classic Maya language appears to be similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics, a system of symbols that represent specific ideas or words. When Eu­ro­pe­ans arrived in the New World, it took them some effort to understand the basics of how to read and write the Maya glyphs. Diego de Landa, a Spanish priest who worked in the Yucatán in the ­middle of the 16th ­century, tried to write an alphabetic equivalent of the Maya glyphs. Though his early efforts at understanding the written Mayan language ­were impressive, he did not fully understand the complexity of the language. As a result, the true extent of what Mayan glyphs meant continued to be a mystery. In the early 19th  ­century, the subject of Mayan glyph decipherment became popu­lar again, thanks in large part to work that was being done to decode Egyptian glyphs. Despite this renewed interest, ­there w ­ ere few significant advances in the subject over the next c­ entury. Only a­ fter exhaustive research, trial and error, and international cooperation ­were scholars able to understand that the glyphs used by Maya scribes during the Classic Period are much more sophisticated than Egyptian glyphs. The Classic Maya glyphs are a combination of both syllable and vowel sounds, and symbols are used to depict specific words. Scribes could write a word using a symbol for the word, using symbols for specific sounds that made up the word, or a combination of both. What confused modern scholars was the fact that Maya writers did not always use the same symbols and sounds for the same word. Scribes could use dif­fer­ent vowel and syllable glyphs, or design new glyphs that added artistic complexity to their work. Literate Mayans appeared to have celebrated this textual complexity, but ­later epigraphers, scholars, and even the descendants of the Maya themselves strug­gled to make sense of the signs. Once 20th-­century scholars understood the level of artistic variation, the decipherment of ancient Maya language progressed much faster. ­These discoveries opened the doors to understanding much of the lost history and culture of the Maya ­people (Coe, 1992, pp. 13–33, 237–243).

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Tula’s government in 1150 CE, scattering the Toltecs into smaller po­liti­cal and ethnic groups throughout the region. In the Yucatán, the Post-­Classic Maya still thrived, but in a much dif­fer­ent system. The po­liti­cal organ­ization was not based on Classic Maya holy lords. Rather, the Yucatec Maya ­adopted a system of chieftains who controlled city-­states with a separate religious authority. Many cities of the Yucatec Maya w ­ ere established well before the 10th ­century. Chichén Itzá, one of the economic and po­liti­cal centers in the Yucatec Maya world, for example, may have had close contact with Toltec traders, as pyramid and artistic designs resemble t­hose in the Valley of Mexico. Around the same time that Tula fell, so did Chichén Itzá. It remained a popu­lar religious site, but it was not a major po­liti­cal center. The Yucatec Maya built several significant settlements in the region, some boasting populations in the tens of thousands. Like other Mesoamerican civilizations, the Maya saw trade as essential for establishing po­liti­cal and cultural power. Maya traders travelled throughout the Yucatán, central Mesoamerica, and even the Ca­rib­bean island of Cuba and beyond to the east. It was on one of t­ hese voyages, scholars believe, that Yucatec traders encountered Eu­ro­pe­ans in 1502 CE. Without Tula in control, a power vacuum appeared in central Mesoamerica in the 12th ­century. Many dif­fer­ent city-­states existed and even more ethnic groups vied for power and f­ avor with old inhabitants of the Valley and newer ones coming in from the north. One of the newest arrivals to the region at this time ­were the Mexica. The Mexica grew in importance during this troublesome period ­because they ­were willing to serve as mercenaries for vari­ous city-­states in the region. They fought well, but their religious practices and devotion to ­human sacrifice made many ethnic groups in the area uncomfortable. ­These groups drove the Mexica away from the populated areas of the Valley onto a swampy island in Lake Texcoco, where they founded their city Tenochtitlán in 1325 CE. The Mexica worked quickly to create a highly intricate island with roads to the mainland, floating agricultural terraces, and other innovations. The Mexica w ­ ere also po­liti­cally savvy, and formed a co­ali­tion with other city-­states around the lake. In 1440 CE, Moctezuma I spent much of his reign as leader of the Mexica conquering weaker city-­states to the north and south. By building his own power and profiting from vassal states, the Mexica soon overpowered their co­ali­tion allies. They now had an empire, but it was not strong. The Mexica, l­ ater called Aztecs by scholars, held power by forcing weaker or rebellious regions of central Mesoamerica to submit to their much stronger, well-­ trained armies. In 1502 CE, Moctezuma II came to power. He controlled an empire of several hundred city-­states, ruled over a vast trade network, and was able to mobilize several skilled armies throughout the valley. Still, his power only worked if ­those groups and city-­states followed ­orders and obeyed him. Mexica armies or their

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allies regularly confronted less enthusiastic allies to convince them that following the rule of Tenochtitlán was in every­one’s best interests. In 1519 CE, with the arrival of Eu­ro­pe­ans on the Gulf Coast shores, Moctezuma II faced a familiar theme in Mesoamerican history: the threat of invaders and the possibility of his civilization’s decline in power. Maya settlements violently resisted Eu­ro­pean conquest expeditions and Catholic missionary endeavors through the 16th ­century. Despite aggressive policies from both secular and ecclesiastical officials, many Maya communities remained po­liti­cally and culturally in­de­pen­dent of Eu­ro­pean power. Time and Eu­ro­pean po­liti­ cal consolidation eventually wore down Maya strongholds in the Yucatán. By the late 1690s, no Maya settlements remained ­free from Spanish colonial domination. Culturally, however, the Maya continued to speak their own language, celebrate community events, and practice traditional religious ceremonies, albeit in secret. ­After being subjugated by the Spanish empire, most Mayan p­ eople w ­ ere relegated to the lowest rungs of colonial society. They w ­ ere often forced to perform ­labor for Spanish overseers, ­were dislocated from valuable farming lands, and ­were brutally punished for opposing Spanish authority. Throughout the 19th ­century, Mayan ­people challenged Spanish colonial rule and l­ater Mexican national policy ­after Mexico attained its in­de­pen­dence. Their communities experienced vio­lence that increased in the de­cades leading up to the Mexican Revolution. In the 20th ­century, some Mayan p­ eople remained on their ancestral lands and in traditional communities. Mexico’s po­liti­cal and economic elites continued to disregard Maya interests in the late 20th ­century with the signing of the North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). Maya re­sis­tance fighters in the state of Chiapas, calling themselves the Zapatistas, ­after southern Mexican revolutionary leader Emiliano Zapata, opposed the agreement, arguing that it infringes upon the ability of indigenous ­peoples in the region to control their own land and resources. This conflict has persisted in the 21st ­century. In Guatemala, Mayan communities have also strug­gled for cultural autonomy and economic survival in the face of what some have called oppressive regimes and sheer genocide. Guatemalan h­ uman rights leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner, Rigoberta Menchu, for example, brought attention to the plight of Mayan communities and the state-­sponsored attacks against Mayan peasants that left thousands dead in the 1970s and 1980s. Despite the po­liti­cal challenges for modern-­day Mayan ­people, t­here is a resurgence in education and cultural awareness. Maya ­children are learning how to read and write in the language of their ancestors, and scholars continue to reconnect Maya ­people to their long, rich history. The descendants of early Mayan p­ eoples are living proof of Maya cultural resilience and t­ hese ancient ­people’s enduring legacy.

Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE | 13

Biographies of Notable Figures K’inich Janab’ Pakal of Palenque (603 CE–­683 CE) K’inich Janab’ Pakal was born in the Palenque kingdom during the seventh c­ entury, in what is now southern Mexico by the northern Guatemala border. His ­mother was a royal, but his f­ ather appears not to have been of equal status. According to inscriptions written during Pakal’s lifetime, invaders from the kingdom of Calakmul defeated the city defenses and destroyed the kingdom of Palenque when he was only eight years old. Attacks against Palenque w ­ ere nothing new. Even before Pakal was born, e­ nemy kingdoms had attacked and ransacked the kingdom, including the po­liti­cal hierarchy. Without any other royal f­amily members left alive, the power to rule fell to the young Pakal. He was not old enough to take power at such a young age, however, so his ­mother ruled as his regent ­until he was 12. Although the inscriptions in and around Palenque detail the g­ reat feats of Pakal, l­ ittle was written about his early life. He married in 626 CE and had three sons, two of whom lived to succeed their f­ ather and continue his dynasty. Once fully capable of taking power in Palenque, Pakal spent much of his life seeking vengeance against the groups that had attacked his kingdom when he was a child. Pakal sent armies to his kingdom’s northern and eastern frontiers to regain Palenque’s power and status. Calakmul made another attack on Palenque when Pakal was 50 years old. Although it was not as destructive as the one he had seen as a child, Pakal was quick to attack Calakmul’s allies in response. Pakal’s men captured many leaders of t­hese allied towns and sent them back to Palenque for sacrifice. Some of Pakal’s most notable accomplishments ­were his military exploits, the restoration of his kingdom’s po­liti­cal power, and his building proj­ects, which made Palenque one of the most spectacular of the Classic Maya cities. The main palace in Palenque was damaged during the Calakmul raid of his childhood. Rather than creating a new palace, Pakal simply built new additions on the old palace’s structure. Pakal also or­ga­nized the construction of at least two t­emples. One of them, the ­Temple of the Inscriptions, is one of the most famous monuments of the Classic Maya world. It is also Pakal’s tomb, of which he oversaw construction during the final years of his life. In his ­later years, Pakal felt drawn to the arts, commissioning artists to inscribe the history of his reign on the monuments and buildings that he had urged his ­people to build. ­After 68 years of ruling Palenque, Pakal died at the age of 80. His t­ emple tomb was not yet complete, but his son carried out his ­father’s work and finished its construction. Much of what scholars know about Pakal comes from the discovery of his tomb in the ­Temple of the Inscriptions. In the late 1940s, Mexican archaeologist Alberto

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Ruz Lhuillier found the entrance to the tomb while performing research at the site. Over the next few years, Ruz and his men dug out stones and debris blocking the entrance that led to a deep stairway and a secret chamber ­under the t­ emple. Along the way, the team found the remains of five ­people who had been sacrificed to Pakal a­ fter the king was entombed. In the summer of 1952, Ruz and his team fi­nally cleared the space to the tomb chamber of Pakal. They ­were the first ­humans in 1,200 years to see the king’s sarcophagus. Pakal’s sarcophagus is a monument in itself to the Maya’s artistic skills and craftsmanship. The entire container is covered in Maya images of the afterlife and rebirth. At the center of the sarcophagus lid is a depiction of Pakal, falling into the underworld to begin the pro­cess of rebirth. Pakal is dressed as the Maize God, which confirms this cultural group’s faith in rebirth, as corn is harvested and grown again year ­after year. When Ruz and his team opened the lid to Pakal’s sarcophagus, they w ­ ere amazed. Pakal was intricately decorated with a jade mosaic mask, rings, jewels, and miniature statues of the gods. Ruz discovered the tomb of a prominent Maya lord, but in the 1950s Maya hieroglyphs w ­ ere not understood well enough to identify who was actually in the sarcophagus. Most of the Maya studies scholars knew how to recognize numbers, dates, and some other symbols, but w ­ ere unable to “read” what the Maya scribes had written so many centuries before. A de­cade ­after his discovery, Ruz began to call Pakal “8 Ahau” based on the date that appeared frequently in carvings and inscriptions throughout the tomb and ­temple. In the 1970s, a group of Maya hieroglyph scholars from around the world met in Palenque. Through an exhaustive study of the glyphs and other carvings, the meeting determined that “8 Ahau” was most likely translated as “shield” based on his name’s depiction as the symbol for a warrior’s shield. ­After some additional discussion, the team agreed that the sign for shield should be pronounced “Pakal” in the language spoken by the Maya living in Palenque. Extraordinarily, an old Spanish-­Mayan dictionary revealed that Pakal did indeed mean escudo, or shield. Over the years, understanding the glyphs became easier for scholars, but finding Pakal’s tomb, learning about his history, and knowing his name gave part of Maya history back to the Maya ­people (Schele and Mathews, 1999, pp. 95–132; Mathews, 2006).

Moctezuma I (1398 CE–1469 CE) Moctezuma Ilhuicamina was the son of Huitzilíhuitli, the Mexica (Aztec) ruler (tlatoani). Unlike most royal or imperial systems of government, po­liti­cal authority did not always pass from f­ athers to sons within the Mexica world. A council of priests, noblemen, and elder statesmen would elect a new ruler based on vari­ous criteria, including military prowess. While the candidates for the position had to be

Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations, 250 CE–900 CE | 15

part of the royal ­family, any male member was eligible. Moctezuma I’s f­ ather had been elected ruler as a teenager, but Moctezuma I would not come to the throne himself u­ ntil he was in his forties. ­Because of his age, Moctezuma was able to gain considerable po­liti­cal and military experience before coming to power, which made him one of the most celebrated leaders in Mexica history. As the son of a ruler, Moctezuma I must have recognized the wisdom and experience that was necessary to be an effective leader. When Moctezuma I was a young man, his ­uncle Itzcoatl came to power. U ­ nder his ­uncle, he served as a military leader and a member of the royal advisory council at the palace in Tenochtitlán. In a practice not uncommon in the Mexica royal world, he married his cousin Chichimecacihuatzin I and had at least four ­children. Unlike other leaders of the Mexica, Moctezuma did not drink excessively or take many concubines. In this way, Moctezuma I appears to have been a conservative leader, strictly following the rule of law and social order. When his ­uncle Itzcoatl died in 1440 CE, the council of electors deci­ded that Moctezuma I’s military rec­ords and established voice in the royal council ­were sufficient basis to name him the new leader of the Mexica and Tenochtitlán, their imperial capital. The new ruler was quick to enforce existing laws, especially sumptuary laws, which prevented some classes of society from buying certain goods. The elites, in Moctezuma I’s opinion, should be distinct from the rest of society. This push for greater enforcement may have come from the growing merchant class, which was becoming wealthier and could often afford goods that even the nobles could not easily afford. The new ruler also wanted to strengthen the relationship between the alliance made up of his city, Texcoco, and Tlacopan: the member cities of the ­Triple Alliance. The three city-­states shared the spoils of war and conquests, but Tenochtitlán was slowly becoming more power­ful than its partners. Traditionally, the ascent of a new ruler meant that the territories u­ nder Mexica rule ­were likely to test the new leader’s po­liti­cal resolve. Regions within the Valley of Mexico that paid tribute to Tenochtitlán often refused to follow directives of the new head of the Mexica p­ eople. They did so to test how quickly and forcefully the new head of the Mexica would react. Challenging the leader’s authority illuminated the ruler’s strength or weakness to other groups both inside and outside of Mexica control. With Moctezuma I, it was no dif­fer­ent. A handful of cities refused to acknowledge the authority of Tenochtitlán, and the new head of the city sent armies to defeat them. ­These w ­ ere not new conquests, but a way to reestablish Mexica authority. Moctezuma I determined his vassals’ allegiance by asking them to help construct ­temples within Tenochtitlán. Only one city refused to help, and Moctezuma I sent an army to punish the transgressors. In addition to his punishments, Moctezuma I also accompanied armies to conquer new areas that would expand Mexica power in the Valley of Mexico. He

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mobilized an army and marched north, obtaining the allegiance of smaller towns and less power­ful cities as he made his way to stronger opponents. Mexica policy made allegiance to Tenochtitlán an attractive alternative to destruction and warfare. When a settlement submitted to Mexica authority, it was allowed to keep its own po­liti­cal and religious systems. In exchange, Tenochtitlán requested the right for Mexica merchants to travel to the area for ­free, a regular tribute of resources or ­labor, and support to the Mexica when needed. As Moctezuma I’s army moved north to fight the larger cities t­ here, the smaller towns they encountered ­were quick to accept Mexica offerings of peace and allegiance, especially since an entire army was occupying the area. His efforts in the north ­were a success. L ­ ater, in the 1450s, Moctezuma I ordered armies to go to the Gulf Coast region, expanding his power far to the east. Shortly ­after this campaign he ordered an army of more than 200,000 to the south, where they nearly reached the Pacific Ocean. By increasing the size of the ­Triple Alliance and his own po­liti­cal authority, Moctezuma I established the prosperous po­liti­cal and military ­future of the Mexica ­people. The Mexica army was one of the most power­ful forces in Mesoamerica, and had the power to end disputes between Tenochtitlán and vassal states with the use of force. The trade network that ran through central Mesoamerica was incredibly vast and efficient, and brought goods and ser­vices to nearly e­ very corner of central Mesoamerica. The ­people of Tenochtitlán prospered, using their po­liti­cal and economic influence to create revolutionary aqueduct systems, floating gardens, and building proj­ects. To the vassal states, however, the Mexica ­were unwavering figures of authority. Cities could maintain their own po­liti­cal and cultural heritage, but ­were forced to pay the Mexica and the ­Triple Alliance in food, manpower, ­labor, and (quite often) ­humans for sacrifice (Hassig, 1988, pp. 157–175). See also: Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire; Pueblo Revolt of 1680; Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas

Further Reading Austin, Alfredo López, and Leonardo López Luján. 2001. Mexico’s Indigenous Past. Trans. Bernard R. Ortiz de Montellano. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Bakewell, Peter. 2010. A History of Latin Amer­i­ca to 1825 (3d ed.). Malden, MA: Wiley-­Blackwell. Christenson, Allen J. 2007. Popol Vuh: The Sacred Book of the Maya. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Coe, Michael D. 1992. Breaking the Maya Code. New York: Thames and Hudson. Cowgill, George L. 2015. Ancient Teotihuacan: Early Urbanism in Central Mexico. New York: Cambridge University Press. Demarest, Arthur. 2004. Ancient Maya: The Rise and Fall of a Rainforest Civilization. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 | 17 Diehl, Richard A. 2005. The Olmecs: Amer­i­ca’s First Civilization. New York: Thames and Hudson. Florescano, Enrique. 1999. The Myth of Quetzalcoatl. Trans. by Lysa Hochroth. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hassig, Ross. 1988. Aztec Warfare: Imperial Expansion and Po­liti­cal Control. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Landa, Diego de. 1978. Yucatan: Before and ­After the Conquest. Trans. William Gates. New York: Dover. Mathews, Peter. 2006. “Who’s Who in the Classic Maya World.” Retrieved from http://­ research​.­famsi​.­org​/­whos​_­who​/­people​.­php​?­mathewsnumber​=­PAL%20011. Restall, Matthew. 2004. Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Schele, Linda, and Peter Mathews. 1999. The Code of Kings: The Language of Seven Sacred Maya ­Temples and Tombs. New York: Simon & Schuster. Schele, Linda, and Mary Ellen Miller. 1986. The Blood of Kings: Dynasty and Ritual in Maya Art. Fort Worth, TX: Kimbell Art Museum. Townsend, Camilla. 2003. “Burying the White Gods: New Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico.” American Historical Review, 108 (3), 659–687. Webster, David. 2002. The Fall of the Ancient Maya. New York: Thames and Hudson.

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 Cameron D. Jones

Chronology 1492

Columbus makes his first voyage, leaving Pallos de la Frontera, Spain, on August 3 and lands on the island of San Salvador (in modern-­day Bahamas) on October 12.

1492–1493 Sometime between Christmas 1492 and Epiphany (January 6th) 1493, Columbus establishes the first Eu­ro­pean settlement in the Ca­rib­bean, La Navidad, on the island of Hispaniola. At some point, while Columbus is in Spain, the colony is destroyed and its inhabitants killed, presumably by the native population. This marks the first attempt at colonization in the Amer­i­cas. 1511

The Spanish invade Cuba, establishing their first settlement at Baracoa.

1511–1512 Local Taino chieftain Hatuey resists Spanish colonization, besieging Baracoa. The Spanish capture and burn Hatuey at the stake on February 2, 1512.

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1519

Hernán Cortés and several hundred Spaniards invade Mexico. ­After gaining several thousand indigenous allies, they march on the Mexica (Aztec) capital, Tenochtitlán, on November 8. They eventually take control of the city’s ruler, Moctezuma II.

1520

Cortés and his men are forced out of Tenochtitlán on June 30 in an event known as the Night of Sorrows (La Noche Triste).

1521

Between May and August, Cortés and his indigenous allies besiege Tenochtitlán, nearly leveling it. Smallpox also devastates the city.

1532

Francisco Pizarro and 168 Spaniards invade Peru, taking effective control of the Inca empire by capturing its leader, Atahualpa, on September 16.

1535–1536 The puppet Inca ruler, Manco Inca, begins a rebellion against the Spanish on April 18, 1535. ­After 10 months of fighting, Manco Inca retreats into the jungle. 1535

Emperor Charles V creates the viceroyalty of New Spain (Mexico) on September 14.

1542

On November 20, Charles V decrees the New Laws of 1542.

1544

On May 14, Charles V establishes the viceroyalty of Peru.

1544–1548 The Encomenderos Revolt in Peru. 1598

The Spanish establish the first permanent settlement among the Pueblo natives in what is now New Mexico.

1680

On August 10, the Pueblo rise up in revolt against the Spanish. They remain ­free of the Spanish for 12 years.

1697

The Spanish destroy the last pocket of Maya re­sis­tance, toppling the capital of the Itza kingdom, Nojpetén, in the Guatemalan highlands.

1700

On November 1, Charles II, the last Hapsburg king of Spain, dies without c­ hildren. He bequeaths his empire and titles to his cousin, Philip of Anjou, of the French ruling h­ ouse of Bourbon (crowned Philip V).

1701–1713 The War of Spanish Succession decides the issue of Philip V’s succession. The Treaty of Utrecht, signed in 1713, effectively ends the war and leaves Philip and the Bourbon dynasty in power in Spain. 1713–1797 Starting with Philip V, the Bourbon dynasty begins a series of reforms to strengthen its ties with the Amer­i­cas and raise more revenue; t­ hese are known as the Bourbon Reforms.

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 | 19

1780–1782 José Gabriel Tupac Amaru leads a massive revolt against the Spanish in the Andes around Cusco, spurred by resentment over the Bourbon Reforms. Though Spanish forces execute Tupac Amaru in 1781, the rebellion continues ­until 1782, involving hundreds of thousands of combatants and causing tens of thousands of deaths. 1808

Napoleon invades Spain, removing King Charles IV from the throne. This c­ auses a crisis in the Spanish colonies over who ­will govern in the Amer­i­cas.

1810

On May  22, Argentina declares self-­rule while the French hold Spain. They claim to rule, in lieu of King Ferdinand VI, ­until 1816.

1812

Spanish ministers who escaped Napoleon’s invasion write the Constitution of 1812 in Cádiz, Spain. The document suggests the creation of a constitutional monarchy in Spain with American colonies having full repre­sen­ta­tion.

1814

Combined British and Spanish forces restore the Spanish monarchy. King Ferdinand VII rejects the Constitution of 1812 and his forces successfully crush all in­de­pen­dence movements in Spanish Amer­i­ca except in Argentina.

1821

Mexico and Central Amer­i­ca gain in­de­pen­dence ­after the king of Spain is forced to reinstate the liberal Constitution of 1812, which guaranteed the indigenous population of the Amer­i­cas the right to vote. A conservative co­ali­tion of generals strikes a deal with in­de­pen­ dence leaders in Mexico, resulting in the Plan de Iguala, ­under which Mexico and most of Central Amer­i­ca become in­de­pen­dent.

1824

The B ­ attle of Ayacucho takes place on December 9 in the southern highlands of Peru. In­de­pen­dence forces u­ nder the overall command of Simón Bolívar (who is not pres­ent at the ­battle) rout the last effective Spanish army forces in the Amer­i­cas and capture the last viceroy. This marks the effective end of Spanish governance in the South American mainland.

1898

The Spanish-­American War marks the end of Spanish colonial rule in the Amer­i­cas. Puerto Rico becomes a colonial possession of the United States and Cuba becomes in­de­pen­dent though it remains ­under heavy U.S. influence u­ ntil 1959.

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The Spanish built numerous missions throughout Mexico and California as a means of establishing Catholic doctrine and gaining cultural influence over native populations. (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration)

Narrative The Spanish colonization of the Amer­i­cas was a long and complex pro­cess. It began when conquistadors from the Kingdom of Castile (one of the kingdoms that makes up modern-­day Spain) took po­liti­cal, economic, and—to a lesser extent—­social and cultural control of large regions of the Amer­i­cas a­ fter 1492. The pro­cess of Eu­ro­ pean domination was never fully completed, as ­today, indigenous traditions and cultures still persist. However, beliefs in the superiority of Eu­ro­pean culture still continue in the Amer­i­cas in the 21st ­century. Spain initially claimed all of North and South Amer­i­ca, but Spanish control was eventually limited to about half of the Ca­rib­bean, the present-­day U.S. Southwest, Mexico, Central Amer­i­ca, and most of South Amer­i­ca, with the exception of Brazil. The pro­cess of colonization began with Columbus’s first voyages to the Ca­rib­ bean in 1492 and ended for most of the Amer­ic­ as with the Spanish-­American Wars of In­de­pen­dence in the 1820s. Colonial power persisted in some areas, such as Cuba and Puerto Rico, ­until the Spanish-­American War of 1898. Thus, the Spanish empire remained in power much longer than the British crown controlled its 13 original colonies. Most scholars agree that although this longevity and relative stability can be attributed to the coercive and sometimes cruel nature of Spanish control, it could not have lasted without at least some collaboration from indigenous leadership in all the lands which the Spanish occupied.

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Methods of Control and Demographics In the Ca­rib­bean from 1492 to 1519 (before the invasion of Mexico), Spanish control of the native population was relatively easy. The native p­ eoples of the Ca­rib­ bean vastly outnumbered the conquistadors, but lacked the organ­ization and technology to effectively resist them. To exploit the ­labor of the indigenous ­peoples

Reconquista The Reconquista, or Reconquest, of Spain generally refers to the 780-­year pro­cess during which Christian Spanish forces slowly expelled Muslim Moors from North Africa out of the Iberian Peninsula. In the year 711, Muslim forces that ­were mostly comprised of Berbers crossed the Strait of Gibraltar to take control of what was formerly the Roman province of Hispania. At the time, the area was ruled by a Germanic tribe, the Visigoths, who ­were easily defeated by the invading Moors. According to legend, Spanish Christians ­were fi­nally able to stop the Moors’ invasion of Spain at the ­Battle of Covadonga (in the northern province of Asturias) in 718 or 720. Though accounts of this ­battle are prob­ably exaggerations at best, the Moors’ advance was undoubtedly stopped at the ­Battle of Tours (in modern-­day France) in 732 by the Frankish King Charles “the Hammer” Martel. Traditionally, however, the Covadonga ­battle marks the beginning of the long and complicated pro­cess by which Christian rulers of Spain slowly regained authority over territories that had been u­ nder the control of the Muslim invaders. The last Muslim kingdom in Spain, Granada, fell to forces led by the Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabel, on January 2, 1492. During the euphoria surrounding this victory, a little-­known Genoese sailor who worked for the Portuguese, Christopher Columbus, came to the city of Granada to petition Queen Isabel to provide ships for a voyage: Columbus wanted to find Asia by sailing west into the unknown Atlantic. The Reconquest was a complicated, lengthy pro­cess. ­There ­were ­great divisions within both Muslim and Christian ranks; many times Christians and Muslims fought side by side against ­people of their own faiths. For many, po­liti­cal considerations trumped religious unity. The chaos of t­hese events prompted some scholars to argue that the term Reconquista is a misnomer, as the effort to expel the Moors was rarely unified. Still, this history of religious conflict had significant implications for Spain’s policies in its colonies. Ferdinand, and especially Isabel’s, Catholic fervor ­shaped the policies of Spanish colonizers t­oward indigenous ­people.

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and gain wealth, the Spanish colonizers utilized an institution that had been developed during Reconquest, known as the encomienda. Many of the practices and institutions that w ­ ere created during this period of re-­conquest, such as the encomienda, ­were adapted and used in the Amer­ic­ as during the first few de­cades of Spanish colonization. An encomienda was a grant of indigenous ­labor that was bestowed upon a par­tic­u­lar conquistador as a reward for his ser­vices in “pacifying” the native population. In theory, the encomendero (the person who held the encomienda) was owed a certain amount of l­abor from a certain number of villages in a par­tic­u­lar area. The encomendero did not own the land, but had rights to some of the ­labor of the ­people living on it. The encomendero was also supposed to protect t­ hose living within his encomienda and provide them with religious instruction. In real­ity, however, most natives w ­ ere ­either worked to death or died of diseases brought by the Eu­ro­pe­ans. ­Those who survived received l­ittle or nothing in return. The result was the collapse of the Ca­rib­be­an’s native population within a few de­cades. Nevertheless, the encomienda system persisted for another 50 years as the Spanish moved into Mexico and Peru. The Spanish invasions of Mexico and Peru ­were more difficult, as the Spanish encountered the more or­ga­nized and densely populated Mexica (­later renamed Aztec), Inca, and Maya civilizations. Spanish ­horses, steel, and cannons could not overcome the difference in the relative numbers between the conquistadors—­who ­were only in the hundreds—­and the local populations, who w ­ ere in the millions in some cases. Therefore, in order to take control of the region, the Spanish needed to exploit preexisting divisions between native socie­ties. The most famous example is the Tlaxcalans, who w ­ ere already the enemies of the Mexica, and readily became allies to the Spanish. At first it would have been unclear who was using whom, as the Tlaxcalans used Spanish military strength to help them defeat long-­standing enemies. ­These temporary alliances w ­ ere essential for early Spanish victory, and many ­were sealed with marriages between conquistadors and native noblewomen. Early on, the Spanish only ruled with the consent of native leadership. Over time, however, this balance of power shifted significantly (Restall, 2003, pp. 44–63). The shift in power was due mainly to a demographic collapse. As the native population of the Amer­i­cas had been cut off from the rest of the world’s land mass for approximately 12,000 years, the indigenous populations in both North and South Amer­i­ca lacked immunity to Afro-­Eurasian diseases. From 1492 to around 1600, the Amer­i­cas ­were struck with wave a­ fter wave of epidemic disease, each on a scale equal to the Black Death in Eu­rope in the 13th ­century. The end result was the reduction of about 85–90  ­percent of the population over roughly 100  years. With the reduction in native population and the inflow of immigration from Eu­rope, Spanish colonizers slowly gained the upper hand, relying less and less on their native alliances (Crosby, 1972). This does not mean that native leadership completely collapsed. The

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 | 23

Spanish w ­ ere still vastly outnumbered and throughout the Amer­i­cas, particularly at the village level, where most aspects of life ­were directed by indigenous authorities (Taylor, 1979). The natives’ high mortality rates did not go unnoticed by Spanish authorities. Many blamed the encomenderos’ cruelty and mismanagement of their laborers for the drop in population. Their exploitation of indigenous ­peoples only added to the misery and death caused by the pandemics. One of the most vocal critics was a Dominican priest named Bartolomé de las Casas. Many of his writings eventually found a sympathetic ear in the king back in Spain, who in 1542 passed the New Laws, which spelled out an end to the encomienda system. Fearing reprisal, colonial officials in Mexico refused to implement the law immediately and asked for further instructions. In Peru, the New Laws provoked a rebellion, the Encomenderos Revolt, which resulted in the death of the highest-­ranking Spanish official in the region. Though the crown would l­ ater modify the law to create a more gradual end to the encomienda system, the system was mostly eliminated nonetheless, replaced with more direct imperial control. To exercise this control, the crown turned to a more bureaucratic viceregal structure. This system called for viceroys (­people who ruled on behalf of Spain’s king) to be placed in Mexico and Peru. Viceroys had considerable military, po­liti­cal, and judicial power. The viceroys oversaw a series of court districts or audiencias. Each audiencia was ser­viced by a panel of judges who held both judicial and executive authority. ­Under the audiencias ­were the corregidores de Indios, literally the “correctors of Indians.” Corregidores ­were provincial governors who worked with local indigenous leadership to collect taxes, administer justice for petty crimes, and suppress rebellion. Corregidores ­were famously some of the most corrupt officials ­because they worked to extract wealth from the local population. In theory, the king presided over all ­these officials. In real­ity, he relied heavi­ly upon the Council of the Indies, an advisory committee made up of noblemen and p­ eople who had actually lived and worked for the crown in the Amer­i­cas. The viceregal system continued during the entirety of the colonial period, though some offices w ­ ere replaced in the 18th ­century. Corregidores, for example, ­were removed in ­favor of intendants (intendentes), or governing administrators.

Mining and Taxation The principal purpose of Spain’s American colonies, from the perspective of the crown, was to make money. Spain needed funds to wage war against its neighbors as they vied for dominance and religious homogeneity in Eu­rope. Although most of this fighting took place in Eu­rope early on, in the 18th ­century Eu­ro­pean powers increasingly faced off in the Amer­i­cas as they attempted to carve out their

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own colonial empires. While the Amer­i­cas had a vast trove of exploitable resources, the most impor­tant was silver. Silver, like all precious metals, has a high value-­to-­ weight ratio, meaning it was highly profitable even when transported over ­great distances. Though the Spanish also discovered gold, it was not nearly as abundant. Furthermore, the Chinese had just experienced the collapse of their own paper money system and had deci­ded to switch to a silver-­based coinage, creating an enormous demand for the metal in Asia. The combination of silver’s abundance in Amer­ i­ca and demand in Asia fi­nally gave Eu­ro­pe­ans access to the spices and other luxury items of the Far East that had driven them to explore in the first place (Stein and Stein, 2000). The American silver boom began in earnest with the discovery of the mines of Potosí in what is now modern-­day Bolivia. Although mines in Mexico would eclipse the South American mines in terms of output in the 18th ­century, this early boom put Spain on the map as an economic world power. Additionally, the South American mines prospered due to another fortuitous geological coincidence, the proximity of mercury deposits. Unlike gold, silver is notoriously difficult to refine. One of

Potosí Dubbed the Cerro Rico or “rich mountain,” Potosí was a vast silver mine located in what is now Bolivia. In the 16th and 17th centuries, it became the largest and most productive mine in the Spanish empire. The silver it produced, along with precious metals from other mines, became the source of Spain’s expanding power in the 16th ­century. Though some contend that the Incas knew of Potosí’s existence previously, it was not u­ ntil 1545 when a local Andean traveling to a nearby but dif­fer­ent silver mine discovered the site. According to legend, he fell from his mule, and as he fell he grabbed a plant on the side of the mountain, tearing it f­ ree and exposing a vein of silver ore. The mountain was said to be made of pure silver. Though that claim is an obvious exaggeration, silver ore mined from it shortly ­after it was first discovered could exceed 40 ­percent purity. Levels of purity decreased over time as the mine was exhausted, but a total of 60,000 tons of silver has been extracted from the mountain, much of it during the colonial period. As a result, the city that ser­viced the mine, also named Potosí, swelled to a population of 160,000 in 1650, becoming one of the largest cities in the Amer­i­ cas. Unfortunately for the nation of Bolivia, much of the mine was exhausted during the colonial period. Mining operations at the site continue in the 21st ­century, however, mostly carried out by the native population of the city.

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the best methods, however, involves using mercury to form an amalgam from which pure silver can be more easily extracted. Fortunately for the Spanish, one of the largest known mercury mines at the time was located only a few hundred miles away at Huancavelica in modern-­day Peru (Bakewell, 1984). The Spanish crown, of course, had a ­great interest in supporting mining operations. This was due to the fact that the most lucrative tax was that on mining: the Quinto Real, or Royal Fifth, a 20 ­percent tax levied on the mine ­owners for all precious metals taken from the ground. To supplement mining in the Andes, crown officials revived the name of an old ­labor tax from the Inca period, the mita. The mita required that e­ very adult man give one year ser­vice in the mine out of e­ very seven years. Ser­vice in the mines was dangerous, and added to the general demographic collapse of the native populations. Work in the mercury mines proved even more deadly ­because that metal, particularly in its raw form, is poisonous. In Mexico t­ here was no mita; they often used another system of ­labor tax called the repartimiento, which could also be quite burdensome for native ­peoples. The crown further imposed other taxes on the native population that proved just as onerous to the indigenous p­ eople as they w ­ ere lucrative to the crown. The first was the indigenous tribute, or head tax, assessed on native communities according to the population count. Local corregidores and trea­sury officials frequently manipulated census rec­ords to skim off the top of t­ hese taxes. Furthermore, the crown collected t­ hese taxes in coin, not produce, meaning that agrarian communities had to engage in some sort of market or industry, such as mining, to get enough coinage to pay the tribute. All inhabitants of the Amer­i­cas paid sales taxes, which ­were relatively low at first, but r­ ose over time. The Catholic Church collected tithes, of which the crown received a portion; priests also charged fees for marriages, baptisms, and burials. Overall, the indigenous p­ eoples of Spanish Amer­i­ca w ­ ere prob­ ably the most heavi­ly taxed group in the Amer­i­cas (Burkholder and Johnson, 2014, pp. 162–191).

Race, Ethnicity, and Colonial Society The Spanish encounter with the indigenous p­ eople of the Amer­i­cas severely disrupted previously held Eu­ro­pean notions of race and ethnicity. The ­people of the Amer­i­cas presented a theological prob­lem for the Spanish, b­ ecause they w ­ ere not mentioned in the Bible. Some Spaniards, both in the colonies and in Spain, argued that b­ ecause ­these ­people had not been mentioned in Holy Scripture, even though they seemed like h­ umans, they w ­ ere not, and thereby could be used as animals, enslaved or killed as needed. ­Others, however, disagreed. Some theologians, led by Bartolomé de las Casas, argued that native Americans did have souls and should be taught religion, and should ultimately be allowed to have the same status u­ nder

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the law as Eu­ro­pe­ans. Eventually, the crown agreed upon a compromise: American natives w ­ ere indeed p­ eople, but they would have the ­legal status of minors ­because they had not been fully indoctrinated into the Catholic faith. What exactly being “fully indoctrinated” meant was never clarified and American natives for the most part retained this lesser status for the entirety of the colonial period. This meant that the native Americans could not be enslaved (except ­under certain conditions), but they could not hold public office or become priests, e­ ither. Ultimately, the crown envisioned an American society that would consist of two separate and unequal sociopo­liti­cal spheres or “republics,” between which the corregidores and priests would be the bridge. The two groups, in theory, would not live in the same physical space: natives would be in the countryside while Spaniards would live in cities. The attempt to live in two republics failed in practice ­because of three f­ actors. The first was that physical separation between the two groups was impossible to achieve. Many native groups already lived in the cities the Eu­ro­pe­ans hoped to make their own. The Eu­ro­pe­ans also used native servants and interacted with them on a daily basis. The second ­factor was racial mixing. Most of the Spaniards who came to the Amer­i­cas ­were single men and sought partners, lovers, and wives, both willing and unwilling, from among the native population. Early on, the Spanish colonization strategies hinged in part on their ability to marry (or partner with) the native nobility (Twinam, 1999). Both Hernán Cortés and Francisco Pizarro had c­ hildren with indigenous noblewomen. Pizarro’s mixed-­race d­ aughter, Francisca, inherited her f­ather’s title and wealth. During the first few de­cades, t­hese mestizos generally retained the status of their Eu­ro­pean ­fathers, having full adult l­egal rights u­ nder Spanish law, but as miscegenation became more widespread, so did racial distinctions. The third reason the idea of the two republics failed was that ­there ­were actually three republics. As early as 1510, the Spanish began bringing in enslaved Africans to perform agricultural ­labor in places where the native population had been decimated. Furthermore, Africans, having come from the “Old World,” had the same immunity to Afro-­Eurasian diseases as Eu­ro­pe­ans, guaranteeing that they would not succumb to disease in large numbers as the native Americans had. Africans began to mix with both the Eu­ro­pean and native populations. In some regions t­ here was an incentive for enslaved African men to find indigenous brides b­ ecause the social status of ­children was determined by their m ­ other, not their ­father. For the most part, it was not permitted to enslave natives ­under Spanish law, so in this way slaves could find freedom for their c­ hildren. ­These ­children would also have acquired immunity to “Old World” diseases from their ­fathers, suggesting that ­these ­unions ­were advantageous to native communities as well. Eu­ro­pe­ans, mostly men, also

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found partners among the Africans, thereby creating more racial mixing (Restall, 2009, pp. 34–67, 153–200). What resulted was a complex and often fluid racial hierarchy that was difficult for outsiders to understand. A range of f­ actors determined social standings, including legitimacy, parental religious affiliation, and race. Ultimately, community ac­cep­ tance of one’s position was what mattered most in ­these socie­ties. Wealth often played an impor­tant role in determining status. Although most elites ­were Eu­ro­ pean in origin, the relatively open economic opportunities of the Amer­i­cas allowed some individuals of African and indigenous backgrounds to achieve higher social status in ways that ­were less common outside of Spanish Amer­i­ca. Foreign visitors to Spanish Amer­i­ca frequently commented that many wealthy elites had “brown and even black ­faces,” and garnered honorific titles such as Don and Doña (similar to Sir and Madam in En­glish). ­Later, the Spanish government would even try to profit from this racial fluidity by formalizing a pro­cess by which nonwhites could buy not only honorific titles but also a certificate that declared the holder to be white no ­matter his or her ­actual ancestry or skin color. This racial hierarchy and fluidity persists ­today within many of the nations colonized by the Spanish (Twinam, 1999). In many Spanish American countries and communities, social status and identity is not tied solely to physical characteristics or skin color (what might be understood as “race”), but instead are based on socioeconomic status and cultural traditions that defy rigid racial hierarchies. Certainly, p­ eople with lighter skin do enjoy greater privileges in ­these socie­ties due to their appearance, but ­those with darker skin and indigenous or African traits can enjoy high status and power through ­great wealth, social ac­cep­tance, or both.

End of the Colonial Era Starting in the 18th ­century, Spain’s hold over its American colonies began to loosen. Ironically, this stemmed from its attempts to tighten control over its vast empire. Facing increased competition in the Amer­i­cas from the French and British and feeling their power in Eu­rope waning, the Spanish crown hoped to reform its empire in an attempt to regain its former glory. ­These Bourbon Reforms, named ­after the royal dynasty in power at that time, focused on two major goals: to increase po­liti­cal control over the colonies and to increase remittances of tax revenues back to Spain (Kuethe and Andrien, 2014, pp. 1–14). Similar to what happened in parts of British North Amer­i­ca (which became the United States), this created g­ reat unrest. Many of the new taxes greatly affected the poor and indigenous populations, who responded by ravaging the countryside in rebellion on a level unseen since the Spanish invasion. The Tupac Amaru Rebellion in Peru (1780–1782), for example, was

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larger in terms of geographic area, combatants, and mortality than the American Revolution, which occurred at the same time (Walker, 2014). ­These po­liti­cal changes also affected many colonial elites who had been r­ unning local affairs for generations. Many of ­these creoles, or criollos as they ­were known, ­were replaced by administrators from Spain, or peninsulares, whom the crown deemed more trustworthy. Given the seething resentment among ­people in the colonies, it is no surprise that when Napoleonic forces invaded Spain in 1808, many regions of Spanish Amer­ i­ca attempted to gain their autonomy. Though most w ­ ere unsuccessful at first, Napoleon’s invasion started a longer pro­cess that—­despite Spanish victory over the French in 1814—­could not stop much of Spanish Amer­i­ca from becoming in­de­ pen­dent by 1825. The last few holdouts w ­ ere the Ca­rib­bean colonies of Cuba and Puerto Rico. The large slave population and relative isolation from the rest of Spanish Amer­i­ca made elites in t­hese islands fear that any in­de­pen­dence movement could lead to a race war that they would inevitably lose. As a result, Cuba did not become in­de­pen­dent u­ ntil ­after the Spanish-­American War of 1898, while Puerto Rico became a territorial possession of the United States (Lynch, 1986). Spain’s colonization of the Amer­ic­ as, though at times brutal, violent, and exploitative of indigenous and African ­people, marks the beginning of a remarkable social encounter between Eu­ro­pe­ans, Africans, and indigenous communities in the Western Hemi­sphere. Indeed, the descendants of ­these colonial socie­ties became the p­ eople known t­ oday as Latin Americans. Although this history produced tremendous racial mixing, t­ here are still African and indigenous populations in the region that have remained relatively isolated and have retained their cultural practices and characteristics over generations. In the 20th ­century, Latin American socie­ties in the Western Hemi­sphere have been the source of millions of immigrants who have made their way to the United States, Eu­rope, and elsewhere.

Biographies of Notable Figures José de Gálvez (1720–1787) José de Gálvez was one of the most prominent figures in the Bourbon Reform pro­ cess. As Inspector General of New Spain (Mexico) and l­ater Minister of the Indies, he helped to enact some of the most controversial and far-­reaching changes in government policies since early colonization. Born in Macharavialla near Málaga in 1720, Gálvez was the second son of an impoverished nobleman. The f­ amily’s financial prob­lems only worsened with the death of his f­ather when Gálvez was still very young, forcing the ­children to become shepherds to feed the ­family. A chance encounter with the local bishop led to an education in the local seminary, but the

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bishop eventually realized that Gálvez did not have the temperament for the priesthood and sent him to the prestigious Complutense University near Madrid. ­After university, Gálvez began to practice law in the capital. His first marriage to María Magdalena de Grimaldo ended in tragedy when she died only a year ­after they wed. L ­ ater, Gálvez married Lucía Romet y Pichelín, a well-­connected noblewoman of French origin. She helped him secure a post as a l­ egal advisor to the French embassy. France was Spain’s closest ally at the time, and the appointment allowed Gálvez to circulate within the highest circles of Madrid’s government elite. With the ascension of Charles III in 1759, Gálvez secured a post as the personal secretary to Jerónimo Grimaldi, one of the king’s closest advisors and principal ministers ­until 1776. Through this connection to Grimaldi, he was eventually named the civil and criminal justice (alcalde de casa y corte) of Castile in 1764. In 1765, Gálvez was named Inspector General for the Viceroyalty of New Spain, a territory that incorporated Mexico, Central Amer­i­ca, the modern-­day U.S. Southwest, and the Spanish Ca­rib­bean. Gálvez’s principal responsibility was to strengthen the crown’s control over the region, increase state revenue through taxation and improved commerce, and bolster the colonial defenses. The focus on bolstering defense was especially impor­tant ­after several humiliating defeats by the British during the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), including the year-­long occupation of Havana in 1762. To this end, Gálvez oversaw several sweeping reforms, including a new tax on pulque (a traditional Mexican alcohol made from the agave plant), new port taxes at Acapulco and Veracruz, and the end of privatized tax collection (known as tax farming). Gálvez also oversaw a reor­ga­ni­za­tion of the colonial military. For the first time in colonial history, locals w ­ ere allowed to serve not just in the militia, but also in the regular Spanish army. Ideally, the crown wanted criollos (creoles; ­people of Eu­ro­pean descent) to serve in the army, but ­because they made up a very small percentage of the total population, mestizos (­people of mixed indigenous and Eu­ro­pean ancestry), and especially ­people of mixed African and Eu­ro­ pean ancestry, made up the bulk of the lower ranks. Gálvez could be extremely heavy-­handed in his tactics. In 1767, the Spanish crown expelled the Jesuits, a religious society seen by many to lack loyalty to the king. The Jesuits ­were extremely popu­lar in Mexico and riots broke out in several regions. Gálvez brutally suppressed t­hese uprisings, sentencing many to life in prison for their participation. His style of management soon drew the ire of Joaquín de Montserrat, the viceroy of New Spain and marquis of Cruillas. It did not help that Inspector General Gálvez was essentially sent to judge Montserrat’s administration. Due to the Spanish crown’s habit of making jurisdictions vague, thereby encouraging rivalries between royal ministers, it was unclear which of the two men had

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ultimate authority for the day-­to-­day governance of the viceroyalty. Gálvez ultimately won out and upon his recommendation the viceroy Montserrat was replaced with one more amenable to Gálvez. Gálvez also played an essential role in the Spanish expansion into California. In 1768, Gálvez toured the former Jesuit missions in Baja California. The mission villages ­were u­ nder the administration of the Spanish army while Franciscans operated the churches. Disgusted by the soldiers’ mismanagement, he ordered that the mission villages as well be turned over to the Franciscans, u­ nder the direction of ­Father Junípero Serra. Gálvez then set his sights on Alta California (the current U.S. state of California). The crown feared that if the Spanish did not secure a foothold in that largely unexplored region, Rus­sians who ­were coming down from Alaska might claim the territory. While in Baja California, Gálvez or­ga­nized the now-­ famous expedition to explore and establish permanent Spanish settlements in Alta California. Led by Gaspar de Portolá but accompanied by several friars ­under the direct authority of ­Father Serra, the expedition was the first in the chain of 21 missions that would span the length of California and help the Spanish to colonize the region. In 1772, Gálvez was recalled to Spain. The king was so pleased with his ser­ vices that he was given the titles of marquis of Sonora and viscount of Sinaloa. In 1776 he was also named minister of the Indies, thereby becoming the highest ranking bureaucrat in the governance of the colonies, second only to the king. As minister, Gálvez oversaw sweeping changes to the structure of the colonial system. That same year, the viceroyalty of Rio de la Plata, with its capital at Buenos Aires, was created from a portion of the viceroyalty of Peru. Gálvez also spearheaded efforts to create the internal provinces of New Spain, an area in what is now northern Mexico and the U.S. Southwest. The internal provinces, though still u­ nder the jurisdiction of the viceroy of Mexico, w ­ ere to have their own governors with some autonomy from the viceroy. The hope was that this would allow more rapid and thereby effective governance of ­these regions that ­were so far from Mexico City. Gálvez also oversaw the slow change from corregidores (provincial governors) to intendentes, a type of more power­ful, and better paid, bureaucrat who generally was Spanish born. Corregidores w ­ ere notoriously corrupt and Gálvez hoped that replacing them would curtail corruption. Fi­nally, Gálvez supervised the opening of limited f­ ree trade within the empire. In 1787, Gálvez died suddenly. While the reforms he spearheaded strengthened Spain’s hold over the Amer­i­cas for a short time, ultimately unrest among the criollos (whom he had helped to oust from most public offices) laid the foundation for the in­de­pen­dence movement. Furthermore, the addition of colonial soldiers to the regular Spanish army gave ­these local elites the means to ultimately topple the Spanish empire in Amer­i­ca.

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Bartolomé de las Casas (1474?–1566) Known as the “Defender of the Indians,” Bartolomé de las Casas prob­ably did more to shape early Spanish colonial policy than any other person. He was born e­ ither in August of 1474 or November of 1484 in the village of Triana, across the river from the major Spanish port of Seville. His f­ather was from a f­amily of conversos, or former Jews; his ancestors ­were most likely forced to convert to Chris­tian­ity during one of the many periods of persecution in the centuries prior to his birth. Though he was not trained at one of Spain’s major universities, he received an excellent education, most likely at the cathedral school in Granada. It was in that city that, as a young man, Las Casas possibly participated in the suppression of a Moorish revolt. From 1493 to 1498, Las Casas’s ­father, Pedro de las Casas, accompanied Columbus on his second voyage to the Amer­i­cas (which left from Las Casas’s hometown of Seville). In 1502, Las Casas accompanied his ­father to the Ca­rib­bean with Nicolás de Ovando’s expedition to colonize the Ca­rib­bean island of Hispaniola. For his efforts, his ­father received an encomienda. Bartolomé became a lay religious teacher, but he must have done well financially b­ ecause he eventually received his own encomienda. While in Hispaniola he also participated in the violent suppression of the Higuey uprising, which he would cite in his l­ ater writing as an example of the conquistadors’ brutality against the native population. It was during his time in Hispaniola that he was ordained a priest. In 1513, he accompanied Diego de Velásquez to Cuba as the chaplain of the conquest expedition, for which he received an encomienda jointly with another conquistador. The encomienda turned into a lucrative ­cattle business, from which Las Casas would support himself for much of the rest of his life. It was in Cuba that Las Casas began to have a change of heart regarding the treatment of the native population of the Amer­i­cas. He was influenced by the Dominican priest Antonio de Montesinos, who began to preach sermons against the abuses of the conquistadors in Santo Domingo in 1511. ­These caused a ­great uproar among the conquistadors b­ ecause Montesinos advocated for the end of the encomienda and a more peaceful pro­cess of colonization. In 1514, Las Casas also began to advocate for indigenous rights. A year ­later, he traveled to Spain to pres­ent his proposals to the king for a more egalitarian, clergy-­led approach to colonization. Eventually, he was able to secure 200 leagues (about 460 miles) of the Venezuelan coast to implement his new plan. The plan, however, failed before he could even get to South Amer­i­ca. By the time Las Casas reached the Ca­rib­bean, conflict had broken out in Venezuela between the local indigenous population surrounding his new, experimental colony and previously established Spanish settlements nearby. At this point most of the Spanish settlers he had brought to farm in Venezuela

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abandoned the expedition. Many in the expedition prob­ably had ­little desire to farm, but saw this as an opportunity to get to the New World to seek their fortunes in conquest rather than tilling the land. Embittered, Las Casas settled in a small Dominican monastery on the island of Hispaniola. Following Montesinos’s example, Las Casas took vows as a Dominican in 1522. Members of the Dominican Order w ­ ere staunch advocates of a careful and largely peaceful conversion of the native population. It was during this time in Hispaniola that Las Casas began his massive multivolume Historia de las Indias (History of the Indies). While based in Hispaniola, he also travelled extensively throughout the Ca­rib­bean, meeting many of the impor­tant figures in the early colonization period, such as Hernán Cortés and Hernando Pizarro (­brother of Francisco Pizarro, leader of the Spanish invasion of Peru). In 1537, he co-­authored a petition to the pope advocating for an end to the abuses of the conquistadors and the encomienda system. The petition resulted in a papal decree which suggested that the American natives needed spiritual guidance, but also declared that they w ­ ere rational ­humans who could not be enslaved without just cause. Seeing an opportunity, Las Casas returned to Spain in 1540 and presented his most famous work to the king: Una brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias (A Brief Relation of the Destruction of the Indies) (Casas and Knight, 2003). The work was a much shorter version of his Historia de Indias and contained an evocative description of the atrocities committed in the Amer­i­cas. In response, the king hastily issued a decree to curb conquistador abuses and eventually end the encomienda system. The New Laws of 1542, as the decree eventually became known, arrived in the Amer­i­cas in 1544. The viceroy of Mexico saw that the former conquistadores/settlers would be greatly angered by the New Laws, and refused to implement them. The newly installed viceroy of Peru, however, was not so sensitive to his po­liti­cal situation and deci­ded to enforce them anyway. He paid for his decision with his life, as conquistadores allied with the Pizarro b­ rothers murdered him. Although the New Laws never had the full effect Las Casas wanted, they established the pre­ce­dent for the encomiendas to end, which they slowly did over the next few de­cades. In addition to passing the New Laws, the king also made Las Casas a bishop of the then remote diocese of Chiapas. Las Casas’s tenure as bishop, however, would be short-­lived. The ideologue was never very good at actually governing, as he strug­ gled to compromise on his lofty vision for society. He left Chiapas for Spain, and in 1550 resigned his post as bishop. The last years of his life ­were some of his most productive. He spent much of his time between Valladolid and Madrid advocating for the rights of Amer­i­ca’s indigenous population. It was during this time that he engaged in his famous debate with Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda. The two never argued face-­to-­face in public, but their dueling treatises raised contradictory views on the

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 | 33

essence of ­human rights. Sepúlveda argued that the natives of Amer­i­ca w ­ ere naturally inferior, and could therefore rightfully be conquered and enslaved by the Spanish. ­Until his death in 1566, Las Casas argued that the indigenous Americans ­were fellow h­ uman beings, and although they lacked Christian instruction, should be endowed with the same natu­ral rights as Eu­ro­pe­ans.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Requerimiento, 1513 The Requerimiento, or Requirement, was a document produced in 1513 by Spanish jurist Juan López de Palacios Rubios for King Ferdinand of Aragon and his ­daughter Queen Juana of Castile. Ferdinand’s wife, Queen Isabel, had died in 1504, and Ferdinand would soon follow her. The unification of ­those two crowns ­under Juana created the country we now know as Spain. The document was the result of debates about w ­ hether the American natives w ­ ere indeed h­ umans, and if they could be enslaved. The Requerimiento was supposed to provide a ­legal basis for conquistadores to determine u­ nder which circumstances they could enslave native ­peoples. In theory, it was to be read before any violent action was taken. In practice, the document did nothing to curb abuses. It is unlikely that any native p­ eople understood the message when it was read in Spanish, and conquistadores often e­ ither read the document ­after they had already invaded a region or when they first arrived at a new land before encountering any p­ eople. The document provides in­ter­est­ing insight into the Spanish interpretation of how the papal donation of 1493 helped the Spanish to justify their be­hav­ior in the Amer­i­cas. On behalf of the King, Don Fernando, and of Doña Juana I, his ­daughter, Queen of Castile and León, subduers of the barbarous nations, we their servants notify and make known to you, as best we can, that the Lord our God, Living and Eternal, created the Heaven and the Earth, and one man and one ­woman, of whom you and we, all the men of the world at the time, ­were and are descendants, and all ­those who came a­ fter and before us. But, on account of the multitude which has sprung from this man and w ­ oman in the five thousand years since the world was created, it was necessary that some men should go one way and some another, and that they should be divided into many kingdoms and provinces, for in one alone they could not be sustained. Of all ­these nations God our Lord gave charge to one man, called St. Peter, that he should be Lord and Superior of all the men in the world, that all should obey him, and that he should be the head of the w ­ hole ­Human Race, wherever men should live, and ­under what­ever law, sect, or belief they should be; and he gave him the world for his kingdom and jurisdiction.

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And he commanded him to place his seat in Rome, as the spot most fitting to rule the world from; but also he permitted him to have his seat in any other part of the world, and to judge and govern all Christians, Moors, Jews, Gentiles, and all other Sects. This man was called Pope, as if to say, Admirable ­Great F ­ ather and Governor of men. The men who lived in that time obeyed that St. Peter, and took him for Lord, King, and Superior of the universe; so also they have regarded the ­others who ­after him have been elected to the pontificate, and so has it been continued even till now, and ­will continue till the end of the world. One of ­these Pontiffs, who succeeded that St. Peter as Lord of the world, in the dignity and seat which I have before mentioned, made donation of ­these isles and Tierra-­firme to the aforesaid King and Queen and to their successors, our lords, with all that t­ here are in ­these territories, as is contained in certain writings which passed upon the subject as aforesaid, which you can see if you wish. So their Highnesses are kings and lords of t­ hese islands and land of Tierra-­firme by virtue of this donation: and some islands, and indeed almost all ­those to whom this has been notified, have received and served their Highnesses, as lords and kings, in the way that subjects o­ ught to do, with good w ­ ill, without any re­sis­tance, immediately, without delay, when they ­were informed of the aforesaid facts. And also they received and obeyed the priests whom their Highnesses sent to preach to them and to teach them our Holy Faith; and all ­these, of their own ­free ­will, without any reward or condition, have become Christians, and are so, and their Highnesses have joyfully and benignantly received them, and also have commanded them to be treated as their subjects and vassals; and you too are held and obliged to do the same. Wherefore, as best we can, we ask and require you that you consider what we have said to you, and that you take the time that s­ hall be necessary to understand and deliberate upon it, and that you acknowledge the Church as the Ruler and Superior of the w ­ hole world, and the high priest called Pope, and in his name the King and Queen Doña Juana our lords, in his place, as superiors and lords and kings of ­these islands and this Tierra-­ firme by virtue of the said donation, and that you consent and give place that ­these religious ­fathers should declare and preach to you the aforesaid. If you do so, you ­will do well, and that which you are obliged to do to their Highnesses, and we in their name ­shall receive you in all love and charity, and ­shall leave you, your wives, and your ­children, and your lands, ­free without servitude, that you may do with them and with yourselves freely that which you like and think best, and they ­shall not compel you to turn Christians, u­ nless you yourselves, when informed of the truth, should wish to be converted to our Holy Catholic Faith, as almost all the inhabitants of the rest of the islands have done. And, besides this, their Highnesses award you many privileges and exemptions and ­will grant you many benefits. But, if you do not do this, and maliciously make delay in it, I certify to you that, with the help of God, we s­ hall powerfully enter into your country, and s­ hall

Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas, 1492–1898 | 35

make war against you in all ways and manners that we can, and ­shall subject you to the yoke and obedience of the Church and of their Highnesses; we s­ hall take you and your wives and your c­ hildren, and s­ hall make slaves of them, and as such ­shall sell and dispose of them as their Highnesses may command; and we ­shall take away your goods, and s­ hall do you all the mischief and damage that we can, as to vassals who do not obey, and refuse to receive their lord, and resist and contradict him; and we protest that the deaths and losses which ­shall accrue from this are your fault, and not that of their Highnesses, or ours, nor of ­these cavaliers who come with us. And that we have said this to you and made this Requisition, we request the notary h­ ere pres­ent to give us his testimony in writing, and we ask the rest who are pres­ent that they should be witnesses of this Requisition. Source: John Tillotson. The Golden Amer­i­cas: A Story of ­Great Discoveries and Daring Deeds. London: Ward, Lock, and Tyler, 1869, pp. 35–38.

See also: Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire; Pueblo Revolt of 1680; Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations

Further Reading Bakewell, P. J. 1984. Miners of the Red Mountain: Indian L ­ abor in Potosí, 1545–1650. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Burkholder, Mark A., and Lyman L. Johnson. 2014. Colonial Latin Amer­i­ca (9th ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Casas, Bartolomé de las, and Franklin W. Knight. 2003. An Account, Much Abbreviated, of the Destruction of the Indies, with Related Texts. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Clendinnen, Inga. 1987. Ambivalent Conquests: Maya and Spaniard in Yucatan, 1517–1570. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Crosby, Alfred W. 1972. The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Klein, Herbert S. 1999. The Atlantic Slave Trade. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Kuethe, Allan J., and Kenneth J. Andrien. 2014. The Spanish Atlantic World in the Eigh­teenth ­Century: War and the Bourbon Reforms, 1713–1796. New York: Cambridge University Press. León Portilla, Miguel. 2007. The Broken Spears: The Aztec Account of the Conquest of Mexico. Boston: Beacon. Lynch, John. 1986. The Spanish American Revolutions: 1808-­1826 (2d ed.). New York. Norton. Restall, Matthew. 2003. Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. New York: Oxford University Press. Restall, Matthew. 2009. The Black ­Middle: Africans, Mayas, and Spaniards in Colonial Yucatan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

36 | Pre-­Colonial Period through Spanish Empire, 250 CE–1810 Rodríguez O., Jaime E. 1998. The In­de­pen­dence of Spanish Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Stein, Stanley J., and Barbara H. Stein. 2000. Silver, Trade, and War: Spain and Amer­i­ca in the Making of Early Modern Eu­rope. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Taylor, William B. 1979. Drinking, Hom­ic­ ide & Rebellion in Colonial Mexican Villages. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Tillotson, John. 1869. The Golden Amer­i­cas: A Story of G ­ reat Discoveries and Daring Deeds. London: Ward, Lock, and Tyler. Twinam, Ann. 1999. Public Lives, Private Secrets: Gender, Honor, Sexuality, and Illegitimacy in Colonial Spanish Amer­i­ca. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Vinson, Ben. 2001. Bearing Arms for His Majesty: The Free-­Colored Militia in Colonial Mexico. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Walker, Charles F. 2014. The Tupac Amaru Rebellion. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press.

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 Spencer Tyce

Chronology 1466 CE

Moctezuma II is born in Tenochtitlán.

1485

Hernán Cortés is born in Medellín, Spain.

1492

Christopher Columbus arrives in the Amer­ic­ as.

1502

The Mexica (Aztec) king, Ahuitzotl, dies and Moctezuma II is elected as his successor.

1506

Cortés arrives in Santo Domingo from Spain. He takes a job working as a notary and eventually helps conquer and s­ ettle parts of the island of Cuba five years l­ater.

1518, May

A Spanish expedition lands in the Yucatán peninsula. Moctezuma II and his advisers send officials to determine who the new arrivals are.

1518, October

Governor Velásquez of Cuba gives Cortés the authority to make contact with indigenous groups on the Mexican coast and attempt to create a trade network. Cortés assem­bles men and ships.

1519, February

Velásquez, believing Cortés ­will challenge his authority and try to invade the American mainland, tries to remove Cortés from power. Cortés and his fleet escape capture and make their way to Yucatán. Cortés and his men encounter Gerónimo de Aguilar.

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 | 37

1519, March

Cortés sails to Tabasco in the Yucatán region. ­After a skirmish with Maya warriors, local lords gift him with 20 ­women. One of the ­women is Malintzin, a Nahua slave.

1519, April

Cortés and his men land in Veracruz and meet representatives of Moctezuma II.

1519, May

The Mexica representatives return to Tenochtitlán. Indigenous groups opposed to Mexica domination approach Cortés regarding trade. Cortés and the Totonac ­people build the town of Veracruz, fulfilling his original agreement with Governor Velásquez and giving Cortés authority to move deeper into Mexica territory.

1519, July

Cortés sends a ship to Spain with news of his accomplishments. He executes two men who planned to steal a ship and return to Governor Velásquez. Cortés gives ­orders to dismantle his fleet of ships on the Gulf Coast.

1519, The Eu­ro­pe­ans enter the territory of the Tlaxcaltecs, some of the September strongest opponents of Mexica rule. Believing Cortés to be an ally of Moctezuma II, the Tlaxcaltecs attack. ­After nearly a month of fighting, the two sides come to a truce when Cortés offers to assist them in resisting Mexica power. 1519, October

The Eu­ro­pe­ans, perhaps acting on the request of their new allies the Tlaxcaltecs, enter the city of Cholollan and massacre several thousand Chololtecs.

1519, November

The Eu­ro­pe­ans and their indigenous allies move inland to the causeways of Tenochtitlán, where they are greeted by Moctezuma II. Shortly ­after arriving within the city, Cortés arrests Moctezuma II and takes nominal control of the city.

1520, April

Governor Velásquez sends a force commanded by Pánfilo de Narváez to arrest Cortés. Hernán Cortés organizes a small force from his Tenochtitlán base and marches back to the coast to meet the troops sent to capture him.

1520, May

Cortés reaches Narváez on the coast. ­After originally meeting to discuss a peaceful resolution, Cortés and his nearly 300 men surprise Narváez and his force of more than a thousand. Cortés captures Narváez quickly and takes control of most of his men.

1520, June

Cortés returns to Tenochtitlán, but Mexica warriors close off the city to prevent the Eu­ro­pe­ans from leaving. Moctezuma II is killed. Cortés and his men flee ­under cover of darkness, but suffer heavy losses

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fighting their way out of the city. This event is known as “The Night of Sorrows.” 1520, July

Cortés and the surviving Eu­ro­pe­ans reach the territory of the Tlaxcaltecs.

1520, October

A smallpox epidemic strikes Tenochtitlán. More than a third of the population of the Valley of Mexico dies within a year. The new Mexica ruler, Cuitlahua, dies l­ater that winter.

1520, December

The Eu­ro­pe­ans and thousands of indigenous allies leave Tlaxcala and head west t­oward Tenochtitlán.

1521, February

Cuauhtémoc, Moctezuma II’s cousin, is elected the new ruler of the Mexica.

1521, April

Cortés and his allies capture several cities south of Tenochtitlán and cut off support to the Mexica capital. Cortés ­orders the many sailors in his com­pany to build a small fleet of flat-­bottomed crafts with which to invade Tenochtitlán by way of Lake Texcoco.

1521, May

Cortés positions his forces around the shores of the lake, placing Tenochtitlán ­under siege.

1521, June

Eu­ro­pean and indigenous allies lay siege to the city of Tenochtitlán. The royal palaces are burned. The fighting lasts for weeks.

1521, August

­ fter failed peace negotiations, the Mexica stage a final assault on A Eu­ro­pean positions, but are defeated. Spanish ships capture Cuauhtémoc and several nobles who are trying to escape the city. The Spanish succeed in capturing the seat of the Mexica empire.

1525

Cortés executes Cuauhtémoc while on an expedition through Maya territory.

1547, December

Cortés dies outside of Seville, Spain.

Narrative In October of 1518, the governor of Cuba, Diego Velásquez, needed a strong leader to explore the coast of the North American mainland to the west of the island and try to establish trade relations with the indigenous ­people ­there. In the few years prior, the Eu­ro­pe­ans who ­were slowly building their population and settlements in the Ca­rib­bean had made occasional forays into the Yucatán peninsula, often with poor results. Velásquez fi­nally deci­ded to appoint a l­ awyer from southwestern Spain, Hernán Cortés, to lead the expedition. Cortés had arrived in the New World more

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 | 39

than 10  years earlier and had quickly established himself as an efficient landowner and leader. Velásquez had many men from whom to choose, but Cortés was connected po­liti­cally with impor­ tant friends all over the Ca­rib­ bean. The governor ordered him to the Yucatán. Cortés was quick to accept the appointment as expedition leader and made short work of acquiring ships, men, and supplies. He recruited 350 men to  join him. Over the next few weeks ­after his appointment, he built a sizeable force that met with the governor’s approval, but Velásquez began to question his choice of leader. Cortés was The conquistador Hernán Cortés was responsible for ambitious, highly po­liti­cal, and the fall of the Aztec empire and brought Spanish gave the impression that he might rule to Mexico. (Library of Congress Prints and Photo­graphs Division) challenge the governor’s authority. In February, the governor deci­ded to replace him; however, Cortés discovered this plan. He hurriedly prepared his force and left Cuba without the governor’s permission, thereby committing an act of mutiny. He sailed for Trinidad to finish supplying his force and to gather some last-­minute recruits. Still ­running from the Spanish administrators of Cuba, he sailed west and landed in the Yucatán with almost 500 men and nearly a dozen ships. The expedition arrived at Cozumel, which was often the first stopping point for expeditions into the Yucatán, so the Eu­ro­pean force did not surprise the indigenous ­people t­here. Cortés needed translators to help him make peaceful contact with the Maya residents on the mainland. Local residents informed him that some Spaniards ­were being held captive in the region as slaves to a Maya chief. Cortés sent a ship to investigate. The Eu­ro­pe­ans found one man: Gerónimo de Aguilar. Aguilar had been shipwrecked nearly eight years before and lived as a slave in the interior. He knew of another Spaniard held captive, too, but Aguilar was unable to persuade him to meet with Cortés and his men. Cortés needed Aguilar ­because of his ability to speak the Mayan language and lamented that they could not bring in the other man as well. Cortés, Aguilar, and the fleet of ships continued on their

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The Mysterious Gonzalo Guerrero On his arrival to the Yucatán in 1519, Hernán Cortés asked the local lords if they knew of any Spaniards t­here who might have been captured or shipwrecked over the years. He needed translators, and finding Spanish-­speakers would be advantageous. ­After confirming his suspicion that Spaniards ­were held in the Yucatán as slaves, Cortés sent letters with decorative beads to the men, instructing them to pay for their freedom with the trinkets and meet him on the coast. The only man to appear before Cortés on the coast was Gerónimo de Aguilar, tanned from the sun and dressed like a Maya commoner. He strug­gled to speak and remember Spanish when questioned by Cortés, but fi­nally managed to say that for the past eight years he had been stranded in the Yucatán. He knew the fate of one other man, a sailor named Gonzalo, who may have been a slave like Gerónimo but was now ­free. Gonzalo refused to accompany Aguilar to the coast b­ ecause, unlike his countryman, he had personal ties to the local Maya community. Gonzalo had ­children, was married to a Maya ­woman, and was tattooed and dressed like a Maya warrior. Aguilar explained that when Spanish ships landed in the Yucatán in 1518, it was Gonzalo who led a Maya attack against them as a war chief. This description of Gonzalo, however, is the product of years of speculation and invention as ­later conquistadors, Eu­ro­pean officials, and historians twisted and distorted reports of Eu­ro­pe­ans serving as Maya warriors. Many years ­after the fall of Tenochtitlán, the Spanish still strug­gled to conquer the Yucatán. For years, the semi-­mythical Gonzalo served as a scapegoat for this failure: It was easier for Spaniards to claim that Eu­ro­pean traitors ­were leading successful raids against them than it was to admit that Maya warriors could best Eu­ro­pe­ans in ­battle. ­Because his last name was unknown, a chronicler in­ven­ted the last name Guerrero (meaning warrior) to highlight Gonzalo’s warrior status. Bernal Díaz, who was with Cortés in Mexico, repeated the name in his account of the conquest, The True History and Conquest of New Spain, establishing “Gonzalo Guerrero” as a Spanish sailor turned Maya general. It is a mystery if he was real or legendary. Díaz and ­others certainly created a mythic figure: a man who rejected the Old World for the New and would fight to stay (Adorno, 2007, pp. 220–237; Díaz del Castillo, 2003, pp. 42–48).

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 | 41

journey. They sailed around the northern coast of the peninsula, stopping in the Tabasco region the following month. In Tabasco, Cortés led his men into one of the Maya towns. Eu­ro­pean law required him to read a brief statement claiming that the land now belonged to the King of Spain and that any vio­lence against the Eu­ro­pe­ans was a sign of treason and punishable by death. Usually the Spanish read the statement aloud in their own language, regardless of ­whether or not the residents of the land understood the Spanish language. In this case, Aguilar translated what was read into Mayan, but despite Aguilar’s translation, the Maya allegedly attacked the Eu­ro­pean force. Cortés routed the Maya force and entered the town. Over the next several days, the Eu­ro­pe­ans made offensives against indigenous settlements and warriors. Only a­ fter capturing some Maya lords and returning them safely to their homes was peace established between the Maya and the Eu­ro­pe­ans. As a sign of good faith, the Maya brought Cortés a group of female slaves, including one w ­ oman who spoke Nahuatl, the most common language of central Mesoamerica. The Spanish called her Marina, but her indigenous name was Malintzin. She would be a close companion and ally to Cortés for the rest of her life. Moctezuma II, the emperor of the Mexica (Aztecs), was not unaware of the Eu­ro­pean presence in the Yucatán. His empire stretched over most of central Mesoamerica and his network of merchants and allied city-­states kept him well informed. It is likely that Moctezuma II knew about the foreigners as early as 1502, but surely by 1519 he had seen sketches of the ships and knew something of their fighting tactics. As the head of the empire, he was also the head religious official, and he might have been wary of the newcomers from the east. One par­tic­u­lar religious myth foretold that the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl, banished from the Valley of Mexico years before, would come from the Yucatán to reclaim his power­ful position. It is probable that Moctezuma II believed the prophecy, but it is also almost certain that Moctezuma II knew that t­ hese strangers w ­ ere not gods, especially not Quetzalcoatl. By this time, Maya warriors had killed or wounded some of Cortés’s men. Obviously, the Eu­ro­pe­ans w ­ ere mortals. ­These foreigners ­were dif­fer­ent and strange, but they ­were not gods (Carrasco, 1998, pp. 210–213). In April, the Eu­ro­pe­ans landed in the Veracruz region on the Gulf Coast. This territory was ­under Moctezuma II’s control and he ordered the local lord of the area to meet with the new arrivals and try to understand what they wanted. The Mexica representatives met with Cortés and the two groups traded goods peacefully back and forth. This was in large part thanks to Malintzin’s interpretation of Nahuatl into Mayan and Aguilar’s work translating that Mayan into Spanish. Over time, Malintzin learned enough Spanish to make Aguilar unnecessary. The Eu­ro­pe­ans gladly welcomed the gold offered by the indigenous ­peoples; they ­were hoping to find just

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that. The Mexica accepted several gifts, including pieces of Eu­ro­pean armor that ­were quickly sent to the Mexica capital at Tenochtitlán, along with artistic renderings of the Eu­ro­pe­ans and the strange animals some of them rode. A few days l­ ater, Moctezuma II sent more gifts to Cortés with a message: move the Eu­ro­pean camp to a dif­fer­ent location, but do not proceed to the capital. Cortés refused. He argued that his king had directed him to see Moctezuma II. The two sides continued to meet and talk over the next few days, and the Mexica even offered Cortés food and supplies (Díaz del Castillo, 2003, p. 75). By the m ­ iddle of May, however, Moctezuma II must have changed his mind about the newcomers. He stopped providing food and his representatives left the Eu­ro­pe­ans. It is pos­si­ble that he did this so that his men could return to their homes and finish agricultural duties, as the farming season was nearly complete. It is also pos­si­ble that he hoped Cortés would leave if he received no more supplies from the Mexica. Moctezuma II waited for Cortés to make the next move, but other indigenous groups made the move for him by meeting with Cortés and helping the Eu­ro­ pe­ans. The Mexica empire was not invincible. Rather than being a solid po­liti­cal state, the empire was a loosely controlled system that relied on the cooperation of ethnic leaders from central Mesoamerica to cooperate with and obey Mexica authority. Some groups, such as the ones that now met with Cortés on the Gulf Coast, refused to follow the Mexica at all. They gave Cortés supplies and offered him assistance on the condition that he would help them resist Mexica power and control. Cortés now had a choice to make: return to Cuba with his knowledge of the Mexica and prob­ably be sent to jail for ignoring the directives of Governor Velásquez, or work out a way to continue ­toward the Mexica capital with his new indigenous allies. The solution he arrived at was based on s­ imple Spanish l­ egal tradition. Cortés was ­under the authority of Cuba’s governor only as long as he was still engaged in creating a trade network with the coastal indigenous p­ eople. Technically, he had established that. To get around the governor, Cortés ordered his men to establish a town on the coast. Naming it Veracruz and electing a town council, the subjects of this new town now owed utter allegiance to the Spanish king, not the Cuban governor. The council elected Cortés the captain of a new expedition to Tenochtitlán. The legality of Cortés’s actions was questionable, certainly in a gray area. He had the ability to found the town, but it was not much of a town other than a ­simple camp his men built. He had to send a message to the King of Spain informing the king of what he had done, but he also had to bring the king something of worth to legitimize his illegal activities. A failed expedition to the Mexica capital meant jail or execution for treason against Velázquez. By the m ­ iddle of July, the Eu­ro­pe­ans had built Veracruz into a proper settlement with walls and other defenses. Cortés’s relationship with the surrounding indigenous groups was also much stronger by then. Cortés wrote the king a letter

Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire, 1519–1521 | 43

explaining what had happened thus far and told of gold and other items collected over the past few months. One of his ships sailed for Spain, but inexplicably landed in Cuba before continuing to Eu­rope. This stop in Cuba allowed the governor to hear of Cortés’s actions. He began to build a new force of men to pursue and arrest Cortés (Hassig, 2006, pp. 68–70). Many of the men who ­were with Cortés did not agree with his decision to ignore the governor and take control himself. To eliminate any serious threat to his power, he ordered his fleet beached on the coast and dismantled. Without ships to sail to Cuba, his men would have to follow his o­ rders so as to stay alive. He negotiated for some warriors from his allies and began to march west into the heart of the Mexica empire, leaving cannons and a small detail of men at Veracruz to defend the town and relay any information that might arrive. In September, the joint European–­indigenous force was far away from the coast and moving through difficult terrain to Tenochtitlán. Cortés ordered the expedition into Tlaxcalan territory, an area notorious for resisting Mexica rule. The Tlaxcalans had communication networks too, and had prob­ably seen the Eu­ro­pe­ans with former Mexica allies and Mexica representatives. The Tlaxcalan warriors attacked. For almost all of September, Cortés and his force fought them. On several occasions, the Eu­ro­pe­ans managed to escape defeat. Cortés lost a number of men, and ­those left alive w ­ ere almost all wounded. Fi­nally, Tlaxcalan representatives agreed to a truce and invited Cortés and his men into their capital city. The two sides agreed to form an alliance and the Tlaxcalans offered to provide a sizeable army to accompany Cortés to Tenochtitlán. As he marched through the countryside, Cortés gained additional allies and warriors for his army. ­There is no way that Cortés could have known which areas in the Valley of Mexico had the weakest support for the Mexica state. The Tlaxcalans, however, would have known about ­these areas and most likely brokered the alliances between the Eu­ro­pe­ans and local leaders. On November 8, Cortés and his few hundred Eu­ro­pean men reached the causeways that connected Tenochtitlán to the mainland of Mexico. ­Behind him, although almost certainly not subordinate to him, w ­ ere thousands of Tlaxcalans and other ethnic groups. Moctezuma II invited Cortés to cross the causeways and meet. The indigenous allies remained on the banks of the lake. Why Moctezuma II allowed Cortés to reach the capital city and meet with him is unknown. He knew that Cortés had firm support from outside his empire and more tentative pledges from ethnic groups that obeyed the Mexica. He knew that killing Cortés might create a massive rebellion. Instead, Moctezuma II was incredibly polite to Cortés, observing Mesoamerican po­liti­cal standards. He invited the Eu­ro­pe­ans into the palace compound and provided them with food and entertainment. It was not long before Cortés learned about a ­battle between his detachment at Veracruz

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and Mexica warriors. His indigenous allies at Veracruz tried to reinforce the Eu­ro­ pe­ans on the coast, but the Mexica defeated their forces, leaving the Eu­ro­pe­ans in a weak position. Cortés had to act; he and his men believed that their lives ­were in danger. In a meeting with Moctezuma II, Cortés and his men moved quickly and overpowered the emperor, taking him prisoner. They had only been in Tenochtitlán for a week. Cortés may have believed that capturing Moctezuma II would bring him control of the empire. This was not the case. With the Mexica leader held as a prisoner of foreigners, several of the city-­states loyal to Tenochtitlán began to rebel and exert their own power. Rather than allow the empire to fall apart, however, Moctezuma II and Cortés worked to or­ga­nize a small force to regain the territories, most of them within the Valley of Mexico. Throughout the winter of 1520, Cortés did his best to keep the Mexica empire together, keeping Moctezuma II captive to help direct the empire. While the empire unraveled from Tenochtitlán, by April, Governor Velásquez fi­nally landed a sizeable Eu­ro­pean force near Veracruz with the purpose of arresting Cortés. More than a thousand men led by Pánfilo de Narváez approached Cortés’s town of Veracruz, but Cortés was quick to act. Leaving some of his men at Tenochtitlán and not asking his indigenous allies to follow, Cortés and fewer than 300 men reached Narváez by the end of May. In a surprise move, Cortés not only defeated the much larger force, but also captured Narváez. He placed the governor’s man in a prison in Veracruz and the rest of the new arrivals joined Cortés (Hassig, 2006, pp. 107–108). When Cortés fi­nally returned to Tenochtitlán by the end of June, the po­liti­cal situation in the capital was tense, the streets w ­ ere empty, and it was obvious that something was wrong. Some of the Eu­ro­pe­ans had attempted to stop or disrupt a Mexica festival that included ­human sacrifice, which they opposed. Cortés and his new army joined the occupying force in the palace. Once within the compound, the nearly deserted streets of Tenochtitlán filled with Mexica soldiers and residents. The Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were trapped. Massed together, the Eu­ro­pe­ans could not fight their way out of the palace grounds, forcing them to rely on individual messengers to plead for help from their allies on the shores of the lake. Support was impossible to receive. In a move of desperation, Cortés brought Moctezuma II to the roof of a building to order the warriors to disperse, but Moctezuma II was struck down somehow and died a few days ­later. Without any other options, Cortés ordered his men to leave the city ­under cover of darkness. On June 30, the men began to filter out of town. Using makeshift bridge pieces, several groups managed to escape unnoticed, even with heavy baggage and ­horses. Their luck did not last long. During the evacuation, the Mexica realized what was occurring and attacked the Eu­ro­pe­ans from the buildings in town and from small

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Who Killed Moctezuma II? Moctezuma II died on June 29, 1520. How he died remains a mystery b­ ecause multiple accounts, from both Eu­ro­pean and indigenous sources, describe the event differently. ­After Cortés returned to Tenochtitlán with the reinforcements he had gained from the incident with Narváez, he and the other Eu­ro­ pe­ans found themselves trapped within the palace grounds. Cortés was unable to fight or negotiate his way out of the Mexica capital. In a last-­ditch effort to convince the warriors and ­people of Tenochtitlán to grant the Eu­ro­pe­ans safe passage, Cortés brought Moctezuma II to the roof of a palace building to issue such an order. According to Cortés, as soon as Moctezuma II came into view of his ­people, a rock struck his head that led to his death three days ­later. Cortés did not know what happened to Moctezuma II’s body. Bernal Díaz, writing many years ­after the fact, claims that the Mexica leader made a speech to his p­ eople to end the fighting against the Eu­ro­pe­ans. As the guards relaxed during Moctezuma II’s plea, the Mexica let loose a volley of darts and rocks that injured him. He refused food or medical treatment and died shortly afterwards. Díaz did not mention what happened to Moctezuma II’s body ­either, but ­later Spanish chroniclers claimed that Cortés’s men (or Mexica prisoners) carried the body of Moctezuma II and another noble away from the palace and left them in the lake with ­little to no fanfare. Indigenous accounts of how Moctezuma II died are varied, as well. While some post-­Conquest sources claim that nobody knows the details of his death, ­others have more detailed descriptions. Alva Ixtilxóchitl, a relative of Mexica nobility but not ethnically Mexica, claimed that the Spanish stabbed Moctezuma II. Other accounts mirrored this narrative. Regardless of how the Mexica leader died or who dealt the death blow, he perished while the p­ eople of Tenochtitlán w ­ ere engaged in a fight to rid their city of the Eu­ro­pe­ans. Moctezuma II was no longer their legitimate ruler at the time of his death; the nobles had elected his b­ rother Cuitláhuac shortly before his death. With the head of state u­ nder the control of foreigners, po­liti­cal stability had to be maintained. Moctezuma II, the last leader of the Mexica empire, died powerless in the buildings that symbolized his po­liti­cal and military control over Mesoamerica (Díaz del Castillo, 2003, p.  310; Hassig, 2006, pp. 112–113; Cortés, 2001, p. 132; Schwartz, 2000, pp. 177–178; León-­Portilla, 2002, p. 90).

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boats on the lake. The bridges broke apart, spilling men, ­horses, equipment, and stolen trea­sures into the lake. Some men retreated back to the palace, but they did not survive. Mexica warriors in canoes swarmed groups of swimming Eu­ro­pe­ans and captured as many as they could. ­Those who w ­ ere pulled out of the w ­ ater ­were sacrificed in the city. At this point in the expedition, it was truly e­ very man for himself. Cortés and his surviving force reached the shores of the lake and began to march back to Tlaxcalan territory, gaining occasional support from towns along the way. In the ­middle of July, the beleaguered Cortés and his men reached Tlaxcala. For the rest of the summer and autumn, Cortés worked to resupply his men by attacking small towns and Mexica allies. The men at Veracruz also sent supplies when ships meant to support Narváez made intermittent contact with their outpost. The Mexica attempted to rebuild as well, electing a new emperor. The presence of the Eu­ro­pe­ans in the Valley of Mexico, however, left a terrible memento: disease. Smallpox ravaged the entire valley, killing the new Mexica leader and many thousands of indigenous p­ eople. By February, the Mexica had elected Moctezuma II’s b­ rother Cuauhtemoc as the new head of state. Cortés felt confident that his men and allies could reenter the valley in the spring of 1521. The Mexica armies, however, continued to attack Eu­ro­pean positions, and Lake Texcoco was u­ nder the complete control of Tenochtitlán. To get around the prob­lem of lake defenses, Cortés ordered the construction of a fleet of flat-­bottomed boats with a cannon placed on each. By the end of April, he launched his fleet and divided his remaining force of 700 men into 3 detachments accompanied by tens of thousands of indigenous warriors. The Eu­ro­pe­ans made up a small fraction of the force intended to capture the imperial capital. With only Malintzin and a handful of other interpreters, Cortés could not command ­these armies even if he wanted to. The indigenous ­peoples of Mexico carried out the final stage of conquest of the Mexica empire (Hassig, 2006, pp. 148–149). Cortés’s ships began to move into position on May 30. The armies began marching to the strategic points along the shores of the lake and to the Mexica causeways leading to Tenochtitlán. For the next two months, the European-­indigenous armies worked their way closer to the city and penetrated Mexica defenses. At multiple points, Cortés sent men to other parts of the valley to prevent Mexica forces from cutting off his supplies and lines of communication with Veracruz. The Eu­ro­pe­ans suffered significant losses along the canals but kept their positions, thanks to the ships in the lake that provided support. By the first day of August, the invasion force captured the northern part of the island that held the capital city. For the next few days, the fighting was hand-­to-­hand and brutal. The Mexica began to waver and strug­gled to hold their defensive positions (Léon-­Portilla, 1992, pp. 94–96; Hassig, 1988, pp. 249–250).

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The Mexica emperor Cuauhtemoc requested peace talks, but negotiations did not lead to anything. On the 13th of August, Cuauhtemoc ordered a mass assault on the ­enemy positions, but the attack failed and the remaining Mexica forces surrendered. The Eu­ro­pe­ans sought out and captured Cuauhtemoc shortly ­after the surrender. Cortés had 900 men with him at the surrender of the capital, thanks to regular reinforcements of additional men who arrived from Veracruz and Cuba. The nearly 200,000 indigenous allies w ­ ere the true victors as Mexica power was fi­nally destroyed. This victory for the indigenous p­ eople did not last, however. Eu­ro­pean reinforcements seized Tenochtitlán, made it a major Spanish stronghold, and renamed it Mexico City. By the end of the de­cade, Eu­ro­pean po­liti­cal and religious control grew while indigenous control declined.

Biographies of Notable Figures Malintzin (La Malinche) (1500?–1529?) As impor­tant as Malintzin was to Cortés in the conquest of Mexico, ­there is a g­ reat deal that remains unknown about her. Perhaps the major issue is her name. She is known as La Malinche, Marina, and other variants, but in real­ity, her true name might be lost to time. Where she was born is another ­matter of debate. Her ­children would l­ater claim that their ­mother was from the Veracruz region, but ­there was never evidence of a definite origin. Her parents are another mystery. Some scholars are certain that she was of noble birth. Malintzin explained to Cortés that her ­father was a relative of local nobles, but this does not mean her claim was true. Malintzin was quite intelligent and might have known that inflating her own background and lineage might extend her working relationship and f­ avor with Cortés. The evidence that lends credence to her claim is her understanding of Nahuatl, the Mexica language. Although Nahuatl was the language most commonly spoken in Central Mesoamerica during this time, the nobles of Tenochtitlán and their vassal city-­states spoke a distinct dialect of Nahuatl. Not only was Malintzin familiar with that form of the language, but she also appeared calm and collected when translating Cortés’s words to Moctezuma II and his lords. Therefore, scholars argue, Malintzin was e­ ither of noble birth or at least raised within that type of world, and understood how to behave (Townsend, 2006, pp. 13–14). It is unclear how Malintzin, a w ­ oman with some obscure ties to the Nahua nobility, came to be a slave to the Maya of Tabasco. Bernal Díaz, a swordsman u­ nder Cortés during the conquest of Mexico and the author of a popu­lar pro-­Cortés history of the expedition, claimed that he knew Malintzin personally. He told Cortés that she was the d­ aughter of local lords, and that when her f­ ather died her m ­ other

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remarried. Her m ­ other and stepfather had a male child together, and agreed to send Malintzin away so that the male heir would be able to take possession of the property when they died. They secretly sold Malintzin to some p­ eople from Xicalango, and they, in turn, sold her to the Maya in Tabasco. Some scholars challenge this par­tic­u­lar version of events, noting that a child born of two noble parents would not have been sold: she would have been too impor­tant as a way to tie po­liti­cal families together through marriage. Furthermore, Díaz, being a literate Christian, appears to have combined biblical and popu­lar chivalric tales into Malintzin’s personal history. It is a mystery ­whether he did this as a literary device in his account of the conquest, or if Malintzin was perceptive enough to combine stories she might have heard from the Eu­ro­pe­ans to make herself more appealing and worthy of sympathy (Townsend, 2006, pp. 23–24; Díaz del Castillo, 2003, pp. 66–68). Cortés brought Gerónimo Aguilar, a shipwrecked Spaniard who had learned the Mayan language while in captivity, with him as an interpreter. Shortly a­ fter acquiring Aguilar, however, the need for Mayan interpreters diminished, as most of the indigenous groups Cortés encountered spoke Nahuatl. Malintzin and several other girls ­were a parting gift from the Maya of Tabasco to Cortés, who gave her to one of his men. Malintzin saw that she might gain ­favor and importance, so she demonstrated her usefulness by translating Nahuatl to Mayan, a language she too had learned in captivity. Due to her language skills, Cortés now had the ability to communicate with nearly any group of po­liti­cal or military importance in Mexico. Shortly a­ fter the fall of Tenochtitlán in 1521, Malintzin became pregnant. Cortés, who had kept her close and safe throughout the entire conquest, must have fallen in love with her, or perhaps the emotional strain of the situation led the ­couple to develop an intimate relationship. It does not appear that Malintzin was an ordinary concubine or mistress, ­because Cortés acknowledged that he had fathered her child and provided for Malintzin, a practice that would have been quite rare at this time. Malintzin gave birth to a boy, and Cortés not only named the boy ­after his own ­father, Martín, but also publicly recognized the child as his own. The conquistador even built Malintzin an apartment adjoining his own home in Mexico and brought her on an expedition into what is now Honduras. He was a married man, however, and his victory in the conquest had given him wealth and prestige. Thus, he had to uphold his status, which meant putting an end to the extramarital relationship. He provided for his child but allowed one of his men, Juan Jaramillo, to marry Malintzin. She ­later gave birth to a ­daughter. It is probable that she died in 1529, although some scholars argue that she died some 20 years ­later. Malintzin was an incredibly brave, intelligent w ­ oman who helped both Eu­ro­pe­ans and indigenous Mesoamericans bring down the Mexica empire. Some 20th ­century scholars label her a traitor and harlot for her cooperation with Cortés and her betrayal of indigenous ­people;

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o­ thers, especially Chicana feminists, praise her as the symbolic ­mother of mestizos, ­children born from the u­ nion of Eu­ro­pean and indigenous blood. They depict her as a ­woman who made the most of her difficult circumstances. Regardless of how Malintzin is remembered, the real­ity is that when she met Cortés for the first time in 1519 Mesoamerica was an ethnically diverse region, and the individuals who lived ­there behaved in ways they felt benefited themselves and their ­people (Restall, 2003, pp. 82–85; Paz, 2002, pp. 20–27).

Moctezuma II (1466 CE–1520) Born the elder son of Mexica (Aztec) emperor Axayacatl, Moctezuma Xocoyotzin would see the Mexica empire at its strongest. He would also witness the beginning of the downfall of the po­liti­cal dynasty that had begun only a few hundred years before. What scholars know about Moctezuma II comes mainly from Eu­ro­pe­ans who observed his meeting with Hernán Cortés in 1519, and his death in July 1520. One of Cortés’s swordsmen, Bernal Díaz, described Moctezuma II as a tall, handsome man with a cheerful face and eyes. He bathed e­ very day, and kept short hair and a tidy beard. The Eu­ro­pe­ans w ­ ere a mysterious novelty to Moctezuma II and represented an oblique challenge to his authority, so he was pleasant to Cortés and his men. Díaz noted, however, that the emperor was rather stern to his own p­ eople and demanded a high level of re­spect (Díaz del Castillo, 2003, pp. 208–209). Before coming to power in 1502, Moctezuma II was a general in one of the Mexica armies. He was in the field when word reached him that the previous ruler, Ahuitzotl, had died from disease. Moctezuma II was also a priest to the god Huitzilopochtli, the hummingbird god of war and ­human sacrifice. All heads of state ­were technically priests, but ­under Moctezuma II the power of religious officials increased, and more importance was placed on ­human sacrifice as a way to extend the life of the emperor. Unlike his namesake, Moctezuma I, the younger Moctezuma enjoyed the com­ pany of ­women and took numerous wives as well as concubines. With his primary wife, he had at least three d­ aughters. With his secondary wives—­many of them princesses from other city-­states—­and with his concubines, he may have fathered more than 100 c­ hildren. B ­ ecause t­ hose born to his primary wife would be nobler than ­others, his ­children occupied multiple social rankings. It is unclear exactly how many ­children he had, but during the establishment of Eu­ro­pean rule in the 1520s and 1530s, many of his ­children helped the Spanish consolidate their power in the Valley of Mexico. Through suggestion, intimidation, or merely for survival and maintenance of their way of life, the c­ hildren of Moctezuma II married into prominent indigenous and Eu­ro­pean families. By d­ oing so, their status as members of an

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imperial ­family helped reinforce Eu­ro­pean po­liti­cal, economic, and cultural power in Mexico. As a po­liti­cal and cultural leader, Moctezuma II instituted numerous laws and edicts that increased the power of the nobility and promoted a clear separation between commoners and elites. He made multiple changes within Mexica society to prevent commoners from achieving the lower levels of nobility. Commoners who ­were able to work hard and achieve success ­were likely to be rewarded, but ­under Moctezuma, it was significantly harder to do so than it had been for previous generations. Within the palace, he eliminated commoners as servants and attendants and replaced them with members of the nobility. In this way, younger and lesser members of the upper classes waited on and served their elders or social superiors without any members of the common class around to take part in daily life. Moctezuma II also supported an increase on sumptuary laws, which prevented individuals from buying or wearing specific items. For example, he limited what jewelry and clothing nobles could wear and even who could wear shoes within the limits of the Mexica capital. (Merchants generally made such lucrative trade deals that they could often dress in finer garments and live in better ­houses than some elites.) Moctezuma II solidified the nobility’s position in society and eliminated many of the ways in which lesser nobles and worthy commoners could enter the ­middle and upper levels of society. As a military leader, Moctezuma II was an efficient, effective commander. Shortly a­ fter he came to power as emperor, he was forced to deal with the inevitable challenge to his authority by the Mexica vassal city-­states. In one such region to the south of Tenochtitlán, the lord of the city-­state refused to submit to or acknowledge Mexica superiority. Moctezuma II ordered an army south with the directive to enter the rebellious city and kill e­ very el­derly man and w ­ oman. (This may have been ­because the el­derly ­were not seen as useful to society, since they could no longer be laborers or fight; and b­ ecause killing older members of a community prevents them from telling the younger generation what life was like before the current ruler.) Throughout his reign, Moctezuma II continued to move south, conquering the residents of Oaxaca and expanding Mexica authority to the Pacific coasts. He encountered multiple prob­lems with the Tlaxcalans, the strongest opponents of Mexica power and po­liti­cal expansion. In 1515, Moctezuma II’s army of 100,000 marched on the holdouts against Mexica authority. Although his army did not do well against the Tlaxcaltec forces, they did manage to conquer many city-­state allies of the Tlaxcalans (Hassig, 1988, pp. 219–223; Thomas, 1993, pp. 44–46). While it is unclear when the Mexica found out about Eu­ro­pe­ans’ encroachment into Mesoamerica, the trade and po­liti­cal networks of Moctezuma would have given him significant advance warning of Cortés’s 1519 arrival. Eu­ro­pe­ans had made multiple forays into the Yucatán before then, and the Mexica emperor’s merchants and

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allies would have communicated ­these invasions to Moctezuma II. What the Eu­ro­ pe­ans wanted, however, remained unclear. Cortés did not behave in a manner that Mesoamericans understood. Wary of Cortés and his lukewarm relationship with the Tlaxcalans, the emperor attempted to slow or dissuade Cortés from reaching his capital. Moctezuma II sent gifts and visual repre­sen­ta­tions of power to the invaders as a symbolic show of force. Still, Cortés approached the city, perhaps not understanding the meaning b­ ehind the gifts that represented Mexica warriors and the capital city. Unlike traditional Mesoamerican warfare, Cortés did not officially declare open hostilities against Moctezuma II, which was a major reason that he and the Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were welcomed into the palace (Hassig, 1988, pp. 241–244). Moctezuma II misjudged the Eu­ro­pe­ans. It is unclear why he allowed them to enter the city in November 1519 when it was apparent that Mexica enemies had accompanied Cortés to the Valley of Mexico. It is pos­si­ble, as some scholars have noted, that Moctezuma hoped to gain something from the Eu­ro­pe­ans within the city before defeating them, or perhaps he hoped to keep them as propaganda pieces (as a warning to other enemies, or to demonstrate Mexica power to any who might question it). It is unknown exactly why their initially peaceful encounter became hostile, but during Cortés’s time as a guest in the palace, some of his actions must have upset the emperor. In a highly unorthodox turn of events, Cortés captured the Mexica head of state and made demands. He led Moctezuma II to the roof of a building in the palace compound on June 29, 1520. Moctezuma II tried to plead with his ­people to let the invaders leave the city, but somehow he was struck down: by whom and by what remains a mystery. Moctezuma II died shortly ­after this date, his legacy and his empire in tatters.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT The Siege of Tenochtitlán, Florentine Codex, 17th ­Century From the earliest histories of the conquest of Mexico u­ ntil well into the 20th ­century, ­there has been a tendency to describe the conflict as one between the Mexica (Aztec) empire and the Eu­ro­pe­ans, namely Hernán Cortés. Most of the Spanish chroniclers and historians of the 16th ­century ignored the vast numbers of indigenous p­ eople who ­were allies with Cortés, even Bernal Díaz, who saw how overwhelming the Tlaxcalan armies must have appeared to the few hundred Eu­ro­pe­ans. The indigenous history of the conquest therefore was largely one that passed through families and communities as an oral tradition or through long-­lost written accounts. In the mid to late 1600s, Bernardino de Sahagún, a Franciscan friar, or­ga­nized a group of young men who had studied with him at a school north of old Tenochtitlán. His students ­were indigenous men, mostly from the aristocracy, who could read

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and write in both Spanish and Nahuatl. Sahagún and his students began to study the history and culture of the Mexica so that it could be preserved. Their proj­ect was or­ga­nized into 12 books covering Mexica history, religion, culture, economics, and other subjects. ­These writings made their way to Florence and became known as the Florentine Codex. The 12th book of the codex dealt with the conquest of Mexico. Written in Spanish and Nahuatl with multiple illustrations, the book followed the conquest from the point of view of Moctezuma II and the indigenous warriors who strug­gled through the terrible months of 1521. The following excerpt is from that 12th book of the Florentine Codex. It is the account of the Mexica warriors struggling to hold onto their capital city while fighting off the Eu­ro­pe­ans and their indigenous allies. An especially impor­tant point in this account is how the Mexica handled Eu­ro­pean prisoners. The actions taken against them w ­ ere meant to glorify the greatness of Mexica deities, and also to show Cortés’s indigenous allies that the Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were not immortal. Just as impor­ tant was the Mexica’s admission that multiple groups, not just the Eu­ro­pe­ans, sought to bring down the Mexica empire. This section of the Florentine Codex is a testament to the fact that even half a c­ entury a­ fter the end of the Mexica empire, residents of central Mesoamerica still understood that the Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were not the only reason for its destruction. The Spaniards advanced from the direction of Cuahuecatitlan. Their allies from Tlaxcala, Acolhuacan and Chalco filled up the canal so that the army could pass. They threw in adobe bricks and all the woodwork of the nearby ­houses: the lintels, the doorjambs, the beams and pillars. They even threw canestalks and rushes into the ­water. When the canal had been filled up, the Spaniards marched over it. They advanced cautiously, with their standard-­bearer in the lead, and they beat their drums and played their chirimias as they came. The Tlaxcaltecas held their heads high and pounded their breasts with their hands, hoping to frighten us with their arrogance and courage. They sang songs as they marched, but the Aztecs ­were also singing. It was as if both sides w ­ ere challenging each other with their songs. They sang what­ ever they happened to remember and the ­music strengthened their hearts. The Aztec warriors hid when the ­enemy reached solid ground. They crouched down to make themselves as small as pos­si­ble and waited for the signal, the shout that told them it was the moment to stand up and attack. Suddenly they heard it: “Mexicanos, now is the time!” The captain Hecatzin leaped up and raced t­ oward the Spaniards, shouting, “Warriors of Tlatelolco, now is the time! Who are t­hese barbarians? Let them come ahead!” He attacked one of the Spaniards and knocked him to the ground, but the

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Spaniard also managed to knock Hecatzin down. The captain got up and clubbed the Spaniard again, and other warriors rushed forward to drag him away. Then all the Aztecs sprang up and charged into ­battle. The Spaniards w ­ ere so astonished that they blundered ­here and ­there like drunkards; they ran through the streets with the warriors in pursuit. This was when the taking of captives began. A ­great many of the allies from Tlaxcala, Acolhuacan, Chalco and Xochimilco w ­ ere overpowered by the Aztecs, and t­here was a g­ reat harvesting of prisoners, a g­ reat reaping of victims to be sacrificed. The Spaniards and their allies waded into the lake ­because the road had become too slippery for them. The mud was so slick that they sprawled and floundered and could not stand up to fight. The Aztecs seized them as captives and dragged them across the mud. The Spanish standard was taken and carried off during this encounter. The warriors from Tlatelolco captured it in the place known ­today as San Martín, but they ­were scornful of their prize and considered it of l­ittle importance. Some of the Spaniards w ­ ere able to escape with their lives. They retreated in the direction of Culhuacan, on the edge of the canal, and gathered t­here to recover their strength. The Aztecs took their prisoners to Yacacolco, hurrying them along the road ­under the strictest guard. Some of the captives ­were weeping, some ­were keening, and ­others ­were beating their palms against their mouths. When they arrived in Yacacolco, they w ­ ere lined up in long rows. One by one they ­were forced to climb to the ­temple platform, where they ­were sacrificed by the priests. The Spaniards went first, then their allies, and all w ­ ere put to death. As soon as the sacrifices ­were finished, the Aztecs ranged the Spaniards’ heads in rows on pikes. They also lined up their h­ orses’ heads. They placed the h­ orses’ heads at the bottom and the heads of the Spaniards above, and arranged them all so that the f­ aces w ­ ere t­ oward the sun. However, they did not display any of the allies’ heads. All told, fifty-­three Spaniards and four h­ orses w ­ ere sacrificed t­here at Yacacolco. The fighting continued in many dif­fer­ent places. At one point, the allies from Xochimilco surrounded us in their canoes, and the toll of the dead and captured was heavy on both sides (Léon-­Portilla, 1992, pp. 105–107). Source: Miguel León Portillo, ed. The Broken Spears: The Aztec Account of the Conquest of Mexico. Boston: Beacon Press, 1962, 1992. Reprinted with permission from Beacon Press.

See also: Rise of Maya and Indigenous Civilizations; Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas; Pueblo Revolt of 1680

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Further Reading Adorno, Rolena. 2007. The Polemics of Possession in Spanish American Narrative. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Carrasco, Davíd. 1998. Daily Life of the Aztecs. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Clendinnen, Inga. 1995. Aztecs (canto ed.). New York: Cambridge University Press. Cortés, Hernán. 2001. Letters from Mexico. Ed. and trans. Anthony Pagden. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. 2003. The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico. Trans. A. P. Maudslay. New York: Da Capo Press. Hassig, Ross. 1988. Aztec Warfare: Imperial Expansion and Po­liti­cal Control. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Hassig, Ross. 2006. Mexico and the Spanish Conquest. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Léon-­Portilla, Miguel, ed. 1992. The Broken Spears: The Aztec Account of the Conquest of Mexico. Boston: Beacon Press. Levy, Buddy. 2008. Conquistador: Hernán Cortés, King Montezuma, and the Last Stand of the Aztecs. New York: Bantam Books. Paz, Octavio. 2002. “The Sons of La Malinche,” in Gilbert Joseph and Timothy Henderson, eds., The Mexico Reader, 20–27. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Restall, Matthew. 2003. Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Schwartz, Stuart B., ed. 2000. Victors and Vanquished. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s. Thomas, Hugh. 1993. Conquest: Montezuma, Cortés, and the Fall of Old Mexico. New York: Simon & Schuster. Townsend, Camilla. 2006. Malintzin’s Choices: An Indian ­Woman in the Conquest of Mexico. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 Cameron D. Jones

Chronology ~1300

With the collapse of the Anasazi in the Four Corners region, the ­people who l­ ater became known as the Pueblo migrate to the Rio Grande Valley in modern-­day New Mexico.

1528–1536

Sometime between 1528 and 1536, four Spaniards (making their way back to Mexico a­ fter the disastrous Narváez expedition was shipwrecked near modern-­day Galveston) hear rumors of the

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Pueblo p­ eoples. Led by the failed expedition’s second-­in-­command, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, the survivors’ description of the relatively large Pueblo communities fuels the legend of the seven lost cities of Cíbola, which w ­ ere purported to be made of gold. ­These rumors spark interest that leads to further expeditions. 1537

The Niza expedition encounters the Pueblo ­people, but ends in disaster a­ fter misunderstandings lead to violent clashes.

1540–1542

An expedition led by Francisco Vázquez de Coronado invades the Pueblo territory. The expedition finds that the Pueblo communities are not the legendary golden cities of Cíbola, but substantial mud-­ brick towns. Disappointed but undaunted, Coronado uses the Pueblo towns as bases to search for the fabulous wealth rumored to be in the region. The expedition party spends two winters with the Pueblo, exploiting their ­labor and draining their resources.

1598

Juan de Oñate y Salazar launches an expedition of almost 1,000 ­people to colonize New Mexico. This marks the beginning of permanent Spanish colonization among the Pueblo, resulting in a drastic demographic collapse of the native population as colonists exploit both the ­people and the area’s natu­ral resources.

1599

Juan de Oñate ­orders brutal retaliation against the Acoma Pueblo for the killing of 13 Spanish soldiers who had been sent to collect tribute from Acoma. The retaliatory forces destroy the village and kill almost all the Pueblo residents. ­Those who are captured are sentenced to servitude or corporal punishment. The event is known among the Pueblo as the Acoma Massacre.

1670s

A massive drought in the colony of New Mexico begins, leading to widespread starvation.

1675

In response to pos­si­ble threats of an uprising, the royal governor of New Mexico arrests 47 medicine men, accusing them of sorcery and condemning 4 to die by hanging. Three are executed and the fourth commits suicide before the sentence can be carried out. Outraged Pueblo warriors from several communities surround Santa Fe, forcing the Spanish to release the remaining medicine men, including the ­future leader of the 1680 revolt, Popé.

1680, August 9

Governor Antonio de Otermín is informed of an impending rebellion, but does ­little to prepare for it, as such rumors are extremely common. Popé had already circulated knotted cords to vari­ous

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Pueblo communities to count off the days ­until the rebellion was to begin (August 13). 1680, August 10

­ fter learning that the Spanish have been made aware of the A impending rebellion, Popé ­orders that the revolt begin early. Hundreds of settlers and most of the priests in the region are massacred in the following weeks.

1680, August 16

A force of approximately 2,500 Pueblo surround Santa Fe, cutting off the city’s only w ­ ater supply and beginning a three-­day long siege. The siege ends only a­ fter a desperate counterattack by the Spanish settlers on August 18.

1680, August 21

Approximately 1,000 settlers leave Santa Fe, making their way south along the Rio Grande. Though they are extremely vulnerable, the Pueblo allow the settlers to leave in peace.

1680, October

Spanish settlers who have escaped from New Mexico begin to arrive in El Paso.

1680–1692

The Pueblo govern themselves, ­free of Spanish po­liti­cal and economic control. What happens during this period is not well documented, but ­later in­for­mants say that Popé and other leaders fail to erase the Spanish cultural impact completely, despite trying to eliminate all remnants of it. Even Popé models his style of governance a­ fter that of the Spanish. The famine persists, leading to inter-­Pueblo conflict.

1692, Spanish forces, led by the newly appointed governor of New MexSeptember 13 ico, Diego de Vargas, arrive in Santa Fe. The city’s inhabitants allow them to enter the city peacefully. Vargas stays for a month before returning to Mexico. 1693, December

Vargas returns to New Mexico with more than 800 new settlers. However, the expedition is blocked from entering Santa Fe. ­After a brief skirmish, Spanish forces enter the city. A series of b­ attles in the surrounding communities fi­nally end with the Spanish taking nominal control of the colony.

1696

Several Pueblo communities make another attempt to rise up against the Spanish. They are brutally defeated.

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Narrative The Pueblo Revolt, 1680 The Pueblo Revolt was an ingenious uprising in 1680 in what is now the state of New Mexico. The rebels consisted of a multiethnic, multilinguistic confederation of natives which the Spanish called the Pueblo Indians. Spanish colonialism in the region had been especially cruel, as Spanish laws aimed at curbing the worst abuses of the colonizers ­were difficult to enforce in this frontier zone. ­These conditions ­were only exacerbated by a de­cade of drought. The uprising, led by the mysterious Popé (or Popay), drove all of the Spanish colonists away from New Mexico for 12 years ­until 1692, when an expedition led by Diego de Vargas regained nominal control of the region, though fighting persisted for several years a­ fter the Spanish had declared victory.

The Pueblo P ­ eople The Pueblo Indians are not one unified ethnic group. The Pueblo ­people encompass 5 major linguistic groups and are spread over 110 towns (pueblos in Spanish), in an area that spans most of modern-­day New Mexico and the eastern edge of Arizona. The five major linguistic groups consist of the Piro, Hopi, Zuñi, Keresan, and Tano. The Tano are further divided into subgroups called the Tiwa, Tewa, and Towa. Many of the Pueblos did not even understand each other’s languages, let alone share any sort of unified po­liti­cal organ­ization. Each pueblo functioned more or less autonomously, though communities within the same linguistic group ­were often united in some form or another. The Spanish lumped t­hese disparate groups

Statue of Popé, Tewa spiritual leader and or­ga­nizer of the Pueblo Revolt in 1680. (Architect of the Capitol)

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together in an attempt to distinguish them from the more nomadic groups further to the north such as the Apache and Navajo. ­These nomadic groups w ­ ere referred to as Indios Bárbaros—­barbaric Indians—by the early explorers. ­These explorers seemed encouraged by the Pueblo’s relatively large adobe structures, and believed such a sedentary and concentrated population could be easily exploited. The total population of the region before 1598, when Spanish colonization began in earnest, was approximately 80,000. By the outbreak of the rebellion in 1680, that population had been reduced to 17,000 (Riley, 1995, pp. 93–133). The origins of the Pueblo, though studied by many archeologists and anthropologists, are still shrouded in some mystery. Explaining how such a wide variation in languages occurred in a relatively small area among ­people who share many cultural traditions is particularly difficult to explain. While ­humans have inhabited the southwest since approximately 5500 BCE, some scholars argue that the ­people in Pueblo villages are relative newcomers to the region. They argue that ­these ­peoples emigrated from the Four Corners region (the area where the modern-­ day states of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah meet) as part of the collapse of the Anasazi culture around 1300 CE. Many volumes have been written on the supposed disappearance of the Anasazi, but many scholars of the region simply point to the Pueblo as their obvious successors. Most Pueblo ethnic groups have some sort of g­ reat migration story in their cultural traditions. However, some scholars of the Pueblo have argued that ­there ­were already Pueblo ­people living in the Rio Grande valley before 1300. The idea that the ­people who became the Pueblo originated from multiple locations would certainly explain their wide variety of dissimilar languages. However, the Pueblo did share at least one common cultural characteristic: the worship of the kachina, which they believed ­were spirit beings that represented elemental forces and aided them in their daily lives (Riley, 1995, pp. 93–119).

The Colonization of New Mexico The Pueblo’s existence first became known to the Eu­ro­pe­ans as the result of a failed expedition to Florida. In 1528, Pánfilo Narváez led a large flotilla that set out to raid the coast of Florida. They shipwrecked, eventually landing somewhere near Galveston. The survivors w ­ ere forced to go overland back to Mexico. As some of the last survivors travelled through the Rio Grande Valley, they stayed with a tribe of bison hunters. ­These hunters traded with the Pueblo for corn. When the Spaniards pressed “the p­ eople of cows,” as they called the hunters, about where the corn came from, the natives described large, relatively wealthy towns to the north. This encounter spawned the legend of the Seven Cities of Cíbola, which ­were reported to be made of gold.

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Kachina Kachina (or katsina) worship is a central facet of Pueblo and Hopi religion and can still be found throughout the southwest United States. Kachinas are ancestral spirits or personifications of natu­ral forces. They can represent the wind, fire, earth, rain, or impor­tant ancestors from the vari­ous communities of the Pueblo and Hopi. They are frequently represented in the form of elaborately decorated wooden dolls. C ­ hildren are given ­these dolls not to play with, but to study, learn to recognize the forces they represent, and gain re­spect for them. ­There are more than 400 types of kachinas. They have human-­like relationships with each other; some are married to one another or are the ­children or parents of o­ thers. The Pueblo and Hopi believe that kachinas have ­great powers, and when given proper re­spect, they could grant rainfall, fertility, or allow someone to be healed, among other ­things. The Pueblo would dress as kachinas during ritual dances. Many of t­hese rituals took place in the kiva, a circular or square subterranean room found in most Pueblo communities. The kiva traces back to the Pueblo’s Anasazi ancestors and represents the birthplace of the Anasazi ­people. According to Pueblo origin stories, their earliest ancestors emerged from the ground or underworld. When p­ eople perform ceremonies in the kiva and emerge from it, the ritual symbolizes the emergence from the underworld.

The Cíbola myth would come to haunt the Pueblo as a series of expeditions came north in search of the city of gold—­but before that came missionaries. In 1539, Friar Marcos de Niza, who had accompanied Francisco Pizarro on his invasion of Peru, led an expedition aimed at converting this supposed “newly discovered” civilization in order to save their souls. The Niza expedition ended badly: its first encounter with the Pueblo resulted in the death of Niza’s guide, the enslaved moor Estevan, who had been one of the few survivors of the Narváez expedition. However, the dream of cities laden with gold was too much for some Spaniards to resist, and the Niza expedition was followed just a year l­ater by one led by Francisco Vázquez de Coronado. Coronado’s expedition was heavi­ly armed and he forced several towns to support his men during the winter. The men w ­ ere disappointed to find the mud-­brick structures of the Pueblo instead of the famous cities of gold. Guided by a local Pueblo nicknamed the Turk, they wandered much of the Southwest and even the Midwest ­until Coronado was killed in a horse-­riding accident, and the party returned to Mexico.

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What followed ­were several attempts at colonization, which mostly ended in disaster ­until 1598, when Juan de Oñate y Salazar launched a campaign to pacify the Pueblo. Oñate led a group of almost 1,000 ­people along with 7,000 head of ­cattle and sheep. Most of the p­ eople in the expedition w ­ ere colonists from Mexico and their indigenous servants. Though at first the Pueblo left the colonists alone, by 1599 Spanish provocations had resulted in a major conflict at the Pueblo of Acoma, resulting in the death of hundreds of native ­people that became known as the Acoma Massacre. According to accounts, Juan de Oñate dispatched 13 soldiers to Acoma to collect a tribute, or tax, from the Pueblo. When the Pueblo refused, a conflict erupted that left 13 Spaniards dead, including Oñate’s own nephew. In retaliation, Oñate ordered an especially brutal attack on the town to punish their defiance and teach the lesson that Pueblo disobedience would not be tolerated. Oñate’s soldiers massacred nearly all of the Acoma inhabitants. The few hundred who survived ­were taken captive and sentenced to 20 years of servitude. Adult male captives each had their left foot cut off. This event represented a particularly astonishing example of Spanish cruelty and ruthlessness against native p­ eople. Oñate became a remarkably tyrannical leader and was eventually tried in court, removed from office, and banished from the colony. Unfortunately, Oñate’s bloody and despotic legacy became the standard of Spanish governance in New Mexico (Silverberg, 1970, pp. 20–33). Although New Mexico would have a succession of governing leaders, the most lasting impact on the Pueblo ­peoples was arguably made by the Franciscan missionaries. In 1598, Oñate brought 10 friars with him on his initial foray into the region. The friars quickly became the point of contact between the settlers and the Pueblo. As such, they had considerable influence in the colony. For example, in 1613 Friar Isidro Ordóñez, president of the Franciscan missions in the region, took control of all of New Mexico ­after a dispute with the local governor. New Mexico drew some of the most fanatical friars, whom at least one scholar argued w ­ ere driven by a desire for martyrdom. Certainly the lure of a territory yet to be evangelized was difficult to resist for the most devout and perhaps single-­ minded Franciscans. Although the friars tolerated many of the traditional cultural practices of the Pueblo at first, they eventually forbade them, banning the use of kachina and other indigenous religious practices, and meting out severe punishments for ­those who continued their supposed “idolatries” (Silverberg 1970, pp. 52–93). Some scholars have accused friars of widespread sexual misconduct and abuse. They ­were also strict disciplinarians, resorting to corporal punishment to punish ­those who sinned. Friars w ­ ere the first and most violently executed targets of the Pueblo during the 1680 revolt. Nonetheless, many Pueblo seemingly converted to Chris­tian­ity of their own ­will, believing the friars to be like their own medicine men who had “magic” or powers. Some Pueblo tried to defend the friars and the colonists when the rebellion broke out (Gutiérrez, 1991, pp. 95–142).

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The Friar Isidro Ordóñez Affair Friar Isidro Ordóñez was the leader of the first group of missionaries to enter New Mexico with Juan de Oñate’s expedition in 1598. Over the next de­cade, he battled with the governors of New Mexico for better treatment for the native population. ­These tensions came to a head in 1613, when the second governor of New Mexico, Pedro de Peralta, dispatched soldiers to Taos to collect a long overdue tribute. Ordóñez refused to allow the soldiers to collect the tax. He argued that the colonists ­were exploiting the natives to build the colony’s new Spanish capital, Santa Fe. Governor Peralta denounced Ordóñez’s actions, and in response, the friar excommunicated him. A meeting a few weeks ­later between the men went so poorly that it ended with Peralta attempting to shoot Ordóñez. Afterward, Ordóñez wrote to Mexico City about Peralta’s actions in an attempt to get the viceroy to permanently remove him from office. Ordóñez furthermore prohibited anyone e­ lse from writing on Peralta’s behalf, upon pain of excommunication. Peralta realized that if the viceroy only heard from the friar about his conduct, he would certainly be removed from office. Therefore, he attempted to make his way to Mexico City, but was seized just south of Santa Fe by a contingent of soldiers loyal to Ordóñez. With Peralta imprisoned and the rest of the colonial authorities fearing the friar’s ability to excommunicate them, Ordóñez became the de facto leader of the colony. Though he was eventually removed from office, the incident demonstrated the power of the Franciscans in New Mexico. The event also had another destructive effect. ­Because thereafter royal governors feared the relationship that had formed between the missionaries and their converts as a rival to their po­liti­cal power, they sought to undermine the authority of the missionaries. One way they did this was by relaxing, and some historians argue even encouraging, the Pueblo to revive their old kachina religious traditions. ­Because the state would no longer suppress the Pueblos’ religious traditions, the friars did so themselves. This brutal suppression of the Pueblo by the Franciscans led not only to chaos, death, and destruction, but also to a vicious animosity among the Pueblo t­ oward the missionaries, which was one of the driving forces ­behind the 1680 revolt.

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­Causes of the Revolt As a colony on the fringes of Spanish influence in the Amer­ic­ as, New Mexico received l­ittle scrutiny from Spanish authorities in Mexico City or Madrid. As a result, the colony became notorious for its cruelty to the native population. Additionally, many oppressive institutions—­some of which the Spanish had suppressed in other parts of the Amer­i­cas for being excessively exploitative—­persisted in New Mexico. ­These included the encomienda, a system ­under which natives ­were forced to work for private individuals as a reward for t­hese colonists’ participation in the “conquest” of New Mexico. Another oppressive institution was repartimiento, a system that forced natives to work for the state, often at the behest of individuals and crown officials. The encomienda had been eliminated throughout most of Spanish Amer­i­ca, condemned by both church and crown as causing high mortality rates among the native population. In addition to t­ hese repressive practices, native populations throughout Spain’s colonial possessions ­were also required to pay standard taxes and tithes. Furthermore, illegal practices such as slavery ­were common throughout New Mexico. Slaves worked locally, but most ­were traded out of the colony into the wider Atlantic slave trade. Some of New Mexico’s governors w ­ ere implicated in this practice. The result of this harsh treatment was approximately an 80 ­percent decrease in the Pueblo population. Starting in the 1670s, New Mexico suffered a prolonged drought, which ravaged the population of the colony. The regional climatic conditions ­were also difficult for the Pueblo’s neighbors, the Apaches, who began raiding vari­ous communities. Neither Spanish nor local indigenous forces could stop Apache raids. ­These adverse conditions spurred unrest among the Pueblo, who began to lose faith in the power of the Franciscan friars and increasingly turned to their traditional medicine men. To counteract the growing restlessness, in 1675 the royal governor arrested 47 medicine men, accusing them of sorcery and condemning 4 to die by hanging. Three ­were executed and the fourth committed suicide before his sentence could be carried out. Outraged, several Pueblo communities marched on the colonial capital of Santa Fe. With so many men away fighting the Apache, the governor was forced to accede to their demands and release the prisoners. One of t­ hose prisoners was Popé (Weber, 1999).

The Uprising Popé returned embittered to his Pueblo of San Juan. Not only had he suffered personal injury at the hands of the Spaniards, but he also feared for the larger existential threat to his p­ eople. As a medicine man, he seemed particularly disturbed by the friars’ persecution of kachina worship. Over the next five years, with the help

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of three lieutenants, he built a confederation of vari­ous Pueblos that w ­ ere all dedicated to eliminating the Spanish. However, not all Pueblos enthusiastically joined the cause. Most of the Piro speakers did not rise up, and some of the Tano and Keres communities vacillated in their commitment. In general, Popé’s power base was in the northern Rio Grande valley. The rebellion’s leadership deci­ded that the uprising would commence on August 13, 1680. To coordinate their efforts, the Pueblo distributed knotted cords, with each knot signifying one day u­ ntil the rebellion, to coordinate their attacks. When the Pueblo had untied the last knot, they w ­ ere to strike. The knotted cord has become the symbol of the rebellion. Word of the rebellion could not be contained. Many Pueblo had benefited from and ­were loyal to the Spanish colonists. By the after­noon of August 9, word reached the governor, Antonio de Otermín, in Santa Fe. However, the governor reacted too slowly. Having previously been warned of many uprisings that never came to fruition, Otermín did l­ ittle to prepare the colonists for the onslaught. Popé, in contrast, worried that he would lose the ele­ment of surprise and thus moved the rebellion timetable forward, ordering the uprising to begin the next day, August 10. Some scholars have argued that the early start date had always been the plan and that letting it be known widely that it would begin on the 13th was simply a ruse to root out in­for­mants. What­ever the case, by the morning of the 10th, reports of a general uprising began to reach the governor. All throughout the colony, the Pueblo ­were killing priests and colonists and burning churches. Rural estates suffered the worst fate. Isolated from other colonists, many w ­ ere completely destroyed and their inhabitants—­men, ­women, and ­children—­massacred. On the 16th, the Pueblo made what they prob­ably hoped would be their decisive blow. Some 2,500 warriors converged upon Santa Fe, taking control of most of the city. In a last-­ditch effort, the Spaniards fortified the main plaza. Although the Pueblo ­were unsuccessful in burning the church, in the fighting they cut off the ditch that was the principal ­water supply to the city. That night the natives withdrew, but continued the onslaught the next day, utilizing captured guns and cannons against the Spanish forces. By the 18th, t­ hings ­were getting desperate in Santa Fe. Thousands of the city’s inhabitants and some of their livestock w ­ ere crammed into the main square. Without being able to restore the ­water supply, many would die of thirst. With no other options, the Spanish soldiers set out from their makeshift defenses in a desperate attempt to break the siege. A frenzied b­ attle ensued. The Pueblo seemed to be taken aback by the sudden ferocity of the Spanish, and as the fighting came to a fever pitch, the Pueblo warriors broke and fled to the outskirts of the city. The colonists repaired the ditch, but the siege had eroded their confidence in their ability to stay. On August 21, a long column of more than 1,000 settlers begin to wend their way out of New Mexico and follow the Rio Grande south. Native forces lined

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the heights above the river, but they did not attack. It is likely they deci­ded to let the settlers leave rather than try to eradicate them. The fleeing settlers found that some of the Spanish settlements farther south had been abandoned in good order, while o­ thers had been destroyed. The orderly evacuation of some settlements and the plundering of the rest meant that the fleeing Spanish forces found no supplies along their long march south u­ ntil they w ­ ere met by a relief party from El Paso near Socorro. By early October, they had reached El Paso itself. In all, 1,946 Spanish settlers reached El Paso out of approximately 2,500 in the colony of New Mexico. Of the missing, 150 most likely made it on their own to Mexico, while approximately 400 died in the rebellion. The number of Pueblo deaths remains unknown, but they had successfully expelled the Spanish from their homeland (Silverberg, 1970, pp. 111–131).

The Pueblos without the Spanish Scholars debate what exactly happened in New Mexico ­after the expulsion of the Spanish. Much of what they know comes from information shared by Pueblo in­for­ mants who tried to ingratiate themselves with the Spanish ­after their return in 1692. What is clear from the descriptions is that t­hese w ­ ere hard years. The in­for­ mants place much of the blame for t­ hese difficulties on Popé. Although they reported that the religious cele­brations, the kachina, and kiva had all returned, they also stated that Popé was not satisfied with returning to the autonomous city-­state structure that had existed before the arrival of the Spanish. According to their stories, he attempted to rule over the Pueblo as one ­people, resided in the governor’s palace in Santa Fe, and insisted that the p­ eople prostrate themselves before him as they had done to the governor. Despite retaining t­ hese Spanish practices, Popé prohibited anything associated with the previous regime. All churches that w ­ ere still standing w ­ ere destroyed, along with the religious artifacts inside. The use of Christian names was forbidden and villages held ceremonies to de-­baptize their inhabitants. ­These actions ­were only logical given the animosity many felt t­ oward the previous regime. Popé’s followers did not stop t­here, however. All non-­native crops w ­ ere also destroyed: chili peppers, apples, lemons, plums, and oranges. They slaughtered the pigs and sheep that the colonists had brought and set the h­ orses ­free. The ­horses ­were captured by local nomadic tribes, an unexpected development that permanently changed the way of life for many indigenous groups in the G ­ reat Plains and the West, such as the Sioux and Cheyenne. The h­ orse gave them mobility previously unknown to North American natives, and also allowed them to more effectively hunt buffalo, which became a mainstay for many of the Plains indigenous nations.

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The destruction of Spanish plants and animals must have had a significant impact on the Pueblo, but the prolonged drought is what fi­nally broke apart the fragile alliance that the rebellious groups had formed. Starvation began to set in as successive years of too l­ittle rain took their toll. Soon the alliance fractured as dif­fer­ent linguistic groups broke away. The region slipped into chaos as civil conflicts exacerbated the famine. They area was rife for reconquest, yet the Pueblo held on for 12 long years (Knaut, 1995, pp. 122–136).

Reconquest During the period between 1680 and 1692, ­there ­were several attempts to retake the colony of New Mexico. Particularly early on, ­these expeditions ­were met with fierce re­sis­tance; however, as conditions worsened, the Pueblo’s ability to resist waned. When the newly appointed governor of New Mexico, Diego de Vargas, arrived on the outskirts of Santa Fe in September 1692, the inhabitants allowed him to enter peacefully, and more than a thousand Pueblo once again swore loyalty to the Spanish crown. Vargas’s initial entrance into Santa Fe has often been described as a peaceful conquest, but calling it such ignores ­later events. When the Spanish returned with a much larger contingent of soldiers and settlers the next year, the inhabitants of Santa Fe refused to let them enter. Vargas attacked the city, which eventually surrendered. This was only the beginning of a series of b­ attles throughout New Mexico. Fierce re­sis­tance forced Vargas to attack community a­ fter community, sometimes unsuccessfully, in order to bring the Pueblo at least nominally ­under Spanish control. As late as 1696, the governor was quelling rebellions throughout the colony. Only by the end of the ­century did the region achieve relative stability (Silverberg, 1970, pp. 151–188). The Pueblo Revolt was one of the most impor­tant moments of indigenous re­sis­ tance against Eu­ro­pean colonialism in the history of what would become the U.S. Southwest. Although the region came u­ nder Spanish control once again, many of the most abusive practices that had been common before ­were prohibited, such as the encomienda. Spanish priests could no longer punish the Pueblo for practicing their religious ceremonies provided they at least publicly professed Catholicism and attended Mass. Each community was given a larger tract of land for its own use. The rebellion most likely saved Pueblo culture and perhaps the p­ eople themselves. For the communities that make up the Pueblo ­peoples, the legacy of the revolt is mixed. Although many indigenous groups in New Mexico and beyond celebrate it for its successful overthrow of Eu­ro­pean invaders, it has not been seen traditionally as a significant event within many of the Pueblo communities. In fact, u­ ntil recently some Pueblo groups did not speak of the revolt in their traditional histories,

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instead focusing on events such as their creation story. The reasons for this reluctance to celebrate the revolt are prob­ably just as varied as the communities themselves. Perhaps the most common explanation, however, is the fact that they did not see the revolt as ultimately successful. As indigenous movements have intensified over the last ­century, however, the Pueblo Revolt has become more popu­lar as a reminder of native re­sis­tance against Eu­ro­pean oppression.

Biographies of Notable Figures Diego de Vargas (1643–1704) Diego de Vargas Zapata y Luján Ponce de León y Contreras was a Spanish aristocrat who led the “reconquest” of the Pueblos beginning in 1692. Vargas has been called “the last conquistador” by some historical commentators. However, the title is more a romantic notion than a real­ity, as Spanish expansion into the borderlands of the Amer­i­cas continued well into the 18th ­century. Vargas hailed from a well-­ known and aristocratic ­family. Like many young men of his standing, he initially became an officer in the Spanish army, seeing action in Italy. Con­temporary accounts describe him as the very model of a Spanish nobleman: cultured, pious, well-­dressed and groomed, sporting the best finery that could be obtained in Spain. Vargas came to Mexico in 1672, serving initially in very minor government posts. He quickly proved himself an effective administrator, and was eventually rewarded with a position as an overseer of mineral production, specializing in mercury, a necessary ele­ment for refining silver. Most likely due to his ­family connections, in 1683, the king recommended him to the ser­vice of the viceroy, from which time he became an impor­tant figure in Mexico City. As attempts to retake New Mexico floundered, the Spanish government scrambled to find a solution. The loss of the colony was an embarrassment for the Spanish and, given their declining dominance in the Atlantic, leaving New Mexico alone could invite other Eu­ro­pean powers such as the British to enter the region. Furthermore, it was rumored that t­here ­were mercury deposits in New Mexico, making the colony a potentially valuable resource. Given his expertise with mercury, Vargas became the most obvious choice to lead a new expedition. Ironically, no ­viable mercury mines ­were ever found in the region. Vargas was appointed governor in 1688 and fi­nally arrived in El Paso in 1691. He launched a small expedition north into Pueblo-­held territory in 1692. He had never planned on taking control of the area during this expedition, but planned only to gain firsthand knowledge of the situation on the ground before moving in with a much larger force the next year. It seems that Vargas hoped to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, though he was not afraid of using vio­lence. As they approached Santa

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 | 67

Fe, he gave his men strict instructions not to fire ­unless he drew his sword. They approached the city in the early hours of the morning on September 14, but the Pueblo inside refused to believe that the Spanish had returned. Vargas waited patiently u­ ntil the sun ­rose to prove their identity. When daybreak fi­nally came, he could see panicked preparations to defend the city, but chose to try to negotiate. ­After almost an entire day of preparing for a prolonged siege on both sides, the inhabitants of Santa Fe deci­ded to surrender, and most eventually swore an oath of allegiance to the king of Spain. As in other colonial conquests, control of New Mexico could only be gained and maintained through vio­lence. When Vargas returned the next year, in December 1693, with a much larger force and colonists, the inhabitants of Santa Fe refused to let him enter the city, perhaps realizing that the presence of colonists meant that they would be forced to permanently leave Santa Fe, which had previously been considered an exclusively Spanish city. Though Vargas waited several days to see if he could reenter the city peacefully, he eventually attacked on the 28th. When the Pueblo in the city fi­nally surrendered the next morning, Vargas had 70 Pueblo warriors executed and sentenced their wives and c­ hildren to 10 years of servitude. He wanted them to be an example of what happened to ­those who resisted. However, the message did not have the intended effect, and Vargas was forced to fight several other communities before he claimed victory. When his term as governor expired in 1696, Vargas applied for a second term, but a miscommunication in the crown’s bureaucracy caused another man to be appointed in his place. Ignorant of the bureaucratic debacle that had taken place, Vargas was surprised at not being reappointed, given his successes. He coolly received his successor, Pedro Rodríguez Cubero, in July 1697. As was typical in the transfer of power in the Spanish colonial system, Rodríguez Cubero had to review his pre­de­ces­sor’s per­for­mance before Vargas could leave the colony. ­These proceedings ­were generally a formality, with the understanding that the new governor would face the same pro­cess at the end of his own term, and therefore would be wary of judging too harshly. Within a few weeks, however, Rodríguez Cubero had Vargas arrested. The arrest appears to have stemmed from the testimony of several Spanish colonists who w ­ ere angry that they had not received sufficient grants of land ­after the reconquest. Too much of the land, they contended, had remained in the hands of the Pueblo. They accused Vargas of corruption and of embezzling funds. Vargas languished in prison in Santa Fe for three years. Rodríguez Cubero blocked him from corresponding with Mexico City or Madrid to clear his name. Fi­nally, the head of the Franciscan missionaries in New Mexico personally travelled to Mexico City and pleaded his case. Appalled at Vargas’s treatment, the viceroy ordered his immediate release.

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Vargas travelled to Mexico City where he was appointed to replace Rodríguez Cubero, and given the title of marquis of La Nava Brazinas. Before Vargas returned to Santa Fe in 1703, Rodríguez Cubero left the colonial capital, reportedly to fight the Apache. He was never heard from again. Most likely fearing Vargas’s reprisal, he quietly made his way to Mexico. Vargas’s return was short-­lived, however. As Rodríguez Cubero’s excuse for fleeing Santa Fe suggests, Apache incursions had become a grave prob­lem. In 1704 Vargas went on a campaign to end the raids, but contracted pneumonia within a few days and died. He is remembered yearly at a commemoration of his peaceful entry into Santa Fe in 1692. ­There is no mention of the l­ater vio­lence of the reconquest in the festivities.

Popé (ca. 1630–1688) Though Popé (sometimes written Popey or Po’pey) was one of the central figures of the Pueblo Revolt, l­ ittle is known about him before 1675. Popé was a Tewa medicine man (doctor) from the community of Ohkay Owingeh, which was known ­until 2005 by its Spanish name, San Juan. Given his position as a medicine man, it seems clear that Popé had resisted the imposition of Catholicism by the Franciscan friars for most of his life. According to at least one account, Popé had been plotting an uprising since 1668. In 1675 he was arrested by Governor Juan Francisco Travino for “witchcraft” and “idolatry,” along with 47 other holy men from the northern Pueblo communities; all of them ­were imprisoned in Santa Fe. The arrests ­were part of an ongoing conflict between civil authorities and the Franciscans in the province. The civil authorities tolerated (and some say even encouraged) the Pueblo to practice their traditional religious rites, led by medicine men, as a way of undermining the Franciscan missionaries, whom they feared had too ­great an influence on the local population. Popé and his fellow medicine men w ­ ere found guilty. Three ­were hanged and one committed suicide. The remaining 43 ­were publicly whipped and jailed, including Popé. They ­were held for several weeks ­until a large number of Tewa villa­gers surrounded Santa Fe and demanded their release. ­After his imprisonment, Popé went to Taos, where he began planning in earnest what would become the Pueblo Revolt. He seemed to realize that the only way to defeat the Spanish was to unite the Pueblo, something unheard of among the Pueblo communities, which ­were more or less autonomous prior to the Eu­ro­pe­ans’ arrival. ­After his release, Popé spent much of his time in Taos in the kiva (a subterranean sacred space that was heated like a sauna), consulting a figure who has been described by indigenous in­for­mants to the Spanish as a “yellow-­eyed, black ­giant.” This mysterious figure was most likely Diego de Santiago, a man of mixed African and Eu­ro­pean descent who had married a w ­ oman from the community some 50 years earlier. In the Taos kiva, Popé also claimed to have had a vision of three

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 | 69

spirits named Caudi, Tilini, and Tleume, who regularly gave him advice on the preparations for the revolt. ­Whether Popé had ­these visions or not, the seemingly divine nature of his instructions gave his words legitimacy even outside of the Tewa-­ speaking communities. During this time, Popé recruited three lieutenants: Caiti of Santo Domingo, Tupatú of Picuris, and Jaca of Taos. Over a period of five years, Popé gained a Pueblo ally disenchanted with Spanish rule in most of the communities. ­There w ­ ere holdouts and even spies in ­these communities, including Popé’s own son-­in-­law, Nicolas Bua. Some Pueblo, like Bua, had benefited from the Spanish occupation, and remained loyal to the crown. Bua was the Spanish-­appointed governor of Popé’s home community of San Juan. Emblematic of Popé’s dedication to his cause, or perhaps in disgust at his turncoat son-­in-­law, Popé personally accused Bua of collaborating with the Spanish and had him stoned to death. In the aftermath of the revolt, Popé became the de facto ruler of the Pueblo ­peoples. Such a position had never existed before the arrival of Spanish colonialism, due to the Pueblo communities’ autonomy. Leading the rebellion, however, seemed to have given Popé enough authority to continue ruling over the w ­ hole region. Popé’s regime reflected inevitable changes to Pueblo culture that simply could not be reversed a­ fter 80 years of Spanish rule. He hoped to eliminate Spanish influences completely by ordering the Pueblo to reject every­thing having to do with the previous regime, including burning churches and religious ornamentation, rejecting Christian names and even Christian marriages, and destroying non-­native crops. However, some sources suggest that he maintained many facets of Spanish governance. According to several indigenous in­for­mants, Popé took up residence in the governor’s mansion in Santa Fe and demanded that the Pueblo bow to him. Such signs of reverence had never been used among the Pueblo, even with their most esteemed leaders. Popé also reportedly had all t­hose who challenged him or had not risen up against the Spanish with him enslaved and used as servants. Accounts of Popé’s regime mostly came from captives who ­were u­ nder threat of vio­lence, or Spanish collaborators who w ­ ere attempting to curry f­ avor with the Eu­ro­pe­ans. Popu­lar support quickly turned against the former rebel leader, and civil war broke out among the communities. Most significantly, the Tewa-­Tano alliance that had been at the core of the rebellion split apart. Of course, Popé’s alleged tyranny cannot be completely blamed for the chaos that ensued a­ fter the expulsion of the Spanish. The famine that had precipitated the revolt still ravaged the land causing not just hunger, but also the Apache, who felt its effects as well, to continue raiding the more vulnerable Pueblo communities. In 1688, Popé died, leaving the Pueblo ­peoples in chaos. The situation was ripe for the Spanish to assert control over them once more. However, Popé’s legacy only grew ­after his death. Although Pueblo autonomy ultimately ended in 1692, he continued to be a symbol of re­sis­tance against Eu­ro­pean oppression, w ­ hether in the

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guise of the Spanish or ­later the Americans. In recognition of his part in the revolt, and of his continued popularity in New Mexico, a statue of Popé was placed in the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol building in Washington, D.C., in 2005. The statue challenged the prevailing narrative of New Mexico history, which celebrated Juan de Oñate as a founding ­father of the state and honored him with a statue. For many Pueblo, however, Oñate represented a cruel and ruthless colonizer who had massacred many ­people. Nonetheless, statues of both men proved controversial, reminding us how highly contested historical narratives are and how communities remember the past differently.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Declaration of Pedro Naranjo of the Queres Nation, 1681 Very few documents give the native perspective on why the Pueblo Revolt (Rebellion) took place. The following is an excerpt of the testimony of Pedro Naranjo from the Isleta Pueblo. Naranjo spoke both Spanish and his native Tegua language. He was captured during an attack on Isleta and was forced to testify regarding the cause of the revolt. In his testimony he describes both super­natural and real-­world ­causes of the rebellion. Much of the testimony is focused on the vision Popé had in the kiva (called in the following text estufa) in Taos. The text is written in the question format typical of Spanish l­egal proceedings. His testimony was written by a scribe, who was generally a Spaniard or Hispanicized native or mestizo. This method of interrogation and transcription obviously allowed the biases of the interrogator and scribe to color the text, but this document represents the closest t­ hing pos­si­ble to a native perspective on the rebellion. Rio del Norte, December 19, 1681. Asked ­whether he knows the reason or motives which the Indians of this kingdom had for rebelling, forsaking the law of God and obedience to his Majesty, and committing such grave and atrocious crimes, and who ­were the leaders and principal movers, and by whom and how it was ordered; and why they burned the images, ­temples, crosses, rosaries, and ­things of divine worship, committing such atrocities as killing priests, Spaniards, ­women, and ­children, and the rest that he might know touching the question, he said that since the government of Señor General Hernando Ugarte y la Concha they have planned to rebel on vari­ous occasions through conspiracies of the Indian sorcerers, and that although in some pueblos the messages ­were accepted, in other parts they would not agree to it; and that it is true that during the government of the said señor general seven or eight Indians ­were

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 | 71

hanged for this same cause, whereupon the unrest subsided. Some time thereafter they [the conspirators] sent from the pueblo of Los Taos through the pueblos of the custodia two deerskins with some pictures on them signifying conspiracy ­after their manner, in order to convoke the ­people to a new rebellion, and the said deerskins passed to the province of Moqui, where they refused to accept them. The pact which they had been forming ceased for the time being, but they always kept in their hearts the desire to carry it out, so as to live as they are living ­today. Fi­nally, in the past years, at the summons of an Indian named Popé who is said to have communication with the devil, it happened that in an estufa of the pueblo of Los Taos t­here appeared to the said Popé three figures of Indians who never came out of the estufa. They gave the said Popé to understand that they ­were g­ oing underground to the lake of Copala. He saw t­hese figures emit fire from all the extremities of their bodies, and that one of them was called Caudi, another Tilini, and the other Tleume; and ­these three beings spoke to the said Popé, who was in hiding from the secretary, Francisco Xavier, who wished to punish him as a sorcerer. They told him to make a cord of maguey fiber and tie some knots in it which would signify the number of days that they must wait before the rebellion. He said that the cord was passed through all the pueblos of the kingdom so that the ones which agreed to it [the rebellion] might untie one knot in sign of obedience, and by the other knots they would know the days which ­were lacking; and this was to be done on pain of death to t­ hose who refused to agree to it. As a sign of agreement and notice of having concurred in the treason and perfidy they w ­ ere to send up smoke signals to that effect in each one of the pueblos singly. The said cord was taken from pueblo to pueblo by the swiftest youths ­under the penalty of death if they revealed the secret. Every­thing being thus arranged, two days before the time set for its execution, ­because his lordship had learned of it and had imprisoned two Indian accomplices from the pueblo of Tesuque, it was carried out prematurely that night, ­because it seemed to them that they ­were now discovered; and they killed religious, Spaniards, w ­ omen, and ­children. This being done, it was proclaimed in all the pueblos that every­one in common should obey the commands of their ­father whom they did not know, which would be given through El Caydi or El Popé. This was heard by Alonso Catití, who came to the pueblo of this declarant to say that every­one must unite to go to the villa to kill the governor and the Spaniards who had remained with him, and that he who did not obey would, on their return, be beheaded; and in fear of this they agreed to it. Fi­nally the señor governor and t­hose who w ­ ere with him escaped from the siege, and l­ater this declarant saw that as soon as the Spaniards had left the kingdom an order came from the said Indian, Popé, in which he commanded all the Indians to break the lands and enlarge their cultivated fields, saying that now they ­were as they had been in ancient times, f­ ree from the l­abor they had performed for the religious and the

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Spaniards, who could not now be alive. He said that this is the legitimate cause and the reason they had for rebelling, ­because they had always desired to live as they had when they came out of the lake of Copala. Thus he replies to the question. Asked for what reason they so blindly burned the images, ­temples, crosses, and other t­hings of divine worship, he stated that the said Indian, Popé, came down in person, and with him El Saca and El Chato from the pueblo of Los Taos, and other captains and leaders and many ­people who w ­ ere in his train, and he ordered in all the pueblos through which he passed that they instantly break up and burn the images of the holy Christ, the Virgin Mary and the other saints, the crosses, and every­thing pertaining to Chris­tian­ity, and that they burn the t­emples, break up the bells, and separate from the wives whom God had given them in marriage and take t­hose whom they desired. In order to take away their baptismal names, the ­water, and the holy oils, they ­were to plunge into the rivers and wash themselves with amole, which is a root native to the country, washing even their clothing, with the understanding that ­there would thus be taken from them the character of the holy sacraments. . . . Asked what arrangements and plans they had made for the contingency of the Spaniards’ return, he said that what he knows concerning the question is that they ­were always saying they would have to fight to the death, for they do not wish to live in any other way than they are living at pres­ent; and the demons in the estufa of Taos had given them to understand that as soon as the Spaniards began to move ­toward this kingdom they would warn them so that they might unite, and none of them would be caught. Source: Charles W. Hackett and Charmion Shelby, Revolt of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico and Otermín’s Attempted Reconquest, 1680–1682, vol. 2. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1942, pp. 245–249.

See also: Conquest of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire; Latin American In­de­pen­ dence; Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas

Further Reading Espinosa, J. Manuel. 1988. The Pueblo Indian Revolt of 1696 and the Franciscan Missions in New Mexico: Letters of the Missionaries and Related Documents. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Gutiérrez, Ramón A. 1991. When Jesus Came, the Corn ­Mothers Went Away: Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500–1846. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Hackett, Charles W., and Charmion Shelby. 1942. Revolt of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico and Otermín’s Attempted Reconquest, 1680–1682. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.

Pueblo Revolt of 1680 | 73 Knaut, Andrew L. 1995. The Pueblo Revolt of 1680: Conquest and Re­sis­tance in Seventeenth-­ Century New Mexico. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Liebmann, Matthew. 2012. The Pueblo Revolt: An Archaeological History of Pueblo Re­sis­ tance and Revitalization in 17th ­Century New Mexico. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Preucel, Robert  W. 2002. Archaeologies of the Pueblo Revolt: Identity, Meaning, and Renewal in the Pueblo World. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Riley, Carroll L. 1995. Rio Del Norte: ­People of the Upper Rio Grande from Earliest Times to the Pueblo Revolt. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Roberts, David. 2004. The Pueblo Revolt: The Secret Rebellion That Drove the Spaniards Out of the Southwest. New York: Simon & Schuster. Silverberg, Robert. 1970. The Pueblo Revolt. New York: Weybright and Talley. Weber, David  J. 1999. What Caused the Pueblo Revolt of 1680? Boston: Bedford/ St. Martin’s. Wilcox, Michael V. 2009. The Pueblo Revolt and the My­thol­ogy of Conquest: An Indigenous Archaeology of Contact. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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2 Changing Flags, 1810–1846

Latin American In­de­pen­dence, 1810–1898 Mauricio Espinoza

Chronology 1765

Rebellion of the Barrios takes place in Quito, Ec­ua­dor, over alcohol mono­poly and a new sales taxes imposed by the Spanish.

1780–1783

Indian rebellion led by Túpac Amaru II takes place in Upper Peru.

1781

Revolt of the Comuneros takes place in Colombia in response to increased taxation by the Spanish authorities.

1791

Slave revolt begins on the French island of Saint-­Domingue (Haiti).

1793–1815

The Napoleonic Wars disrupt po­liti­cal rule in Eu­rope, causing ­ripple effects across the Atlantic in terms of trade, government, and emancipation efforts.

1804

Haiti declares its in­de­pen­dence from France, becoming the first nation in the Ca­rib­bean and Latin Amer­i­ca to do so.

1806

The British invade and occupy Buenos Aires, Argentina.

1807

The British invade Montevideo in January and occupy the city for several months. French troops invade Spain between October and November.

1808, March–­May

Spain’s King Charles IV abdicates in f­ avor of his son Ferdinand on March 19. Mistrusted by Napoleon, Ferdinand VII abdicates 75

76 | Changing Flags, 1810–1846

on May 16. Napoleon names his ­brother Joseph as the new king of Spain. 1808, May

Immediately following the crowning of King Joseph I, the war of reconquest begins in Spain. Juntas (regional governments established to seize control back from the French) appear, followed by the Supreme Central Junta that coordinates national efforts.

1808, September

A coup by Spanish loyalists takes place in Mexico City against New Spain’s Viceroy José de Iturrigaray, who had sided with local elites seeking greater autonomy. The fight for emancipation moves to the Mexican provinces.

1809

Revolts against Spanish authorities take place in Chuquisaca and La Paz, Bolivia.

1810

Juntas are established in Caracas, Bogota, Buenos Aires, and Santiago.

1810, January

The Council of Regency replaces the Supreme Junta in Spain on January 29.

1810, September

­ ather Miguel Hidalgo issues the Grito de Dolores in Mexico F on September  16, calling for a general uprising in Mexico against the Spanish in the name of Ferdinand VII and the Virgin of Guadalupe. The day of the famous Grito goes on to become celebrated annually as In­de­pen­dence Day in Mexico. Hidalgo leads rebel attacks on the city of Guanajuato in Mexico. The Cortes of Cádiz convene on September 24.

1811, June

A junta is established in Asunción, Paraguay, in June and the country declares in­de­pen­dence.

1811, July

Patriots elect a congress and declare the first republic of Venezuela in­de­pen­dent from Spain. However, royalist llaneros (rural landowners) help crush early in­de­pen­dence efforts ­after joining the Spanish troops. Hidalgo is killed on July 30 and replaced by José María Morelos, who becomes the new leader of Mexico’s in­de­pen­dence movement.

1812

The Constitution of Cádiz is established in Spain.

1813

Morelos convenes the first Mexican Congress, which formally declares New Spain’s in­de­pen­dence.

Latin American In­de­pen­dence, 1810–1898 | 77

1814, May

King Ferdinand VII, who was reinstated to the Spanish throne in December  1813, proclaims absolutism and rescinds the Constitution of Cádiz in May.

1814, October

Chilean patriots are defeated at Rancagua by royalist forces.

1815, May

Simón Bolívar is exiled to Jamaica ­after disputes with the government of Cartagena.

1815, August

Spanish General Pablo Morillo arrives in Venezuela, then lands at Cartagena, Colombia, on August 22 to lead the fight against revolutionaries.

1815, December

Morelos is captured and executed on December 22 in Mexico.

1816

General Morillo is victorious in his fight against rebels in New Granada. Argentina declares in­de­pen­dence.

1817

In Chile, the Army of the Andes defeats royalists at Chacabuco and patriots take Santiago. Bernardo O’Higgins becomes Supreme Director of the country.

1818

Chile declares in­de­pen­dence.

1819

Bolívar convenes the Congress of Angostura, writes a constitution, and proclaims the creation of the Republic of Gran Colombia. Bolívar is elected president.

1820, January–­March

The Revolt of Riego takes place in Cádiz, Spain in January. The Constitution of 1812 is reinstated in March, which Ferdinand VII accepts.

1821, February– August

On February 24, Agustín de Iturbide proclaims the Plan de Iguala in Mexico, declaring Mexican in­de­pen­dence.

1821, May–­October

The Congress of Cúcuta adopts a constitution and Bolívar is elected president.

1821, July

Bolívar is victorious at Carabobo and enters Caracas.

1821, July–­November

In July, Peru declares in­de­pen­dence. In September, the General Captaincy of Guatemala (Central American provinces) declares in­de­pen­dence. In November, the Dominican Republic declares in­de­pen­dence, although that status would be short-­lived.

In late August, Captain General O’Donojú arrives from Spain and signs the Treaty of Córdoba, establishing the Mexican empire.

78 | Changing Flags, 1810–1846

1822

The United States recognizes Chile, Argentina, Peru, Colombia, and Mexico as in­de­pen­dent countries.

1822, January

Central Amer­i­ca joins the Mexican empire on January 5. The Dominican Republic and Haiti are unified, thus ending the Dominican Republic’s status as an autonomous nation.

1822, May

In Ec­ua­dor, Antonio José de Sucre defeats royalists at Pichincha on May 24 and enters Quito. Iturbide becomes emperor of Mexico.

1822, July

Bolívar and José de San Martín meet at Guayaquil, Ec­ua­dor, on July 26 to discuss the f­ uture of the South American republics.

1822, September

King Pedro I declares Brazil’s in­de­pen­dence from Portugal on September 7.

1823, March

A rebellion led by Antonio López de Santa Anna forces the abdication and exile of Iturbide in March 19.

1823, July

The Federal Republic of Central Amer­i­ca declares in­de­pen­ dence from Mexico on July 1.

1823, December

President James Monroe delivers a speech to the United States Congress, which becomes known as the Monroe Doctrine, warning Eu­rope not to threaten the newly created Latin American nations.

1824

The Mexican constitution is written and the Mexican Republic established. Bolívar defeats royalists at Junín, Argentina. Sucre is victorious at Ayacucho, Peru.

1825

Britain recognizes Mexico, Colombia, and Argentina as in­de­ pen­dent countries.

1828

Bolivia and Uruguay declare in­de­pen­dence.

1830

Gran Colombia splits into the in­de­pen­dent countries of Colombia, Venezuela, and Ec­ua­dor in the closing months of the year. Bolívar dies of tuberculosis on December 17.

1838

The Federal Republic of Central Amer­ic­ a splits, leading to the formation of five republics (Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica).

1844

The Dominican Republic becomes in­de­pen­dent from Haiti.

Latin American In­de­pen­dence, 1810–1898 | 79

1868–1878

In­de­pen­dence movements in Cuba and Puerto Rico lead to the Ten Years’ War in Cuba.

1889

Pedro II abdicates, and Brazil is proclaimed a republic.

1895

José Martí and other patriots lead a war for in­de­pen­dence in Cuba. Martí is killed.

1898

At the conclusion of the Spanish-­American War, Cuba gains in­de­pen­dence from Spain and the United States takes control of Puerto Rico.

1903

The United States negotiates Panama’s separation from Colombia.

Narrative Gaining in­de­pen­dence from Spain for con­temporary Latin American nations was a long and complex pro­cess that mirrored the geo­graph­i­cal, historical, and cultural diversity of the region, as well as the complicated relationship between its territories and their respective colonial powers. When Eu­rope’s colonies in the Amer­i­cas broke away from imperial control, the formation of new in­de­pen­dent republics would have impor­tant geopo­liti­cal consequences in ­later de­cades. Latin American republics underwent revolutionary wars and in­de­pen­dence strug­gles against Spain, much like the British-­American rebels did against the British monarchy. However, their f­ utures unfolded rather differently. As the young Latin American countries started an arduous and often violent road ­toward consolidation as nation-­states, they had to contend with their recently in­de­pen­dent neighbor to the north—­the United States of Amer­i­ca—­which was rapidly expanding its territory, exerting its military might, and emerging as a global power. Over the years, the United States would repeatedly assert its power and economic interests in Latin Amer­i­ca through military and po­liti­cal interventions in the region’s affairs, contributing to or exacerbating po­liti­cal conflict and economic instability in Latin American nations. This resulted in mass migrations of tens of thousands of Latin Americans fleeing civil wars, vio­lence, and poverty and seeking shelter in the United States throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. ­These migrations have produced the vari­ous Latino communities that exist in the United States ­today, which journalist Juan Gonzalez has called “the harvest of empire” (Gonzalez, 2011). The multiple national origins and diverse cultures of ­these communities are a direct result of the way the Latin American republics established their bound­aries during the pro­cess of gaining in­de­ pen­dence. Each territory carried distinctive features from its pre-­Columbian and

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colonial past while acquiring new national traits that clearly distinguish Argentina from Mexico, Cuba from Guatemala, and so on. Latin American nations are also very distinct in their racial and ethnic composition, as a result of the varied concentration of indigenous populations, the number of African slaves brought to certain territories, and the scale of Eu­ro­pean immigration during and ­after the colonial period, among other ­factors. For example, Guatemala, Peru, and Bolivia have majority indigenous populations, whereas Cuba and Brazil have majority black populations. ­These demographic differences also translate into and influence the racial/ ethnic diversity of Latino populations in the United States. The pro­cess of achieving in­de­pen­dence began with a number of rebellions in the colonies in the second half of the 18th ­century. It gained steam during Napoleon’s invasions of Portugal (1807) and Spain (1808), which led to the collapse of royal authority in the Iberian peninsula. In­de­pen­dence was fi­nally realized ­after a series of continental wars between Spanish royalists and rebels in the first de­cades of the 19th ­century. Meanwhile, Portugal’s largest colony, Brazil, became a ­free republic in a “revolution from above” in 1822, when King Pedro I declared in­de­ pen­dence. By 1830, most former colonies had declared in­de­pen­dence, with the exception of Panama, Cuba, and Puerto Rico. For Panama, which had been part of Colombia since this nation’s in­de­pen­dence in 1819, sovereignty would not come ­until 1903. Cuba, one of Spain’s first colonies in the New World, was fi­nally able to break its colonial ties in 1898. Fi­nally, Puerto Rico was freed from Spanish control during the Spanish-­American War of 1898, but was immediately annexed by the United States, and remains a U.S. territory to date. The emancipation of Latin Amer­i­ca was the result of both external and internal ­causes. Externally, one key f­ actor was the Spanish metropolis’s inability to deal with the demands of administrative reform, social and po­liti­cal modernization, and economic expansion in the colonies. Britain’s desire to break up the Spanish trade mono­poly in South Amer­i­ca played an impor­tant role in weakening Spain’s economic control over its colonies. The spread of Enlightenment ideas across the Atlantic was also a power­ful force that sowed the seeds of reform ideas among criollos or creoles (individuals of Spanish descent born in the Amer­i­cas). The criollos who travelled to and studied in Eu­rope ­later became leaders in the strug­gle for in­de­pen­dence. In the meantime, the successful emancipation efforts by the United States (1776) and Haiti (1804) proved to other countries in the Amer­i­cas that achieving freedom from colonial control was indeed pos­si­ble. Fi­nally, the Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815) had a destabilizing effect on the kingdoms of Spain and Portugal, sparking revolutionary wars across the Latin American continent beginning in the 1810s. Internal ­causes of the wars included the development of criollos’ social and economic power. Criollos particularly resented the sociopo­liti­cal hierarchy in the colonies that granted peninsulares (Spaniards born on the Iberian peninsula of

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Spain) greater privileges, authority, and status in colonial society. Criollo elites soon began to seek access to po­liti­cal power and a more prominent role in shaping the ­future of their countries. When Spain failed to deliver on the promise of reform and the crown weakened significantly, patriots pushed for in­de­pen­dence as the only ­viable option for pro­gress and control of their countries’ fates. In the late 1700s, Spain’s American colonies w ­ ere impacted by reforms instituted by the Bourbon monarchy, which had created a more centralized and executive form of government. The monarchy also regarded overseas territories as resources that needed to be exploited in order to strengthen the metropolis (Williamson, 2009, p. 196). The Bourbon Reforms, however, exacerbated anti-­Spanish sentiment among all sectors of society. Criollos ­were upset by the fact that the Spanish trade mono­ poly was still dominated by peninsular merchants. The general population was also affected by increases in sales taxes, while Indian communities similarly felt pressure to produce more tribute for the Spanish crown. Riots and revolts began to take place, particularly in regions such as Peru and New Granada, where administrative reor­ga­ni­za­tion had caused the most changes. In 1780, Túpac Amaru II led a revolt in Upper Peru, calling for an end to colonial practices such as the mita (forced loans) that greatly affected Indian towns. Túpac Amaru II invited criollos to join him in the rebellion against the Spaniards, but criollos refused b­ ecause of fears that this would lead to a race war that would threaten their po­liti­cal and economic interests. Lack of support from the criollos and lack of unity among Indian groups eventually brought the rebellion to an end (Williamson, 2009, p. 200). Another impor­tant uprising (known as the Comunero revolt) took place in 1781 in Colombia, where mestizo and Indian planters fought Spanish authorities b­ ecause of excessive tax burdens and demanded the return of stolen land. Among the criollos who resided in Spain’s main American colonial cities, a sense of revolutionary agitation had been building since 1780. Intellectual leaders influenced by liberal ideas from the French Enlightenment included Colombian Antonio Nariño and Venezuelan Francisco de Miranda. A native of Caracas, Miranda was one of the first patriots who attempted to unite the separatists’ efforts ­under one common banner. He had fought against the British in North Amer­i­ca and planned an attack on the Spanish authorities of his home country, which he launched from London with support from E ­ ngland and the United States. ­After unsuccessful attempts to land with his troops at Ocumare and Vela de Coro on the Venezuelan coast in 1805, he returned to London seeking more support to continue his campaign. ­There, he was joined by a fellow Venezuelan named Simón Bolívar, who had lived and studied in Eu­rope and would soon become the most notable figure in Latin American’s quest for in­de­pen­dence. The work of Miranda and other patriots fi­nally bore fruit in 1810, when the Spanish government was forced to retreat to the Spanish port city Cádiz as a result

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of the Napoleonic invasion of the Iberian peninsula. That year, the Cortes of Cádiz, an assembly of government officials, convened with representatives from the entire empire. This was a watershed moment in the push ­toward liberalism and democracy in Spain and its colonies, as the Cortes drafted the Constitution of 1812, which created a constitutional monarchy. Since 1808, criollos had demanded the creation of juntas (local governments) that would afford them more decision-­making power. In 1810, ­these juntas began to appear everywhere throughout the Latin American colonies. Their ultimate goal was to secure power in the viceroyalties and then proclaim in­de­pen­dence from the weakened Spanish crown. In Buenos Aires, revolutionaries established a junta on May 25. In Santiago, Chileans followed suit and managed to establish a local government between June 11 and September 18. In the viceroyalty of New Granada, Caracas established its junta in April following revolutionary upheaval; Bogotá did the same in July. By 1811, Venezuela’s successful revolution led to the election of its first congress and the first Republic of Venezuela declared in­de­pen­dence. However, freedom was short lived. Spanish royalists, particularly rural ranchers from the interior plains known as llaneros, opposed the city criollo liberals’ plans and defeated their separatist campaign. Bolívar was sent into exile in 1812, but he labored to gather support from abroad and launch a new attack on the royalists. Meanwhile, in the viceroyalty of New Spain, ­Father Miguel Hidalgo led a popu­lar rebellion in 1810 that brought together criollo leaders, Indians, and peasants. On September 16, Hidalgo issued the speech known as Grito de Dolores in the Guanajuato town where he was the Catholic priest, calling for an uprising in the name of the Virgin of Guadalupe and King Ferdinand VII, who was still in exile. ­After a series of successful ­battles, the insurgent army ultimately failed to take over Mexico and was defeated by royalists. Hidalgo fled, but was captured and executed in 1811. His disciple, José María Morelos, then took leadership of the rebel cause. One similarity between the vari­ous in­de­pen­dence pro­cesses in Latin Amer­i­ca was the confrontation between pro-­freedom rebels and royalist groups faithful to the crown, which supported Spanish authorities. For the most part, the royalists lived in rural areas and owned large tracts of land in places like Mexico, Venezuela, and Peru. Thanks to the royalists’ rejection of liberal pro-­independence elites, the viceroys managed to gather troops to push back against the rebels. Between 1810 and 1816, the Spanish w ­ ere able to significantly stall the separatist movement that was swelling across the continent. In Mexico, royalist forces led by Agustin de Iturbide defeated, captured, and executed Morelos in 1815. In South Amer­i­ca, the Spanish crown’s counter-­revolutionary campaign was led by José Fernando de Abascal, the Viceroy of Peru. He kept the peace in the viceroyalty of Peru, and from ­there he or­ga­nized and deployed armies to ­battle the rebels.

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In addition to the pro-­Spanish re­sis­tance, revolutionary forces suffered from ­bitter internal divisions that weakened their pro­gress. Chile’s emancipation movement was quelled in 1815, following the royalists’ victory at Cancha Rayada. In New Granada, the royalists took over Quito in 1814 and planned the successful expedition of Spanish general Pablo Morillo, who entered Cartagena in 1815 and Bogotá in 1816. Meanwhile, in Venezuela, the royalists led by José Tomás Boves had put an end to the rebellion, throwing out Bolívar and his fellow patriots ­after a series of military victories that deflated the spirits of the in­de­pen­dence movement t­here. Although the fate of the emancipation effort looked bleak to the north, in Argentina the patriots had managed to remain in power despite internal strife and several defeats on the frontiers. In 1816, Buenos Aires declared in­de­pen­dence. Before that, Paraguay had secured in­de­pen­dence in 1811 ­after battling Argentina (which con­ sidered it to be a breakaway province) and establishing a ruling junta. However, Paraguayan in­de­pen­dence was not officially formalized ­until 1842. In 1817, General José de San Martín—­who had embraced the Latin American in­de­pen­dence cause ­after a distinguished military c­ areer in Spain—­embarked on an expedition to ­free Chile with support from the Argentine government and Chilean exiles such as Bernardo O’Higgins. Starting from the city of Córdoba, San Martín crossed the Andes and took the Spanish troops by surprise, defeating them at Chacabuco. This, along with the b­ attle of Maipú (1818), secured Chile’s in­de­pen­dence. Encouraged by t­hese successes, San Martín led his army to Peru, entering Lima

Chileans, led by General José de San Martín, fight for their in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1817. San Martín’s army of 5,000 men routed the Spanish in this decisive b ­ attle for in­de­pen­ dence. (Library of Congress)

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The Role of ­Women in Latin Amer­i­ca’s In­de­pen­dence Latin Amer­ic­ a’s emancipation from Eu­ro­pean colonial control has traditionally been depicted as the feat of heroic men who led their compatriots to victory. In­de­pen­dence leaders are even known as “Padres de la Patria” (literally translated as “­Fathers of the Fatherland”). This male-­centered repre­sen­ta­tion of such impor­tant historical and cultural events has virtually erased w ­ omen’s contributions to the revolutionary strug­gle from history books and the public imagination alike. However, ­women played an impor­tant part in the continent’s push ­toward freedom, both in supporting roles and by becoming courageous leaders whose names have slowly gained public recognition. They include Lieutenant Col­o­nel Juana Azurduy (1780–1862), who fought alongside her husband, Manuel Padilla, for the in­de­pen­dence of present-­day Bolivia; and Manuela Sáenz (1797–1856), who collaborated with Simón Bolívar and held the rank of col­o­nel in his liberation army. Both ­these heroes ­were posthumously promoted to the rank of general in the 2000s by the governments of Argentina and Ec­ua­dor, respectively. Indigenous w ­ omen ­were active during the late 18th-­century revolts that helped set the stage for South Amer­ic­ a’s emancipation movement. One example is Micaela Bastidas (1745–1781), wife of Túpac Amaru II. She fought beside him in Peru during the rebellion that he led in the early 1780s. They ­were both executed on the same day when the uprising was fi­nally quelled. In Mexico, María Ignacia Rodríguez (1765–1817) helped the patriots and was summoned before a tribunal of the Inquisition for her actions. Meanwhile, Gertrudis Bocanegra (1765–1817) or­ga­nized a network of Mexican insurgents, refusing to betray them when she was captured. Despite their contributions and sacrifices, Latin American ­women did not fare well in postin­de­pen­dence years. Scholars have noted that as the region moved from absolutism to republicanism, the new countries’ constitutions systematically denied rights to w ­ omen in particular—­whereas before, during Spanish monarchical rule, po­liti­cal rights ­were denied to most men and ­women alike (Davies, Brewster, and Owen, 2006, p. 3). The strug­gle for ­women’s liberation would continue during the de­cades of nation-­building and into the next ­century.

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in 1821. However, the Spanish army managed to keep control of the Peruvian and Bolivian plateaus. Back in New Granada, Bolívar continue to fight the royalists and, following a number of defeats, was able to form a government in Angostura on the Orinoco plains (1817). From ­there, he launched his famous liberation campaigns. In 1819, Bolívar crossed the Andes, defeated the royalists at Boyacá, and conquered Bogotá, declaring Colombia’s in­de­pen­dence. Two years l­ ater, he replicated this victory at Carabobo and freed Venezuela. The last remaining Spanish strongholds in South Amer­i­ca ­were Ec­ua­dor and Peru. At a meeting in Guayaquil in 1822, San Martín surrendered leadership of the liberation campaign to Bolívar and left for Eu­rope. That same year, Antonio José de Sucre led troops to victory at Pichincha, which secured Ec­ua­dor’s in­de­pen­dence. In 1824, as the last Spanish army in the Amer­i­ cas dissolved, Bolívar won the ­Battle of Junín. That same year, Sucre defeated the Spanish at the decisive ­Battle of Ayacucho. ­These victories sealed Peru’s in­de­pen­ dence. The last two South American countries to declare in­de­pen­dence ­were Bolivia (1828) and Uruguay (1829). Bolívar’s dream of a unified Spanish Amer­ic­ a crumbled in 1830, when Gran Colombia split into the countries of Colombia, Venezuela, and Ec­ua­dor. Mexican in­de­pen­dence was fi­nally secured in 1821, when Iturbide and the separatists signed the Plan de Iguala agreement. Iturbide proclaimed himself emperor in 1822, but he was kicked out of power as a result of a rebellion led by Antonio López de Santa Anna. In 1823, the Mexican Republic was established. Meanwhile, to the south of Mexico, the General Captaincy of Guatemala had declared in­de­ pen­dence in 1821 and became the Federal Republic of Central Amer­i­ca. In 1822, this isthmus nation deci­ded to join the Mexican empire, which it would leave a year ­later when Iturbide lost power. ­After years of internal divisions, in 1838 the Federal Republic of Central Amer­i­ca split into the countries of Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. Panama remained a part of Colombia ­until 1903, when the United States—­which had become interested in building a canal ­there—­spurred the movement for it to become a sovereign nation. This isthmus nation was not, however, the first Latin American country where the United States had a role in e­ ither emancipation or neo­co­lo­nial proj­ects. Whereas most continental territories had secured in­de­pen­dence by 1830, Spain’s Ca­rib­bean colonies would take dif­fer­ent and longer routes t­oward freedom. The Dominican Republic, which shares the island of Hispaniola with Haiti, declared in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821. However, it came u­ nder Haitian control in 1822. Dominicans grew increasingly impatient and dissatisfied with Haiti, which eventually led to the creation of a re­sis­tance movement. In 1844, the rebels seized control of Santo Domingo and declared the Dominican Republic a f­ ree nation. Meanwhile,

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Cuba had remained loyal to Spain even as the empire fell apart. But rebellions would erupt in 1868, leading to the long conflict known as the Ten Years’ War. The Pact of Zajón ended the war, as Spain promised more autonomy for the island. However, the revolutionary movement would continue over the next two de­cades. In 1892, exiled Cuban patriot and writer José Martí founded the Cuban Revolutionary Party in New York. He died in ­battle in 1895, becoming a national hero. Cuba fi­nally achieved in­de­pen­dence from Spain as a result of the Spanish-­American War of 1898, although the United States retained the right to intervene in Cuban affairs. ­Under the Treaty of Paris of 1898, Spain ceded Puerto Rico to the United States. That island has remained a U.S. territory ever since, although vari­ous initiatives and revolts seeking in­de­pen­dence have taken place over the de­cades. Unlike Spanish Amer­i­ca, Brazil had a dif­fer­ent colonial power (Portugal) and its path ­toward in­de­pen­dence also varied from ­those of its South American neighbors. Freedom for this large nation was secured gradually and almost imperceptibly beginning in 1808, as it was largely the result of events taking place in Eu­rope rather than an internal desire for emancipation (Graham, 2013, p. 99). ­Toward the end of 1807, Napoleon invaded Lisbon, but the Portuguese court managed to escape to Brazil, arriving in Rio de Janeiro in 1808 and setting up the imperial government ­there. This event helped to erode localistic loyalties among the country’s provinces and fostered for the first time a sense of Brazilianness. Additionally, King João VI opened the country’s ports to trade with E ­ ngland, achieving immediately what Spanish Amer­i­ca had strug­gled for years to accomplish. Portugal was fi­nally liberated from Napoleonic rule, but João deci­ded to stay in Brazil and in 1815 elevated the former colony to the status of kingdom, with Rio de Janeiro as its capital. ­After João left for Portugal in 1821, his son King Pedro I declared Brazil in­de­ pen­dent in 1822, a­fter threats from the Portuguese government to revoke the autonomy Brazil had enjoyed since 1808. The way Latin Amer­ic­ a gained its in­de­pen­dence, and the numerous and diverse countries that resulted from this pro­cess, would ­later have a major impact on the relationship between the region and the United States and the development of U.S. Latino communities. Although p­ eople of Hispanic and Latin American origin had settled in U.S. territory before in­de­pen­dence from Spain and Portugal, the creation of unique Latino communities and identities in what is now the United States occurred only a­ fter Latin American countries became f­ ree republics and began their pro­cess of nation-­building throughout the 19th ­century. Two ­factors led to the development of ­these communities: migration (a pro­cess that continues through the pres­ent day) and U.S. interventions in the newly emancipated republics. For example, less than 30 years a­ fter Mexico became in­de­pen­dent from Spain, the country lost more than half of its territory to the United States through the secession of Texas and the Mexican-­American War. As a result, Mexican citizens living in the newly

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occupied lands became U.S. citizens by default, although they did not always receive the rights and protections to which their citizenship entitled them and instead experienced discrimination or a second-­class status in the U.S. Southwest. Unlike the Mexican mi­grants who would come to the area in l­ater de­cades, this early population did not migrate to the United States, but rather w ­ ere incorporated through war. As some Mexican Americans explain, “We ­didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us.” Still, the region retained the Spanish names of towns, rivers, and mountain ranges, as well as the cultural and social remnants of its Spanish-­Mexican history. Since the migration of Mexicans beginning in the 1880s, the bulk of Mexican-­ Americans have continued to live in former Mexican territories such as California and Texas. Continued U.S. intervention in Cuba and Puerto Rico since 1898 has also led to the development of impor­tant mainland Latino communities from ­these islands, especially in Florida and New York.

Biographies of Notable Figures Simón Bolívar (1783–1830) Known as “Amer­i­ca’s Liberator,” Simón Bolívar is the most influential of Latin Amer­i­ca’s in­de­pen­dence heroes. He contributed to the emancipation efforts of most South American countries through military campaigns and also provided an ideological foundation for the strug­gle through his writings and speeches. Born Simón José Antonio de la Santísima Trinidad Bolívar y Palacios in Caracas on July 24, 1783, the ­future Libertador (Liberator) was the son of wealthy criollos, Juan Vicente Bolívar y Ponte and María de la Concepción Palacios y Blanco. His f­ amily owned cacao plantations, c­ attle ranches, numerous h­ ouses, and a large number of slaves. The youn­gest of four siblings, Bolívar would become an orphan at the age of nine. He was subsequently cared for by his maternal grand­father and ­later by his ­uncle, Carlos Palacios. Bolívar received his education from the best teachers and intellectuals of Venezuela, including the influential thinker and writer Andrés Bello. He was steeped in readings from Enlightenment writers such as Locke, Rousseau, Voltaire, and Montesquieu, who advanced the ideas of liberty, pro­gress, constitutional government, and separation of church and state. ­These ideas began to shape Bolívar’s worldview. In 1799, the teenaged Bolívar was sent to Spain by his relatives to continue his studies. ­There he met María Teresa Rodríguez del Toro, whom he married in 1802. He travelled throughout Eu­rope and was exposed to the ideas of liberty and equality stemming from the French Revolution, which further cemented his aspirations to lead his homeland ­toward freedom from Spain. In Paris, he lived among members of high society and studied Napoleon’s

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military strategies, which he would ­later employ during his revolutionary campaigns (Graham, 2013, p. 84). Bolívar’s wife died of yellow fever in 1803. Having learned about the unsuccessful emancipation efforts by Francisco de Miranda in Ucumare and Vela de Coro, he deci­ded to return to his homeland in 1807, briefly stopping in the United States on the way. By 1808, Bolívar had joined the rebel forces. In 1810, he took part in the revolution that erupted in Venezuela, led by Miranda. When t­ hose efforts failed, Bolívar was forced into exile in 1812. From Cartagena de Indias, he issued a manifesto that once against incited rebellion, attempting to correct the ­mistakes of earlier campaigns. Disobeying ­orders, he led a successful campaign against the Spaniards in western Venezuela. He came back bearing trea­sure and was promoted to general. Dreaming of a triumphant return to Caracas, Bolívar pleaded with the insurgent government in Colombia in 1813. The government gave him a small force of 500 men to carry out a second military expedition, called the “Admirable Campaign.” Within three months, Bolívar and his men had occupied Caracas. During this time, the general perfected his ability to command and honed his propaganda skills, mastering the talents needed to make a convincing public manifesto and staging triumphal entries into towns to win over the ­people. Despite t­hese early victories, the royalist troops reclaimed Venezuela for the Spanish crown, sending Bolívar into exile in Jamaica (1814–1815). While in Kingston, he wrote letters to influential figures around the world to educate them about the wars for in­de­pen­dence being waged throughout the Amer­i­cas. The most famous document from this period is the “Letter from Jamaica,” in which Bolívar recounted the status of armed strug­gles si­mul­ta­neously taking place on the continent, speculated about the ­future of the Spanish colonies, and previewed his vision of Colombian unity. He also rebuilt his movement during exile and launched a third attack between 1816 and 1819, gaining control of most of the Venezuelan territory. Two years ­later, following a truce, Bolívar secured in­de­pen­dence for his homeland a­ fter defeating the Spaniards at the B ­ attle of Carabobo. Venezuela, however, was only the first of the countries Bolívar had set himself to liberate. He dreamed of creating a ­great confederation that would unite all Spanish colonies in the Amer­i­cas, following the U.S. model. In pursuit of this enormous goal, he crossed the Andes and defeated royalist troops in the B ­ attle of Boyacá (1819), which conferred in­de­pen­dence on the viceroyalty of New Granada. That same year, Bolívar convened the Congress of Angostura, which drafted a constitution for the new Republic of Colombia, which encompassed the modern nations of Colombia, Venezuela, Ec­ua­dor, and Panama. Bolívar himself was elected president of this “Gran Colombia.” Along with Antonio José de Sucre, Bolívar then liberated the Audiencia de Quito (Ec­ua­dor) ­after victory at the ­Battle of Pichincha (1822). That same year, he

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met in Guayaquil with another leader of the South American emancipation strug­ gle, José de San Martín, who had freed Chile and entered deep into Peruvian territory. Bolívar and San Martín sought cooperation to liberate Peru, but they clashed over their ambitions and po­liti­cal goals, as San Martín was in ­favor of monarchical regimes headed by Eu­ro­pean princes. In the end, San Martín gave up his fight for supremacy of the continental army and left for Eu­rope. Bolívar was then able to lead the insurrection in Peru, the last stronghold of Spanish occupation in South Amer­i­ca. Victories at Junín and Ayacucho (1824) sealed Peru’s in­de­pen­dence. One year ­later, the last remaining royalist forces in Upper Peru ­were defeated, which led to the creation of the Republic of Bolivia (named ­after the Liberator). Bolívar was president of Gran Colombia from 1819 to 1830, president of Peru from 1824 to 1826, and leader of Bolivia from 1825 to 1826. In the latter two countries, he established a constitutional model called “monocratic,” with a president for life and a hereditary system. His tendency to rule in an almost dictatorial manner caused unease among the elites ruling the new nations. Despite his impressive military victories, Bolívar’s ambitious proj­ect to unify Hispanic Amer­i­ca ultimately clashed with the territorial, po­liti­cal, and cultural divisions inherited from the colonial system. In 1828 ­there was an assassination attempt on him, and two years ­later he presented his resignation before the last Congress of Gran Colombia. Venezuela and Ec­ua­dor went their separate ways, and Amer­ic­ a’s Liberator died in Santa Marta, Colombia, on December 17, 1830.

­Father Miguel Hidalgo (1753–1811) Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla was the first g­ reat leader of the Mexican in­de­pen­dence strug­gle. The second oldest of four siblings, he was born in 1753 in Guanajuato to a well-­to-do criollo ­family. His ­father managed an hacienda in San Diego Corralejo, where Hidalgo was born. At 12 years of age, he moved to the Mexican city of Valladolid (now Morelia), where he began his studies at the Colegio de San Nicolás. He ­later travelled to Mexico City, where he studied philosophy and theology, and then returned to Valladolid to teach at San Nicolás. In 1790, following an impressive educational ­career, he was named rector of the school. One of his students at San Nicolás was José María Morelos, who would take up the revolutionary fight ­after Hidalgo’s death. Hidalgo became a priest in 1778 and preached at several parishes. He spoke several Eu­ro­pean and indigenous languages and began to read French Enlightenment authors whose writings ­were believed to challenge religion and the Spanish crown. He surrounded himself with friends who spoke freely about progressive po­liti­cal ideas and was denounced to the Inquisition for expressing concepts incompatible with his occupation as a man of the cloth. When his b­ rother Joaquín died in

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1803, Hidalgo replaced him as the priest of the town of Dolores in Guanajuato. ­There he began his work as reformer and enlightened leader, helping to improve the lives of his parishioners, most of them Indians. He engaged the community in a variety of agricultural and artisanal enterprises, which earned him the re­spect and support of the p­ eople. Following Napoleon’s invasion of Spain in 1808, Mexican patriots began to or­ga­nize with hopes of launching an in­de­pen­dence movement. One of them, Miguel Domínguez, corregidor (mayor) of Querétaro, had promoted the formation of an American congress. In 1810, Domínguez held meetings with several leaders who conspired against Spanish authority. Hidalgo joined the gatherings a­ fter having been invited by Ignacio Allende, an officer and small landowner. The objective of Domínguez’s group was not complete in­de­pen­dence. Rather, they sought to unseat Viceroy Francisco Javier Venegas and convene a congress to rule New Spain on behalf of King Ferdinand II, who had been ousted by Napoleon. The rebels planned to rise in arms against Venegas in October 1810, but the plot was discovered in September. Hidalgo and a few other conspirators managed to escape to Dolores. The rebels faced two options: hiding or forging ahead with the rebellion. Hidalgo chose the latter. On the night of September 15, F ­ ather Hidalgo asked the parishioners of Dolores for assistance, freed po­liti­cal prisoners from jail, and stole weapons from the local armory. The following morning, Hidalgo convened a mass which was attended by patriots from neighboring towns. ­There, he issued a call for ­people to take up arms against the colonial authorities in the name of Ferdinand VII and the Virgin of Guadalupe. This proclamation became known as the Grito de Dolores, so significant in Mexican history and the country’s public imagination that September 16 is now celebrated as Mexico’s In­de­pen­dence Day. This, however, was only the beginning of the long and bloody strug­gle ­toward emancipation. Hidalgo’s leadership gave the in­de­pen­dence movement a radical twist. No longer just a criollo rebellion, the movement had become a popu­lar revolt joined by oppressed peasants and Indians who sought to improve their conditions. The rebels marched on San Miguel el Grande, where they w ­ ere joined by troops led by Allende along with scores of craftsmen and peasants, totaling an army of about 40,000 men. The following weeks saw a combination of victories and defeat for the revolutionary movement. On September 21, Hidalgo occupied the city of Celaya, ­after which he was named general of the rebel army. Sizeable but often lacking in discipline, the army continued its liberating march, taking over the cities of Salamanca, Irapuato, and Silao. Next in the campaign was the wealthy city of Guanajuato, where more ­people joined the burgeoning movement. Hidalgo also experienced victories in Valladolid and Toluca. In October, Morelos was commissioned to lead the insurrection to the south of the country. Although Hidalgo was winning militarily, he began to lose support among the church and the landholding elites as he called for

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land to be returned to the indigenous ­peoples. The Catholic Church accused him of being a heretic and e­ nemy of private property, and excommunicated him. The criollos, meanwhile, feared that such radical ideas would undermine their wealth and social position. In the meantime, the rebels had formed a provisional government in Guadalajara. A crucial victory at Monte de las Cruces pushed the royalist troops ­toward retreat in Mexico City. The rebels had a chance to march on Mexico City, but tactical errors debilitated their position and the troops ­were defeated. Hidalgo escaped to the north in search of additional support for his cause, but was captured in Chihuahua, tried, and executed on July 30, 1811. Despite the setback, Hidalgo’s actions set in motion a revolutionary pro­cess that would ultimately lead Mexico to in­de­ pen­dence in 1821.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Letter from Jamaica, 1815 Written by Simón Bolívar in 1815 in Kingston while he was in exile, “Letter from Jamaica” discusses Spanish Amer­ic­ a’s then-­current situation and his plans for continental liberation. The letter was written to Henry Cullen, a Jamaican trader of En­glish origin, at a time when Bolívar was seeking to gain the attention and support of ­England for his cause. In the essay, Bolívar explains the reasons motivating Spanish Americans to pursue in­de­pen­dence, speculates about the ­future of the dif­ fer­ent colonies from Mexico to Argentina, and insists on the need to unify t­ hese colonies if success is to be achieved. My dear Sir: I hasten to reply to the letter of the 29th ultimo which you had the honor of sending me and which I received with the greatest satisfaction. *** “Three centuries ago,” you say, “began the atrocities committed by the Spaniards on this ­great hemi­sphere of Columbus.” Our age has rejected t­hese atrocities as mythical, ­because they appear to be beyond the ­human capacity for evil. Modern critics would never credit them ­were it not for the many and frequent documents testifying to ­these horrible truths. The humane Bishop of Chiapas, that apostle of Amer­i­ca, Las Casas, has left to posterity a brief description of t­hese horrors, extracted from the trial rec­ords in Sevilla relating to the cases brought against the conquistadores, and containing the testimony of e­ very respectable person then in the New World, together with the charges [  procesos], which the tyrants made against each other. All this is attested by the foremost historians of that time. ­Every impartial

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person has admitted the zeal, sincerity, and high character of that friend of humanity, who so fervently and steadfastly denounced to his government and to his contemporaries the most horrible acts of sanguinary frenzy. With what a feeling of gratitude I read that passage in your letter in which you say to me: “I hope that the success which then followed Spanish arms may now turn in f­ avor of their adversaries, the badly oppressed p­ eople of South Amer­i­ca.” I take this hope as a prediction, if it is justice that determines man’s contests. Success ­will crown our efforts, ­because the destiny of Amer­i­ca has been irrevocably deci­ded; the tie that bound her to Spain has been severed. Only a concept maintained that tie and kept parts of that im­mense monarchy together. That which formerly bound them now divides them. The hatred that the Peninsula has inspired in us is greater than the ocean between us. It would be easier to have the two continents meet than to reconcile the spirits of the two countries . . . ​. We have already seen the light, and it is not our desire to be thrust back into darkness. The chains have been broken; we have been freed, and now our enemies seek to enslave us anew. For this reason Amer­i­ca fights desperately, and seldom has desperation failed to achieve victory. ­Because successes have been partial and spasmodic, we must not lose faith. In some regions the In­de­pen­dents triumph, while in ­others the tyrants have the advantage. What is the end result? Is not the entire New World in motion, armed for defense? We have but to look around us on this hemi­sphere to witness a simultaneous strug­gle at e­ very point. *** It is even more difficult to foresee the f­ uture fate of the New World, to set down its po­liti­cal princi­ples, or to prophesy what manner of government it ­will adopt. ­Every conjecture relative to Amer­i­ca’s ­future is, I feel, pure speculation. When mankind was in its infancy, steeped in uncertainty, ignorance, and error, was it pos­si­ble to foresee what system it would adopt for its preservation? Who could venture to say that a certain nation would be a republic or a monarchy; this nation g­ reat, that nation small? To my way of thinking, such is our own situation. We are a young ­people. We inhabit a world apart, separated by broad seas. We are young in the ways of almost all the arts and sciences, although, in a certain manner, we are old in the ways of civilized society. I look upon the pres­ent state of Amer­i­ca as similar to that of Rome a­ fter its fall. Each part of Rome a­ dopted a po­liti­cal system conforming to its interest and situation or was led by the individual ambitions of certain chiefs, dynasties, or associations. *** More than anyone, I desire to see Amer­i­ca fashioned into the greatest nation in the world, greatest not so much by virtue of her area and wealth as by her freedom and glory. Although I seek perfection for the government of my country, I cannot

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persuade myself that the New World can, at the moment, be or­ga­nized as a g­ reat republic. Since it is impossible, I dare not desire it; yet much less do I desire to have all Amer­i­ca a monarchy ­because this plan is not only impracticable but also impossible. Wrongs now existing could not be righted, and our emancipation would be fruitless. The American states need the care of paternal governments to heal the sores and wounds of despotism and war. The parent country, for example, might be Mexico, the only country fitted for the position by her intrinsic strength, and without such power ­there can be no parent country. *** Mr. De Pradt has wisely divided Amer­i­ca into fifteen or seventeen mutually in­de­pen­dent states, governed by as many monarchs. I am in agreement on the first suggestion, as Amer­i­ca can well tolerate seventeen nations; as to the second, though it could easily be achieved, it would serve no purpose. Consequently, I do not f­ avor American monarchies. My reasons are t­hese: The well-­understood interest of a republic is limited to the ­matter of its preservation, prosperity, and glory. Republicans, ­because they do not desire powers which represent a directly contrary viewpoint, have no reason for expanding the bound­aries of their nation to the detriment of their own resources, solely for the purpose of having their neighbors share a liberal constitution. They would not acquire rights or secure any advantage by conquering their neighbors, ­unless they ­were to make them colonies, conquered territory, or allies, ­after the example of Rome. But such thought and action are directly contrary to the princi­ples of justice which characterize republican systems; and, what is more, they are in direct opposition to the interests of their citizens, b­ ecause a state, too large of itself or together with its dependencies, ultimately falls into decay. Its ­free government becomes tyranny. *** From the foregoing, we can draw t­hese conclusions: The American provinces are fighting for their freedom, and they w ­ ill ultimately succeed. Some provinces as a ­matter of course ­will form federal and some central republics; the larger areas ­will inevitably establish monarchies, some of which ­will fare so badly that they ­will disintegrate in ­either pres­ent or ­future revolutions. To consolidate a g­ reat monarchy ­will be no easy task, but it ­will be utterly impossible to consolidate a ­great republic. It is a grandiose idea to think of consolidating the New World into a single nation, united by pacts into a single bond. It is reasoned, as t­hese parts have a common origin, language, customs, and religion, they ­ought to have a single government to permit the newly formed states to unite in a confederation. But this is not pos­si­ ble. Actually, Amer­i­ca is separated by climatic differences, geographic diversity, conflicting interests, and dissimilar characteristics. How beautiful it would be if the Isthmus of Panamá could be for us what the Isthmus of Corinth was for the Greeks! Would to God that some day we may have the good fortune to convene t­here an

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august assembly of representatives of republics, kingdoms, and empires to deliberate upon the high interests of peace and war with the nations of the other three-­ quarters of the globe. This type of organ­ization may come to pass in some happier period of our regeneration. But any other plan, such as that of Abbé St. Pierre, who in laudable delirium conceived the idea of assembling a Eu­ro­pean congress to decide the fate and interests of ­those nations, would be meaningless. Among the popu­lar and representative systems, I do not f­ avor the federal system. It is over-­perfect, and it demands po­liti­cal virtues and talents far superior to our own. For the same reason I reject a monarchy that is part aristocracy and part democracy, although with such a government E ­ ngland has achieved much fortune and splendor. Since it is not pos­si­ble for us to select the most perfect and complete form of government, let us avoid falling into demagogic anarchy or monocratic tyranny. ­These opposite extremes would only wreck us on similar reefs of misfortune and dishonor; hence, we must seek a mean between them. I say: Do not adopt the best system of government, but the one that is most likely to succeed. *** Surely unity is what we need to complete our work of regeneration. The division among us, nevertheless, is nothing extraordinary, for it is characteristic of civil wars to form two parties, conservatives and reformers. The former are commonly the more numerous, ­because the weight of habit induces obedience to established powers; the latter are always fewer in number although more vocal and learned. Thus, the physical mass of the one is counterbalanced by the moral force of the other; the contest is prolonged, and the results are uncertain. Fortunately, in our case, the mass has followed the learned. I ­shall tell you with what we must provide ourselves in order to expel the Spaniards and to found a f­ree government. It is ­union, obviously; but such u­ nion ­will come about through sensible planning and well-­directed actions rather than by divine magic. Amer­i­ca stands together ­because it is abandoned by all other nations. It is isolated in the center of the world. It has no diplomatic relations, nor does it receive any military assistance; instead, Amer­i­ca is attacked by Spain, which has more military supplies than any we can possibly acquire through furtive means. When success is not assured, when the state is weak, and when results are distantly seen, all men hesitate; opinion is divided, passions rage, and the ­enemy fans ­these passions in order to win an easy victory ­because of them. As soon as we are strong and u­ nder the guidance of a liberal nation which ­will lend us her protection, we ­will achieve accord in cultivating the virtues and talents that lead to glory. Then ­will we march majestically ­toward that ­great prosperity for which South Amer­i­ca is destined. Then ­will ­those sciences and arts which, born in the East, have enlightened Eu­rope, wing their way to a ­free Colombia, which w ­ ill cordially bid them welcome.

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Such, Sir, are the thoughts and observations that I have the honor to submit to you, so that you may accept or reject them according to their merit. I beg you to understand that I have expounded them ­because I do not wish to appear discourteous and not ­because I consider myself competent to enlighten you concerning t­ hese ­matters. I am, Sir, ­etc., e­ tc. SIMÓN BOLÍVAR See also: Spanish-­American War; Spanish Colonization of the Amer­i­cas; Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence

Further Reading Centeno, Miguel Angel. 2008. “Latin American In­de­pen­dence and the Double Dilemma.” Latin American Politics and Society 50 (3): 147–161. Chasteen, John Charles. 2008. Americanos: Latin Amer­i­ca’s Strug­gle for In­de­pen­dence. New York: Oxford University Press. Davies, Catherine, Claire Brewster, and Hilary Owen. 2006. South American In­de­pen­dence: Gender, Politics, Text. Liverpool, UK: Liverpool University Press. Gonzalez, Juan. 2011. Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in Amer­i­ca. New York: Penguin Books. Graham, Richard. 2013. In­de­pen­dence in Latin Amer­i­ca: Contrasts and Comparisons. Austin: University of Texas Press. Harvey, Robert. 2000. Liberators: Latin Amer­i­ca’s Strug­gle for In­de­pen­dence: 1810–1830. New York: Overlook Press. Howard, Arthur N., and A. Philip McMahon. 1973. The Life and Times of Miguel Hidalgo and Costilla. New York: Russell & Russell. Kinsbrunner, Jay. 2000. In­de­pen­dence in Spanish Amer­i­ca: Civil Wars, Revolutions, and Underdevelopment. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Lynch, John. 1992. Caudillos in Spanish Amer­i­ca, 1800–1850. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Lynch, John, ed. 1994. Latin American Revolutions, 1808–1826: Old and New World Origins. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Mendes Cunha, Alexandre, and Carlos Eduardo Suprinyak, eds. 2016. The Po­liti­cal Economy of Latin American In­de­pen­dence. New York: Routledge. Moya, José C., ed. 2011. The Oxford Handbook of Latin American History. New York: Oxford University Press. Navarro, Marysa, and ­Virginia Sánchez Korrol. 1999. ­Women in Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­be­an. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Williamson, Edwin. 2009. The Penguin History of Latin Amer­i­ca. New York: Penguin. Whitaker, Arthur Preston. 1941. The United States and the In­de­pen­dence of Latin Amer­ic­ a, 1800–1830. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins Press.

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Anglo-­American Colonization of Northern Mexico, 1820–1846 Erika Pérez

Chronology 1820

Connecticut native Moses Austin receives an empresarial contract from Spain authorizing him to bring 300 families to colonize Texas. Moses dies before colonization begins. His son, Stephen F. Austin, inherits the contract.

1821, September

Mexico wins in­de­pen­dence from Spain.

1821–1823

Stephen F. Austin spends a few years confirming his right to continue his ­father’s empresarial contract with the new Mexican government.

1821–1846

A new period of trade begins in Mexican territories, such as Alta California and New Mexico. This results in the arrival of foreign merchants, such as Abel Stearns of Mas­sa­chu­setts. A number of ­these men intermarry or form u­ nions with Mexican and indigenous ­women, become Catholics, obtain Mexican citizenship, and establish families.

1823–1828

Stephen F. Austin helps 297 Anglo-­American families receive titles to colonize Texas.

1824

Mexico becomes a republic a­ fter a short-­lived monarchy. A National Colonization Law passes on August 18.

1825, March

The congress of the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas passes a colonization law on March 24. According to the National Colonization Law, each Mexican state is expected to pass its own version of the national law.

1825, April

On April  15, Green DeWitt receives a contract from the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas to ­settle 400 families in the region.

1826

Christopher “Kit” Carson arrives in New Mexico and begins a long ­career of fur trapping and military exploits in California, New Mexico, Utah, and elsewhere in the West.

1829, September

President Vicente Guerrero issues a proclamation on September 15 outlawing slavery throughout Mexico. Anglo colonists in Texas protest and receive exemptions from the law, but their discontent sows the seeds for a f­ uture revolution.

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1830, April

Feeling that Coahuila y Tejas is being overrun by Americans who now outnumber Mexicans, Mexico passes a national law on April 6 prohibiting further immigration from the United States into its territories.

1830, October

On October 16, Lorenzo de Zavala, Joseph Vehlein, and David G. Burnet pool acreage left over from their land grants in east Texas and join with the Galveston Bay and Texas Land Com­pany, a New York-­based land speculation organ­ization. They sell land scrip to individual colonists and companies who pay for allotments in the hope of settling and eventually obtaining formal title to Texas lands, despite the Law of April 6, 1830, that prohibited further U.S. immigration into Texas.

1831, April

Green DeWitt’s empresario contract expires on April 15, ­after only 166 of the promised 400 families have been settled.

1832

Samuel Houston, a U.S. army veteran of the War of 1812 and a former governor of Tennessee, arrives in Texas.

1834–1835

Anglo-­American settlers associated with the Galveston Bay and Texas Land Com­pany receive 936 land titles from the Mexican government to s­ ettle north of Galveston.

1835

Mexico’s new constitution prohibits slavery in its territories, including Texas. American settlers in Texas proclaim in­de­pen­dence shortly thereafter.

1836, March

The Texas Declaration of In­de­pen­dence is signed on March  2 by Anglo and Tejano settlers.

1836

Samuel Houston becomes president of the Republic of Texas. General Antonio López de Santa Anna leads the Mexican army to quash the rebellion in Texas, but he eventually signs the Treaty of Velasco, giving up Texas ­after suffering a key military defeat.

1836–1845

Texas continues to exist as an in­de­pen­dent republic, over Mexico’s contestations.

1845, March

In his last days in office, on March 1 U.S. President John Tyler signs a congressional order annexing Texas to the United States, escalating tensions between the United States and Mexico.

1845, June

On June 16, the congress of the Texas Republic agrees to annexation by the United States.

1845, November

President Polk dispatches John Slidell to Mexico to negotiate the purchase of California and New Mexico.

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1845, December

Texas enters the Union on December 29.

1846, May

President Polk asks the U.S. Congress to issue a declaration of war against Mexico. War commences.

1846, June–July

Foreign men in Alta California, led mainly by Anglo Americans such as William B. Ide and Col. John C. Frémont, initiate the Bear Flag Revolt, declaring California an in­de­pen­dent republic.

1846, July

Alta California is invaded by U.S. Commodore John Sloat and the U.S. Pacific squadron in Monterey.

1846, December

Col­o­nel Stephen  W. Kearny invades California ­after occupying Santa Fe, New Mexico.

1848, January

Gold is discovered at Sutter’s Mill in California, setting off the Gold Rush. Nicholas Trist, President Polk’s designated representative, negotiates a peace treaty with Mexico.

1848, The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo is ratified, ending the U.S.-­ February 2 Mexico War. The United States receives California, Arizona, New Mexico, portions of Colorado, Nevada, and Utah in exchange for $15 million paid to Mexico in consideration of land concessions and war­time property damage. 1850

The Missouri Compromise leads to California’s admission as a ­free state. California’s foreign-­born population explodes; the majority of new arrivals are Eu­ro­pean and Anglo-­American men in pursuit of gold.

1850

The Organic Act creates the New Mexico Territory (which includes present-­day Arizona).

1850–1895

Mexican Americans in California are one-­third of California’s lynching victims, despite representing no more than 15 ­percent of the state’s population. On July 5, 1851, Josefa Segovia, a Sonoran, becomes the first ­woman executed by lynching in California, for killing an Anglo in the mining town of Downieville.

1850– 1900s

Mexican Americans who resist Anglo dominance in California, New Mexico, and Texas are labeled “bandits” to delegitimize their under­lying grievances and are regularly pursued by American law enforcement.

1850 and 1852

California passes two foreign miner’s acts that tax alien miners, especially t­hose from Mexico, China, and Chile, to eliminate them as competitors to Euro-­American miners.

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1851

California passes the Land Claims Act, which establishes a land claims commission to assess the validity of Mexican American land grant petitions. Subsequent committees, courts, and offices are established to adjudicate claims in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas. Many Mexican Americans lose their land due to inaccurate surveys, high ­legal fees, and the lengthy pro­cess of proving their claims.

1853

The United States negotiates the Gadsden Purchase from Mexico to add a sliver of land to its southern boundary in Arizona. The land, which includes Tucson, is believed to hold potential for corporate mining and railroad development.

1863

The Arizona Organic Act creates a separate Arizona Territory carved out of the existing New Mexico Territory.

1863–1864

Southern California experiences a severe drought, decimating the ­cattle ranching economy. The region transitions ­toward large-­scale agribusiness farms, land speculation, and subdivisions. Hispanics in New Mexico and Tejanos face similar land losses due to Anglo land speculation a­ fter the U.S.-­Mexican War.

1912

Arizona and New Mexico become U.S. states.

Narrative Mexico’s in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821 ushered in significant changes for its northwestern frontiers, what is the present-­day southwestern United States. This geopo­liti­cal shift opened up new opportunities for trade between Mexico and merchants who hailed from the United States, ­England, Scotland, Ireland, and France. Anglo-­American and Eu­ro­pean men arrived in Alta California (upper California) by ship as traders, sailors, and crew from the 1820s through the 1840s. Many merchants who arrived in Alta California had previous experience trading elsewhere in Latin Amer­i­ca along the Pacific rim. ­There, they gained familiarity with the Spanish language, Roman Catholic beliefs, and cultural customs of Mexicans and Peruvians (Weber, 1973, pp. 56–57). Foreigners in Alta California ­were subjected to naturalization regulations and passport requirements. For example, Governor José María de Echeandía introduced regulations dated June 4, 1829, detailing steps that foreigners needed to fulfill to receive Mexican citizenship. ­After living in Alta California for two years, foreigners could petition for naturalization by renouncing their allegiance to any foreign power other than Mexico, promising to support the Mexican constitution and laws, and providing proof of their Catholic faith (typically by proof of baptism). They

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also had to show evidence that they w ­ ere self-­sufficient or had means of financial support, and pres­ent proof of good conduct, customarily through some form of witness testimony or a letter commending their character by a respected member of the community. ­After fulfilling t­ hese requirements, a foreigner could receive a naturalization card from the governor. From 1828 onward, foreigners w ­ ere also subject to Mexican passport regulations. Mexican authorities used t­hese mea­sures to monitor the movements and number of foreigners within their national borders and to encourage their assimilation into local communities (Bancroft, 1885, vol. III, pp. 177–180). Many men who had been engaged in the Pacific trade for several years arrived in Alta California in the 1820s and 1830s and some set down permanent roots, including Abel Stearns and Daniel Hill of Mas­sa­chu­setts, and William Heath Davis of Honolulu. ­These extranjeros (foreigners) immersed themselves in local kinship networks by intermarrying with Spanish-­Mexican w ­ omen from land-­owning families and participating in Catholic godparenting practices (compadrazgo). Rather than Spanish-­Mexican ­women assimilating into their husbands’ cultures, extranjeros “Mexicanized” themselves to enhance their business and interpersonal relationships in California (Davis, 1929, Chapters 16 and 27). In California, foreign men who had intermarried with Spanish-­Mexican ­women and pledged loyalty to Mexico could petition for and receive land grants ­after Alta California implemented a policy of secularization. This policy, which began in the mid-1820s and accelerated after the Mexican seculariza­ tion act of 1833, dismantled the Franciscan missionaries’ mono­ poly on land in Alta California, which was originally used for 21 mission settlements. Former mission lands ­were carved up by  the Mexican government and offered to families who petitioned for them to ­settle their families, Stephen Fuller Austin, u ­ nder contracts with the access lands for ­cattle grazing, Mexican government, led hundreds of North and foster personal enrichment American families into Texas to help colonize the (Milner, O’Connor, and SandMexican frontier. (Grant, Ulysses S. History of the Thirteenth Regiment, United States Infantry, 1905) weiss, 1994, p.  72). Almost

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overnight, Spanish-­Mexican families who had held l­ittle to no wealth acquired land and began crafting new class identities for themselves. One foreign trader from Boston named Alfred Robinson, who had married a Spanish-­Mexican ­woman, Anita, from the prominent de la Guerra ­family of Santa Barbara, noted that “[m]any that ­were poor soon became wealthy, and possessors of farms, which they stocked with ­cattle” (Robinson, 1970, p. 117). As part of their aspirations for upward mobility, Spanish-­Mexican families in Alta California, or Californios, forged strategic intermarriages with foreign men to diversify their families’ economic interests—­ similar to be­hav­iors exhibited among the ­great families of Mexico, albeit on a much lower economic scale (Kicza, 1982, p.  447). The de la Guerras, Carrillos, and Bandinis w ­ ere a few families that welcomed intermarriage with foreign men and benefited from increased access to trade goods through their foreign sons-­in-­law (Pubols, 2010, Chapter 4). California’s colonial settlers claimed more than 500 land grants ­after the 1820s due to secularization and the concomitant decline of the Franciscan missionaries’ administrative authority. Although some of the land grants that originated from mission lands ­were supposed to go to Christianized Indians, very few did, and most of t­ hose assigned ­were small plots or gardens. Californio settlers maneuvered to acquire land by using petitions and their roles as mayordomos (mission administrators) to push Native ­peoples from traditional homelands, exacerbating mission-­era displacements. Dozens of foreign men also benefited during this period of settlement expansion (Robinson, 1979, p. 61; Haas, 1995, pp. 43, 53–56). Their petitions w ­ ere approved largely due to their kinship ties to Californios through marriage and compadrazgo (the relationship between Spanish godparents and their godchildren). ­These relationships led Mexican authorities to believe that t­ hese men had vested interests in the region’s ­future welfare, since their c­ hildren ­were reared as Mexican citizens. The earliest generation of foreign men who arrived in the 1820s and 1830s contributed to the region’s colonization and economic development by engaging in ­cattle ranching, trading leather hides and tallow for manufactured goods, establishing shops and ware­houses filled with goods from the northeastern U.S. and Asian markets, and creating new families with local w ­ omen (Davis, 1929, Chapters 27 and 53). They also displayed a willingness to speak Spanish, convert to Catholicism (if not Catholic already), and become Mexican citizens, although not all foreigners fulfilled ­every single one of ­these criteria (Weber, 1973, pp. 56–57). New Mexico also received its share of traders, but in contrast to Alta California, most came to this region via overland wagons and caravans from Missouri, journeying from trading outposts such as St. Louis and In­de­pen­dence. Traders such as William Becknell carved out a southerly route that became known as the Santa Fe Trail, which connected Missouri to New Mexico through trade. Trade networks extended farther south into Chihuahua, Mexico, connecting the interiors of both

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nations. Some of the American men who arrived in New Mexico, such as Christopher “Kit” Carson (1809–1868), James Wiley Magoffin (1799–1868), and Charles Bent (1799–1847), w ­ ere involved in fur trapping and trading, and used Taos as a jumping-­off point for their l­abors in the southern Rocky Mountains (Weber, 1973, pp. 56–57). According to Kit Carson, Mexican authorities did not grant foreigners licenses for fur trapping within their borders in the late 1820s, but he and other men attempted to circumvent this by pursuing routes through indigenous territories (Carson, 2001, p. 4). To help foster positive relations with indigenous nations, Carson and other fur trappers pursued marriage with indigenous ­women. This was a common practice among Anglo-­American and French-­Canadian fur trappers, who used informal ­unions with indigenous w ­ omen (sometimes polygamous ones) to gain useful information about the interior. ­These men also benefited from their indigenous wives’ domestic l­ abor in pro­cessing furs and preparing food for their husbands’ long journeys. Furthermore, they took advantage of kinship networks through their intermarriages to forge beneficial connections to indigenous men. Although most of ­these marriages w ­ ere informal, some lasting only a hunting season, ­others lasted for long periods. In 1835, Kit Carson, a native of Kentucky who was reared in Missouri, married an Arapaho w ­ oman, Wa Ni Beh, who died ­after the birth of their second d­ aughter. He next married a Cheyenne w ­ oman, Making Our Road, in 1842, but the c­ ouple parted ways shortly a­ fter marrying. In 1843, Carson wed a third and final time to an adolescent New Mexican ­woman from an elite Hispano ­family in Taos named María Josefa Jaramillo (Carson, 2001, pp. 47–48, 134). Carson, a Protestant, converted to Catholicism to marry Jaramillo. They had seven c­ hildren together during their 25-­year marriage, raising their f­ amily in New Mexico and ­later Colorado (Simmons, 2003, Chapter  4 and conclusion). Like many other working-­class men of his generation, Carson helped expand the reach of Anglo colonization in the southwest. They accomplished this through their economic and military exploits, and by forming blended families with indigenous and Spanish-­ Mexican ­women in the Mexican northern frontiers. In contrast with New Mexico and Alta California, Anglos who arrived in Texas went primarily in complete f­amily units for the purpose of establishing Anglo colonial settlements. Although some single Anglo men did intermarry with Spanish-­ Mexican ­women in Texas (Tejanas), Anglo colonization ­there rested upon the awarding of empresario contracts (agreements between a primary settler who was granted land in exchange for recruiting other settlers; Weber, 1973, pp. 57–58). Connecticut native Moses Austin, who had lived in ­Virginia, Spanish Louisiana, and Spanish Missouri, received the first empresario contract from the Spanish government at the end of its reign in New Spain (Mexico). In 1820, the Spanish government deci­ded to relax its previous prohibition against Anglo colonists in

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its territories, and Moses Austin was among the first to take advantage of this liberalization in colonization policies. He petitioned Antonio de Martínez, the Spanish governor in San Antonio, who endorsed the application in 1821. Austin was awarded a contract that promised him a sizeable land grant along the Brazos River in exchange for negotiating with 300 Catholic families to immigrate from Louisiana to eastern Texas (Weber, 1973, pp. 57–58; Richardson, Anderson, Wintz, and Wallace, 2001, p. 57). When Moses Austin died ­after returning to Missouri in 1821, his son, Stephen F. Austin, sought permission from the newly established and in­de­pen­dent Mexican government to continue with his ­father’s colonization scheme. Stephen F. Austin received authorization to do so as his ­father’s ­legal heir in 1823, and he or­ga­nized the colonization of 297 families, known as the Old Three Hundred, to the eastern part of Texas close to the Louisiana border (Richardson et al., 2001, pp. 58–59, 64–66). One major contributing ­factor in Anglo Americans’ willingness to move to Texas was the Panic of 1819, which had devastating financial consequences for many Americans and prompted some indebted Anglos to escape creditors to whom they owed money by moving to Texas (Richardson et al., 2001, p. 57). During the 1820s, the state of Coahuila y Tejas granted about 22 empresario contracts to individuals who promised to ­settle about 8,000 families in the region by the early 1830s. The vast majority of empresarios failed to ­settle the minimum 100 families required to fulfill the terms of their agreement before its six-­year term expired. Although colonists continued to enter Texas before the outbreak of a revolution for in­de­pen­dence in 1836 and afterward, t­hose who immigrated to Texas shortly ­after Mexico’s Law of April 6, 1830, prohibited further foreign immigration from the United States ­were unaware of the new law. Land speculators such as Lorenzo de Zavala, Joseph Vehlein, and David G. Burnet pooled acreage left over from their land grants, in violation of Mexican law, and joined with the Galveston Bay and Texas Land Com­pany to sell land scrips (certificates of payment for land settlement rights) to unsuspecting colonists. When colonists purchased ­these scrips, they w ­ ere misled into believing that they had purchased the land outright, rather than merely purchasing permission to s­ ettle it (Wallace, Vigness, and Ward, 2002, p. 67). The Galveston Bay and Texas Land Com­pany sublet about 7.5 million acres at a cost of one to ten cents an acre, which was far cheaper than the cost of land in the United States (approximately $1.25 per acre in cash. Texas colonists could receive 4,428 acres of land (or one sitio) in Austin’s colony, payable over time, for the equivalent cost of 80 acres of land in the United States, which had to be paid for up front. Numerous American families w ­ ere attracted by the opportunity to own land not yet exhausted by previous cultivation at favorable prices. Despite some conflict between Tejanos and the Anglo-­American settlers who arrived as part of the

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Galveston Bay and Texas Land Com­pany’s scheme, Mexican officials eventually allowed t­hese settlers to claim some lands. The Mexican government authorized the Anglo-­American colonists a total of 936 titles to lands north of Galveston Bay between September  1834 and December  1835 (Richardson et  al., 2001, pp. 73, 77). The significant increase in Anglo settlers in Texas by the late 1820s led to renewed concerns by Mexican officials about the need to limit this flow of immigration from the United States. ­After surveying eastern Texas, General Manuel Mier y Terán issued a report in 1828 warning that Anglos ­were dominating the eastern portions of Texas in Nacogdoches and elsewhere, with some demanding English-­ language schools and showing reluctance to assimilate into Mexican ways. Po­liti­ cal upheavals in Mexico resulted in a turnover of presidents and policies, but one policy that responded directly to Mier y Terán’s report about Anglo dominance was issued by Mexican President Anastacio Bustamante, whose Law of April 6, 1830, prohibited further immigration from the United States into Texas. Not only U.S. immigration was targeted for curtailment: slavery in Texas was, as well. President Vicente Guerrero issued a proclamation on September 15, 1829, that effectively prohibited slavery throughout Mexico. Anglo Texans protested the law, as many of them ­were U.S. Southerners who had brought slaves with them to farm their land. ­After negotiations with Mexican officials, they received exemptions and ­were permitted to keep their slaves. This was not the first such action by Mexican authorities. The Imperial Colonization Law of 1823 had allowed slaves into Texas who ­were trafficked domestically, but it outlawed the importation of slaves from Africa. It also prevented slaves from serving as bondspeople beyond the age of 14, upon which time they would receive their freedom. A subsequent Coahuila y Tejas constitution of 1827 allowed colonists to bring slaves into the state for up to six months a­ fter its implementation and allowed colonists to keep their existing slaves, but no one could be born into the condition of slavery in the Mexican state thereafter. Due to the heavy lobbying of Anglo colonists, this law was eventually undermined by a subsequent state law passed in 1828, which recognized foreign ­labor contracts. This enabled Anglo colonists to transform slaves legally into indentured servants or contract laborers for terms that far exceeded their expected lifespans, thus circumventing the spirit of the antislavery laws that ­were being enacted in Mexico (Richardson et al., 2001, p. 76). Anglos in Texas believed that the rights guaranteed to them u­ nder their colonization agreements ­were being infringed upon and their ­futures threatened, especially as vari­ous laws and constitutions w ­ ere passed signaling the end of slavery in Mexico. An 1832 law passed by the Coahuila y Tejas state legislature limited the ­labor contracts of foreigners allowed ­under the 1828 state law by capping the terms

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of ser­vice for peons and slaves at 10 years; it also prohibited the ­future introduction of slaves into the region. ­These mea­sures effectively outlawed slavery incrementally in the near f­ uture of Texas colonists (Richardson et al., 2001, pp. 71–73, 76). According to a census conducted in 1834 by Juan N. Almonte, Texas consisted of approximately 15,000 Anglos (mostly from southern U.S. states), 4,000 Tejanos (Mexican Texans), and 2,000 slaves. Clearly, the empresario contracts and colonization schemes had succeeded in increasing the population of Texas, but Anglos’ greater numbers threatened to undermine Mexico’s hold on this northern state, especially as po­liti­cal instability plagued the country (Richardson et al., 2001, p. 75). ­These po­liti­ cal conditions and Mexican laws limiting the rights of Anglo colonists set in motion a conflict that would erupt in 1836. With greater numbers of established families as colonizers, large areas of Texas witnessed less interethnic contact between Mexican and Anglo settlers than in other regions, such as Alta California and New Mexico. Arizona received far less interest from Anglo colonists. Southern Arizona was rooted in a subsistence ranching-­farming economy and did not attract Anglo colonists due to its harsh conditions: Southern Arizona was situated in the Sonoran Desert, and lacked the arability necessary for extensive cultivation beyond one major crop a year. The region also lacked the mineral wealth of lower parts of Sonora and upper California. This part of Arizona also had limited connections to trade networks in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and never became a regional outlet (Sheridan, 1986, pp. 14–15). The few Anglos who entered Arizona in the Mexican era did so as mountain men trapping along the Gila River and its tributaries, or to trade mules with local indigenous nations. Not ­until the U.S.-­Mexico War and California’s Gold Rush did a greater number of Anglos enter Arizona, but even then most ­were gold seekers who continued on to California. Thus, Arizona saw l­ ittle Anglo colonization ­until ­later in the 19th  ­century (Sheridan, 1986, pp.  23–26). The Gadsden Purchase integrated southern Arizona, including Tucson, into the United States and ushered in a new phase in the region’s development through corporate mining and railroad building, as well as mercantilism, ranching, and farming (Sheridan, 1986, pp. 28, 33). The Gold Rush and railroad developments in the southwest led to population explosions, especially of Anglo settlers, resulting in racial and ethnic conflicts in the latter half of the 19th ­century. The Chinese faced hostile attitudes by Americans who felt they represented an economic threat and an alien culture, culminating in exclusionary immigration policies in 1875 and 1882. Mexican immigrants experienced social exclusion on the one hand, and on the other hand ­were needed as laborers to fill the lowest ranks of the southwest’s growing wage economy (Milner et al., 1994, pp. 206–208).

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Two Years Before the Mast Richard Henry Dana Jr. was born in Cambridge, Mas­sa­chu­setts, in 1815. He hailed from a prominent Protestant ­family whose members included U.S. diplomats and a justice of the Mas­sa­chu­setts Supreme Court. Dana attended Harvard College in pursuit of a formal education, but he experienced eye and vision prob­lems that made further study difficult. His poor health led to his decision to take a sea voyage—­but he chose to do so as a common merchant seaman rather than as a passenger (Dana, 1909/1937, pp. 3–4). This decision undoubtedly contributed to the overall tone, language, and themes of the book he would ­later write, which offered readers a more realistic perspective of the common sailor rather than that of elite ship captains and commanders who had published earlier works. As Dana himself noted, “I have been obliged occasionally to use strong and coarse expressions, and in some instances to give scenes which may be painful to nice feelings; but I have very carefully avoided ­doing so, whenever I have not felt them essential to give the true character of a scene” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 6). The fact that Dana used words such as “scene” and “character” when describing his writing suggests that he was hyper-­conscious of the narrative that he was creating and that he emphasized certain impressions for greater effect. Dana left from Boston on August 14, 1834, having just turned 19, on board the brig Pilgrim, which was headed for California. When Dana returned from his voyage to Boston on the Alert in 1836, he was healthy enough to return to his studies at Harvard. He graduated in June 1837 and pursued law school and l­ ater practiced maritime law. While in law school, he wrote a manuscript based on the journal he kept during his time on the Pilgrim. With the encouragement of peers, he sent his manuscript to a publisher and it was published in 1840 as Two Years Before the Mast. Dana became active in the Free-­Soil Party, took cases involving seamen’s rights, and acted as counsel on behalf of fugitives who had been apprehended ­under the Fugitive Slave Law. In 1859, Dana was appointed by Abraham Lincoln as the U.S. District Attorney for Mas­sa­chu­setts and carved out a respectable ­legal ­career in that office. ­After the Civil War, he resigned as U.S. District Attorney and returned to private practice b­ ecause of his disagreement with President Andrew Johnson’s Reconstruction policies. He continued practicing and researching maritime law and died in 1882 (Dana, 1909/1937, pp. 3–4). In Dana’s book, Two Years Before the Mast (Dana, 1909/1937), he chronicled his observations of the maritime industry, its l­abor and disciplinary

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practices from the perspective of the common sailor, and his time around Cape Horn and in Alta California. He described Alta California and its missions, his impressions of Spanish Mexican and indigenous cultures and society, and his thoughts on the foreigners whom he met during his 1835–36 visit. His publication garnered him significant attention in both E ­ ngland and the United States, and was one of the most influential works in shaping American impressions of Alta California before the Gold Rush. Other foreigners had also published their notes and journals chronicling their visits to Alta California, such as French observers Jean François Galaup de la Pérouse (1797) and Auguste Duhaut-­Cilly (1834–1835), and British explorer Sir George Simpson (1847). However, Dana’s book was one of the first texts published in En­glish and one of the most influential on American perceptions of the Spanish Mexican and indigenous p­ eoples of California. Nevertheless, Dana’s text has certain limitations, as he lacked proficiency in one of California’s key languages: Spanish. He notes: “I had never studied Spanish while at college, and could not speak a word” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 80). He claimed to have cobbled together enough vocabulary to communicate better than any of his shipmates and relied on his knowledge of Latin and French, along with hand signals, to get by. Still, he admitted: “I was often sent to get something which I could not tell the name of to save my life,” and he “never pleaded ignorance” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 81). In describing Alta California, Dana was not complimentary regarding Californio institutions and practices. “Courts and jurisprudence they have no knowledge of,” he wrote (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 81). As for foreigners, he stated that “[n]o Protestant has any civil rights” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 82). He was far more complimentary about Alta California’s natu­ral resources. ­After highlighting the salubrious climate, the arable soil, and the readily available ­water supply, Dana exclaimed, “Nothing but the character of the ­people prevents Monterey from becoming a ­great town.” He criticized Californio cultural practices for their “cock-­fighting, gambling of all sorts, fandangos, and ­every kind of amusement and knavery” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 84) even as he found the region’s harbors and its potential for development g­ reat—­under industrious and better governance. Any positive developments to the land he credited to ­those foreigners who traded in Alta California and intermarried and lived ­there. Realizing that some of his book’s comments had offended Californians, both Spanish Mexican and foreigners alike, Dana was apprehensive of encountering them again during a return trip to the region in 1859, 24 years ­after his

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initial voyage. Describing one encounter with Alfred  B. Robinson, Dana wrote: “I did not know how he would receive me, remembering what I had printed to the world about him at a time when I took ­little thought that the world was g­ oing to read it” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 385). Dana was relieved that Robinson showed him “no sign of offence, only cordiality” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 385). As to the influence of his book on Anglo Americans, Dana noted: “I found that almost . . . ​­every American in California had read it; for when California ‘broke out’ as the phrase is, in 1848, and so large a portion of the Anglo-­Saxon race flocked to it, ­there was no book upon California but mine” (Dana, 1909/1937, p. 379). His book inspired countless other American visitors to California, especially t­ hose who arrived ­after the Gold Rush, to publish their memoirs, letters, and other reminiscences. In this re­spect, Dana ­shaped a genre of travel lit­er­a­ture by American authors who gave their unfiltered views and opinions about the existing settlers of Mexico’s northwestern frontiers. This lit­er­a­ture would shape f­ uture encounters between p­ eoples of Mexican descent and new Anglo settlers for years to come.

Mexican Americans who had lived in the region when it still belonged to Mexico also found themselves pushed to low-­paid wage ­labor in agriculture, railroad, and c­ attle industries, but they resisted marginalization whenever pos­si­ble with l­ egal challenges, mutual aid socie­ties, Catholic lay institutions, and community cele­ brations such as the Cinco de Mayo to assert ethnic pride. Native p­ eoples faced new policies that disrupted their families and indentured them to white settlers, including removal of their c­ hildren for boarding-­school education, vagrancy laws, and cycles of indebtedness and bondage that had long historical roots in the region. In contrast, Anglo Americans continued to enter the region in search of better climate, land, and economic opportunity. They established themselves in higher-­paid economic sectors such as mercantilism, agribusiness, railroad and ­cattle capitalism, and other white-­collar professional industries, gaining significant po­liti­cal power in the region. They also brought with them new religious denominations, established new churches and English-­language schools, and introduced banking and business institutions. Social stratification along racial, ethnic, and class lines increased by the end of the 19th ­century (Milner et al., 1994, pp. 199–232, 240, 369–371). As this overview illustrates, region, timing, and po­liti­cal developments all s­ haped the trajectory of Anglo colonization in the U.S. southwest, and patterns varied widely from one place to another.

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Biographies of Notable Figures Abel Stearns (1798–1871) Abel Stearns was born February 9, 1798, in Mas­sa­chu­setts to parents who ­were descended from En­glish immigrants. Stearns was orphaned around the age of 12 when both of his parents died, and he became a sailor based out of Boston. He l­ ater ascended from the position of a common sailor to a c­ areer as a global trader. He spent three years in mainland Mexico and became a naturalized Mexican citizen in 1828, before arriving in Alta California in 1829 (County of Los Angeles, Board of Supervisors, n.d.). He arrived as a global trader hoping to secure a land grant in California. He forged close ties to vari­ous Californios in Alta California who sought his ­favor ­because of his prominence in trade, including José Bandini of San Diego, his ­future father-­in-­law. Stearns clashed with Governor Manuel Victoria and was exiled from Alta California in 1831 b­ ecause he sympathized with Victoria’s po­liti­cal rivals (Bancroft, 1885, vol. III, pp. 424, 630 n. 1). Although po­liti­cal tensions occasionally led to the exile of Spanish Mexicans and foreigners, Stearns’s exile reflects the distrust that some Mexican officials felt ­toward foreigners in the region, as tensions w ­ ere building elsewhere between Mexico and the United States in Texas. ­After returning from his exile, Stearns settled in Los Angeles in 1833, where he set up his trading business. He traded in leather hides and liquor, obtained a lot in the Los Angeles pueblo, and in 1834 transformed a building in San Pedro into a trading ware­house (Bancroft, 1886, vol. V, p. 732). In 1835, Stearns was suspected of smuggling contraband at this San Pedro ware­house (Bancroft, 1885, vol. III, pp. 375, 631 n. 1). Despite his occasional run-­ins with local officials, though, he was respected enough by his Californio peers to become síndico (public attorney) for Los Angeles in 1836. His position as a public official did not prevent further conflict with another Mexican governor, Mariano Chico (Bancroft, 1886, vol. V, p. 732). In 1841, the 43-­year-­old Abel Stearns married a 14-­year-­old ­woman from an elite Spanish Mexican f­ amily, Arcadia Bandini. Nicknames ­were a customary practice in Alta California, and Abel Stearns received the name “horse face” ­because of his long face and unattractive appearance. Perhaps ­because of his age and looks, Stearns sought to please his young bride by providing her a lavish lifestyle. In 1842, he purchased the 20,000-­acre Rancho Los Alamitos and began a new ­career in livestock (County of Los Angeles Board of Supervisors, n.d.). He eventually became one of the wealthiest members of southern California society, adding to his portfolio with additional land grants he received throughout the Los Angeles area. He constructed a home in Los Angeles for his wife, known as El Palacio (the palace), which became the hub of elite society and the location of balls during the transition from Mexican to U.S. rule.

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Stearns attempted to maintain an ambiguous position on Mexico’s escalating conflict with the United States. He, like other Yankees, believed that California would benefit eco­nom­ically from U.S. rule. He agreed with Thomas O. Larkin, the U.S. consul to Mexico, that Alta California should transition to U.S. control rather than remain in Mexican hands, or worse, fall u­ nder the dominion of another imperial power, such as ­England. However, Stearns was a naturalized Mexican citizen, a former síndico, and the husband of an elite Spanish Mexican w ­ oman who held affection for local Californios, including many men of high esteem. Thus, Stearns attempted to remain neutral during violent events that broke out as a consequence of the U.S.-­Mexico War, though he believed that the conquest of California was inevitable (Bancroft, 1886, vol. V, p. 732). ­Under U.S. rule, Stearns served as a member of California’s constitutional convention in 1849, a justice of the peace, a state assemblyman in 1851, a Los Angeles county supervisor, and a member of the Los Angeles common council in 1860 (County of Los Angeles, Board of Supervisors, n.d.). His business correspondence in the Mexican and early American periods reveals his bilingualism and fluency in Spanish. Stearns often wrote to Anglo peers in California in Spanish as well as in En­glish. In this re­spect, Stearns symbolized the ideal of Anglo acculturation into Alta California’s Mexican society. Although some foreigners, especially traders, acculturated out of expediency, in the hope of furthering their business interests, ­others felt genuine affection for their ­adopted home and for the Californios with whom they had established kinship ties ­after marrying local Spanish Mexican ­women. Stearns maintained tremendous social prestige and status in southern California, even ­after U.S. conquest, as numerous newcomers and Californios alike sought his f­ avor. He amassed massive land holdings throughout present-­day Los Angeles and Orange County. Despite experiencing financial setbacks due to a major drought that hit southern California in 1863–1864, Stearns rebounded from major financial losses by transforming his land holdings into the Robinson Trust in 1868. Stearns and his real estate partners foresaw that the c­ attle economy of southern California was over and that subdivisions and land speculation would take its place. Stearns left his wife a hefty estate upon his death at the age of 72 on August 23, 1871 (Bancroft, 1886, vol. V, p. 733).

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS The National Colonization Law, 1824 ­ nder Spanish rule, the northern frontiers of New Spain experienced im­mense difU ficulties attracting colonists and furthering the region’s economic development. Alta California, New Mexico, and Texas ­were established as buffer zones to expand the

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reach of the Spanish empire and to protect more prosperous mining regions farther south. Mexico’s imperial colonization law of 1823, and its subsequent colonization law of 1824, reflected the desire of policy makers to encourage foreign settlement to populate the northern frontiers, especially as a defense against indigenous tribes like the Comanche who had resisted Eu­ro­pean colonization. The northern frontiers grappled with de­cades of Indian raids and Spanish Mexican counter-­ raids that cultivated a climate of vio­lence and resulted in death and population loss on both sides. This weakened the ability of Mexican northern territories to govern and develop eco­nom­ically. Although the policy of colonization was not unanimously supported by Mexican politicians and leaders, it reveals some of the young nation’s conflicting goals and anx­i­eties. Leaders who opposed the policy understood that American foreigners ­were already encroaching on Mexican national bound­aries and saw that the best approach was to regulate this pro­cess. For example, Article 4 notes that foreigners are prevented from establishing a colony within 20 leagues of a rival nation’s border without approval. To encourage colonization, the Mexican government also agreed to exempt colonists from taxes for several years. Notably, Article I of an imperial colonization law, dated 1823, established the Roman Catholic faith as the official religion, and foreigners’ civil rights as contingent upon their professing devotion to this faith. The following document excerpt echoes the colonization law of 1824, enacted in the year that the Mexican Republic was formed, but the quoted document did not include reference to the Catholic faith as the official religion. Nevertheless, other laws and constitutions asserted the Roman Catholic faith as the state recognized religion. The National Colonization Law August 18, 1824 (Decree No. 72) The Supreme Executive Power provisionally appointed by the General Sovereign Constituent Congress . . . ​[T]he said Congress has decreed as follows: Art. 1. The Mexican nation offers to foreigners, who come to establish themselves within its territory, security for their persons and property, provided, they subject themselves to the laws of the country. Art. 2. This law comprehends t­ hose lands of the nation, not the property of individuals, corporations, or towns, which can be colonized. Art. 3. For this purpose the Legislature of the States, w ­ ill, as soon as pos­si­ble, form colonization laws, or regulations for their respective states, conforming themselves in all ­things, to the constitutional act, general constitution, and the regulations established in this law.

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Art. 4. ­There cannot be colonized any lands, comprehended within twenty leagues of the limits of any foreign nation, nor within ten leagues of the coasts, without the previous approbation of the general supreme executive power. Art. 5. If for the defense and security of the nation, the federal government should deem it necessary to use any portion of t­hese lands, for the construction of ware­houses, arsenals, or other public edifices, they can do so, with the approbation of the general congress, or in its recess, of the council of government. Art. 6. ­Until a­ fter four years from the publication of this law, ­there ­shall not be imposed any tax what­ever, on the entrance of the persons of foreigners, who come to establish themselves for the first time, in the nation. Art. 7. U ­ ntil ­after the year 1840, the general congress s­ hall not prohibit the entrance of any foreigner, as a colonist, u­ nless imperious circumstances should require it, with re­spect to the individuals of a par­tic­u­lar nation. Art. 8. The government, without prejudicing the objects of this law, ­shall take such precautionary mea­sures as it may deem expedient, for the security of the confederation, as re­spects the foreigners who come to colonize. Art. 9. A preference ­shall be given in the distribution of lands, to Mexican citizens, and no other distinction ­shall be made in regard to them except that which is founded on individual merit, or ser­vices rendered the country, or u­ nder equal circumstances, a residence in the place where the lands to be distributed are situated. . . . Art. 12. It s­ hall not be permitted to unite in the same hands with the right of property, more than one league square of land, suitable for irrigation, four square leagues in superficie, of arable land without the facilities of irrigation, and six square leagues in superficie of grazing land. Art. 13. The new colonists ­shall not transfer their property in mortmain (manus muertos). Art. 14. This law guarantees the contracts which the empresarios make with the families which they bring at their own expense, provided they are not contrary to the laws. Art. 15. No person who by virtue of this law, acquires a title to lands, s­ hall hold them if he is domiciliated out of the limits of the republic. . . . Mexico, 18th August, 1824 Cayetano Ibarra, President Source: “The Mexican Colonization Laws,” in Documents of Texas History, 2nd  ed., ed. Ernest Wallace, David M. Vigness, and George B. Ward (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 2002), 49. Reprinted with permission.

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Green DeWitt’s Empresario Contract, 1825 In 1825, Missouri native Green DeWitt received an empresario contract from the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas to ­settle 400 families in the region, adjacent to one of Stephen F. Austin’s colonies. Unfortunately for DeWitt, his efforts conflicted with t­hose of another empresario, Martín de León. DeWitt’s colonists had experienced a Comanche attack in July 1826, and moved away from the town of Gonzales into an area claimed by de León in lower Lavaca. By April 15, 1831 (the expiration date of DeWitt’s contract), he had settled only 166 of the promised 400 families. The majority of empresarios ­were not as successful in fulfilling contracts as was Stephen F. Austin, who signed four contracts during the 1820s that resulted in 1,200 families colonizing Texas. This era of the empresarios reflects the state’s desire to encourage economic development, bolster military defense of the region against Indian attacks, and to “civilize” the realm through the establishment of  towns, churches, and schools. The following contract reveals the typical empresario’s obligations as outlined by the state of Coahuila y Tejas (Richardson et al., 2001, pp. 69–71). Green DeWitt’s Empresario Contract April 15, 1825 Conditions upon which is allowed the projected introduction by Green DeWitt, a citizen of the United States of North Amer­i­ca, of four hundred families as colonists into the department of Texas. 1st. Inasmuch as the plan presented in the preceding memorial by the person concerned conforms to the colonization law of the honorable congress of the state, ­adopted March 24, the government consents to it, and, therefore, in fulfillment of article 8 [of this colonization law], and in consideration of his petition, assigns to him the land for which he asks, contained within t­hese limits: Beginning on the right bank of the Arroyo de la Vaca at a distance of the reserved ten leagues from the coast, adjoining the colony of Stephen Austin, the line ­shall go up this arroyo as far as the Béjar-­Nacogdoches road; it s­ hall follow this road t­ oward the west u­ ntil it reaches a point two leagues west of the Guadalupe River; from ­there it ­shall run parallel with the river south ­towards the coast ­until it reaches the ten-­league coast reservation; thence it s­ hall run along the inner edge of this reservation t­oward the east to the place of beginning. 2nd. The empresario ­shall re­spect the rights of individuals legally possessed of lands within this district. 3rd. In accordance with the above-­mentioned colonization law of March 24, the empresario, Green DeWitt, ­shall be obliged ­under penalty of losing the right

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and privileges guaranteed by article 8 of this law, to introduce the four hundred families within the term of six years beginning from to-­day. 4th. The families that ­shall compose this colony, besides being Catholic, as the empresario promises in his petition, must also be able to prove, by certificates from the authorities of the localities from which they come, their good moral character. 5th. The empresario s­ hall not introduce into his colony criminals, vagrants, or persons of bad morals, and if such be found ­there he s­ hall cause them to leave the republic, by force of arms if necessary. 6th. To this end he ­shall or­ga­nize, in accordance with law, the national militia, and he ­shall be commanding officer of it ­until other arrangements s­ hall be made. 7th. When he s­ hall have introduced at least one hundred families he must advise the government, in order that a commissioner may be sent to put the colonists in possession of their lands according to law, and to establish towns, for which he ­shall carry competent instructions. 8th. Official correspondence with the government or with the state authorities, ­legal instruments, and other public documents must be written in Spanish, and when towns ­shall have been formed, it ­shall be the duty of the empresario to establish schools in that language. 9th. It ­shall also be his duty to erect churches in new towns; to provide them with ornaments, sacred vessels, and other adornments dedicated to divine worship; and to apply in due time for the priests needed for the administration of spiritual instructions. 10th. In all m ­ atters not ­here referred to he s­ hall be governed by the constitution, the general laws of the nation, and the special laws of the state which he adopts as his own. . . . Source: “De Witt’s Empresario Contract,” in Documents of Texas History, 2nd ed., ed. Ernest Wallace, David M. Vigness, and George B. Ward (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 2002), 59. Reprinted with permission.

See also: Latin American In­de­pen­dence; Texas In­de­pen­dence; U.S.-­Mexican War

Further Reading Bancroft, Hubert Howe. 1884–1886. History of California, vols. I–­IV. San Francisco: A. L. Bancroft. Bancroft, Hubert Howe. 1886. History of California, vols. V–­VII. San Francisco: The History Com­pany. Cantrell, Greg. 1999. Stephen F. Austin: Empresario of Texas. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Carson, Kit. 2001. Kit Carson’s Own Story of His Life, As Dictated to Col. and Mrs. D.C. Peters. Ed. Blanche C. Grant. Santa Barbara, CA: The Narrative Press.

Anglo-­American Colonization of Northern Mexico, 1820–1846 | 115 County of Los Angeles, Board of Supervisors. n.d. “Supervisor Abel Stearns.” http://­file​ .­lacounty​.­gov​/­SDSInter​/­lac​/­111789​_­astearns​.­pdf Dakin, Susanna Bryant. 1949. The Lives of William Hartnell. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Dakin, Susanna Bryant.1978. A Scotch Paisano in Old Los Angeles: Hugo Reid’s Life in California, 1832–1852 Derived from His Correspondence. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dana, Jr., Richard Henry. 1909, reprinted 1937. Two Years Before the Mast. Ed. Charles W. Eliot. New York: P. F. Collier & Son. Davis, William Heath. 1929. Seventy-­Five Years in California; a history of events and life in California: personal, po­liti­cal and military; u­ nder the Mexican regime; during the quasi-­military government of the territory by the United States, and ­after the admission of the state to the ­union: Being a compilation by a witness of the events described; a reissue and enlarged illustrated edition of ‘Sixty years in California’, to which much new ­matter by its author has been added which he contemplated publishing ­under the pres­ent title at the time of his death, ed. Douglas S. Watson. San Francisco: John Howell. Foley, Neil. 2014. Mexicans in the Making of Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Forster, John, and Thomas Savage. 1970. “Don Juan Forster: Southern California Ranchero.” Southern California Quarterly 52 (3, September): 195–230. Giffen, Helen S. 1937. “An ­Adopted Californian: The Life and Letters of William Goodwin Dana.” The Quarterly: Historical Society of Southern California 19 (2, June): 49–62. González, Deena J. 1999. Refusing the F ­ avor: The Spanish-­Mexican ­Women of Santa Fe, 1820–1880. New York: Oxford University Press. Haas, Lisbeth. 1995. Conquests and Historical Identities in California, 1769–1936. Berkeley: University of California Press. Haley, James A. 2002. Sam Houston. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Hyde, Anne F. 2011. Empires, Nations, and Families: A History of the North American West, 1800–1860. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Jackson, Sheldon G. 1977. A British Ranchero in Old California: The Life and Times of Henry Dalton and the Rancho Azusa. Glendale, CA: The Arthur H. Clark Co. Johnson, Susan Lee. 2000. Roaring Camp: The Social World of the California Gold Rush. New York: W. W. Norton. Kicza, John E. 1982. “The ­Great Families of Mexico: Elite Maintenance and Business Practices in Late Colonial Mexico.” Hispanic American Historical Review 62 (3, August): 429–457. McDowell Craver, Rebecca. 1982. The Impact of Intimacy: Mexican-­Anglo Intermarriage in New Mexico, 1821–1846. El Paso: Texas Western Press. Meier, Matt S., and Margo Gutiérrez.2000. Encyclopedia of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Milner, II, Clyde A., Carol A. O’Connor, and Martha A. Sandweiss, eds. 1994. The Oxford History of the American West. New York: Oxford University Press.

116 | Changing Flags, 1810–1846 Nidever, George. 1937. The Life and Adventures of George Nidever [1802–1883]: The life story of a remarkable California pioneer told in his own words, and none wasted. Ed. William Henry Ellison. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pubols, Louise. 2010. ­Father of All: The de la Guerra ­Family, Patriarchy, and Power in Mexican California. Berkeley: University of California Press. Reséndez, Andrés. 2004. Changing National Identities at the Frontier: Texas and New Mexico, 1800–1850. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Richardson, Rupert N., Adrian Anderson, Cary D. Wintz, and Ernest Wallace. 2001. Texas: The Lone Star State (8th ed.). Upper S ­ addle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Robinson, Alfred. 1970. Life in California. Santa Barbara, CA: Peregrine Publishers. Robinson, W.W. 1979. Land in California. New York: Arno Press. Sheridan, Thomas E. 1986. Los Tucsonenses: The Mexican Community in Tucson, 1854– 1941. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Simmons, Marc. 2003. Kit Carson and His Three Wives: A ­Family History. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Texas State Historical Association. n.d. The Handbook of Texas [online]. Retrieved from https://­tshaonline​.­org​/­handbook. Thompson, Alpheus B., and Francis A. Thompson. 1947. China Trade Days in California: Selected Letters from the Thompson Papers, 1832–1863. Ed. D. Mackenzie Brown. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wallace, Ernest, David M. Vigness, and George B. Ward, eds. 2002. “The Mexican Colonization Laws,” in Documents of Texas History (2nd ed.) Austin: Texas State Historical Association. Weber, David J., ed. 1973. Foreigners in Their Native Land. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Wilson, Benjamin D., and Arthur Woodworth. 1934. “Benjamin David Wilson’s Observations on Early Days in California and New Mexico.” Annual Publication of the Historical Society of Southern California 16: 74–150.

Texas In­de­pen­dence, 1835–1836 Kris Klein Hernández

Chronology 1718

The governor of New Spain’s Texas province, Martín de Alarcón, establishes a mission, San Antonio de Valero (the Alamo), and a town, Villa de Béxar (San Antonio), on the San Antonio River and San Pedro Creek. Over the next few de­cades, the Spanish and Indians slowly populate the area.

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1820

With the assistance of Baron de Bastrop and Erasmo Seguín, Anglo-­ American empresario Moses Austin receives a land-­grant approval from governor Antonio María Martínez on December 26. The grant allows him to s­ettle 300 American families near the mouth of the Colorado River at Matagorda Bay.

1821, June Moses dies shortly a­ fter receiving his land-­grant approval, and his son, Stephen Austin, takes over the colonization plans. 1824, October

Mexico terminates its two-­year constitutional monarchy u­ nder Agustín Iturbide and establishes a new Mexican republic with its first elected president, Guadalupe Victoria. The 1824 Constitution of Mexico is established on October  4. ­Under the new federal constitution, the states of Coahuila and Texas merge into Coahuila y Tejas.

1826–1827 The Fredonian Rebellion takes place from December through January. Empresario Haden Edwards, other settlers, and several Cherokee Indians rebel against the Mexican government, occupy the town of Nacogdoches, and create the Republic of Fredonia. It lasts one month ­until Tejano (Texans of Spanish-­Mexican descent) and Texian (Texans of Anglo-­American and Eu­ro­pean descent) soldiers arrive and crush the rebellion. 1830

On April 6, Mexican President Anastacio Bustamante passes several laws that prohibit further immigration into Mexico across its northern border and strictly enforce the abolition of slavery. ­These laws are aimed directly at the Texians, who still practiced slavery, and any ­future Anglo immigrants who might try to enter Mexico.

1835, October

War erupts with the ­Battle at Gonzales on October 2. Texians led by John Henry Moore fire upon Lieutenant Francisco Castañeda’s Mexican force at Gonzales, Coahuila y Tejas. Sara DeWitt, wife of one of the Old 300 colonists Green DeWitt, fashions a flag with the phrase “Come and Get It” and a picture of a cannon. It is meant to symbolize the Texas rebellion.

1835, October

The B ­ attle of Goliad takes place on October 10. ­After the victory at Gonzales, Coahuila y Tejas (Texas), Texians successfully attack the nearby Mexican presidio of La Bahía. This results in another triumph for the Anglo settlers.

1835, October–­ December

Texian troops march to Béxar and, with the assistance of several Tejanos, lay siege to the town. The acting Mexican general of Béxar, Martín Perfecto de Cós (the brother-­in-­law of President Antonio López de Santa Anna), surrenders to the Texians on December 11. This comes

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as a surprise Texian victory, for ­there had been a constant and sustained Mexican military presence at Béxar since 1803. 1836, January

Following the successful occupation of Béxar, the Texians position themselves at the garrison known as the Alamo by January. Sam Houston recommends that due to lack of reinforcements, the Texians should burn the Alamo and head north. They decide to stay at the Alamo and take a stand.

1836, February

On February 23, Santa Anna arrives at the Alamo with several thousand Mexican troops and bombards the garrison for 13 days.

1836, March

While Santa Anna’s army bombards the Alamo, Sam Houston and ­others meet on Washington-­on-­the-­Brazos and draft the Texas Declaration of In­de­pen­dence overnight on March 1. During this 1836 Convention, 60 men—3 of whom are Tejanos—­sign the document that officially declares in­de­pen­dence from Mexico.

1836, March

On March 6, Santa Anna storms the stronghold ­after several days of fighting. His army kills all the Texian soldiers, as well as Davy Crockett. The sole survivors are the wives of some of the officers and an enslaved African American man, Joe.

1836, March

More than 400 Texian prisoners at Goliad are executed by Mexican troops on March  27. This massacre reaches Houston and galvanizes Texian motivations for in­de­pen­dence.

1836, April

The ­Battle of San Jacinto takes place on April 20. This final action of the war—­a bloody conflict between Mexican troops, Texians, and Tejanos—­culminates in a ­battle that lasts less than an hour. The Texians triumph over Santa Anna’s army. Santa Anna retreats and flees from the scene in an effort to evade capture, but he is apprehended the following day.

1836, May

While in custody in Velasco, Texas, Santa Anna and Sam Houston agree on a public and private treaty by May 14 to evacuate all Mexican forces from Texas, and to legislate for an in­de­pen­dent Texas when Santa Anna returns to Mexico City.

1845

The United States annexes Texas.

Narrative From October 1835 to May 1836, the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence brought several thousand Texan inhabitants of Eu­ro­pean, Anglo-­American, and Mexican descent

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together, initially to dispute ­legal rights and eventually to obtain in­de­pen­dence from the United Mexican States. The war was known as the Texan Rebellion from Mexico’s point of view, and the Texas Revolution from the vantage point of the United States. Since the early 1820s, the interests of Anglo-­American colonists, northern Mexicans, and several indigenous groups throughout present-­day Texas had slowly begun to intersect, as trade and security ­ were paramount to each group’s survival. As a result, a regional identity began to emerge among ­these populations, as many began to identify as “Texans” or “Tejanos” in the case of ­those who The first elected president of the Lone Star Republic of Texas, Sam Houston helped establish Texas’s had Spanish-­Mexican ancestry. in­de­pen­dent status and led the Republic through its The Texas War for In­de­pen­dence first few tumultuous years. (Library of Congress) culminated in several military victories over Mexican President Antonio López de Santa Anna’s northern force, and secured for Texans an in­de­pen­dent, yet contested, republic that would endure from 1836 to 1845. Disputes regarding immigration, slavery, and the ­handling of security and surveillance over the area to protect it from Indian raids served as initial catalysts for Texans to call for in­de­pen­dence. More impor­tant, however, was the disagreement generated by the po­liti­cal turmoil of both the U.S. and Mexican nation-­states that compelled Anglo-­American settlers, Mexican citizens, and native Indians to recognize the need for a ruling body that would serve the best interests of an ethnically heterogeneous Texas. Texan secession from Mexico is impor­tant for Latino history ­because Tejanos (Mexican Texans), helped shape the Lone Star state’s past, and contributed to the victory over Mexico. In order to appreciate the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence, it is crucial to understand the history of the region leading up to the international conflict. Indigenous Texas was initially populated by several hundred native communities, most prominently the Caddos, Tonkawa, Wichita, and the Tlascalan p­ eople (Barr, 2007,

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Introduction). By the mid-1600s, the Spanish and French entered the area, along with the newly forming indigenous nations of the Lipan Apache and Comanche (Ramos, 2008, p. 15). The earliest and most prominent Tejano settlement of San Antonio de Béxar, or simply Béxar, was settled on May 5, 1718, by the newly appointed governor of Texas, Martín de Alarcón. Alarcón’s expedition “chose a spot on the banks of the San Antonio River and San Pedro Creek to establish a mission, San Antonio de Valero, and a town, Villa de Béxar” (Ramos, 2008, pp. 17–18). Spanish migration to the region was slow but steady throughout the 18th ­century. The first two de­cades in 19th-­century North Amer­ic­ a, however, saw the creation of one nation, Mexico, and the growth of another very young nation, the United States. ­After the 1803 Louisiana Purchase Treaty, the United States claimed lands that included disputed Spanish territory. Spain, however, was unable to challenge this. In 1821, ­after a de­cade of insurrection, Mexico achieved in­de­pen­dence from Spain and assembled its first and last constitutional monarchy u­ nder Agustín Iturbide. By 1824, however, that government was overthrown, and Mexico became a republic, proclaiming that its domain stretched from present-­day Texas to Oregon. In the midst of Mexico’s geopo­liti­cal changes from the 1810s to 1820s, the Provincias Internas (internal provinces of Texas that included the present-­day Mexican states of Coahuila, Nuevo León, and Tamaulipas) comprised a general population of 82,000, of which 3,500 to 4,00 w ­ ere in Béxar (Ramos, 2008, p. 18). ­People living in Texas began to embrace new regional identities. ­Those who ­were Spanish-­ speaking or of Hispanic descent started to recognize themselves as Tejano (Calore, 2014, p. 13). This identity was even more regionalized based on the town in which a Tejano was born. Tejanos within Béxar understood themselves to be Bexareños. Some of the elite and prestigious Mexican families in the region at this time ­were the Navarro, Veramendi, Ruíz, and Músquiz families and, fi­nally, the Seguíns (Ramos, 2008, p. 94). One of the most prominent Tejanos of the period was Erasmo Seguín. Born Juan José María Erasmo Seguín in 1782 in Béxar, Seguín served as postmaster of Béxar (known as San Antonio following Texas in­de­pen­dence), and was the first and sole Tejano provisional delegate from Texas to attend the Mexican constitutional convention in 1824. He also was elected as mayor and quartermaster of Béxar. He and his ­family would be instrumental to Texas’s f­ uture as both a Mexican state and an in­de­ pen­dent republic in 1835. His son, Juan Nepomuceno Seguín, who was born in Béxar in 1806, would be especially instrumental. Everyday life for Tejano populations depended on trade and agriculture, but even more importantly, on security and defense from Indian raids. Due to their distance from Mexico’s capital, t­here ­were few military soldiers to guard the scattered Texas settlements. One solution to the prob­lem of raids was to colonize the area with mi­grants and immigrants. As it so happened, ­there ­were several hundred Anglo Americans who embraced the idea

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Women in Tejano Society Understanding gender roles is crucial in exploring the Tejano past, as gender compartmentalized tasks for w ­ omen and men. For example, in the years leading up to the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence, Tejana ­women held vari­ous social and po­liti­cal roles that w ­ ere traditionally reserved for men in Anglo-­ American communities. In addition, Tejanas had substantial peacemaking responsibilities in the vari­ous Tejano settlements. Doña María Josefa Becerra, wife of Tejano Erasmo Seguín, served as a po­liti­cal counselor, interacting with other nearby town civil officials while Seguín traveled to and from Mexico City and the peripheral towns of northern Mexico (Ramos, 2008, p.  37). Many Tejanas contributed to an efflorescence of Tejana culture through the sustained practice of marriage not only to elite Tejanos, but also to Texians and other Anglo settlers, thereby paving the way for bicultural economic and social relations.

of immigrating to Mexico, all thanks to empresario Moses Austin and his son, Stephen Austin, who led 297 families to Texas beginning in 1822. Moses Austin was born in Connecticut in 1761. He moved with his ­family to Philadelphia, where he married into the mining f­ amily of Mary Brown. They had four ­children, three of whom w ­ ere born in Philadelphia. Stephen, the first son and child to live past infancy, was born in ­Virginia in 1793. While in ­Virginia, Austin deci­ded to start his own business, a lead and mining com­pany. He was unsuccessful, and in 1797, traveled to Spanish Louisiana in present-­day Missouri to explore the mines ­there. By the next year, Moses Austin obtained one league (3.5 miles) of land from the Spanish government (Calore, 2014, Chapter 2). This would not be the only time Spain granted land to Moses. By the late 1810s, he presented his idea to colonize Texas with Anglo-­American settlers to the then governor of Spanish Texas, Antonio María Martínez (Calore, 2014, p. 54). Martínez rejected the proposition, as he was hesitant to have Americans in the land who still believed in the utility of the institution of slavery. Moses Austin did not relent and knew someone who could help change the governor’s mind: Dutch businessman Felipe Enrique Neri, also known as the Baron de Bastrop. With the baron’s influence, on December 26, 1821, Governor Martínez “recommended approval of the entrepreneur’s application for a permit to bring three hundred American families—­all Catholics of course—to ­settle a colony near the mouth of the Colorado River at Matagorda Bay” (Davis, 2004, p. 56). Moses Austin suffered health complications, and on his deathbed, asked his son Stephen to continue the colonization plan ­after his death (Barker, 1924).

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Twenty-­eight-­year-­old Stephen Austin complied with his f­ ather’s last wishes, and met with Erasmo Seguín, who helped in locating and settling the land promised to his f­ather. B ­ ecause Moses had initially procured his agreement u­ nder Spanish rule, he was bound by the Spanish requirement that “all colonists . . . ​ observe the Catholic faith, take an oath of allegiance to King and constitution, and be honest, industrious farmers and mechanics” (Davis, 2004, p. 58). Yet, by the time Stephen arrived with 297 families, the agreement had to be reassembled ­under Mexican authority and u­ nder a new state, as the 1824 constitution merged the states of Coahuila and Tejas. Thanks to Seguín and f­ uture Tejano land commissioner José Antonio Navarro, who managed to “provide favorable legislation to promote colonization,” the two helped secure the lands for Austin and realize the dream of his f­ ather (Ramos, 2008, p. 100). By 1825, Stephen Austin succeeded in bringing to Texas the “Old Three Hundred”: a term immortalizing the 297 arriving Anglo-­American families that w ­ ere “mostly farmers of British ancestry coming from Louisiana, Alabama, Tennessee and Missouri” (Calore, 2014, p. 10). Almost a quarter of t­hese new immigrants owned enslaved African Americans, with one man, Jared Groce, bringing in nearly 100 slaves (Davis, 2004, p. 60). ­These families and other ­future Anglo settlers to the region would be understood as Texians, a term generally used to identify Eu­ro­ pean colonists between the years 1821 to 1836 (Calore, 2014, p. 13). By the end of

Tejano Kinship Kinship practices, or the collection of social and cultural customs and norms in Mexican states such as Coahuila y Tejas, w ­ ere diverse and varied based on one’s region. In order to ensure a continuance of trade and peace in Texas, for example, many Tejanos engaged in traditions that equally honored their native ancestry and Spanish background, and included their new Anglo neighbors. One custom that Tejanos engaged in throughout Coahuila y Tejas was the practice of compadrazgo, better understood in the United States as being a godparent. As segments of Tejano life w ­ ere tied to teachings from Catholicism, compadrazgo was an informal and loosely based religious practice that bound Tejano families together. It also served as an outlet to ensure hierarchical social relations between families of dif­fer­ent generations, while maintaining cultural uniformity between Tejanos from varying regions. Tejanos and Texians who married throughout the 1820s and 1830s also engaged in compadrazgo, strengthening regional bonds between dif­fer­ent ethnic groups and further forming an even stronger regional identity.

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1825, the most successful colonies out of the 24 total ­were Stephen Austin’s colony, Green DeWitt’s community (DeWitt received direct help from Navarro), and the sole Tejano cluster of 40 ethnic Mexicans by empresario Martín de León (Calore, 2014, p. 10). Everyday life for Texans now entailed sharing the land with vecinos (Mexican neighbors) in their newly a­ dopted country. Texians and Tejanos lived and worked together over the next few years. While the newly arrived colonists already practiced Catholicism, many learned Spanish, and effectively interacted with Tejanos, who in turn, learned En­glish and engaged in trade with their new neighbors. Scholars of south Texas maintain that “prestige,” rather than nationalism, was the vehicle through which Mexican Texans obtained honor in society, and with it, social status and standing within the community (Ramos, 2008, p. 35). ­After 1821, Tejanos in Laredo, Coahuila y Tejas, created and volunteered in a “Compañía Civica” that sought to protect the town from raids by native bands (Mendoza, 2011, p. 128). Tejanos and Texians even collaborated to establish peace with the Comanche, and engaged in trade with Comanchería throughout the 1820s (Ramos, 2008, p. 62). Faith also bound the two populations together, as religion, community, and f­ amily w ­ ere central to Texian and Tejano society (Davis, 2004, p. 64). Another example of a shared and growing Texan identity is seen in the marriages between Anglo settlers and Tejanos. James “Jim” Bowie—­ after whom the famous knife is named—­married into the elite Veramendi ­family, tying the knot with María Ursula de Veramendi on April 25, 1831. Bowie and de Veramendi had two ­children together (Ramos, 2008, p. 112). The increased presence of Anglo settlers in Coahuila y Tejas led to disagreements regarding Mexican land-­grant customs. In December of 1826, for example, empresario Haden Edwards, other Anglo settlers, and several Cherokee Indians sought to secede from Mexico due to tensions with other settlers. According to historians, Edwards “refused to follow a Mexican law regarding land claims made by Mexicans already living within his grant” (Ramos, 2008, p. 105). Edwards’s new colony was called the Republic of Fredonia and represented a society run by new Anglo-­American settlers and Cherokee residents. When Stephen Austin and Mexican officials received news of the rebellion, both sent troops to crush the uprising in that next month. On January 31, 1827, more than 100 Mexican soldiers, many of whom ­were Tejano, and more than 200 of Austin’s militia gathered at the town of the proclaimed Republic of Fredonia that was next to Nacogdoches and defeated the insurgency. Edwards escaped with ­others back into the United States, but the event brought Tejanos, Texians, and citizens from other Mexican states into military contact to work to maintain the fragile peace. One historian contends that the merging of “American colonial interests with t­hose of the Tejano leadership like Seguín” brought a level of po­liti­cal autonomy that the two groups agreed on in regard to the governance of the land (Davis, 2004, p. 74).

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The Fredonian Rebellion, although unsuccessful, alarmed the Mexican state, and reminded government officials of the cantankerous relationship it shared with the state of Coahuila y Tejas. Mexican president Anastacio Bustamante consequently ordered General Manuel de Mier y Terán to reassess the jurisprudence of several of the Mexican colonization laws. With Mier y Terán’s findings, Bustamante signed a cédula, or decree, of 18 articles aimed at crushing any ­future Anglo settler uprisings. ­These laws, which went into effect on April 6, 1830, restricted northern immigration into Mexico, and reinforced the abolition of slavery with punishments (Calore, 2014, p. 13). Texians saw ­these articles as direct attacks on their livelihoods and the area, as increased colonization meant greater economic growth and stronger frontier security. Tejanos took note of the April 6 laws, and on December 19, 1832, a Tejano committee of Seguín, José Casiano, Angel Navarro, José Antonio Navarro, Refugio de la Garza, and José María Balmarech met to draft a list of grievances and a petition to submit with the Texians to the Mexican state (Ramos, 2008, p. 124). They requested increased security, but did not propose statehood, as “from a po­liti­cal standpoint, Tejano elites ideologically allied themselves with the federalist groups in Mexican politics” (Ramos, 2008, p. 127). Many young Tejanos ­were undecided about joining the rebellion, weighing the sense of Tejano regional identity that they had learned growing up with the ideological allegiance to Mexico that they developed as adults. Among some families, such as the ­brothers Angel and José Antonio Navarro, one son fought for the Mexican state while the other sided with Texas secession (Ramos, 2008, p. 152). Regional identity, rather than nationalism, deeply informed the ways in which Tejanos responded by supporting or standing against the Texas secession. Race relations, unfortunately, further intensified tensions between Mexico’s state presence and Texans. In April 1832, reports emerged of a Mexican soldier who had allegedly raped an Anglo w ­ oman (Davis, 2004, p. 82). The rape stirred up racial anx­i­eties and caught the attention of U.S. officials, who looked for ways to intervene. In the same year, President Andrew Jackson deployed Samuel Houston to assist the Texans in creating a list of objections or set of petitions to improve relations with Mexico. Samuel Houston, born in ­Virginia in 1793, would be crucial to the creation of a Texas republic, serving as its first president and helping to obtain its eventual U.S. statehood. Houston, who was familiar with Mas­sa­chu­ setts’s revolutionary constitution of 1780, brought that knowledge to Texas (Davis, 2004, p. 98). A young William Travis, who is most remembered for the letter in support of a ­Battle of the Alamo, also entered Coahuila y Tejas in the early 1830s and joined the Texian army. Together, Houston, Austin, Seguín, and o­ thers drafted a list of resolutions and petitions and all initially agreed to travel from Coahuila y Tejas to Mexico City. Austin, however, became the only person to personally deliver documents to the president. ­Little did Austin know that his trip would be

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significantly longer than he had planned, due to the induction of a new president, Antonio López de Santa Anna. ­There are few Mexican dignitaries as prolific and extraordinary as Antonio López de Santa Anna Pérez de Lebrón, who served as Mexico’s president 11 times. Santa Anna was born in 1794 in Jalapa, Veracruz, hailing from a respectable criollo (Spaniard born in Mexico) ­family that was intensely passionate and ambitious about its country (Davis, 2004, p. 104). Santa Anna initially fought for the crown during the Mexican War of In­de­pen­dence. The historian Paul Calore surmises that as a fresh recruit in the Spanish army garrisoned in Veracruz, “Santa Anna received a taste of how the Spaniards dealt with Mexican insurgents when he was assigned to help put down a bloody Hidalgo uprising” (2014, p. 18). This experience deeply changed Santa Anna, and made him wary of dissent and factionalism. When Agustín de Iturbide changed sides and fought for Mexico in 1821, so too did Santa Anna. By 1833, not surprisingly, Santa Anna took the office of the Mexican presidency. When Austin arrived in Mexico City with Texas’s resolutions in 1834, an apprehensive Santa Anna arrested him. Having learned about dissent in northern Coahuila y Tejas, Santa Anna had plans to personally travel and stop any rebellion. By July of the next year, Jim Bowie intercepted diplomatic documents from the Mexican state that revealed plans to invade Coahuila y Tejas. He quickly brought the documents to Sam Houston and o­ thers. War was brewing. The Texas War for In­de­pen­dence began on October 2, 1835, and lasted less than one year. Many historians attribute the start of the war to the B ­ attle at Gonzales and the owner­ship of a Spanish cannon. In 1826, Béxar po­liti­cal chief Ramón Músquiz agreed to loan the town of Gonzales a small bronze eight-­pound cannon for self-­defense against any Indian raids. Nearly 10 years l­ ater, in September 1835, Músquiz requested that the weapon be returned, due to intelligence that Texians ­were planning another rebellion. On September 27, Col­o­nel Domingo de Ugartechea deployed 100 Mexican dragoons (mounted infantry) ­under the command of Lieutenant Francisco Castañeda to Gonzales. The Texians and Tejanos of Gonzales, led by one of the original colonists, John Henry Moore, rounded up the militia and waited. In the meanwhile, Sara DeWitt—­wife of an “Old 300” colonist, Green DeWitt—­fashioned a flag with the phrase “Come and Get It” and a picture of a cannon. On October 2, 1835, the Texians fired on Castañeda’s army and the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence commenced. Debating the owner­ship of the cannon served as a catalyst for action to resolve the decades-­long and growing tensions between Texians and Mexico’s increasingly centralist government. Though the B ­ attle at Gonzales lasted only one day, it marked the first Texian victory over Mexico. One of the most popu­lar historical memories of the in­de­pen­dence war was the Siege of Béxar, which continued from October 28 to December 9, 1835. Texian troops, with the support of several Tejano soldiers, marched to Béxar and laid siege

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u­ ntil the acting Mexican General of Béxar, Martín Perfecto de Cós, capitulated or surrendered on December 11. By January 1826, Jim Bowie and David “Davy” Crockett had arrived at the Alamo. Crockett, born in 1786 in North Carolina, was a “frontiersman, Indian fighter, explorer, humorist, and bear hunter” (Calore, 2014, p. 58). Crockett’s legendary persona brought ­great pride and hope to the Texans; victory seemed pos­si­ble. Meanwhile, in San Luís Potosí, Santa Anna had assembled a force of several thousand soldiers over the past few months and arrived at the Alamo by mid-­February 1836. Sam Houston ordered the Texans to retreat and burn the area to the ground—­but many Texans, including Bowie, believed that staying was a symbol of Texan resolve and honor. The siege of the Alamo lasted from February 23 to March 6, during which Santa Anna’s army crushed the rebels and gave them “no quarter,” meaning that all fighters would be executed. Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett, William Travis, and 160 ­others met their end ­there. Several historians have uncovered how several Tejanos, such as José María Guerrero, also lost their lives at the Alamo (Mendoza, 2011, p. 130). While Santa Anna’s forces bombarded the Alamo, the Texas Declaration of In­de­pen­dence was signed on March 2, 1836, on the Brazos River. The document officially marked Texans’ quest for a Texas republic (Ramos, 2008, p. 157). Although the Texans suffered a crushing defeat at the Alamo, the sacrifice by the fallen galvanized the Texan secessionist movement. The B ­ attle of the Alamo was not the only military confrontation between the Texians and Mexicans that month. Col­o­nel James W. Fannin and his Texian com­ pany ­were stationed at the military garrison of Goliad when they received o­ rders from Sam Houston to evacuate the military fort in the wake of the Texian loss at Béxar on March 14. Fannin did not heed Houston’s ­orders, and by March 19, Goliad and Fannin’s army ­were captured by Mexican general José de Urrea. As prisoners of war, Fannin believed that he and his troops would be granted clemency, as did Urrea himself. Yet, when Santa Anna received news of the Texian capture, he ordered the execution of the 350 prisoners. On March 27, Fannin and his troops ­were brought outside the walls of the Spanish presidio to face a firing squad. A total of around 350 ­were executed. Almost 30 ­were alleged to have escaped, and 20 ­were spared due to their skill or occupations (Calore, 2014, p. 66). The Goliad Massacre, in addition to the military defeat at the Alamo, roused Texian calls for succession even further. The final confrontation of the war occurred on April 20 and 21, 1836, in which the Texans—­both Texians and Tejanos such as Juan Seguín’s infantry—­defeated Santa Anna’s army at the ­Battle of San Jacinto (Davis, 2004, p. ix; Ramos, 2008, p. 161). Santa Anna was eventually captured, and on May 14, Sam Houston met with him and drafted the Treaty of Velasco to end all hostilities and force Mexican troops out of Texas. Both Texans and the United States honored the treaty and acknowledged a Texas republic. Mexico, however, never recognized the treaty,

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and never fully embraced it ­until the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. More than 4,000 Texans served in the conflict, in which they sustained more than 600 Texian and Tejano deaths (Davis, 2004, p. 302). Historians note that ­after Texas’s secession from Mexico, anti-­Mexican sentiment of some Anglo settlers fueled ethnic tensions that damaged Tejanos’ class status and social standing in the new republic (Davis, 2004, p. 287). Newly arriving Anglo-­Americans and Eu­ro­pe­ans lumped all ­people of Mexican descent together with Santa Anna and the Mexican e­ nemy, overlooking the fact that some Tejanos in fact had fought and died for the cause of in­de­pen­dence. The Texas War for In­de­pen­dence, as historian Raúl Ramos suggests, obliged Tejanos to affirm an “ethnic and regional consciousness” that was much more nuanced than nationalism (2008, p. 136). In many ways, the war affirmed how Tejano identities and agency ­were predicated upon a set of ever-­changing and contingent regional po­liti­cal, economic, and social experiences. Although Texas’s secession was a confirmation of Texian triumph, it is also a story of Tejano revolutionary identity.

Biographies of Notable Figures Juan Nepomuceno Seguín (1806–1890) Juan Nepomuceno Seguín, son to Tejana María Josefa Becerra and Tejano Erasmo Seguín and thus a member of one of the most prominent Tejano families, was an impor­tant po­liti­cal leader and military captain leading up to, and during, the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence. ­After the war, Seguín would go on to serve as a Texas senator. Born in Béxar on October 27, 1806, Seguín was raised in a f­ amily that initially embraced the colonization hopes of Anglo Americans such as Moses and Stephen Austin. Due to his ­father’s involvement in securing land plots for the settlers, the notion of an ethnically diverse Texas was not a new proposition for Juan Seguín and other ­children of Tejanos who had helped to spearhead Anglo colonization into the country. Although Juan Seguín did not receive many years of formal education, he shadowed his m ­ other, María Josefa, who was charged with town responsibilities such as communicating regional and po­liti­cal ties to the larger community. In Tejano communities, Tejana ­women also served in po­liti­cal and management roles. While his f­ ather was out on government business, Juan watched and learned from the leadership of his m ­ other, who ran her husband’s day-­to-­day affairs. In 1825, 19-­year-­old Juan married Tejana María Gertrudis Flores de Abrego, a ­daughter of another influential Tejano ­family, and they had 10 ­children over the course of their marriage.

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Building on the childhood experiences of working with his parents, Seguín started his po­liti­cal ­career in the 1820s when he began sitting in on several electoral boards. In 1833, the same year that Santa Anna emerged as Mexico’s president, Seguín was elected as the alcalde (mayor) of Béxar; within the next few months, he became its po­liti­cal chief by default. When the Texas War for In­de­ pen­dence commenced at Gonzales, Seguín was one of several elite Tejanos who embraced Texas succession and in­de­pen­dence and sought to help the largely Texian force obtain it. Juan Seguín participated throughout the entire campaign for Texas secession and the war for in­de­pen­dence immediately following the ­Battle at Gonzales. Stephen Austin commissioned Seguín as a captain in his army and appointed him to several tasks—­among ­others was the recruitment of other Tejanos (de la Teja, 1991, p. 135). During the Siege at Béxar, for example, Seguín was able to assem­ble a force of more than a hundred Mexican Texans and Tejanos to help assist the Texian troops in wresting Béxar from Mexican state control (Lozano, 1985, p. 34). Tejano participation in the war greatly helped the Texians, for Mexican Texans w ­ ere native to the region, making them much more familiar than Anglo-­Americans immigrants (Texians) with the landscape and customs. Furthermore, Mexicans and indigenous groups knew how to utilize the Texas plain during combat and warfare in ways that the recent Anglo-­American would not learn about for many years to come (Pohl and Hardin, 1986, p. 285). Tejanos helped the newly arrived Texians and inexperienced Anglo colonists with insider knowledge, language translations, and tactical advantages. During the B ­ attle at San Jacinto—­which militarily concluded the Texas War for In­de­pen­dence—­Seguín’s com­pany was especially pres­ent and integral to advancing the line and securing a victory for the Texans (Ramos, 2008, p. 161). Following the end of the war, Seguín served as the only Tejano senate member in the Texas republic for several years. Seguín’s life, however, took a downward turn soon ­after the conclusion of his senate tenure. Following the failed Santa Fe expedition, he was accused of being a Mexican spy, and fled to Mexico with his ­family a­ fter fellow Texians turned against him. He and his loved ones strug­gled in Mexico, and Seguín was forced to serve in the Mexican army and fight against the Americans during the Mexican-­American War (1846–1848). He was not granted permission to return to his land in Nuevo Laredo ­until the 1860s. He lived ­there for the rest of his life and died ­there in 1890 at the age of 84. Although the second half of Seguín’s life was tragic, Texans have tried to resuscitate his positive contributions, as both a patriot and a Tejano, to the Lone Star’s past. Several public and federal entities named their institutions a­ fter him: for example, a high school in Arlington, Texas, was named ­after Seguín. In Houston, ­there exists a Juan N. Seguín Memorial Interchange.

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DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Excerpt from the Articles of the April 1830 Bustamante Cédula (Decree), 1830 The Fredonian Rebellion, in which Anglo settlers with the help of several Cherokee Indians tried to secede from Mexico and create an in­de­pen­dent colony, greatly alarmed the Mexican state over several years leading up to the presidency of Anastacio Bustamante. In response to the growing concern over another Anglo insurgency, Bustamante tasked General Manuel de Mier y Terán with assessing the state of several of the Mexican colonization laws. With Mier y Terán’s findings, Bustamante signed a cédula (decree) comprised of 18 articles. Although many of the articles detailed s­ imple changes to economic policies, some of the laws greatly diverged from previous legislation on social policies. Several of the articles w ­ ere aimed at setting in place preventative mea­sures against any f­uture Anglo settler uprising, and outlawed any undocumented northern immigration into Mexico. The most controversial articles are the ones reproduced ­here, which affected the most northern Mexican states. Article III, for example, declares that “commissioners ­shall supervise the introduction of new colonists” ­going forward. This meant that t­ hese newly appointed commissioners had varying levels of discretion to deny colonists entry and to greatly affect current colonists already living in Mexico. Article XI maintains that the “introduction of foreigners across the northern frontier is prohibited,” meaning that anyone moving into Mexico by crossing its northern border without previous documentation did so illegally. This imposed quite a strain on Tejano and Texian communities, as the arrival of foreigners who wanted to s­ ettle in the region translated into greater numbers against Indian raids and protection against outlaws of the region. The Law of April 6, 1830, defies 21st-­century American conceptions of “illegal immigration,” as most Americans associate the term with mi­grants from Mexico to the United States. But, as Article III states, the 1830 law strictly outlined new levels of surveillance to monitor immigration to Mexico; Article IX clearly states that the “introduction of foreigners across the northern frontier is prohibited.” Although ­these articles do not specifically mention Anglo Americans, together they refer to any foreign migration into northern Mexico. ­Because Americans began occupying the land in Mexico’s border region a­ fter the Louisiana Purchase, Article IX can be interpreted as specifically aimed at stopping Anglo-­American undocumented immigration. Bustamante’s decree reminds us that immigration flows across the U.S.-­Mexico border have occurred historically not just from south to north, but from the United States into Mexico as well.

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Article 3: The government is authorized to name one or more commissioners who ­shall visit the colonies of the frontier states and contract with the legislatures of said states for the purchase, in behalf of the Federal government, of lands deemed suitable for the establishment of colonies of Mexicans and other nationalities; and the said commissioners s­ hall make, with the existing colonies, what­ever arrangements seem expedient for the security of the republic. The said commissioners s­ hall supervise the introduction of new colonists and the fulfilling of their contract for settlement, and s­ hall ascertain to what extent the existing contracts have been completed. Article 9: The introduction of foreigners across the northern frontier is prohibited ­under any pretext whatsoever, ­unless the said foreigners are provided with a passport issued by the agent of the republic at the point whence the said foreigners set out. Article 10: No change s­ hall be made with re­spect to the slaves now in the states, but the Federal government and the government of each state ­shall most strictly enforce the colonization laws, and prevent the further introduction of slaves. Article 11: In accordance with the right reserved by the general congress in the seventh article of the law of August 18, 1824, it is prohibited that emigrants, from nations bordering on this republic ­shall ­settle in the states or territory adjacent to their own nation. Consequently, all contracts not already completed and not in harmony with this law are suspended. Source: Anastacio Bustamente, Decree of April 6, 1830. Located at the Texas Land Grant Office. File Number: SC 000123:14 123–14-160. Trans. Wallace L. McKeehan. Available at http://­www​.­tamu​.­edu​/­ccbn​/­dewitt​/­consultations1​.­htm#articles

Excerpt from The Unan­i­mous Declaration of In­de­pen­dence, Texas, 1836 In the midst of Santa Anna’s assault on the Alamo at Béxar, Texans convened at Washington-­on-­the-­Brazos on March 1st and 2nd, 1836, to agree on and sign a document that laid out terms of secession from Mexico. ­These men hoped that in its place, they would create an in­de­pen­dent republic governed by demo­cratically elected leaders. Overnight, several of t­ hese Texans drafted the declaration. Sixty Texans (57 of whom ­were Anglo) signed the document. Tejanos José Antonio Navarro and Francisco Ruíz and Mexican empresario Lorenzo de Zavala w ­ ere the only three non-­ Anglos pres­ent to ­settle on and sign the declaration. That day, Navarro proclaimed that “I have sworn to be Texan. I ­shall not foreswear.” Although Texian repre­sen­ta­ tion far outweighed Tejano participation, the declaration is one of the first formal po­liti­cal documents to incorporate both Texian and Tejano voices, signaling the

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hope for a f­ uture heterogeneous Texan society. At the end of this meeting, Lorenzo de Zavala was elected to serve as vice president ad interim, and David Burnet as president ad interim, ­until the war ended and ­free and demo­cratic elections could be held. At first glance, Texas’s 1836 Declaration of In­de­pen­dence shares some wording with the United States Declaration of In­de­pen­dence of 1776, starting with its first sentence. This is not by coincidence: several of the writers had e­ ither participated in or learned about the American Revolution in school. The words liberty, property, and inalienable instantly conjure up similarities to the language British colonists employed when they declared their in­de­pen­dence as Americans from G ­ reat Britain. Another noteworthy ele­ment is the way Mexico’s government is described. When Anglo-­Americans arrived and settled in Texas, they interacted with a decentralized and federalist Mexico. Over time, Santa Anna’s administration became less federalist, and increasingly centralist. One of the defining issues that united Tejanos and Texians against Mexico was how the government changed its economic policies to f­ avor elite Mexicans living in or near the nation’s capital. Mexican citizens in the most distant borderlands, such as t­ hose in the state of Coahuila y Tejas (Texas), felt neglected and disadvantaged by ­these policy changes. When a government has ceased to protect the lives, liberty and property of the ­people, from whom its legitimate powers are derived, and for the advancement of whose happiness it was instituted, and so far from being a guarantee for the enjoyment of t­ hose inestimable and inalienable rights, becomes an instrument in the hands of evil rulers for their oppression. When the Federal Republican Constitution of their country, which they have sworn to support, no longer has a substantial existence, and the ­whole nature of their government has been forcibly changed, without their consent, from a restricted federative republic, composed of sovereign states, to a consolidated central military despotism, in which ­every interest is disregarded but that of the army and the priesthood, both the eternal enemies of civil liberty, the ever ready minions of power, and the usual instruments of tyrants. . . . When, in consequence of such acts of malfeasance and abdication on the part of the government, anarchy prevails, and civil society is dissolved into its original ele­ments. In such a crisis, the first law of nature, the right of self-­preservation, the inherent and inalienable rights of the ­people to appeal to first princi­ples, and take their po­liti­cal affairs into their own hands in extreme cases, enjoins it as a right ­towards themselves, and a sacred obligation to their posterity, to abolish such government, and create another in its stead, calculated to rescue them from impending dangers, and to secure their f­ uture welfare and happiness. . . . We, therefore, the delegates with plenary powers of the ­people of Texas, in solemn convention assembled, appealing to a candid world for the necessities of our

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condition, do hereby resolve and declare, that our po­liti­cal connection with the Mexican nation has forever ended, and that the ­people of Texas do now constitute a ­free, Sovereign, and in­de­pen­dent republic, and are fully invested with all the rights and attributes which properly belong to in­de­pen­dent nations; and, conscious of the rectitude of our intentions, we fearlessly and confidently commit the issue to the decision of the Supreme arbiter of the destinies of nations. Source: United States Congress, The Federal and State Constitutions, Colonial Charters, and Other Organic Laws of the States, Territories, and Colonies, vol. VI. Washington: Government Printing Office, 1909. 3527. 59th Congress, second session, document 357.

See also: Latin American In­de­pen­dence; Texas Revolt; U.S.-­Mexican War

Further Reading Barker, Eugene, ed. 1924. Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1919: The Austin Papers. Vol. 1. Washington, DC: United States Government Printing Office. Barr, Juliana. 2007. Peace Came in the Form of a ­Woman: Indians and Spaniards in the Texas Borderlands. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Calore, Paul. 2014. The Texas Revolution and the U.S.-­Mexican War: A Concise History. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Davis, William C. 2004. Lone Star Rising: The Revolutionary Birth of the Texas Republic. New York: F ­ ree Press. de la Teja, Jesús F., ed. 1991. A Revolution Remembered: The Memoirs and Selected Correspondence of Juan N. Seguín. Austin, TX: State House Press. De León, Arnoldo. 1982. The Tejano Community, 1836–1900. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Hardin, Stephen. 1994. Texian Iliad: A Military History of the Texas Revolution. Austin: University of Texas Press. History​.­com Staff. 2010. “The Alamo.” History​.­com. Retrieved from http://­www​.­history​.­com​ /­topics​/­alamo. Lozano, Ruben Rendon. 1985. Viva Texas: The Story of the Tejanos, the Mexican-­Born Patriots of the Texas Revolution. San Antonio, TX: Alamo Press. Mendoza, Alexander. 2011. “ ‘For Our Own Best Interests’: Nineteenth-­Century Laredo Tejanos, Military Ser­vice, and the Development of American Nationalism.” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 115 (2): 125–152. Pohl, James W., and Stephen Hardin. 1986. “The Military History of the Texas Revolution: An Overview.” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 89 (3): 269–308. Ramos, Raúl. 2008. Beyond the Alamo: Forging Mexican Ethnicity in San Antonio, 1821– 1861. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

3 Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898

U.S.-­Mexican War, 1846–1848 Maria E. Montoya

Chronology 1819, February

The U.S. Senate ratifies the Transcontinental Treaty establishing the boundary with Spain in North Amer­i­ca.

1821, August

Mexico and Spain sign the Treaty of Cordoba, which grants in­de­pen­ dence to Mexico.

1824, August

The Republic of Mexico is established.

1824, October

The Mexican Constitution abolishes slavery and ­frees all slaves.

1833, May

Bent’s Fort, in present-­day southeastern Colorado, is established along the Arkansas River as a major trading post for fur trappers.

1836, March

The Texas Convention declares that the province of Coahuila y Tejas is in­de­pen­dent from Mexico, establishes a government, and adopts a constitution to form a new in­de­pen­dent nation, the Lone Star Republic.

1836, April Sam Houston defeats General Santa Anna at the ­Battle of San Jacinto. 1844, November

James K. Polk wins the U.S. presidential election on a platform that calls for American expansion.

1845, March

In the last days of his term, lame-­duck President Tyler annexes Texas to the United States. Florida joins the United States as a slave state. 133

134 | Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898

1845, December

John Slidell arrives in Mexico City and offers the Mexican government $30 million to purchase California and much of the American Southwest.

1846, May

The U.S. Congress approves a declaration of war against Mexico.

1846, June

U.S. settlers in California declare their in­de­pen­dence from Mexico and name their area the Bear Flag Republic.

1846, July

Mexico declares war on the United States.

1847, January

­ fter what appeared to be a peaceful transition, the Taos Revolt against A the United States ensues, in which New Mexico Territorial Governor Charles Bent is killed. The Treaty of Cahuenga is signed and Mexico releases all claims to California.

1847, August

At the B ­ attles of Contreras and Churubusco, most soldiers of the St. Patrick’s Battalion are killed or captured.

1847, September

At the ­Battle of Chapultepec, General Winfield Scott occupies Mexico City. President Polk recalls his ambassador to Mexico, Nicholas Trist, but Trist rebels by staying in Mexico and continuing negotiations.

1848, January

Gold is discovered at Sutter’s Mill, California.

1848, February

The United States and Mexico agree to the terms of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

1848, July

The last U.S. troops depart from Mexico.

1848, August

The New York Herald reports that gold has been discovered in California.

1848, December

President Polk confirms the Herald’s report of gold in California.

1849, Spring

Thousands from around the world migrate to the California gold fields.

1850, September

The U.S. congress grants California statehood as part of the Compromise of 1850.

1853, December

The Gadsden Purchase is signed.

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Narrative While the ­actual hostilities between the United States and Mexico lasted barely 18 months, the tensions had been simmering for more than two de­cades, since Mexico earned its in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821. Animosities between the two nations ­were further fueled when Texas declared and fought for its in­de­pen­dence from Mexico in 1836. Although the United States did not annex Texas ­because of domestic po­liti­cal tensions over slavery, its close ties with the Lone Star Republic angered the Mexican government, which remained suspicious of its northern neighbors’ intentions. Animosity between Mexico and the United States grew ­after the founding of the Republic of Texas in 1836. Mexico never recognized Texas as an in­de­pen­dent republic and warned the United States that if it annexed Texas, Mexico would consider it an act of war. Mexico worried about the covetous gaze of the United States on its northern territories. Complicating the diplomatic tensions between the two nations was the po­liti­cal instability in Mexico. Between 1821 and 1876, the presidency of Mexico changed hands 55 times, most often as a result of po­liti­cal coup or violent overthrow. Antonio López de Santa Anna served 11 times as Mexico’s president during crucial moments of U.S./Mexican diplomacy and hostilities. The constant change in governments made it difficult for the United States to have consistent diplomatic negotiations. The U.S. government, however, used Mexico’s seeming po­liti­cal instability as a reason to justify U.S. aggression ­toward its southern neighbor. President Polk sent John Slidell, a Louisiana congressman and diplomat, as his envoy to negotiate with the Mexican government about the ­ legal annexation of Mexico’s northern territories. Slidell was also charged with settling U.S. citi- In December 1845, President James K. Polk sent John Slidell as a U.S. envoy to Mexico City to zens’ claims against the Mexican negotiate the purchase of New Mexico and government, which had taken California. (Library of Congress)

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their property as well as destroyed crops, ­cattle, and homes during hostilities along the border with Indians. Slidell offered Mexico $30 million to purchase outright its California and New Mexico territories, which would also have included Arizona and parts of present-­day Colorado and Utah. The Mexican government never officially recognized Slidell’s diplomatic mission, and the Mexican public was angered by the audacity of the “Yankees” who thought they could buy their way out of the dispute. Slidell left Mexico disgusted by the unwillingness of the Mexican government to negotiate and suggested to Polk that he station troops at the border to pressure Mexico into an agreement. The most sensitive issue was the countries’ shared border and disputes about its precise location. Mexico believed that the border between Mexico and the renegade Texas was the Nueces River, while Texas, and consequently the United States, insisted that the border was farther south, along the Rio Grande. Even before Slidell left Mexico, President Polk ordered General Zachary Taylor to move his troops back across the Nueces River and into the disputed territory between the two rivers, called the Nueces Strip. On April 12, 1846, Mexican forces ordered Taylor to retreat north across the Nueces River. Taylor refused and directed the U.S. Navy to blockade the mouth of the Rio Grande, thus cutting off supplies to the Mexican troops. On April 25, the Mexican army attacked the U.S. military in the strip, killing 11, wounding 5, and taking 47 prisoners. This was all the provocation Polk needed. When he received the news more than a week l­ater, on May 9, 1846, he announced to Congress that “by the act of Mexico” a state of war existed. Mexico, he said, “has invaded our territory and shed American blood upon the American soil” (Polk, 1846). Despite opposition from both Whigs and Demo­crats, many of whom recognized the duplicity of Polk’s claims, Congress passed the War Resolution on May 13, 1846. The war garnered significant initial public support, including a massive rally in New York City in late May 1846. The rally included speeches that vilified Mexicans as Catholic “half-­breed mongrels” and called for the invasion of their territory. Newspapers such as the New York Herald supported the war. Walt Whitman, editor of the Brooklyn Daily Ea­gle, wrote “Mexico must be thoroughly chastised” for its aggression ­toward the United States (1846). ­Others opposed the war and viewed it as a southern Demo­cratic ploy to acquire more territory in order to extend slavery into the western territories. In August 1846, David Wilmot, an anti-­slavery Pennsylvania congressmen, tried to add a proviso to an appropriations bill that would outlaw slavery in any territory that might be gained from war with ­either Mexico or ­Great Britain, with which the United States was also in a dispute over the United States’ northern border. Denouncing both the war and slavery, Henry David Thoreau penned “On Civil Disobedience.” He refused to pay taxes to support the war, spent a night in jail, and argued that if government “is

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of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law” (Thoreau,1849). Once Congress had acknowledged the state of war with Mexico and provided funding, the military strug­gle was fought on three fronts across the present-­day American southwest, northern Mexico, and around Mexico City. President Polk ordered General Zachary Taylor to move his troops farther south, out of the Nueces Strip, across the Rio Grande and into Mexico’s territory in the summer of 1846. On September 25, Taylor’s troops captured Monterrey, Mexico, despite the fact that the city was well defended. Taylor’s men defeated the city, captured Saltillo in November of 1846, and controlled most of northeastern Mexico by the end of that year. In early 1847, Taylor’s troops continued to take territory, culminating in the ­battle of Buena Vista in February, the bloodiest confrontation of the war. The b­ attle claimed 665 Americans and more than 3,500 Mexican lives. While Taylor fought on the southern side of the Rio Grande, Brigadier General Stephen Watts Kearny pushed westward along the Santa Fe Trail from Kansas ­toward New Mexico and California. Although his main mission was to secure Mexico’s northern territories, he was also ­under ­orders to intimidate the Plains Indians, particularly the Comanche, as he moved through the area. He told the Comanche that “the road opened by the dragoons [horse mounted infantry] must not be closed . . . ​and that the white p­ eople traveling upon it must not be disturbed, e­ ither in their persons or property” (Scott, 1846). Kearny’s expedition highlighted the U.S. military presence on the G ­ reat Plains, and portended the expansion of American military intervention in the region. In an effort to secure support from white ethnic groups in the region, President Polk also asked Kearny to incorporate the 543 men of the Mormon Battalion. In exchange for allowing thousands of Mormon mi­grants to camp on the banks of Missouri along the present-­day border between Nebraska and Iowa, Brigham Young, the leader of the Mormons, had sent ­these men to work for the U.S. military and to reinforce Kearny’s troops as he marched into Mexican territory. Kearny and his men met relatively ­little re­sis­tance as they entered New Mexico in the summer of 1846. New Mexican Governor Manuel Armijo mustered a defensive force that met Kearny’s troops east of Santa Fe at Glorieta Pass. However, as he saw Kearny’s forces marching across the plains ­toward his position, Armijo abandoned his troops and fled deeper into Mexico, leaving b­ ehind a small force. When Kearny and his troops entered Santa Fe they w ­ ere met with no re­sis­ tance. Many New Mexico residents welcomed the Americans, whom they regarded as potentially wealthy trading partners who would boost the economy and develop the region. Kearny and his men set up a U.S. territorial government with Charles Bent, a local prosperous trader who was married to Maria Ignacia Jaramillo,

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a Mexican w ­ oman from a leading ­family, as governor. The occupation was completed so quickly that Kearny left Santa Fe ­after l­ittle more than a month and took most of his men west ­toward California to aid the uprising t­here. A year earlier, the U.S. government had sent John C. Frémont and a small group of men to find the headwaters of the Arkansas River. Without explanation, Frémont headed farther west. While in California, Frémont met with Thomas O. Larkin, the American consul to Mexico, and they discussed California revolting from Mexico in the same way that Texas had done nine years earlier. The Mexican government, suspicious of Frémont’s exhortations to American citizens, asked him to leave. ­After crossing into Oregon, though, Frémont retraced his steps and headed back into the heart of California. Frémont spent June and July of 1846 inciting military unrest. On July 4, 1846, California—­also known as the Bear Flag Republic at that time—­ declared its in­de­pen­dence from Mexico. Once the new republic received word that the United States had declared war on Mexico, it allied itself formally with the United States. Conquering California was an extended and bloody conflict for the United States. Frémont was placed u­ nder the command of naval Commodore Robert F. Stockton, and led the California Battalion south ­toward San Diego and the onslaught of Mexican troops. The taking of San Diego and Los Angeles proved difficult, as the Californios (Mexican citizens living in California) and the Mexican army protected the two cities from U.S. capture. By January 1847, Kearny, Stockton, and Frémont had taken control of California, but at a significant cost in U.S. troops. Kearny was wounded and lost a third of his men. In January 1847, General Andres Pico signed the Treaty of Cahuenga, which turned California over to the United States. The treaty also explic­itly guaranteed Californios the same rights as U.S. citizens. New Mexico also did not submit easily to U.S. rule. Despite the appearance of calm when Kearny had left, tensions ran high. A rebellion against U.S. rule erupted in December 1846 in the northern town of Taos. A co­ali­tion of Hispanos (Mexican citizens living in New Mexico) and Pueblo Indians intended to assassinate Governor Charles Bent and attack the U.S. troops. Governor Bent had the plotters arrested and went to Taos to calm any lingering hostile feelings. Bent believed that his trading and ­family connections with local families in Taos would ensure his safety. During his visit in January 1847, however, rebels attacked his entourage and murdered a number of them, including Bent. Over the next few weeks, more than 3,000 rebels mounted a counterinsurgency, and U.S. troops had to be sent north from Santa Fe. They crushed the rebellion ­after three months of skirmishes. Eventually, 28 Hispano and Pueblo men w ­ ere convicted and executed for treason and murder. With the U.S. troops’ steady success in taking the northern provinces of Mexico, President Polk deci­ded to send troops, u­ nder the leadership of Major General

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Winfield Scott, into central Mexico. Scott landed his troops in Veracruz on the eastern coast of Mexico and marched them t­oward Mexico City. Between November 1846 and September 1847, U.S. troops made steady pro­gress across the interior of Mexico. Their invasion provoked re­sis­tance and bloody ­battles at Cerro Gordo, Puebla, Contreras, and Churubusco, and at the climatic b­ attle in Mexico City at Chapultepec C ­ astle, which h­ oused a military acad­emy. On the morning of September 13, U.S. forces began attacking the c­ astle. Shelling continued throughout the day. The next morning infantrymen attacked and pushed into the ­castle and through the city, where they ­were met by troops and citizens led by their president and military commander, General Santa Anna. Despite heroic efforts, however, the Mexican defenders ­were defeated by Scott’s troops. On September 16, the U.S. flag flew over the capital city of Mexico—­the first time that the U.S. flag had flown over a foreign country. A war that President Polk had proclaimed to be a defensive mea­ sure against Mexican encroachments across the Rio Grande had become a war of conquest and domination. For Mexicans, the war had brought po­liti­cal turmoil and humiliation with the presence of an invading force in their capital. The military success of the United States created a host of prob­lems in dealing with the conquered territory and ­people of Mexico. The United States could now lay claim to more than half of Mexico’s territory, from the capital of Mexico City north to California’s boundary with Oregon. ­Those who pushed for keeping all of this land ­were part of the All Mexico movement. ­These supporters tended to be Demo­crats who e­ ither wanted to expand slavery or t­hose who saw it as the U.S. mission to bring “pro­gress” to the region and its ­peoples. The All Mexico supporters, however, had to confront the logic of “Manifest Destiny,” a term and ideology which posited that it was the United States’ God-­ordained right and destiny to control all of North Amer­i­ca and to push out all foreign encroachers. The proponents of the All Mexico movement had to ask themselves questions such as: If it was Amer­ic­ a’s manifest destiny to acquire all the lands between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, was it also its destiny to incorporate all of the land’s inhabitants, including Mexicans and Indians? What was the meaning of citizenship for t­hose who w ­ ere conquered by U.S. aggression? The American public and politicians had to contemplate what this war meant within the context of a demo­cratic and republican society. Most Americans opposed the aggression reflected in the All Mexico movement. First, Conscientious Whigs had opposed the U.S.-­Mexican War on ideological grounds. Abraham Lincoln, a young congressman from Illinois, voiced the position that true democracies should not be in the business of conquering foreign nations, their p­ eople, and their land. Such actions stood in opposition to the princi­ ples that underlay the founding of the United States. Second, ­those who opposed slavery also opposed the acquisition of Mexican territory, as they feared the spread

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The San Patricio Brigade Although not ethnically Mexican, John Riley and his Irish compatriots came to hold an impor­tant place in Mexican history as a result of their participation in the U.S.-­Mexican War. Riley, born in County Galway, Ireland, around 1818, was a soldier in the British army before leaving during the G ­ reat Famine, which lasted from 1845 to 1852 and caused more than a million Irish to emigrate. ­After a brief stay in Canada where he served in a British army regiment, he migrated to Michigan where he joined the U.S. Army as an infantryman. Recent immigrants, mostly Irish and German, often joined the U.S. military ­because of the steady wages, the stability that military ser­vice provided, and the path it offered to ac­cep­tance and citizenship. ­These immigrants, however, often faced prejudice, particularly anti-­immigrant and anti-­Catholic sentiments, from both their enlisted native-­born peers and their officers. Riley bristled u­ nder the abuse and commiserated with his fellow immigrants. Nevertheless, upon the onset of the Mexican-­American War, his unit marched south t­oward Texas to fight against Mexico. In Matamoros, six months ­later, Riley and Patrick Dalton deserted their unit and joined Mexico’s Legion of Foreigners. By April 1846, Riley was a lieutenant and he eventually led 200 mostly Irish men in a unit that was eventually named the Saint Patrick’s (San Patricio’s) Battalion. Aware of the recent immigrants and the harsh treatment infantryman faced, the Mexican government blanketed U.S. troops with leaflets encouraging them to desert their posts and join the Mexican cause. The San Patricio Battalion was composed of hundreds of deserters who ­were mostly of Irish and German descent, but it also included former slaves who had crossed into Mexico in search of their freedom. Mexico had outlawed chattel slavery in 1829. The men who joined the battalion did so for a number of reasons: prejudice they faced in the United States, sympathy for Catholic Mexicans whom they perceived as suffering from U.S. aggression, and the promise from the Mexican government for ­free land as a result of their ser­vice to the nation. They fought valiantly for Mexico both ­because they saw their cause as just and idealistic and ­because they feared being captured by U.S. forces. One of their biggest successes in the war against the United States was fought at the B ­ attle of Buena Vista. Although they lost almost a third of their men, they managed to hold back Commander Zachary Taylor’s forces. A number of t­ hese battalion members ­were awarded the Mexican War Cross and received field promotions. The battalion, however, was eventually defeated and captured by U.S. troops at the B ­ attle of Churubusco on August  20, 1847. Seventy-­two Battalion

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members w ­ ere immediately tried for treason and desertion in the field. Two courts martial w ­ ere l­ ater held in which almost 50 men ­were prosecuted, convicted, and ­later executed. Although Riley escaped execution, he was convicted of desertion and branded with a “D” on his cheek and sentenced to 50 lashes. He never returned to the United States, instead remaining in Mexico where he and his battalion members w ­ ere revered as heroes, as they ­were in Ireland, Mexico, and among Irish immigrants in the United States.

of slavery farther west. ­Because of their history, isolation, and arid geography, neither California nor New Mexico seemed likely candidates for the extension of slavery, but Texas encouraged slaveholders to bring their ­human property to the state and to extend the Southern cotton culture. Fi­nally, racist and anti-­Catholic arguments surfaced as Americans confronted the prospect of thousands of Catholic Mexicans becoming American citizens. John Calhoun, one of the most out­spoken critics of the All Mexico movement, said, “Ours, sir, is the Government of a white race. The greatest misfortunes of Spanish Amer­i­ca are to be traced to the fatal error of placing t­ hese colored races on an equality with the white race” (Calhoun, 1848). The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was negotiated in this po­liti­cal context ­after a difficult series of diplomatic exchanges. When negotiations broke down over the extent of the United States’ territorial ambitions, President Polk recalled his envoy, Nicholas P. Trist, believing ­there was no room for negotiation. The war and occupation would simply continue. Trist was frustrated, wanting to stay and finish the negotiations. The Mexican government, sensing that Trist was their best option in obtaining a somewhat favorable treaty, hurriedly completed the negotiations, which clearly favored the U.S. position. Although some Mexicans wanted to continue the fight, the defeat at Chapultepec, combined with po­liti­cal upheaval in the Mexican capital, made it difficult to pres­ent a united front. The treaty established the U.S.-­Mexican border along the Rio Grande and then due west along a surveyed and marked border through the desert. The United States agreed to pay Mexico $15 million for the territory it would acquire: half of what Trist had offered Mexico prior to the war. The treaty also financially covered claims that U.S. citizens had made against the Mexican government for any losses they suffered during the war or from hostile encounters with Indians along the border. The two governments also committed themselves to arbitrating their f­uture differences. ­There ­were, however, two points that ­were not amicably negotiated: issues about citizenship and property rights of former Mexican citizens. The U.S. Senate ratified the treaty on March 10, 1848, by a vote of 38 to 14. Fi­nally, in 1853, the last piece of what we know ­today as the continental United

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States was acquired when President Franklin Pierce directed James Gadsden, the ambassador to Mexico, to purchase a parcel of land in present-­day southern Arizona: the Gadsden Purchase. The U.S. government wanted to buy the parcel for two reasons. First, large copper deposits had been discovered in the region, and President Pierce understood that copper was essential to the economic and industrial development of the nation. Second, railroad developers w ­ ere interested in building a line that linked up Los Angeles with the eastern United States as well as Mexico City, and the area along the border was the perfect terrain for a railroad. With the end of the war and the Gadsden Purchase, manifest destiny, as envisioned by the United States’ most prominent citizens, had fi­nally been realized. Americans and new immigrants ­were now f­ ree to push westward in search of new lives and lands. But, as they moved west they would encounter former Mexican citizens and Native Americans who had their own property systems, families, and established trade routes and flourishing socie­ties that would have to be accommodated or aggressed against.

Biographies of Notable Figures Maria Gertrudis Barceló (ca. 1800–1852) Maria Barceló, who was most commonly known as Doña Tules, was one of the most successful businesswomen in the 19th-­century American West. She ran a salon that was known for its elegant accommodations, high-­end clientele, and high-­stakes Monte (a card game) t­ ables. From her business income she was able to loan money to both American and Mexican traders, and subsequently accumulated substantial property interests. Born in Sonora, Mexico, in the early 1800s, Barceló migrated north and settled in the frontier town of Tome, which was a small settlement south of Albuquerque. Although not much is known about Barceló’s early life, she apparently came from a wealthy f­ amily and married within her class status when she wed Manuel Antonio Sisneros in 1823. The ­couple had two sons, who both died in infancy. ­After the deaths of her c­ hildren, Barceló moved north to Santa Fe, which was becoming a thriving trading crossroads as it connected the Santa Fe Trail, coming in from the United States, with the Camino Real, which was the major road and trade route south that led directly to Mexico City. Through her shrewd business acumen, she built an enterprise that drew local citizens and visitors to her salon, which ran card games, provided food and drink, and provided a center where the movers and shakers of this frontier town could gather and make deals. She ran and controlled the Monte t­ables in her high-­stakes gambling salon, and through her acumen she managed to separate many men from their weekly pay and larger assets such as jewelry and property.

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Through her business and her work as a loan agent to both Mexicans and Americans, she accumulated property, jewelry, and cash, becoming one of the wealthiest citizens of Santa Fe. Unlike w ­ omen in the United States, both married and unmarried Mexican ­women could own property, make contracts, and run businesses without the oversight of their husbands and f­ athers. It was pos­si­ble ­under Spanish and Mexican law to hold property and engage in business as a single w ­ oman. While this was shocking to many Anglos who encountered Tules, it was a common status and lifestyle of elite Mexican ­women. As New Mexico transitioned from Mexican to U.S. rule in 1848, Tules played an impor­tant role, through her salon, in easing the tensions surrounding that transition. When the U.S. army ran short of funds to meet its payroll and pay contractors, she loaned the army a significant sum. She became a confidant of General Stephen Watts Kearny, and accompanied him to the Victory Ball at the La Fonda ­Hotel a­ fter Governor Armijo abandoned his forces and turned New Mexico over to the U.S. troops. As a cultural broker between New Mexicans and the invading army, she was credited with preventing a massacre in Santa Fe similar to the one that had unfolded in Taos, leading to the assassination of Governor Charles Bent. ­Whether Barceló remained married throughout her ­career remains unclear to historians. Upon her death in 1852, she left her considerable wealth of $10,000 and a number of homes to her s­ ister. She also made large bequests to her b­ rother, two ­adopted d­ aughters, and to the Catholic Church, where she was buried inside the cathedral grounds.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Speech by Senator John C. Calhoun to Congress on January 8, 1848, Congressional Globe, 30th Congress, 1st Session, 96–100 ­ fter the United States military had effectively conquered all of Mexico, the quesA tion before the U.S. Senate was what to do with this vast territory. More importantly, senators (and Americans in general) w ­ ere concerned about how the relatively young nation of the United States would absorb p­ eople who w ­ ere seemingly so dif­fer­ent from them. Mexicans had not lived ­under a functioning demo­cratic government. Also, they tended to be of darker skin color and in many cases of mixed ethnic heritage that included intermarriage with African slaves and indigenous ­peoples—­and they ­were Catholic. All of ­these traits made many Americans, and in this par­tic­u­lar case Senator John C. Calhoun, uncomfortable with incorporating more than a million Mexicans as U.S. citizens. The racism and prejudice in Calhoun’s Senate speech is explicit and, it should be noted, was spoken with almost no comment or critique from his fellow senators.

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“RESOLVED, That to conquer Mexico and to hold it, e­ ither as a province or to incorporate it into the Union, would be inconsistent with the avowed object for which the war has been prosecuted; a departure from the settled policy of the Government; in conflict with its character and genius; and in the end subversive of our ­free and popu­lar institutions.” “RESOLVED, That no line of policy in the further prosecution of the war should be ­adopted which may lead to consequences so disastrous.” In offering, Senators, t­ hese resolutions for your consideration, I have been governed by the reasons which induced me to oppose the war, and by the same considerations I have been ever since guided. In alluding to my opposition to the war, I do not intend to notice the reasons which governed me on that occasion, further than is necessary to explain my motives upon the pres­ent. I opposed the war then, not only b­ ecause I considered it unnecessary, and that it might have been easily avoided; not only b­ ecause I thought the President had no authority to order a portion of the territory in dispute and in possession of the Mexicans, to be occupied by our troops; not only b­ ecause I believed the allegations upon which it was sanctioned by Congress, ­were unfounded in truth; but from high considerations of reason and policy, b­ ecause I believed it would lead to ­great and serious evils to the country, and greatly endanger its ­free institutions. But a­ fter the war was declared, and had received the sanction of the Government, I acquiesced in what I could not prevent, and which it was impossible for me to arrest; and I then felt it to be my duty to limit my course so as to give that direction to the conduct of the war as would, as far as pos­si­ble, prevent the evil and danger with which, in my opinion, it threatened the country and its institutions. For this purpose, at the last session, I suggested to the Senate a defensive line, and for that purpose, I now offer t­ hese resolutions. This, and this only, is the motive which governs me. I am moved by no personal nor party considerations. My object is neither to sustain the Executive, nor to strengthen the Opposition, but simply to discharge an impor­tant duty to the country. But I s­ hall express my opinion upon all points with boldness and in­de­pen­dence, such as become a Senator who has nothing to ask, e­ ither from the Government or from the p­ eople, and whose only aim is to diminish, to the smallest pos­si­ble amount, the evils incident to this war. But when I come to notice t­hose points in which I differ from the President, I ­shall do it with all the decorum which is due to the Chief Magistrate of the Union. When I suggested a defensive line, at the last session, this country had in its possession, through the means of its arms, ample territory, and stood in a condition to force indemnity. Before then, the successes of our arms had gained all the contiguous portions of Mexico, and our army has ever since held all that it is desirable to hold—­that portion whose population is sparse, and on that account the more

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desirable to be held. For I hold it in reference to this war a fundamental princi­ple, that when we receive territorial indemnity, it ­shall be unoccupied territory. In offering a defensive line, I did it ­because I believed that, in the first place, it was the only certain mode of terminating the war successfully; I did it, also, ­because I believed that it would be a vast saving of the sacrifice of h­ uman life; but above all, I did so b­ ecause I saw that any other line of policy would expose us to tremendous evil, which ­these resolutions ­were intended to guard against. The President took a dif­fer­ent view. He recommended a vigorous prosecution of the war—­not for conquest: that was disavowed—­but for the purpose of conquering peace; that is, to compel Mexico to sign a treaty making a sufficient cession of territory to indemnify this Government both for the claims of its citizens and for the expenses of the war. Sir, I opposed this policy. *** Well, sir, what has been accomplished? What has been done? Has the avowed object of the war been attained? Have we conquered peace? Have we obtained a treaty? Have we obtained any indemnity? No, sir: not a single object contemplated has been effected; and, what is worse, our difficulties are greater now than they w ­ ere then, and the objects, forsooth, more difficult to reach than they ­were before the campaign commenced. So much for the past; we now come to the commencement of another campaign; and the question is, What s­ hall be done? The same mea­sures are proposed. It is still “a vigorous prosecution of the war.” The mea­sures are identically the same. It is not for conquest—­that is now as emphatically disowned as it was in the first instance. The object is not to blot Mexico out of the list of nations, for the President is emphatic in the expression of his desire to maintain the nationality of Mexico. He desires to see her an in­de­pen­dent and flourishing community, and assigns strong and cogent reasons for all that. Well, sir, the question is now, What o­ ught to be done? We are now coming to the practical question, ­Shall we aim at carry­ing on another vigorous campaign ­under pres­ent circumstances? Mr. President, I have examined this question with care, and I repeat, that I cannot support the recommendations of the President. ­There are many and power­ful reasons, stronger than ­those which existed at the commencement of the last campaign, to justify my opposition now. The cost in money w ­ ill be vastly greater. ­There is a bill for ten additional regiments now before the Senate, and another bill providing for twenty regiments of volunteers has been reported, making in all, not less, I suppose, than twenty-­five thousand troops; raising the number of troops in the service—as, I presume, the chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs can inform you—to not much less than seventy thousand in the w ­ hole. Well, sir, the expense ­will be much more than that of the last campaign. It w ­ ill cost not much short of sixty millions of dollars.

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Sir, we have heard how much glory our country has acquired in this war. I acknowledge it to the full amount, Mr. President, chivalrously; they have conferred honor on the country, for which I sincerely thank them. Mr. President, I believe all our thanks ­will be confined to our army. So far as I know, in the civilized world ­there is no approbation of the conduct of the civil portion of our power. On the contrary, everywhere the declaration is made that we are an ambitious, unjust, hard p­ eople, more given to war than any p­ eople of modern times. ­Whether this be true or not, it is not for me to inquire. I am speaking now merely of the reputation which we heard abroad—­everywhere, I believe; for as much as we have gained in military reputation abroad, I regret to perceive, we have lost in our po­liti­cal and civil reputation. Now, sir, much as I regard military glory; much as I rejoice to behold our p­ eople in possession of the indomitable energy and courage which surmount all difficulties, and which class them amongst the first military ­people of the age, I would be very sorry indeed that our Government should lose any reputation for wisdom, moderation, discretion, justice, and t­ hose other high qualities which have distinguished us in the early stages of our history. The next reason which my resolutions assign, is, that it is without example or pre­ce­dent, wither to hold Mexico as a province, or to incorporate her into our Union. No example of such a line of policy can be found. We have conquered many of the neighboring tribes of Indians, but we have never thought of holding them in subjection—­never of incorporating them into our Union. They have e­ ither been left as an in­de­pen­dent ­people amongst us, or been driven into the forests. I know further, sir, that we have never dreamt of incorporating into our Union any but the Caucasian race—­the f­ ree white race. To incorporate Mexico, would be the very first instance of the kind of incorporating an Indian race; for more than half of the Mexicans are Indians, and the other is composed chiefly of mixed tribes. I protest against such a u­ nion as that! Ours, sir, is the Government of a white race. The greatest misfortunes of Spanish Amer­ic­ a are to be traced to the fatal error of placing t­ hese colored races on an equality with the white race. That error destroyed the social arrangement which formed the basis of society. The Portuguese and ourselves have escaped—­the Portuguese at least to some extent—­and we are the only ­people on this continent which have made revolutions without being followed by anarchy. And yet it is professed and talked about to erect t­hese Mexicans into a Territorial Government, and place them on an equality with the p­ eople of the United States. I protest utterly against such a proj­ect. Sir, it is a remarkable fact, that in the ­whole history of man, as far as my knowledge extends, ­there is no instance what­ever of any civilized colored races being found equal to the establishment of ­free popu­lar government, although by far the largest portion of the h­ uman ­family is composed of t­hese races. And even in the savage state we scarcely find them anywhere with such government, except it be our

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noble savages—­for noble I ­will call them. They, for the most part, had ­free institutions, but they are easily sustained among a savage p­ eople. Are we to overlook this fact? Are we to associate with ourselves as equals, companions, and fellow-­citizens, the Indians and mixed race of Mexico? Sir, I should consider such a ­thing as fatal to our institutions. The next two reasons which I assigned, ­were, that it would be in conflict with the genius and character of our institutions, and subversive of our f­ree government. I take t­hese two together, as intimately connected; and now of the first—to hold Mexico in subjection. Mr. President, t­here are some propositions too clear for argument; and before such a body as the Senate, I should consider it a loss of time to undertake to prove that to hold Mexico as a subjected province would be hostile, and in conflict with our ­free popu­lar institutions, and in the end subversive of them. Sir, he who knows the American Constitution well—he who has duly studied its character—he who has looked at history, and knows what has been the effect of conquests of ­free States invariably, ­will require no proof at my hands to show that it would be entirely hostile to the institutions of the country to hold Mexico as a province. ­There is not an example on rec­ord of any f­ ree State even having attempted the conquest of any territory approaching the extent of Mexico without disastrous consequences. The nations conquered have in time conquered the conquerers by destroying their liberty. That ­will be our case, sir. The conquest of Mexico would add so vast an amount to the patronage of this Government, that it would absorb the w ­ hole power of the States in the Union. This Union would become imperial, and the States mere subordinate corporations. But the evil ­will not end ­there. The pro­cess ­will go on. The same pro­cess by which the power would be transferred from the States to the Union, ­will transfer the w ­ hole from this department of the Government (I speak of the Legislature) to the Executive. All the added power and added patronage which conquest ­will create, ­will pass to the Executive. In the end, you put in the hands of the Executive the power of conquering you. You give to it, sir, such splendor, such ample means, that, with the princi­ple of proscription which unfortunately prevails in our country, the strug­gle w ­ ill be greater at ­every Presidential election than our institutions can possibly endure. The end of it w ­ ill be, that that branch of Government ­will become all-­powerful, and the result is inevitable—­anarchy and despotism. It is as certain as that I am this day addressing the Senate. But, Mr. President, suppose all t­ hese difficulties removed; suppose t­ hese ­people attached to our Union, and desirous of incorporating with us, o­ ught we to bring them in? Are they fit to be connected with us? Are they fit for self-­government and for governing you? Are you, any of you, willing that your States should be governed by t­ hese twenty-­odd Mexican States, with a population of about only one million of your blood, and two or three millions of mixed blood, better informed, all

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the rest pure Indians, a mixed blood equally ignorant and unfit for liberty, impure races, not as good as Cherokees or Choctaws? We make a ­great ­mistake, sir, when we suppose that all ­people are capable of self-­government. We are anxious to force ­free government on all; and I see that it has been urged in a very respectable quarter, that it is the mission of this country to spread civil and religious liberty over all the world, and especially over this continent. It is a g­ reat ­mistake. None but ­people advanced to a very high state of moral and intellectual improvement are capable, in a civilized state, of maintaining f­ ree government; and amongst t­hose who are so purified, very few, indeed, have had the good fortune of forming a constitution capable of endurance. It is a remarkable fact in the history of man, that scarcely ever have ­free popu­lar institutions been formed by wisdom alone that have endured. It has been the work of fortunate circumstances, or a combination of circumstances—­a succession of fortunate incidents of some kind—­which give to any ­people a ­free government. It is a very difficult task to make a constitution to last, though it may be supposed by some that they can be made to order, and furnished at the shortest notice. Sir, this admirable Constitution of our own was the result of a fortunate combination of circumstances. It was superior to the wisdom of the men who made it. It was the force of circumstances which induced them to adopt most of its wise provisions. Well, sir, of the few nations who have the good fortune to adopt self-­government, few have had the good fortune long to preserve that government; for it is harder to preserve than to form it. Few p­ eople, ­after years of prosperity, remember the tenure by which their liberty is held; and I fear, Senators, that is our own condition. I fear that we ­shall continue to involve ourselves ­until our own system becomes a ruin. Sir, t­ here is no solicitude now for liberty. Who talks of liberty when any ­great question comes up? ­Here is a question of the first magnitude as to the conduct of this war; do you hear anybody talk about its effect upon our liberties and our ­free institutions? No, sir. That was not the case formerly. In the early stages of our Government, the g­ reat anxiety was how to preserve liberty; the ­great anxiety now is for the attainment of mere military glory. In the one, we are forgetting the other. The maxim of former times was, that power is always stealing from the many to the few; the price of liberty was perpetual vigilance. They w ­ ere constantly looking out and watching for danger. Then, when any g­ reat question came up, the first inquiry was, how it could affect our f­ ree institutions—­how it could affect our liberty. Not so now. Is it ­because ­there has been any decay of the spirit of liberty among the p­ eople? Not at all. I believe the love of liberty was never more ardent, but they have forgotten the tenure of liberty by which alone it is preserved. We think we may now indulge in every­thing with impunity, as if we held our charter of liberty by “right divine”—­from Heaven itself. ­Under ­these impressions, we plunge into war, we contract heavy debts, we increase the patronage of the Executive,

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and we even talk of a crusade to force our institutions, our liberty, upon all ­people. ­There is no species of extravagance which our ­people imagine ­will endanger their liberty in any degree. But it is a ­great and fatal ­mistake. The day of retribution w ­ ill come. It ­will come as certainly as I am now addressing the Senate; and when it does come, awful ­will be the reckoning—­heavy the responsibility somewhere! Source: John C. Calhoun. “The Conquest of Mexico Speech, 1848,” in The Works of John C. Calhoun, Vol. IV. New York: D. Appleton, 1888, pp. 397–424.

Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, 1848 ­ here ­were impor­tant distinctions between the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo as it T was negotiated between U.S. and Mexican diplomats and the version that was eventually ratified by the U.S. Senate. Two impor­tant clauses governed the lives of the former Mexican citizens who came u­ nder the jurisdiction of the U.S. government once this treaty was signed. First, Article IX provided that Mexicans would become full U.S. citizens “as soon as pos­si­ble.” However, when the Senate ratified the treaty, they changed the language to read: “be admitted at the proper time (to be judged of by the Congress of the United States).” The effect was that many p­ eople, like t­ hose in New Mexico Territory (or­ga­nized 1850) waited more than 60 years before statehood was granted, and with it repre­sen­ta­tion in Congress. Second, Article X of the treaty promised to uphold the property regimes that had existed ­under Mexican law. Many in the United States, however, saw the large land grants as anathema to the ideal of small agrarian farmers, who managed their own land and ­were in­de­pen­dent of outside influence and capitalism. Senators agreed, and stripped Mexicans of the settled property rights and forced them to go through an arduous ­legal pro­cess of proving their land titles ­under U.S. law. The result was that in California and New Mexico, thousands of families lost their land and livelihood, as they could not defend their land possession in U.S. courts. Some of the land was lost through fraud but most of the land was lost b­ ecause Mexican Americans found it difficult to navigate the new ­legal system successfully. As Written during Negotiations

As Ratified by the U.S. Senate

Article IX

Article IX

The Mexicans who, in the territories aforesaid, ­shall not preserve the character of citizens of the Mexican Republic, conformably with what is stipulated in the preceding Article, ­shall be incorporated into the

The Mexicans who, in the territories aforesaid, ­shall not preserve the character of citizens of the Mexican (continued)

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As Written during Negotiations

As Ratified by the U.S. Senate

Article IX

Article IX

Union of the United States, and admitted as soon as pos­si­ble, according to the princi­ples of the Federal Constitution, to the enjoyment of all the rights of citizens of the United States. In the mean time, they ­shall be maintained and protected in the enjoyment of their liberty, their property, and the civil rights now vested in them according to the Mexican laws. With re­spect to po­liti­cal rights, their condition ­shall be on an equality with that of the inhabitants of the other territories of the United States; and at least equally good as that of the inhabitants of Louisiana and the Floridas, when ­these provinces, by transfer from the French Republic and the Crown of Spain, became territories of the United States.

Republic, conformably with what is stipulated in the preceding article, ­shall be incorporated into the Union of the United States and be admitted at the proper time (to be judged of by the Congress of the United States) to the enjoyment of all the rights of citizens of the United States, according to the princi­ples of the Constitution; and in the mean time, ­shall be maintained and protected in the ­free enjoyment of their liberty and property, and secured in the ­free exercise of their religion; without restriction.

The same most ample guaranty s­ hall be enjoyed by all ecclesiastics and religious corporations or communities, as well in the discharge of the offices of their ministry, as in the enjoyment of their property of ­every kind, ­whether individual or corporate. This guaranty ­shall embrace all ­temples, ­houses and edifices dedicated to the Roman Catholic worship; as well as all property destined to its support, or to that of schools, hospitals and other foundations for charitable or beneficent purposes. No property of this nature ­shall be considered as having become the property of the American Government, or as subject to be, by it, disposed of or diverted to other uses. Fi­nally, the relations and communication between the Catholics living in the territories aforesaid, and their respective ecclesiastical authorities, ­shall be open, ­free and exempt from all hindrance what­ever, even although such authorities should reside within the limits of the Mexican Republic, as defined by this treaty; and this freedom ­shall continue, so long as a new demarcation of ecclesiastical districts ­shall not have been made, conformably with the laws of the Roman Catholic Church.

(continued)

U.S.-­Mexican War, 1846–1848 | 151

As Written during Negotiations

As Ratified by the U.S. Senate

Article X

Article X

All grants of land made by the Mexican Government or by the component authorities, in territories previously appertaining to Mexico, and remaining for the ­future within the limits of the United States, ­shall be respected as valid, to the same extent that the same grants would be valid, if the said territories had remained within the limits of Mexico. But the grantees of lands in Texas, put in possession thereof, who, by reason of the circumstances of the country since the beginning of the trou­bles between Texas and the Mexican Government, may have been prevented from fulfilling all the conditions of their grants, s­ hall be u­ nder the obligation to fulfill said conditions within the periods limited in the same respectively; such periods to be now counted from the date of exchange of ratifications of this treaty; in default of which the said grants s­ hall not be obligatory upon the State of Texas, in virtue of the stipulations contained in this Article.

[Stricken.]

The foregoing stipulation in regard to grantees of land in Texas, is extended to all grantees of land in the territories aforesaid, elsewhere than Texas, put in possession ­under such grants; and, in default of the fulfillment of the conditions of any such grant, within the new period, which, as is above stipulated, begins with the day of the exchange of ratifications of this treaty, the same ­shall be null and void. Source: Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, February 2, 1848; Perfected Treaties, 1778–1945; Rec­ord Group 11; General Rec­ords of the United States Government, 1778–1992; National Archives.

See also: Anglo-­American Colonization of Northern Mexico; Spanish-­American War; Texas In­de­pen­dence

Further Reading Calhoun, John C. 1848, January 8. Congressional Globe, 30th Congress, 1st Session, 96–100. Calhoun, John C. 1988. “The Conquest of Mexico Speech, 1848,” in The Works of John C. Calhoun, vol. IV, pp. 397–424. New York: D. Appleton.

152 | Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 Chavez, Ernesto. 2007. The U.S. War with Mexico: A Brief History with Documents. New York: Bedford/St. Martins Press. Greenberg, Amy  S. 2012. A Wicked War: Polk, Clay, Lincoln and the 1846 Invasion of Mexico. New York: Knopf. Hyde, Ann. 2011. Empires, Nations, and Families: A History of the North American West, 1800–1860. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, Montejano, David. 2007. Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986. Austin: University of Texas Press. Polk, James K. 1846, May 11. Special Message to Congress on Mexican Relations. Retrieved from http://­www​.­presidency​.­ucsb​.­edu​/­ws​/­​?­pid​=6­ 7907 Scott, Winfield. 1846.“General Scott’s Annual Report,” January 10, 1846. Niles’ National Register. Thoreau, Henry David. 1849. “On Civil Disobedience.” Retrieved from http://­xroads​.­virginia​ .­edu​/∼ ­ hyper2​/­thoreau​/­civil​.­html Weber, David. 1982. The Mexican Frontier: The American Southwest ­Under Mexico. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Whitman, Walt. 1846, May 11. Brooklyn Daily Ea­gle.

Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence, 1868–1898 Sitela Alvarez

Chronology 1790–­1839

The number of sugar haciendas (ranches) on the island of Cuba doubles.

1792–­1815

Despite the Spanish crown’s restrictions to prevent Cuba’s growth, the Napoleonic Wars allow the island to prosper. As demand for sugar, tobacco, and coffee increases, more slaves are brought to Cuba and the planters become prosperous.

1808

Napoleon invades Spain, causing Spain and ­England to become allies. In May, King Ferdinand VII and Prince Ferdinand of Spain renounce the Spanish throne, allowing Napoleon to install his b­ rother Joseph as the new king of the Spanish empire.

1810

The Caracas Junta invites Cuba’s Junta Superior to join in the revolt against Spain, but Cuba remains faithful to the crown.

1812

José Antonio Aponte, leader of the black uprising in Cuba, and eight collaborators are caught and imprisoned in February. In April, Aponte and his collaborators are put to death.

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1817

Spanish King Ferdinand VII allows the private sale of Cuban cigars and tobacco leaf once the Cuban tobacco mono­poly is abolished. The king also determines a need for the mass introduction of black slaves into Cuba due to a lack of Indians to cultivate the land.

1818

The Spanish crown allows criollos (­people of Spanish descent born in the Amer­i­cas) to trade with non-­Spanish ships at vari­ous Cuban ports.

1819

The Spanish Crown grants criollos full ­legal rights to the lands they owned; up to this date, all property was considered royal property.

1820

The Spanish Constitution of 1812 is reinstated.

1821

Félix Varela y Morales is chosen, with two other delegates, to represent Cuba in the Spanish Cortes (parliament); ­there he advocates for justice, h­ uman dignity, and freedom of black slaves.

1823

U.S. President James Monroe warns Eu­rope not to interfere in the recently in­de­pen­dent countries in the Western Hemi­sphere (in what becomes known as the Monroe Doctrine). In December, the French invasion of Spain restores King Ferdinand VII, suppresses all liberal opposition, and calls for the arrest of liberals, including Varela, who is forced into exile.

1823–­1836

Clear philosophical divisions develop between Cubans and Spaniards.

1824

The Spanish loss at the ­Battle of Ayacucho in Peru ­causes the Spanish to retreat from the American mainland to their two remaining possessions: Cuba and Puerto Rico.

1825

The Spanish crown expands the power of the Captain General of Cuba.

1830

Spain increases taxes, imposes new laws, and denies criollos any voice in their governance. This creates a rift in Spanish and Cuban relations as a clearer Cuban identity emerges and ­future captains general begin to view Cubans as the ­enemy.

1837, April

A new royal decree, issued April 25, removes Cuban delegates from the Spanish Cortes.

1847

U.S. citizens and Manifest Destiny proponents Moses Beach and John O’­Sullivan meet in Havana with wealthy Cubans who are interested in having the United States annex Cuba.

1848

U.S. President Polk offers Spain $100 million for Cuba, which Spain refuses.

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1849, Narciso López’s first filibustering expedition to Cuba fails. September–­ October 1850, May

Narciso López’s second filibustering expedition manages to take control of Cárdenas, Cuba, on May 19, but the filibusterers are forced back to the sea.

1851, August–­ September

Narciso López’s third filibustering expedition lands at Bahía Honda. The Spanish subsequently defeat and execute them.

1853

Influential Cuban writer and po­liti­cal theorist José Martí is born in Havana.

1854

U.S. President Franklin Pierce offers Spain $130 million for Cuba, but Spain again refuses.

1862

The U.S. war tariff plunges the Cuban cigar industry into economic crisis. However, a loophole in the tariff allows cigars to be made in the newly established factories in Key West, Florida.

1865–­1885

Cubans establish vari­ous cigar factories in Key West, where countless cigars are rolled with Cuban tobacco leaves, which are imported daily. This community grows and helps fund the Cuban wars of in­de­pen­dence.

1867

Early in the year, the Spanish government imposes new taxes on Cuba, particularly on income and customs, which further restrict the prosperity of Cubans.

1868, October

On October  10, Carlos Manuel de Céspedes and other Cubans begin a conflict to fight for Cuban in­de­pen­dence. This war becomes known as the Ten Years’ War and lasts ­until 1878.

1869

On January 4, General Don Domingo Dulce arrives in Cuba and grants freedom of press and of assembly. Dulce also ­orders the Spanish army to execute any rebels captured with weapons. U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant avoids taking sides in the Cuban War of In­de­pen­dence. Seventeen-­year-­old José Martí is arrested and sentenced to hard ­labor for expressing his opposition to the Spanish crown.

1869, October

Céspedes ­orders that all cane fields be burned.

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1871, November

On November 27, a Spanish firing squad executes Cuban medical students a­ fter they are falsely accused of desecrating the tomb of a Spanish journalist.

1878

The Treaty of Zanjón is accepted, ending the Ten Years’ War. Although it does not abolish slavery, slaves who fought for ­either side are declared ­free.

1879

Cuban army commanders Antonio Maceo and Calixto García call for the “­Little War,” but Spanish forces quickly suppress it. Once again, José Martí leaves Cuba for the United States.

1880

As Havana becomes the center for slave trafficking, José Martí begins making public speeches in the United States, where he lives ­until 1895.

1886

Slavery is abolished in Cuba when it becomes more profitable to ­free slaves and hire them by the day.

1892

­ fter years of giving public speeches and organ­izing Cubans both A on and off the island, José Martí establishes the Cuban Revolutionary Party, unifying the conflicting interests of ­those seeking Cuban in­de­pen­dence.

1895

The War of 1895 begins with the arrival of Antonio and José Maceo in eastern Cuba, as Cubans once again call for in­de­pen­dence and take up arms.

1895, May

On May 19, José Martí is killed in his first appearance on the battlefield at Dos Ríos in eastern Cuba.

1896

As the Cuban war for in­de­pen­dence sees successes, Antonio Maceo is killed.

1897

Calixto García confines the Spanish army to the coast as the Cuban rebels take strategic forts.

1898

The explosion and sinking of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor stirs suspicions of Spanish sabotage and conspiracy. This becomes the pretext for the U.S. to participate in the Cuban war for in­de­pen­dence against Spain. By mid-1898, American and Cuban forces invade the strategically and commercially impor­tant Guantanamo Bay. In December, the Treaty of Peace in Paris between the United States and Spain ends the war and relinquishes sovereignty over Cuba to the United States.

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1899, January

The Spanish colonial government leaves Cuba as Captain General Alfonso Jimenez Castellaño hands over power to the United States on January 1. The United States agrees to grant Cuba its autonomy, but retains perpetual right to Guantánamo Bay and occupies the island ­until 1902.

Narrative The aftermath of the siege of Havana, in 1762, led to a series of reforms in Spanish Amer­i­ca. Known as the Bourbon Reforms, ­these included military, economic, cultural/religious, administrative, and social reforms. The arrival of a French fleet in Havana harbor at the beginning of the 18th ­century signaled the French Bourbons’ claim on the Spanish throne. Although the Spanish empire was in vari­ous stages of decline and disarray, the Bourbons reinstated the crown’s control over the Indies. While the New World economies ­were sound, Spain’s colonial officials ­were unable to manage the corruption and smuggling that had caused huge losses in Spain’s colonial revenues. As Bourbon influence altered conditions throughout Spanish Amer­i­ca, Cuba became an impor­tant source of colonial income, as tobacco became the prominent Cuban export. The Bourbon Reforms prompted the transformation of the Spanish empire and altered the landscape and circumstances throughout that empire. Bourbon military, administrative, and commercial reforms transformed Cuba from a backwater colony into the pearl of the Spanish empire. As Bourbon policy favored Spanish interests and increased the strength of the commercial sector instead of the agricultural and ranching sector, the distinctions between peninsulares (Spaniards born in Eu­rope) and criollos (­those born in the Amer­i­cas) sharpened. Thus, criollos began to complain about the monopolies and the new and old taxes. Although the Spanish crown had anticipated that the reforms would change the outlook in Cuba, it was the effects of unrest in Saint Domingue that truly altered the Cuban landscape. The slave rebellion on Saint Domingue in August 1791 created a vacancy in the sugar market, of which Cuban sugar planters promptly took advantage. The quick expansion of sugar production in Cuba caused vari­ous other changes on the island, particularly in transportation. Prior to this, poor transportation had prevented the massive expansion of agriculture. The demand for sugar, its soaring prices, and higher land values, however, provided some incentives for the sudden expansion of transportation routes. As the old roadways and ports ­were improved, the introduction of the railroad in the 1830s allowed for new zones of production and lowered the cost of transportation, thus increasing both profit and supply. The mass importation of black slaves triggered fears of slave rebellions. Although slave re­sis­tance took dif­fer­ent forms, w ­ hether at the individual or collective level,

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The taking of Guáimaro by insurgent forces led by General Calixto García Iñiquez in October 1896 during the Cuban War of In­de­pen­dence (1895–1898). (Library of Congress)

Cubans feared an uprising from the black slaves similar to what had happened on Saint Domingue. At the individual level, black slaves committed suicide and murder, or escaped, to avoid their oppression. Collectively, Cubans’ fear of a slave uprising increased as the 19th ­century progressed and slavery expanded rapidly on the island. As early as 1811, José Antonio Aponte or­ga­nized a rebellion involving whites, f­ ree colored ­people, and slaves. Although the rebellion was crushed by the Spanish, the fear of f­ uture uprisings lingered throughout the ­century and influenced Cubans’ decisions regarding their ­future as it related to Spain. By the mid-19th ­century, Cubans realized that, as a Spanish colony, they would be unable to expand their production capabilities. Spain maintained strict regulations over Cuban trade with the United States and Eu­rope. As Cuba’s sugar production expanded, Spain could not supply the goods, shipping, and markets the Cubans demanded. ­Because Spain regulated Cuba’s trade terms, Cubans ­were subjected to endless custom duties, which they saw as discriminatory and which became a source of tension between the Cubans and the Spanish crown. While Cuban landowners and merchants focused on the sugar trade, other Spanish colonies sought in­de­pen­dence from Spain. Both the massive expansion of sugar cultivation and the vari­ous in­de­pen­dence movements on the Spanish mainland propelled a dramatic increase in the island’s population. The influx of

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peninsular soldiers, their settlement, and their incorporation into Cuban society strengthened the island’s ties to Spain. This migration created new social classes on the island and transformed the old ones. As the 19th ­century progressed, the Spanish crown reinforced the distinctions between peninsulares (Spaniards born in Spain) and criollos (­people of Spanish parentage born in the Spanish colonies). Criollos grew tired of the idea that peninsulares ­were superior and of the expansion of the sugar industry, which perpetuated the differences between Cubans and Spaniards. Criollos called for ­free trade and demanded greater control over their resources, government, and commerce, while the Spanish sought to keep Spaniards in charge of public administration and private trade. ­These conflicting economic interests increased po­liti­cal tensions between criollos and peninsulares. Criollos called for policies to protect and promote their economic and po­liti­cal interests. They also began to realize that their destiny must be separated from Spain and Spanish control. Four po­liti­cal ideologies emerged in Cuba in the 19th ­century: royalists/loyalists, autonomists, annexationists, and in­de­pen­dentistas. Although the royalists and autonomists tended to align themselves into separate groups, the annexationists and in­de­pen­dentistas overlapped, although the details of their ideologies still differed. The royalists typically ­were peninsulares who wished to maintain the status quo, whereas the autonomists called for reforms. Annexationists appealed to the United States for Cuba to be incorporated as a slave state in order to maintain their slave-­ owning society and sugar production, but eliminate the Spanish colonial structure. Meanwhile, the in­de­pen­dentistas sought freedom and sovereignty. It is unknown what percentage of the population identified with each of t­hese broad categories. As the 19th ­century progressed, ­these po­liti­cal philosophies waxed and waned in popularity. Although the continuation of slavery allowed Spain to maintain its grasp on Cuba (­because slave ­owners would not dare risk slave rebellions in trying to seek their own in­de­pen­dence), criollos knew that the desire for freedom was a clear threat to the social order of early 19th-­century Cuba. ­Because of the island’s economic growth and demographic changes, Cuban criollos received unpre­ce­dented attention due to their new opportunities and wealth. Economic expansion created new fractures in Cuban society, however, pitting landowners against urban merchants and further dividing the criollos and peninsulares. The desire for separation from Spain, w ­ hether through annexation by the United States or in­de­pen­dence, presented a clear and looming threat to the Cuban sugar-­producing and slave-­owning society. Cuba was the only Spanish colony where the local economy was almost completely dependent on slavery and where ­there was a large population of African slaves. Cuban elites knew that separating from Spain would likely disrupt colonial social structures; in­de­pen­dence would instigate the end of slavery. For Cuban elites, staying within the Spanish empire

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provided the greatest stability for the island and the best defense against slave rebellion. As the rest of the Spanish empire sought in­de­pen­dence, Cuba became flooded with thousands of newly arriving peninsulares and criollos. Although po­liti­cal and economic f­ actors tethered the island to Spain, criollos began writing about and contributing to the development of nationalism. Early 19th-­century writings, such as ­those by Félix Varela y Morales, demonstrate the conceptualization of la patria (the country or fatherland) and the questioning of the current social order, which led to the development of Cuban nationalism. Several con­temporary revolutionary texts contributed to the criollos’ realization that they constituted a community with its own interests, apart from t­hose of Spain. One par­tic­u­lar event that contributed to the con­temporary revolutionary texts was Varela’s time in Spain (1821–1823) as a delegate in the Spanish Cortes (parliament). For 14 months, the delegates participated in debates and deliberations that would affect the Cubans. In Spain, Varela petitioned for partial self-­government for Cuba, the gradual abolition of slavery, and the recognition of the newly in­de­pen­dent former Spanish colonies. The arguments in the Spanish Cortes and the betrayal of Ferdinand VII caused Varela to realize that the Spanish crown would never listen to petitions from its colonies. In 1823, Ferdinand VII abolished the constitution and the Cortes, forcing Varela and o­ thers to seek exile in the United States. The same year, U.S. President James Monroe addressed the Western Hemi­sphere with what l­ater became known as the Monroe Doctrine. He stated that any efforts by Eu­ro­pean nations to colonize or intervene in the Western hemi­sphere would be regarded as aggressive and intrusive. Monroe also declared that the United States would guarantee that no Eu­ro­pean power could interfere, nor would it allow its own intervention in the politics in the Amer­i­cas. Although invoked and ignored at vari­ous dif­fer­ent points in the 19th ­century, this doctrine proved influential as Cuban exiles began arriving in the United States. As the Spanish arrested and persecuted ­those Cubans calling for reform or freedom from Spain, many fled to the United States. Cuba’s economic dependence on the United States, particularly its economic ties to New York, had facilitated Cuban settlement in New York City in the early 19th ­century. As trade relationships developed further and Cuban sugar producers kept accounts in both the United States and Cuba, Cuban elites began sending their sons to boarding schools in the Northeast. The criollo sons who w ­ ere sent to U.S. schools returned home speaking En­glish and familiar with life in the United States. ­These early exchanges laid the foundation for a Cuban expatriate community in New York and an orientation ­toward education in the United States rather than Spain. This community welcomed Félix Varela a­ fter he escaped from Spain. Although Cubans formed a transnational community, Varela and other exiles w ­ ere reluctant mi­grants who never intended to spend most of their lives outside of Cuba; they did

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so ­because of a variety of circumstances. Once in the United States, Varela continued to produce a steady stream of lit­er­a­ture aimed primarily against the Spanish crown. Meanwhile, ­those Cubans in the United States who had vested interests in annexation sought dif­fer­ent methods to achieve it. Annexationists from the Cuban community in New Orleans, for example, hoped the United States would annex Cuba as a slave state. U.S. President James K. Polk offered Spain $100 million for Cuba in 1848, and President Franklin Pierce l­ater raised the offer to $130 million; however, Spain refused both offers. Although Spain was not willing to surrender the island, between the 1840s and 1850s filibustering expeditions like that of Narciso López, a Venezuelan, aimed to achieve just that. López hoped the filibustering expedition would ignite a fight that would lead to the annexation of Cuba. ­These attempts failed and annexationist sentiments quickly faded by the time of the United States Civil War (1861–1865). Instead, most of the remaining annexationists shifted their ambitions ­toward in­de­pen­dence. The U.S. Civil War not only brought about an end to the annexationist campaign, it also contributed to dramatic economic changes on the island. During the war, the price of Cuban cigars soared a­ fter Congress imposed new tariffs on imported cigars in an effort to stimulate the domestic cigar industry. This barrier plunged Cuban cigar makers into an economic crisis and caused an increase in unemployment. A loophole in the United States 1862 War Tariff allowed for the importation of agricultural products—­including tobacco leaves—at much lower rates, and so several cigar manufacturers transferred their factories from Havana, Cuba, to Key West, Florida. Once the Ten Years’ War began in Cuba, Key West received a growing influx of Cubans fleeing the island’s economic and po­liti­cal turmoil. By 1865, reformism became the popu­lar alternative to annexation. First, reformists called for the separation of civil and military duties from the office of the Captain General in Cuba. Next, they called for the right to petition the Spanish crown and the right to self-­representation in the Spanish parliament. Additionally, reformists sought an increase in white immigration to the island, presumably to offset the demographic imbalance that kept the minority white population fearful of slave revolts. They also pursued reforms of high taxes and tariffs, with some success: between 1858 and 1868, a number of reforms ­were allowed in Cuba. The Spanish crown permitted the establishment of a number of newspapers and the formation of po­liti­cal parties. ­These parties represented a limited concession, though, as the po­liti­cal parties could only petition Spain for reforms on tariffs, represent the Cubans in the Spanish parliament, and maintain the slave trade. The parties could not elect or place Cubans in government positions. Thus, the Spanish crown’s reforms and concessions ­were minor, in that they granted the Cubans only a few limited rights. This period of reform allowed Spain to implement a junta de informacíon. It served as an olive branch to discontented Cubans, allowing them to pres­ent their

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grievances via deputies. Although the deputies ­were elected and dispatched to Spain, the junta failed to secure even the minimum demands of the Cubans, thus stalling reformism and further distancing Cuba from Spain. In addition, upon their arrival in Spain, the delegates ­were met with a coup d’etat (seizure of power from a government) that ushered in a conservative reactionary group ­under whose policies taxes ­were raised and a new, more conservative, Captain General of Cuba was appointed. As the price of sugar plummeted on the world market, Cubans began calling for in­de­pen­dence from Spain. At the same time that Cubans w ­ ere making sense of the 1862 War Tariff, a revolution shook the island. In 1868, both economic turmoil and frustration with Spain’s inefficient colonial bureaucracy pushed the island’s population to revolt for the first time. Coupled with a rising sense of nationalism, the disenchantment led to Cuba’s first war of in­de­pen­dence against Spain (the Ten Years’ War)—­a mission that would not succeed u­ ntil 1898. The insurgency ruined the Cuban economy and wrought havoc in both the city of Havana and the countryside. Many Cubans went to the United States, arriving by the thousands at the nearest American port: Key West, Florida. The Ten Years’ War began on October 10, 1868, known as el Grito de Yara, when Carlos Manuel de Céspedes proclaimed Cuban in­de­pen­dence and freed his black slaves. The war ultimately failed to bring about in­de­pen­dence ­because of the disunion among Cubans. It did initiate the end of slavery on the island, however. In response to Céspedes’s October 10th proclamation and freeing of slaves so they could fight for the insurgency, Spain passed the Moret Law in 1870. Both Spain and its colony determined that the immediate abolition of slavery without compensation for slave ­owners was not desirable. Spain deci­ded that the best course of action was to establish an apprenticeship law that would ­free the slaves through a gradual pro­cess. The Moret Law granted slaves freedom if they w ­ ere born a­ fter September 17, 1868, or had fought for the Spanish in the Ten Years’ War, w ­ ere over the age of 60, or w ­ ere owned by the Spanish government. In addition, the Spanish government granted each owner 125 pesetas for each slave that was freed by the law. The Ten Years’ War proved to be a military stalemate with few po­liti­cal benefits aside from the Moret Law. The complete abolition of slavery in Cuba fi­nally occurred a­ fter 1886. Despite the signing of the Treaty of Zanjón in 1878, some rebels continued fighting, ignoring the treaty and leading to a second war known as la Guerra Chiquita, or “The L ­ ittle War.” In 1878, Calixto Garcia issued a manifesto against the Spanish crown, which was approved by other Cuban war leaders. This second war began soon ­after the first but lasted less than a year. In the second conflict, leaders lacked the weapons, ammunition, and allies (both foreign and domestic) to sustain the campaign for Cuban in­de­pen­dence. The revolutionary leaders w ­ ere arrested and forced to surrender. Although the Spanish crown and Cubans had agreed to reforms in the Treaty of Zanjón, few w ­ ere enacted, thus reinforcing Cubans’ nationalist sentiments.

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­ fter 1880, three po­liti­cal options remained for Cubans: unconditional ac­cep­tance A of Spanish rule, autonomy, or in­de­pen­dence. The autonomists ­were comprised of both the old annexationists and new autonomists, as their vested interests lay in remaining with Spain. Although they wanted to maintain the status quo, they called for the same reforms as prior to the Ten Years’ War: juridical equality with Spaniards, basic individual liberties, limitations on the authority of the Captain General, and tariff and tax reform. Of the few in­de­pen­dentistas that remained ­after 1878, some chose exile and ­others remained in Cuba. ­Those who chose exile articulated the discontent of Cubans on the island, who w ­ ere unable to mobilize due to Spanish repression. ­After the war, Spain granted Cuba a degree of local autonomy by recalling the conservative Captain General and allowing Cubans to elect delegates to the Spanish Cortes. The Spanish crown permitted only the most conservative of Spanish citizens to serve as delegates, even as Spain promoted massive Spanish immigration to the island to offset the number of Cubans and African slaves. Cuban immigration to the United States increased during the war, fueling settlement in Key West, New York City, and eventually Tampa. ­These communities would play a vital role in the War of 1895. The next war for in­de­pen­dence would unify Cubans with the help of a journalist, José Martí. Martí was a ­great propagandist and he caught the attention of exiles. Though he was at odds with insurgent military generals, Martí proved pivotal to the next war. He spoke out against all the failed invasions and encouraged the elite organizers in New York City to include all Cubans in the liberation effort. In 1891, Martí arrived in Tampa for a fundraiser where he called publicly for the unification of the Cuban insurgency. He convinced cigar workers in Florida to donate to the effort for Cuban in­de­pen­dence, and t­ hese donations proved critical in financing the war. ­After repeated discussions with patriotic clubs across Cuban communities in the United States, Martí established El Partido Revolucionario Cubano (the Cuban Revolutionary Party). This party helped to unify Cubans and laid the groundwork for the war that ultimately brought about Cuban in­de­pen­dence. The War of 1895, also known as the Spanish-­American War, Spanish-­Cuban-­ American War, and War of 1898, brought more turmoil and instability. Martí’s impatience to start the war was reinforced by his fear of the United States’ imperialistic tendencies. He constantly warned about requesting any aid from the United States, calling instead for a Cuba liberated by Cubans and for Cubans. Although this war ­later saw U.S. involvement, it was a war of attrition. The Cuban insurgents used a scorched-­earth policy to inflict the greatest economic cost on Spain and the planters. In response, Cuban planters began hiring guards to protect their cane fields. The Spaniards began reconcentrating p­ eople from rural parts of the island into the cities. As each side of the war employed harsher policies in response to the other, Cuban sentiment against the Spanish crown intensified.

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Shortly ­after his arrival in Cuba, Martí was killed at the B ­ attle of Dos Ríos in May of 1895. With Martí gone, Cuban rebels became more vulnerable to U.S. intervention. As stories began to cross the Atlantic about the harsh realities of the war, the American press—­particularly Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World and William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal—­sensationalized the Cuban war for in­de­pen­ dence. Although the United States remained steadfastly neutral ­until 1897, the arrival of a new Captain General in Cuba, Valeriano Weyler, stirred American interest. Although the Captain General desired to open negotiations with insurgents, loyalist Spanish citizens rejected this and rioted in Havana. The riots piqued the interest of U.S. President William McKinley, who dispatched the battleship USS Maine to Havana Harbor. Though many Americans objected to U.S. intervention in the conflict, ­those who favored involvement soon found a pretext. On February 15, 1898, a mysterious explosion on the American battleship incited the American press to call for war. Many immediately blamed Spanish forces and insisted that the explosion was a provocation (the true cause of the explosion was never determined). Although Spain had no interest in engaging in hostilities with the United States, by April 11, McKinley petitioned Congress to enter the Cuban war. On April 19, Congress voted its support for Cuban in­de­pen­dence. ­Those who opposed any American imperialist ambitions t­ oward Cuba supported passage of the Teller Amendment, which stipulated that the United States would not annex the island. The United States declared war on Spain on April 20, 1898, and landed American troops ­there by the end of June. Hostilities ended by August 12, 1898, but the war did not formally end ­until December 10, 1898, when Spain and the United States signed the Treaty of Paris. Spain surrendered Cuba, Puerto Rico, and several other territories to the United States. Although the United States retained control of Puerto Rico and other islands, Cuba’s sovereignty had to be respected ­because of the Teller Amendment. Cuba became a protectorate of the United States ­until 1902, ­after which it became po­liti­cally in­de­pen­dent. Still, the United States managed to retain access to Guantánamo Bay and the right to intervene in Cuban affairs if it became po­liti­cally unstable.

Biographies of Notable Figures José Martí (1853–1895) José Julián Martí Pérez is a Cuban literary and national hero. A symbol of Cuban nationalism, he is commonly referred to as “the apostle of Cuban in­de­pen­dence.” Born and raised in Havana, Martí was the son of a Spaniard and an Isleño ­mother (his ­mother was born and raised on the Canary Islands). The oldest of eight ­children, and the only son, he was enrolled in a local public school where he met Rafael María

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de Mendive, an influential poet, teacher, and patriot who believed in Cuban in­de­pen­ dence. Mendive taught Martí to understand the po­liti­cal and social situation on the island. ­Because Martí’s ­family was poor, Mendive paid for Martí’s high school education while he also took on the role of being his teacher. At the young age of 16, Martí committed himself to the cause of the Cuban Ten Years’ War and published his first newspaper, La Patria Libre, in 1869. In October of that year, Martí and Fermín Valdés Domínguez ­were overheard laughing by Spanish volunteers. They searched Domínguez’s ­house and discovered a letter criticizing a classmate who had joined the Spanish army. Martí was arrested and sentenced to six years of hard l­abor, but was freed within six months b­ ecause of his poor health. He was exiled and sent to Spain to study law, and while t­here he published El presidio político en Cuba. In d­ oing so, Martí detailed the cruelty of the Spanish on the island and called for Cuban in­de­pen­dence. During the 1870s, he spent time in Cuba and Central Amer­i­ca, where he witnessed the prob­lems associated with a military regime and the governmental abuses in the newly in­de­pen­dent Central American countries. Martí spent a short period of time in Cuba ­after his return following the Treaty of Zanjón. In 1877, he married Carmen Zayas Bazán. With la Guerra Chiquita ­under way, however, the Spanish government demanded that Martí renounce his revolutionary stance and support the colonial government. When he refused, he was forced to leave the island, though his wife and son stayed ­behind. In 1880, he left Spain for Venezuela, but eventually settled in New York City u­ ntil 1895. He spent his time abroad reporting on life in the United States for vari­ous Latin American newspapers. Despite his prolific literary output, he devoted most of his energy to the cause of Cuban in­de­pen­dence. He called for a short and quick war so as to avoid U.S. intervention and prevent the possibility of a military dictatorship. His mobilization and fund-­raising in Florida Cuban communities proved critical to the War of 1895. His public speeches and writings during this period emphasized a Cuba for Cubans. Martí is best known for his unification of Cubans, for establishing the Cuban Revolutionary Party in 1892, and for helping make the War of 1895 successful. Martí arrived in Cuba with Cuban revolutionary forces and made camp at Dos Ríos in early 1895. Although he was ordered to stay at camp due to his poor health, lingering injuries from his imprisonment, and lack of b­ attle knowledge, Martí heard the sounds of ­battle and lept onto his h­ orse. He was killed in May 1895 at the B ­ attle of Dos Ríos, two weeks a­ fter his arrival at the battlefront. ­After his death, his written works became a cornerstone of Cuban national identity. From his death to the pres­ ent, Cubans have invoked his works and imagery both on and off the island to legitimize vari­ous po­liti­cal positions. Martí’s numerous works include: Abdala (1869), El presidio político en Cuba (1871), Ismaelillo (1882), La edad de oro (1889), Nuestra Amer­i­ca (1891), and ¡A Cuba! (1894), among many, many ­others.

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Félix Varela y Morales (1788–1853) Don Félix Francisco Jose Maria de la Concepcion Varela y Morales, more commonly known as the Venerable Félix Varela y Morales, was born in Havana, Cuba, to a ­family with a long military tradition. His ­father was Spaniard Don Francisco Varela, teniente of the standing regiment in Havana. His m ­ other was born in Santiago de Cuba and her f­ ather was also in the military. When Varela was six, the regiment in which his f­ ather served was sent to Spanish Florida and the f­ amily established a home in Saint Augustine. Not long a­ fter their arrival, his maternal grand­father, Don Bartolomé Morales, was named governor of the city. Once Varela’s ­father died, his grand­father, the commander of military forces in Spanish Florida, took the reins of Varela’s education and raised him in St. Augustine. When Varela was a young teenager, his grand­father offered to send him to a military acad­emy, but he refused. Instead, he chose to pursue the priesthood. He was sent to Havana to study at the San Carlos and San Ambrosio Seminary. At age 23, he was ordained in the Cathedral of Havana and joined the seminary faculty within a year. In this position, he was able to influence the minds of ­future Cuban leaders, including José Antonio Saco, Domingo del Monte, and José de la Luz y Caballero. Of par­tic­u­lar importance, José Martí’s mentor, Mendive, was also a student of Varela’s. During this period, Varela published his Miscelánea filosófica before he was 30 years old. This seminal work sets out the ideological basis and the theoretical pillars of Varela’s thinking. In 1821, Varela and two other representatives ­were chosen to represent Cuba in the Spanish Cortes in Madrid. ­There, Varela petitioned the Spanish crown for ac­cep­ tance of the newly in­de­pen­dent Latin American countries and published an essay on the abolition of slavery in Cuba. The French invasion of Spain in 1823 overthrew the Spanish liberal government, however, and restored Ferdinand VII to the throne. The reseated king instantly repressed all opposition, forcing Varela to flee for his life via Gibraltar for the United States, where he spent the rest of his life. Upon arriving in New York City, he was met with a Cuban community that welcomed him. Although he spent some time in Philadelphia, he settled in New York. Varela’s time ­there centered around his 25 years ministering to a “basement congregation” of Irish immigrants that would become the Church of the Transfiguration. Varela’s pastoral ministry to poor Irish immigrants allowed him to support the Irish during a time of ­great anti-­ Catholic sentiment in the United States. During ­these early years, he also founded the first Spanish-­language newspaper in the United States, El Habanero. He published countless articles and newspapers, and even served as a con­sul­tant to the committee of American Bishops that wrote the Baltimore Catechism. In 1837, he was named Vicar General of the Diocese of New York, where he continued to play an influential role. By 1848, Varela was tired and his health was declining. He retired to St. Augustine, Florida, where he eventually died. In 1902, his body was disinterred from the

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cemetery in St. Augustine and taken to Havana, Cuba, where he was laid to rest in the University of Havana’s Aula Magna. Varela’s legacy did not end with his death, however. Since the 1980s, a movement for Varela’s canonization has been ­under way in the Catholic Church. On April 8, 2012, the Archdiocese of New York and the Archdiocese of Miami announced that the Vatican’s Sacred Congregation for the ­Causes of Saints had declared Varela “Venerable,” in recognition that he lived a virtuous life within the Catholic faith. Beatification would require one miracle, as he was not a martyr. If canonized, Varela would be the first Cuban-­born saint (though ­there is another Cuban also awaiting canonization: José Olallo y Valdés). Re­spect for Varela can also be seen in the naming of awards, schools, post offices, and other institutions in both the United States and Cuba a­ fter him. His legacy serves as one of the cornerstones of Cuban national identity. Jose Martí himself credited Varela with being the one who taught Cubans to think.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Editor Challenges Newspaper Man­ag­er to a Duel, 1870 In 1870, Gonzalo Castañon, editor of the newspaper La Voz de Cuba, issued a challenge to Juan María Reyes, who managed the Key West newspaper El Republicano, to a duel. Castañon’s challenge was prompted by Reyes’s article that criticized him and the brutal and cruel activities of the Spanish volunteers in Cuba. In January 1870, Castañon boarded a ship bound for Key West to meet Reyes. Once in Key West, he confronted Reyes about the article, but the already agitated Cuban community in Key West took to the streets. Fleeing for his life the next day, Castañon was killed on his way to board a ship to Havana. “CUBA. An Ex-­Governor of Havana Banished-­An Havana Editor in Florida to Fight in Duel. HAVANA Jan. 29. -­GUTIERREZ VEGA, ex-­governor of Havana, has been banished from the island of Cuba by order of Marshal SERRANO. KEY WEST, FLA., Jan. 29. -­Gonzalo Castañon, the editor of the Voz de Cuba, in com­ pany with four Spaniards arrived ­here this morning from Havana, for the purpose of fighting a duel with the editor of the Key West Republican. Meeting at the h­ otel, a violent altercation took place between the two editors. Castañon was arrested and placed u­ nder bonds to the amount of $200, gold, to keep the peace. The Cubans in this city are excited and threatening. Guards from the barracks have been stationed about the streets to preserve order. Both parties are determined.” Source: “An Ex-­Governor of Havana Banished -­An Havana Editor in Florida to Fight Duel,” The New York Times 19 (5727) (January 30, 1870): 1.

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Execution of Cuban Medical Students, 1871 In 1871, as the tensions between Cubans and Spaniards increased, several Havana University medical students left school ­after being notified that no class would be given that day. One student deci­ded to jump over the cemetery walls; the rest followed suit, and within minutes the ­whole group was in the cemetery and standing in front of the vault of Gonzalo Castañon, which they apparently entered and vandalized. Castañon was venerated as a Spanish po­liti­cal martyr, so the Spanish volunteers called for the arrest of the young men who had desecrated Castañon’s grave. The eight young medical students ­were court-­martialed and sentenced to death. Approximately 25 ­others ­were sentenced to vari­ous imprisonments ranging from 6 months to 6 years. All the condemned lost their property to the Spanish crown, and ­after the execution, the eight medical students ­were buried in the manner in which poor Cubans ­were traditionally buried (four to a grave without coffins). “The medical class of the Havana University meets immediately b­ ehind the old cemetery in St. Dionisius’ Hall. Like all other students, the medical students of Havana are very lively, and as noisy and full of mischief as everywhere ­else. On Thursday last the medical class, on entering their room, ­were informed that no lecture would be given that day, as the professor of anatomy was unwell. The class, composed of young men and boys, immediately left the college, when one of the number . . . ​proposed to jump over the cemetery walls, in the rear of the college, and have some fun. All agreed, and in a few [moments] . . . ​the ­whole party was inside. ­After roaming around for a few minutes, they met before the vault in which Gonzalo Castañon, whom the Spaniards venerate as a po­liti­cal martyr, and who was killed by the Cubans in Key West, lies buried. . . . ​Some of them defiled the grave by tweaking the glass of the urn in which [the] . . . ​remains repose, scattering the wreaths hung t­here by friends, and tearing up the sod in front of the grave. The height of  their senseless and profane be­hav­ior was reached when they wrote on the tombstone . . . ​Gonzalo Castañon who died in a foreign land suffering for the crimes of vile Spain. . . . ​The priest in charge of the cemetery heard the noise and approached them . . . ​[and suffered] the young men flinging stones and filth at him . . . ​. They went home, but the ­matter was noised abroad; hundreds of ­people went to see the tomb and read the scrawl. The priest at once . . . ​[pressed] charges. . . . ​ By midnight 12,000 volunteers w ­ ere shouting for Vengeance, speedy and terrible. Gen. Crespo attempted to stave off the ­matter, saying the Court-­martial had already been ordered in this case, and they (the students) would be tried on the morrow. ‘Now, now!’ was the angry shout, and the Captain General was obliged to give in to the rulers of this unfortunate land. The scenes in and around the Plaza de Armas, in front of the Palace ­were terrifying. . . . ​The Court-­martial formed . . . ​and

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commenced its session. . . . ​In the morning the Captain General, Crespo, issued a proclamation to the volunteers begging them to await the sentence of the Court-­ martial, and flattering them by calling them the firmest support ‘of order and public tranquility.’ At about two the council had terminated their office and marched . . . ​ to the Captain General’s palace, escorted by numbers of volunteers. ­There the sentence was read from the balcony to the crowd. Eight to be shot, ‘eleven to serve six years in the chain-­gang,’ nineteen to four years of the same, four to six months’ imprisonment, and only two released. The Captain General immediately approved the sentences, and o­ rders ­were given for the immediate execution of death upon the first eight. The execution took place . . . ​. Thousands w ­ ere assembled to witness this slaughter, and it passed off quietly enough. The boys met their deaths bravely and calmly. Full of life and hope a few days since, then torn from their families and condemned to meet a violent and painful death—­none blanched. . . . ​ Many of the youn­gest naturally trembled and paled, but the majority behaved like men. The Chaplain of the Cemetery, in his declaration at the Court-­martial, said that the boys had done nothing to merit such severe proceedings; that what they had done resembled all boyish freaks . . . ​. No disturbance of any kind took place then or up to ­today, and none is expected. The parents and relatives of several of the boys ­were willing to sacrifice large sums of money for their lives. It is said that the ­father of La Campa offered one million without avail. No time was given to the unfortunates to make any preparation for the cruel fate that awaited them, they could not write a last line to their relatives—­were not ‘allowed to leave their watches and trinkets to their parents and friends.’ ” Source: “Cuban Barbarity. Eight Young Students Shot—­A Cruel Court Martial—­An Inhuman Massacre,” North Otago Times, April 5, 1872, 5.

Recognition of Cuban In­de­pen­dence, 1896 In 1896, the U.S. Congress began debating the recognition of Cuban in­de­pen­dence. Soon ­after Martí’s death in 1895, Cubans began petitioning for U.S. involvement and recognition of their insurgency. As the Committee on Foreign Relations studied the events leading up to this third war for Cuban in­de­pen­dence, congressmen provided the details of other revolutions during the 19th ­century. In ­doing so, the congressmen laid the groundwork for understanding the rebellion, Spain’s vicious atrocities against the Cubans, and the need for ac­cep­tance of the legitimacy of the Cuban war for in­de­pen­dence. “ADDITIONAL VIEWS PRESENTED BY MR. MORGAN AND MR. MILLS IN SUPPORT OF THE REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE. . . . ​In January 24, 1859,

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the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations had u­ nder consideration a Senate Bill ‘making appropriations to facilitate the acquisition of the island of Cuba by negotiation,’ and made a report, which is hereto appended and designated as Appendix No. 1. That report covers a period of fifty-­nine years, and sets forth the po­liti­cal conditions then existing in Cuba, and the disastrous effects of Spanish rule in Cuba, during that time. They ­were the same, in their leading characteristics, that existed at the beginning of the insurrection that was set on foot by the native population in 1868, in the outbreak at Yara, which was followed by ten years of internecine warfare attended with horrible butcheries. The ­causes that provoked that uprising of the native Cubans w ­ ere the same that are stated in the report of the committee, made ten years previously, in 1859. . . . ​Spain is not the ‘­mother country of Cuba,’ even in the sense of having supplied that island with a large part of the ancestors of her pres­ent population. She is a cruel stepmother, whose introduction into the Cuban ­family has been the immediate cause of the robbery of the stepchildren of their inheritance and their cruel persecution to keep down revolt. The committee ­were engaged, in 1859, in providing for the purchase of Cuba by negotiations with Spain, and ­were as gentle in their description of Spanish rule in Cuba as a decent re­spect for the world’s knowledge of the truth of the a­ ctual situation of the p­ eople t­here would permit. . . . ​[T]he relations of Spain and the United States w ­ ere not then strained by the disturbances of ­actual insurrection in Cuba, as they ­were afterwards, from 1868 to 1878, and have been almost ever since, and are now, by the excessive and inhuman abuses of power in Cuba, to which no limit can be now anticipated, ­either as to the time when they ­will end or the increased cruelty that is now a settled feature of the pres­ent Spanish war of extermination. The President recognizes the fact that the pres­ent war is for in­de­pen­dence on the part of the Cubans and not for the gratification of personal ambition, or alone for the redress of personal or po­liti­cal grievances with which the painful history of their sufferings is crowded. For the sake of liberty and in­de­pen­dence of their country they are willing to forget the recompense that is due them for their individual sufferings.” Source: United States Congress Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, Recognition of Cuban In­de­pen­dence: December 21, 1896.—­Ordered to Be Printed Report to Accompany Senate Joint Resolution 163, 1896.

The Rescue of Evangelina Cisneros, 1897 The author of this article, G. C. Musgrave, presented the case of Evangelina Cisneros, who stirred the emotions of Americans with the story of her arrest and escape from Havana. Musgrave illustrates how he saw Evangelina Cisneros suffering in Havana. Stories of her imprisonment and escape served to sensationalize the war

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in Cuba through the American press. They also fueled calls for the United States to intervene in the war. “Over further refreshments Don José recounted the story of the young prisoner, explaining that he was powerless to alleviate her condition b­ ecause she refused to appeal for assistance to the military officers who visited the prison from time to time. The history of Evangelina Cossio y Cisneros, which I learned from the alcalde and subsequently investigated, reads more like an impossible romance than a true story of ­these prosaic days. She was, it appeared, the d­ aughter of a famous old grandee ­family of Camaguey, direct descendants from a noble name in Spain, but, like all Colonial families, staunch patriots, actively striving against the misrule of their beloved Cuba. . . . ​On the veranda of a small ­hotel close by ­were sitting, Betencourt, son of the principal trader, Vargas, a clerk and Superville, a young French merchant. Hearing a ­woman’s cry for help they rushed down to the ­house, where they found Evangelina struggling in the grasp of the officer. Despite his protestations the three young men beat him soundly and pinioned his arms preparatory to taking him before the civil judge. Meanwhile an angry crowd, including many exiles, gathered around. . . . ​Betencourt hurried Evangelina away in safety, directing her to hide in a cave on the coast, from which he hoped to take her to Jamaica in one of his f­ ather’s boats. He was, however, recognized and seized by a troop of cavalry. . . . ​Evangelina was forced from her retreat by hunger three days ­later, and she, too, fell into the hands of the searching soldiers. The Governor had declared that she had invited him to the ­house . . . ​. On his evidence all the persons implicated ­were sent to Havana to answer the capital charges of high treason and conspiracy. At the very outset, however, the flimsy case fell to pieces. The local priest had witnessed the ­whole occurrence, none of the prisoners ­were armed, and they had had ample time to kill a dozen Governors before the troops arrived. . . . ​Evangelina had languished in the terrible Recogidas for ten months when I first saw her. . . . ​By judicious bribes to venal gaolers I was frequently able to see Miss Cisneros and to supply her with a few absolute necessities, as the fearful inmates of the prison had beaten her and stolen her money and even the clothes from her back, during the first weeks of her incarceration. The warden fi­nally permitted me to see her in his office outside both the inner gates, divining a love affair from my frequent visits. [I developed . . . ​] a plan of escape for the prisoner, and a young doctor from Baltimore gladly promised his help. We ­were to heavi­ly drug the drink of the gaoler and send the soldier to a bodega to get cigars as usual. . . . ​[T]his plan we should soon have put into execution had not a short notice of the impending trial, that appeared in the official gazette, been reproduced by the American Press. . . . ​By e­ very steamer I smuggled uncensored Press despatches dealing with the details of the Miss Cisneros’s case, to be cabled to New York from Key West. . . . ​I was gratified indeed to hear that the

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Press of almost ­every country had copied the sad story . . . ​. But the Spanish party in Cuba denounced this concession [to send Cisneros to a convent] as a dangerous surrender to foreign opinion. . . . ​Thus, the agitation for her release had only rendered the poor girl’s case more desperate and her rescue far more difficult. At this juncture Mr. Karl Decker arrived in Havana [to aid in her escape.] . . . ​Miss Cisneros was expecting some attempt at liberation, and she was soon dressed and at the bars watching the operations with feverish anxiety. But the steel bars, if old, ­were tough. For two hours the files rang out ominously loud. . . . ​Evangelina’s escape, as may be supposed, caused tremendous excitement. For three days the police scoured the city. E ­ very ship was searched and guards placed on board all outward-­bound vessels. . . . ​Her only chance [in escape by boarding a ship] lay in impersonating the Spanish youth and so passing on board the steamer. This would only be pos­si­ble ­after dark. [She was smuggled in men’s clothes onboard a ship . . . ​.] Miss Cisneros was safe.” Source: G. C. Musgrave, “The Rescue of Evangelina Cisneros,” in The Wide World Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative, Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport, 9. London: A. Newnes, 1902, 260–267.

See also: Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City; Settlement of Ybor City; Spanish-­American War

Further Reading Childs, Matt D. 2006. The 1812 Aponte Rebellion in Cuba and the Strug­gle against Atlantic Slavery. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Ferrer, Ada. 1999. Insurgent Cuba: Race, Nation, and Revolution, 1868-­1898. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Grenier, Guillermo, and Lisandro Pérez. 2003. The Legacy of Exile: Cubans in the United States. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Hart, Francis Russell. 1931. The Siege of Havana, 1762. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Helg, Aline. 1995. Our Rightful Share: The Afro-­Cuban Strug­gle for Equality, 1886-­1912. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Jensen, Larry R. 1988. ­Children of Colonial Despotism: Press, Politics and Culture in Cuba, 1790-­1840. Gainesville: University of South Florida Press. Johnson, Sherry. 2001. The Social Transformation of Eighteenth-­Century Cuba. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Kuethe, Allan J. 1986. Cuba, 1753-­1815: Crown, Military, and Society. 1st ed. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press. Langley, Lester. 1968. The Cuban Policy of the United States: A Brief History. New York: Wiley. Lawrence, Mark. 2006. “Por La Vida y El Honor: El Presbítero Félix Varela en Las Cortes de España 1822–1823.” Catholic Historical Review 92 (4, October): 680–682.

172 | Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 Navia, Juan M. 2002. An Apostle for the Immigrants: The Exile Years of ­Father Félix Varela y Morales. Salisbury, MD: ­Factor Press. Ortiz, Fernando. 2003.Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco and Sugar. 4th ed. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Pérez Jr., Louis A. 1998. The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez Jr., Louis A. 2006. Cuba: Between Reform and Revolution (3d ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Pérez Jr., Louis A. 2008. Cuba in the American Imagination: Meta­phor and the Imperial Ethos. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez Jr., Louis A. 2008. On Becoming Cuban: Identity, Nationality, and Culture. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Poyo, Gerald E. 1989.With All, and for the Good of All: The Emergence of Popu­lar Nationalism in the Cuban Communities of the United States, 1848-­1898. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Rodriguez, José Ignacio. 1900. Estudio Histórico Sobre el Origen, Desenvolvimiento y Manifestaciones Prácticas de la Idea de la Anexión de la Isla de Cuba á los Estados Unidos de América. Havana: Imprenta La Propaganda Literaria. Syrett, David, ed. 1970. The Siege and Capture of Havana, 1762. London: Navy Rec­ords Society. Tone, John. 2006. War and Genocide in Cuba, 1895-­1898. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Valdés, Antonio José. 1813. Historia de la Isla de Cuba, y en Especial de la Habana. Havana: Oficina de la Cena. Varela, Félix. 1997. Félix Varela: El Que Nos Enseñó Primero en Pensar. Ed. Eduardo Torres-­Cuevas, Jorge Ibarra, and Mercedes García Rodríguez. La Havana: Imagen Contemporánea.

Settlement of Ybor City, 1885–1930 Sarah McNamara

Chronology 1868

Grito de Yara declares Cuban in­de­pen­dence from Spain and the Ten Years’ War begins.

1869

Cigar manufacturers relocate Cuban cigar factories to Key West due to instability on the island and U.S. tariffs.

1878

The Pact of Zanjón is signed and the Ten Years’ War ends.

1878–1885 Thousands of cigar makers come to Key West to work in the cigar factories. The industry booms.

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1883

Henry B. Plant establishes the Plant System connecting Tampa to the American Southeast by rail and to Cuba by steamship.

1884

The Key West cigar industry reaches nearly 100 cigar factories and more than 3,000 cigar workers.

1885

Cigar worker strikes halt industry production.

1885–1886 Vicente Martínez Ybor and Ignacio Haya purchase land in Tampa to relocate their factories and workers. 1886

Ignacio Haya opens the first cigar factory in Ybor City; Vicente Martínez Ybor opens the second months l­ater.

1886–1887 Martínez Ybor founds the Ybor City Land Development Com­pany and builds a com­pany town. 1891–1894 José Martí makes more than 20 visits to Ybor City to establish local revolutionary clubs and raise funds for the in­de­pen­dence movement. 1891–1904 Cigar workers establish the five core mutual aid socie­ties, locally termed centros or sociedades, to support community members. 1895–1898 Cigar workers support the Cuban War for In­de­pen­dence and continue to donate funds. 1897–1931 Five major cigar worker strikes take place over 30  years. Workers seek to negotiate working conditions and factory ­owners respond with firings, shootings, and threats of deportation. 1900

Population of Tampa grows from roughly 700 in 1880 to more than 24,000 in 1900. The majority of Tampa residents are immigrant cigar workers.

1905

Centro Asturiano mutual aid society opens a hospital to serve the Ybor City Latino community.

1908

The largest fire in Tampa history burns a large part of Ybor City.

1909–1920 Factory o­ wners and cigar workers rebuild Ybor City, creating large brick structures that resemble Cuban and Spanish architecture. 1920

The population of Ybor City and West Tampa reaches nearly 70,000.

1920–1930 The Ybor City cigar industry reaches its pinnacle with more than 500 million cigars produced in more than 200 factories. 1922

Victoriano Manteiga, the famous lector (reader), begins publishing La Gaceta, the nation’s only trilingual newspaper.

1930–1940 The ­Great Depression leads to the decline of the cigar industry. In Tampa, hundreds of cigar factories close their doors and fire artisan workers.

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1931

Last major strike ends the custom of the lector (readers who entertain cigar makers as they work) and changes the culture of cigar-­making.

1935–1938 Cigar workers join and support the Popu­lar Front in the United States to fight fascism in Spain and rally against in­equality at home. 1940–1942 Dies Committee, an organ­ization that specializes in investigating radicalism and potential communist activity on U.S. soil, comes to Ybor City and accuses immigrant workers of un-­American activities. 1940–1955 The cigar industry expands the mechanization pro­cess and ends the tradition of hand-­made cigars by 1955. 1950–1963 The Ybor City Plan is introduced to the county commission, and begins the pro­cess of urban renewal in Ybor City. 1955–1975 Residents leave Ybor City and move into nearby neighborhoods as the city plans to demolish neighborhood homes.

Narrative Before Miami became “­Little Havana,” Ybor City was the Latino capital of the American South. Located on the eastern edge of Tampa, Ybor was home to Cuban, Spanish, Puerto Rican, and Italian immigrants. Drawn to the city by work in the cigar industry, Cuban cigar makers (tabaqueros) built the Tampa economy and established Ybor as the cigar capital of the world by 1920. In the “Cigar City,” politics ­were both transnational and local. Radical ideologies connected Ybor immigrants to networks in Cuba, Italy, Spain, and Latin Amer­ic­ a. As ­women and men rallied with international l­abor organ­izations, they also supported the fight for Cuban in­de­pen­ dence and established grass-­roots trade ­unions. Although Ybor City Latinos worked in the United States, their homes, extended families, and memories stretched across borders. Between the late 1890s and the early 1960s, ­these ­women and men built an industrial city and created Florida’s first modern, Latino community. The history of Ybor City begins in Key West, Florida. In the 1870s, Key West served as the major cigar-­manufacturing hub in the United States. The mere 90-­mile stretch between the Florida Keys and the northwestern coast of Cuba permitted con­ve­nient transport of Havana tobacco and cigar makers (Pérez, 2003, 217). As the movement for Cuban in­de­pen­dence peaked and nationalistic fervor swelled, ­labor strikes in Havana and Key West became frequent and increasingly violent. Key West cigar manufacturers believed that by increasing the physical distance between their workforce and the island of Cuba, they could control the movement of ideas and suppress the interference of Cuban trade ­unions with their workforce. In 1885, Vicente Martínez Ybor (V.M. Ybor), the owner of El Príncipe de Gales

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The cigar industry in Ybor City drew Cuban, Italian, and Spanish immigrants. The area is now part of present-day Tampa, Florida. Shown: Cigar Museum. (Franken/ullstein bild via Getty Images)

cigar brand that he founded in Havana and produced in Key West, purchased a 40-­acre tract of land on the eastern outskirts of Tampa and relocated his cigar enterprise to what became Ybor City (Federal Writers Proj­ect, 1935, p. 5). Likewise, Ignacio Haya and his business partner Serafín Sánchez, who co-­owned a successful cigar brand and factory in New York City, bought a 10-­acre tract of land and relocated his factories to Tampa. Following violent cigar worker strikes in Key West during the late 1880s, other companies followed Martínez Ybor and Haya’s lead, and moved to Tampa. By 1896, this sleepy southern town was home to a new immigrant workforce whose ­labor would lead to its rise as the “Cigar City.” Vicente Martínez Ybor envisioned Ybor City as more than an industrial outpost: rather, a true com­pany town. To manage the f­ uture city’s design and create a plan for construction, Martínez Ybor established the Ybor City Land and Improvement Com­pany in 1885 and broke ground in 1886. By the end of the year, Martínez Ybor’s construction com­pany had completed numerous factories, 33 two-­story apartment buildings, and 176 single-­family “shotgun” ­houses. This style of home was named for its narrow, rectangular shape, which allowed Martínez Ybor to fit hundreds of homes into a small space. Standing from the front doorway, one could see directly to the back door, and it was said a person could shoot a bullet clear through the home

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without grazing a wall, thereby giving ­these homes their name. Each casita (small home) had two to three bedrooms, a parlor, a kitchen, and a shared out­house (Westfall, 1985, p. 11). Martínez Ybor offered cigar makers the option to rent or buy a home or an apartment, but guaranteed improved living conditions from ­those in Key West. For ­those who chose to buy, each home cost between $750 to $900, and Martínez Ybor offered financing options through his bank (Westfall, 1985, p. 11). Martínez Ybor’s promise to improve the quality of life for workers diversified his own investments and added to his personal wealth. To ­handle the expansion of the small industrial town, the Ybor City Land and Improvement Com­pany invested in grocery stores, breweries, and social clubs to support cigar workers. Although Ybor City boasted all the amenities of a modern town, ­every aspect of a tabaquero’s life was tied to the factory owner during the 1890s (Westfall, 1985, p. 10). Despite relocating the Cuban cigar industry to Tampa, strikes followed the manufacturers from Key West to Ybor City. “­People date their lives from vari­ous strikes in Tampa,” remembered novelist and Ybor native Jose Yglesias (Terkel, 1970, p. 109). From 1897 to 1931, five major strikes took place in the Ybor City cigar industry, spurring the community to support collective activism (Ingalls, 1985, pp. 117–134). Local grocers, restaurants, and landlords frequently extended credit to clients and tenants to support unemployed or striking workers. The phrase apúntamelo (“take note”) was all a worker needed to utter for a grocer to charge a client’s tab and save the charge ­until the end of the strike (Parado, 2008). All six mutual aid socie­ties—­Centro Español (Spanish Center Club), Centro Asturiano (Asturian Club), Círculo Cubano (Cuban Club), L’Unione Italiano (Italian Club), Unión Martí-­Maceo (Afro-­Cuban Club), and Deutscher-­Americaner (German-­American Club)—­provided members with benefits in the event of a strike or termination (Pérez, 2003, p. 217). This informal system of worker and community self-­help established a culture that minimized the power of the cigar companies and created constant tensions between community and industry. Strikes slowed production, and ­because the cigar industry was dependent on its artisan workforce, concessions and compromises w ­ ere necessary. Between 1880 and 1900, Tampa’s cigar industry grew from a single shop to 120 factories, spurring a population increase from 720 to 15,839 (Mormino and Pozzetta, 1998, pp. 50, 69). Although many Anglo Tampans viewed the foreign workforce as militant and dangerous, the city was heavi­ly dependent on the cigar industry. Upon the death of Vicente Martínez Ybor in 1896, the value of his cigar factories, landholdings, and investments exceeded all of Tampa’s noncigar enterprises combined. The cigar industry and the ­labor of cigar workers had turned Tampa into an industrial city that could not exist without cigars or the immigrant workers who produced them. The interior workings of cigar factories ­were as methodical as Martínez Ybor’s approach to city planning. On the factory floor, men and w ­ omen of Cuban,

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Mutual Aid Socie­ties Mutual aid socie­ties ­were the heart of Ybor City. Locally termed centros or sociedades, ­these organ­izations did more than support the community during strikes: they also provided health care, unemployment insurance, death benefits, and entertainment. The price of membership was relatively affordable. At the turn of the ­century, members paid between 25 and 50 cents a week to maintain their membership and receive benefits from the centros. ­After the 1920s, the price of membership ­rose to anywhere from one to two dollars a week. This network of community self-­help reflected Ybor City’s collective spirit and supported working-­class ­women and men from the cradle to the grave. One t­hing that made Ybor City’s mutual aid socie­ties distinct was their grandeur. ­After the 1909 fire that devastated the community, members of the sociedades replaced the old wooden buildings with magnificent structures that echoed Old-­World architecture from Italy, Spain, and Cuba. The Centro Español, which had more than 2,000 members by 1915, was a two-­story building with a red brick façade. It had Moorish arches that welcomed members into its cantina and casino, where members socialized and had access to the community’s largest library. Likewise, the Centro Asturiano, perhaps the most popu­lar club b­ ecause of its state-­of-­the-­art hospital, boasted a 1,200-­seat theater that attracted Spanish-­speaking performers from across the United States, the Ca­rib­bean, and Eu­rope. Inside the Círculo Cubano, ornate wrought iron lined the front steps of the three-­story building where community members rushed into the 7,000-­square-­foot ballroom to take part in a weekly dance. Within ­these “cathedral[s] for workers,” marble floors and hand-­painted tiles showed the power of community and the importance of mutual aid to Latino cigar makers (Mormino and Pozzetta, 1998, p. 185). In ­these spaces that celebrated the importance of the working class, racial divisions persisted, however. Although white Latinos or Latinas could join any mutual aid society they chose, the clubs excluded black community members of Ybor City. La Uníon Martí-­Maceo supported the local Afro-­Cuban community when leadership of the Círculo Cubano excluded black membership in 1904. Named in honor of Cuban revolutionaries José Martí and Antonio Maceo, the club’s name reflected the anti-­racism that ­those leaders of the in­de­ pen­dence movement had envisioned in a ­free Cuba.

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Women making cigars by machine in the Hav-­A-­Tampa Cigar Factory, ca. 1939. During the 1930s, cigar production became w ­ omen’s work as manufacturers fired artisan Cubanos and hired unskilled Cubanas. This practice increased revenue for cigar manufacturers, as they paid Latinas less money for cigar work. (University of South Florida, Special Collections, Tampa, Florida)

Spanish, and Italian descent worked side-­by-­side, but ­there ­were inequalities between male and female laborers in the cigar industry. At the most basic level, men w ­ ere considered skilled workers, whereas ­women w ­ ere considered unskilled. Photo­ graphs of tabaqueros from the late 19th ­century through the 1920s show men and boys of dif­fer­ent ethnic backgrounds occupying seats at the prestigious rollero (roller) benches—­rarely did w ­ omen find a space at ­these artisan t­ables. Some ­women stood b­ ehind their male colleagues on the factory floor and worked as buncheras (bunchers), creating the stuffing for the cigars’ centers. However, the majority of tabaqueras (­women cigar workers) labored in the basements as despaldilladoras (strippers), removing the stems from w ­ hole tobacco leaves. The U.S. ­Women’s Bureau reported that “the foreign born in Florida [­were] the largest groups in the cigar factories,” adding that as ­women, tabaqueras w ­ ere paid less than their male counter­parts (U.S. ­Women’s Bureau,1932, pp. 40–45). To move up the ­labor

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hierarchy, many w ­ omen chose to work at chinchales, small, in­de­pen­dent cigar enterprises that ­were f­ amily owned and offered ­women the opportunity to learn the craft of cigar rolling. Within t­ hese small shops, many w ­ omen advanced to the level of rollera and could potentially make a better wage. In addition to escaping the sexism of factory work, chinchales also allowed ­women to combine wages with ­family and child care responsibilities. Large cigar factories did not provide child care for working-­class ­women, but inside a small, family-­run shop, a w ­ oman could keep a watchful eye on her ­children while providing income for her ­house­hold. As the gendered division of ­labor created inequalities inside the factories, so too did race. Inside the red-­brick walls of the cigar factories, historic tensions between Spaniards, Cubans, and Afro-­Cubans created an ethno-­racial hierarchy of ­labor. This Old-­World system travelled to Ybor City from Cuba and was influenced by imperial conceptions about the importance of Eu­ro­pean heritage. In Cuba, Spanish birth ensured higher class standing, whereas African heritage carried the stigma of enslavement. Within the factories’ system of racial and ethnic divisions, Spaniards ­were typically factory ­owners, man­ag­ers, and selectors (the ­people who deci­ded the value of each tobacco leaf). ­These jobs not only wielded the most power inside cigar factories, they ­were also the highest paid positions (Mormino and Pozzetta, 1998, p. 262). Conversely, Cuban, Italian, and Afro-­Cuban workers occupied dif­fer­ent levels on the employment spectrum, and they rarely ­rose to the management levels reserved for Spaniards. L ­ abor disputes and u­ nion activity often displayed the tensions produced by this in­equality on the shop floor. Cuban tabaqueros who incited huelgas (strikes) reminded Spanish factory o­ wners that the laborers would continue to demand equality and fight against ideas of colonial domination in Cuba and the United States, no ­matter where the manufacturers chose to relocate their factories. Inside the cigar factories, lectores (readers) fostered the tabaquero activist spirit. “El lector” was selected, employed, and paid by the workers, and expected to entertain tabaqueros as they labored. Almost exclusively a man’s job, lectores typically wore a white shirt, tie, black blazer, and a wide-­brimmed panama hat. In each factory, the lector sat on an elevated platform and read the daily newspapers and novels, such as Don Quixote, to the workers. The booming voices of the lectores filled t­hese hot, humid workshops with culture, ideas, and news. It was not uncommon to hear the writings of “Marx, Prou­dhon, Bakunin, and other socialist, anarchist, and anarcho-­ syndicalist authors” read to the workers at their request. ­Because most cigar makers had ­little to no formal education, t­hese men and w ­ omen earned advanced degrees from the factory floor. Through the theatrical readings of the lectores, tabaqueros gained a po­liti­cal, economic, and social consciousness that challenged the Spanish manufacturers and the state of Florida’s Jim Crow laws (Hewitt, 2001, pp. 1–4). As Ybor City expanded and cigar profits increased, the City of Tampa took notice of the potential tax base and urged the Florida state legislature to extend Tampa’s city

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Luisa Capetillo Although men customarily held the position of lector, ­women occasionally became lectoras. Luisa Capetillo, the Puerto Rican activist, u­ nion leader, and feminist, came to Ybor City while in exile from her homeland in 1912. Capetillo’s reputation as a radical leader and her experience as a lectora in Puerto Rican cigar factories propelled her onto the lector platform in Florida. As an Afro-­Puertoriqueña (an Afro-­Puerto Rican ­woman), Capetillo’s presence on the lector stage defied the bound­aries of gender and race in Florida. But in Ybor City, Capetillo found herself among fellow Latino radicals who supported the anarcho-­syndicalist movement and inspired her to write a revised edition of her book, Mi opinion sobre las libertades, derechos y deberes de la mujer (My opinion about the liberties, rights, and responsibilities of ­women). The lectora’s belief that working-­class equality was only pos­si­ble with ­women’s autonomy spoke to Ybor Latinas. Capetillo was a w ­ oman who excelled as a lectora and illustrated to all that w ­ omen ­were smart, capable, and deserved both professional re­spect and a fair wage. Motivated by Capetillo’s presence, in 1916 ­women cigar makers called a wildcat strike (a strike without ­union approval) to demand that their needs be addressed by ­union leaders and factory ­owners. When Capetillo stepped down from the lector platform in Ybor City, she moved on to Havana, where she or­ga­nized sugar cane workers with La Federacion de Anarquistas de Cuba (the Anarchist Federation of Cuba) and put her ideas and activism to work in a new community. Capetillo’s work as a lectora connected Ybor cigar makers to po­liti­cal activism in Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba.

limits and incorporate Ybor City into Hillsborough County. To legitimize this request, Tampa bureaucrats claimed that increased taxes and a contiguous county would allow Tampa to protect Ybor City with sufficient police support (Ingalls, 1988, p. 42). This allegation by Tampa officials, however, was for the benefit of the manufacturers who wished to control ­union activity. As Tampa politicians centered discussions on questions of security, cigar workers longed for improved infrastructure and clean w ­ ater. The modern municipal improvements to sanitation and public transport never came ­because public officials filtered the new tax revenue into police and local law enforcement that equipped cigar factories with armed guards, trained dogs, grenades, and machine guns. In some ways, each factory seemed more like a tiny arsenal than a workplace. Ever vigilant against potential strikes, manufacturers took e­ very precaution to protect their investments, but rarely tried to resolve a strike through

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negotiation. Despite the protests of Ybor City’s Latino residents, their fledging town was incorporated into Tampa in 1887 and subsequently policed by Anglo Tampans. Ybor City’s annexation cast the insular Latino enclave into the larger world of the Jim Crow South. Ele­ments of de facto segregation (enforced socially, but not by law) from Cuba applied to the Ybor City community, whereas as southern de jure segregation (segregation mandated by law) did not originally exist inside the immigrant community. Following the annexation of Ybor, however, the City of Tampa’s Jim Crow policies applied to many of ­these immigrants in new and dangerous ways. With the rise of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) and its call for popu­lar support of white supremacist rule in Florida, the local sheriff deputized Klan members to patrol Tampa’s city streets. The Citizens Committee regulated be­hav­ior, culture, language, and politics—­and they punished anyone who challenged the local status quo. As vigilantism became commonplace in both Ybor City and Tampa, community members feared for their lives and their safety. The KKK threatened, attacked, and lynched Latino l­abor organizers and t­hose believed to be radical sympathizers. Union leaders ­were run out of town; Latino citizens ­were barred from local politics and denied protection by law enforcement. In a hate-­filled environment and without an ave­nue to negotiate differences, Ybor City immigrants developed a contentious relationship with Anglo Tampans that bred resentment, fear, and hostility by the 1920s (Pérez, 2003, pp. 214–215; Ingalls, 1988). The city Martínez Ybor built in the 1880s nearly collapsed during the 1930s. Directly following the cigar industry’s most prosperous de­cade in the 1920s, the ­Great Depression decimated Cigar City. Dozens of factories closed their doors, and the factories that remained open converted to mechanized production. As manufacturers sought to maintain profit margins, they fired male artisan workers and hired Latinas to operate the new machines. As Latinas became the new economic heads of ­house­holds, unemployed Latinos looked for work in local New Deal proj­ects, but rarely found it. The first phase of President Franklin D. Roo­se­velt’s New Deal provided immediate relief to t­ hose left in chronic unemployment due to the Depression. Organ­izations like the Works Pro­gress Administration (WPA) put ­women and men back to work through public works proj­ects such as road and building construction, and arts proj­ects like plays and murals. Relief work, however, was not easily accessible for non-­white Americans. Although by the 1930s most Ybor community members w ­ ere American-­born, Jim Crow laws and the culture of white supremacy made Latinos and Latinas less likely to obtain jobs on the WPA rolls. Without the robust cigar-­based economy, businesses began to close their doors, and community institutions like the mutual aid socie­ties limited membership benefits. Although the Depression wreaked havoc on the local economy, it reinvigorated Ybor City’s radical spirit. Many men who had long stood on the front lines of ­labor activism stepped aside as Ybor Latinas r­ ose as community advocates. Unlike

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the ­unions of the early 1900s, this new wave of radical action challenged the power white supremacy held over the community’s immigrant population and rallied for recognition as residents and citizens. Union leaders like Luisa Moreno or­ga­nized cigar workers and Latinas on the WPA rolls in pursuit of fair wages and equal access to relief. Likewise, Latinas joined the fight against fascism in Spain and worked to raise funds in support of the Popu­lar Front. Members of the Popu­lar Front often aligned with the communist and socialist parties, but most importantly viewed anti-­ fascism as paramount to fighting in­equality at home and abroad. This co­ali­tion of anti-­fascist supporters stretched across Eu­rope and reached into Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States. Although the United States never formally declared war during the early rise of fascist aggression abroad, Ybor community members sent 30 tons of beans, 20,000 pounds of clothing, 1,000 cans of milk, 20,000 cigars, and an ambulance to Spain in support of the Republican cause (Hewitt, 2007, p. 75). In Ybor City, community members saw the strug­gle in Spain as a question of ­human rights and equal representation—­a fight they waged in their own communities as well. By 1942, as hundreds of young Latinos from Ybor City went abroad to fight in WWII and many young Latinas joined the ranks of Rosies who riveted and built military planes, they saw themselves as walking in the footsteps of the Popu­lar Front. To Latinos in Ybor, WWII was more than a war about the United States and its allies: it represented the danger of fascism to working-­class ­people throughout the world. In the midst of World War II, the City of Tampa developed the “Ybor City Plan” to make way for a new highway and improve the landscape of the city. This urban renewal plan followed the recommendations of the Depression-­era Home Owner­ ship Loan Corporation to eliminate “red-­lined” districts. By the 1950s, Ybor City was worn down and dilapidated. Nearly 60 years of Florida heat and humidity had softened the pine wood that Vicente Martínez Ybor used to build the tabaqueros’ casitas, and the devastation of the Depression made it difficult for workers to afford the necessary maintenance for their homes. Bulldozers demolished portions of the Ybor City neighborhood, and some of the community’s Cuban, Spanish, and Italian descendants moved into the Tampa city center and found work in post-­war, low-­ wage, ser­vice jobs, while ­others used their support from the G.I. Bill to fund their college tuition. The younger generation, who came of age during the war, saw themselves no longer as immigrants working in the United States, but as Latino Americans living at home. Ybor City and its Latino community left a permanent mark on the state of Florida and the United States. As the first generation of Latinos to arrive ­either from Cuba or by way of Cuba, their working-­class identities and experiences with racial in­equality in Florida solidified their radical politics and maintained cross-­national identities. Ybor City was an industrial town in a Southern state that became a hub for radical politics, ­labor activism, and international democracy. Although many

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descendents of Ybor City’s immigrant community remained radical, a majority became American progressives, whereas few became American conservatives. In 1959, when the first Cuban exiles arrived ­after the fall of the Batista regime, it became clear that the state’s two Cuban communities had diverging po­liti­cal identities. The first generation to arrive in Miami was predominantly white, educated, and m ­ iddle and upper class, whereas Cuban Americans in Tampa w ­ ere racially diverse and overwhelmingly identified with their working-­class roots. As new arrivals in Miami mourned the loss of their nation to the revolution, ­women and men in Tampa celebrated the triumph of Fidel Castro. This clash of politics and identities created two separate Cuban American populations with dif­fer­ent politics inside one state. Ybor City’s legacy remains intimately connected to the city that cigar workers built, the culture that immigrants created, and the radicalism that the community supported.

Biographies of Notable Figures Paulina Pedroso (1845–1925) Paulina Pedroso was born the ­daughter of Afro-­Cuban slaves and died a Cuban revolutionary. At the age of 15, Pedroso and her husband, Ruperto, left their community in Pinar del Rio, Cuba, to find a new life in Havana. With po­liti­cal turmoil on the island, the Pedrosos moved to Key West and continued to Ybor City in search of work and economic stability. In 1891, the Pedrosos opened a boarding ­house in Ybor where they hosted local cigar makers and welcomed traveling revolutionaries (Greenbaum, 2002, p. 78). It was in this space where Paulina Pedroso became a revolutionary activist. The Pedroso boarding h­ ouse was the center of revolutionary activity in Ybor City. José Martí, the ­father of Cuban in­de­pen­dence and the founder of the Partido Revolucionario Cubano (Cuban Revolutionary Party, or PRC), frequently visited Ybor City. He stayed with the Pedrosos as he raised funds for the movement, and encouraged Cuban cigar workers to join the strug­gle. Martí met with fellow revolutionaries on the front porch of the Pedroso home and planned the expansion of local PRC committees t­ here. The Pedroso boarding h­ ouse became a space that represented Martí’s idealistic vision for in­de­pen­dence as he worked to establish relationships with community leaders. At the Pedroso home, black and white Cubans alike donated money, established po­liti­cal co­ali­tions, and envisioned a new society together. Like the tabaqueros and male movement leaders who met at her home, Paulina Pedroso supported Cuban in­de­pen­dence from Spain and emerged as a po­liti­cal activist in the movement for Cuba libre (­free Cuba) (Greenbaum, 2002, pp. 77–78). Paulina Pedroso and ­women in Ybor City ­were integral to the movement for Cuban in­de­pen­dence. Although often excluded from male po­liti­cal spaces, Ybor

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cubanas established revolutionary clubs for female members. Together they or­ga­ nized meetings, hosted dinners, held dances, and raised funds. ­Women cigar makers who supported Cuban in­de­pen­dence stood in solidarity with male cigar workers, donating one day’s wages per week to the revolutionary cause. ­These funds backed the PRC and facilitated local publication of the PRC’s newspaper, Patria (Hewitt, 2001, p. 65). Paulina Pedroso stood by ­women in the Ybor community, but dually crossed gendered bound­aries (Hewitt, 2001, p. 65; Greenbaum, 2002, p. 78). As a cubana émigré living in the revolutionary moment, Paulina Pedroso understood the in­de­pen­dence movement as an opportunity for ­women to rise as vocal, po­liti­cal participants ready to help shape the new nation. When José Martí stayed at her boarding h­ ouse, Pedroso listened to his ideas and observed PRC committee meetings. ­Because of Martí’s frequent trips to Florida, she developed a professional but “motherly” relationship with him (Greenbaum, 2002, p. 77). Inside the boarding ­house, Pedroso cared for Martí and connected him socially to the Ybor community. Paulina Pedroso helped introduce Martí to the Ybor City community and assisted him in gathering donations from cigar workers. During one of José Martí’s visits to Ybor City in 1893, Paulina Pedroso joined the revolutionary leader on a tour of the local cigar factories to collect funds from cigar workers. As the two approached one of the factories, a worker shouted “bandit!” in reference to Martí’s donation requests. ­After Pedroso and Martí marched up the worn, wooden steps, and walked onto the main factory floor, Pedroso delivered an impromptu speech to encourage the generosity of the tabaqueros. According to reports, Pedroso grabbed her skirt, climbed onto a t­able, and shouted: “Gentlemen, if any of you is afraid to give [José Martí] your money or go to the savannahs to fight, let him give me his pants, and I’ll give him my petticoat” (Manach, 1950; Greenbaum, 2002, p. 78). Pedroso’s words thus questioned the manhood of ­those who refused to donate a day’s wages to support the in­de­pen­dence of their homeland. Pedroso, who had given thousands of dollars to the revolutionary cause through the sale of real estate investments in Ybor City, believed that if her f­ amily was willing to risk their personal security to f­ ree Cuba, the tabaqueros could afford a day’s wages to support their homeland (Greenbaum 2002, pp. 77–78). Once the Cuban War for In­de­pen­dence ended and the excitement of Cuba libre faded, Paulina Pedroso returned to her life as an Afro-­Cubana in Florida. The unity that the Cuban community members had demonstrated during the revolution seemed insincere in the aftermath of the war (Greenbaum, 2002, pp. 104–105). The legacy of slavery in Cuba made race and the in­equality of black Cubans an inescapable prob­lem that limited equality for all Cuban citizens. Within Ybor City, as on the island, questions about race and skin color remained essential to one’s position within society. Although Pedroso had welcomed all Cuban émigrés into her home

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in the pro­cess of planning the revolution, the realities of race and her position as a ­woman of color became clear and divisive. In 1904, at a meeting of the local Cuban mutual aid society in Ybor City, El Club Nacional Cubano, Octubre 10 (previously, Liceo Cubano), the leadership and membership voted to remove Afro-­Cuban members from the sociedad. Ybor City was located in a Jim Crow state, but this action was the choice of white Cuban members, not a directive from local law enforcement (Greenbaum, 2002, pp. 105–107). In search of a space and a new club, Afro-­Cuban leaders met in the parlor of the Pedroso boarding h­ ouse and established the Sociedad Marti-­Maceo to support the Afro-­Cuban community. However, just as Cuban in­de­pen­dence failed to treat Afro-­ Cubans as equals, the charter for Marti-­Maceo in Ybor City and in Cuba excluded ­women from equal membership. Despite Paulina Pedroso’s participation in the revolutionary movement, she was not invited to the founding meeting of La Sociedad Marti-­Maceo that took place in her own home. In Pedroso’s absence, the 23 founding members (including her husband) determined that the primary purpose of the club was to create a place to meet “outside the ­house, in a manner acceptable to men of dignity.” By overlooking the importance of female members, La Sociedad Marti-­Maceo treated Afro-­Cuban w ­ omen just as white Cubans treated Afro-­Cuban men: like second-­class citizens. Paulina Pedroso’s moment as a po­liti­cal activist and revolutionary ­woman came to a close with the founding of this club in 1904 (Greenbaum 2002, pp. 104–106, 185). In 1910, Paulina Pedroso returned to Cuba, where she lived ­until her death in 1925. ­After the Pedrosos left Ybor City, their boarding ­house was sold and it eventually fell into disrepair. In 1951, a Cuban businessman purchased the dilapidated ­house ­because of its revolutionary significance and deeded the property to the Cuban government in 1956. By 1957, on the land where the Pedroso home once stood, the José Martí Party was established as a gift to the p­ eople of Ybor from the p­ eople of Cuba. The h­ ouse evokes the memory of her most famous guest, but the space is also significant for being the place in which Paulina Pedroso became a passionate revolutionary activist (Greenbaum, 2002, p. 274).

Jose Yglesias (1919–1995) Jose Yglesias grew up in Ybor City and became a renowned fiction writer. Yglesias’s life and writings reflect his effort to understand himself as an American-­born Latino and to preserve the memory of the Ybor community. Yglesias believed that he challenged assimilation and illustrated the importance of diversity through his writings (Ingalls, 1996, p. 14). During his lifetime, Yglesias wrote countless

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essays, short stories, books, and plays that questioned the strug­gle of migration, displacement, identity, and longing. On November 29, 1919, Jose Yglesias was born in his parents’ small, shotgun home in West Tampa, Florida. Located less than five miles from Ybor City, West Tampa was also a Latino community where the cigar industry boomed. At the age of two, Yglesias, his older s­ ister Dalia, his m ­ other, and his ­father moved to Ybor City. Yglesias’s ­mother, Georgia, was of Cuban descent and had been born in Tampa. His ­father, José Yglesias, was from a province in northern Spain called Galicia, and came to Tampa by way of Havana. Yglesias remembered that “a typical Ybor City Tampan of my generation ha[d], like me, a ­mother of Cuban parentage and a ­father of Galicia, ­uncles from Asturias and Cuba, [and] at least one cousin or ­sister or ­brother married to a Sicilian” (Ingalls, 1996, pp. 8–10). Like most ­children of Ybor City, Yglesias was the son of cigar workers. Yglesias’s ­father worked in the cigar factories as a roller and was known as a dedicated advocate of the u­ nion. Tampa tabaqueros ­were among the most radical workers in the United States—­a tradition they carried from their experience with cigar work in Havana and Key West (Terkel, 1970, p. 109). Workers challenged factory o­ wners on issues ranging from the quality of tobacco to the degree of control that foremen could exercise on the factory floor (Ingalls, 1996, p. 9). By 1925, however, Yglesias’s ­father moved to Cuba in search of medical treatment for a condition called “creeping paralysis” that prevented him from working (Ingalls, 1996, p. 9). While he was gone, Yglesias’s m ­ other took her husband’s place at the cigar maker’s bench and worked in the factories to support her ­family. Georgia Yglesias embraced the tradition of community collectivism as she looked to Ybor City’s mutual aid socie­ ties to provide the additional social support she could not afford in­de­pen­dently (Ingalls, 1996, pp. 10–11). As a young boy, Jose Yglesias attended local schools, learned to speak En­glish, and proved to be a brilliant student. He was a voracious reader and devoured lit­er­ a­ture. At times, “his ­mother even took to hiding his books ­because he stayed inside to read rather than ­going out to play” (Ingalls, 1996, p. 11). As a high school student, he served on the student council, became managing editor of his school newspaper, and delivered the commencement speech at his graduation. Despite his successes, Yglesias felt dif­fer­ent and “ashamed of his [Latino] community” (Ingalls, 1996, p. 11). Many of his American classmates perceived Yglesias’s politics as un-­ American and believed his culture made him inferior, calling him a “Cuban nigger” (Terkel, 1970, p. 109). As his peers yelled racial epithets, Yglesias dreamed of a new life outside the South. Although the cigar industry began to decline by 1929, the industry’s relentless decay devastated the Ybor community throughout the 1930s. Tabaqueros who tried to advocate for themselves through u­ nion activity, public protest, or work

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in traditionally Anglo positions w ­ ere attacked by members of the local Citizens Committee. Yglesias remembered that this period and the strikes surrounding the Depression “left a psychological scar” on him. ­Because of the economic distress, the extended Yglesias ­family moved to New York in search of work. Yglesias followed his ­family and moved to New York City a few days ­after graduating high school in 1937. ­There, he lived with his ­sister, Dalia, and was soon joined by their ­mother and 12 other relatives. Inside the tiny city apartment, the members of the Yglesias ­family slept in almost ­every available space: “The only place we ­didn’t sleep was in the kitchen,” Yglesias recalled, “a bed was even in the foyer” (Terkel, 1970, p. 109). When the United States entered World War II, Yglesias enlisted in the Navy. According to him, this choice to join the fight abroad was “a po­liti­cal act.” B ­ ecause Yglesias believed in “the popu­lar front against fascism, in the New Deal, in socialism and the brotherhood of man,” he believed in the war. Yglesias served in France and Italy for more than three years and worked as a “naval aviation radio-­man gunner.” In honor of his military ser­vice, the Navy awarded him the Navy Citation of Merit (Ingalls, 1996, pp. 16–17). ­After the war, Yglesias found himself as a writer and embraced his latinidad (Latino culture and heritage) during his time as a student at Black Mountain College. As the child of cigar makers, Yglesias never dreamed of a college education. But, in the foothills of North Carolina, the small, radical, experimental college offered Yglesias the flexibility to develop his creativity. As he shed the formality of military training and accepted his radical upbringing, Yglesias saw his new surroundings as a “haven” where he could spend his time “reading and writing at the government’s expense.” During his time in college, Yglesias realized that if he was asked what he did for a living, he no longer needed to answer “bus-­boy or stock-­boy or aviation radio-­man gunner,” and he could now say “writer” (Ingalls, 1996, p. 16). ­After one year at Black Mountain College, Yglesias clashed with fellow students as he advocated for the admission of more black students into the community. Yglesias left Black Mountain College in protest of this issue. Although he left North Carolina without a degree, he emerged with a new identity. As a young writer living in New York City, Yglesias published his first short story in 1946, titled “Un Buen Obrero,” in New Masses. His debut publication illustrates the style of his forthcoming works. Semi-­autobiographical, but written in a fictional style, the story takes place in Ybor City and centers on a young boy who learns of his ­father’s death while delivering groceries. Like the young man in the story, Yglesias did not know his f­ather and relied on his imagination to understand the parent he never knew. Through this work of fiction, Yglesias i­ magined a world where his f­ ather’s legacy as a good worker and dedicated po­liti­cal radical lived on. Following his first publication, Yglesias worked as a film critic for the national newspaper of the Communist Party of the United States (CPUSA), The Daily Worker,

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from 1948 to 1950. His association with this far-­left publication tainted his resume and caused publishers to refuse his work for 12 years. Yglesias was proud of his dedication to the leftist cause in the midst of the Cold War, but he ­later admitted in another semi-­autobiographical publication that “the Red Scare ha[d] frightened me” (Ingalls, 1996, pp. 24–25). In 1963, Yglesias got his big break when his book, A Wake in Ybor City, was published. Now, as a novelist and public figure, popu­lar publishers like Pantheon issued his novels, and newspapers and magazine like the New Yorker, the Nation, and the New York Times featured his essays and commissioned his work. Over the course of his life, Yglesias wrote and published 15 books that explored life in Cuba and Spain, but mainly in Ybor City. Like his first essay, “Un Buen Obrero,” all his writings ­were personal and examined the meaning of displacement, latinidad, and ­family. Jose Yglesias lived the life he wished to have and enshrined the memory of Ybor City and its workers in his novels. In many ways, Yglesias saw himself as a guardian of his community’s legacy. Yglesias’s work illustrated the pain of poverty, the strength of community, the heartbreak of migration, and the importance of hope. In 1981, Tampa Magazine reported that “Jose Yglesias is the best fiction writer Tampa has produced, if not the best writer, period” (Ingalls, 1996, p. 32).

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Oral History with Cigar Maker José Vega Díaz, 1980 The following document is an edited se­lection from an oral history with José Vega Díaz. Historian Gary Mormino interviewed Mr. Vega Díaz in August of 1980 as they walked through Ybor City, Florida. This se­lection is part of a longer interview that unveils the t­rials of ­labor activism, po­liti­cal radicalism, and immigration. José Vega Díaz was born in Cuba in 1884 and came to Ybor City with his f­ amily in 1892. At the age of 12, Díaz began to learn the cigar trade. ­After his apprenticeship, he worked in cigar factories ­until his retirement in 1926. Díaz’s complicated relationship with the cigar trade pushed him to seek other employment that paid a fair wage. Although Díaz never returned to cigar factory work, he remained in Ybor City for the rest of his life. Vega Díaz: I was born in Havana. Mormino: What year? Vega Díaz: Eigh­teen eighty-­four, on December 25. Mormino: And you came to Tampa what year?

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Vega Díaz: We come October 9, 1892. October 9, 1892, on the steamboat Olivette . . . ​ we reach Port Tampa about three ­o’clock. Mormino: What did you think of Tampa? How did Tampa compare to Havana? Vega Díaz: Oh, it cannot. Mormino: Why? Vega Díaz: Well, ­because we have in Havana at that time, we had a boat; we had a seaport in Havana. When they told me we go to Tampa, when we come to Tampa, we come to Ybor City. We ­don’t come to Tampa. Tampa is three miles from ­here, I think, downtown. I ­don’t want to come to Tampa. I cry night before [we left]; they had to call a ­little girl to come to tell me that Tampa is a good place, that it’s beautiful (laughs). Then we come to live in [this] l­ ittle town. We moved many places [around] h­ ere. No screen, no lamps, nothing. No electric light, no nothing, nothing. You know, I ­don’t learn En­glish, but as I tell you, ­because when I come to Ybor City, Ybor City is Havana. Same as Cuba. I went to the school, learn ­here Spanish. All is Spanish, Spanish. I go to a club, it’s Spanish. ­Every place where you go is Spanish. You go to the dry goods store, or you go to the grocery store, it’s Spanish. They ­don’t talk En­glish, nobody talks En­glish. Only a few, the ones who used to live in New York, or some other place. My u­ ncle—­when I came to Tampa, he’s forty years old in the United States. He’s born in Havana, too. So, every­body talk Spanish, so I ­don’t pay attention [to En­glish]. Mormino: Did you have any relatives [in Ybor City]? Vega Díaz: No, no, only my ­sister and my ­mother’s ­brother. That’s all. Mormino: Where did you learn how to make cigars? Vega Díaz: I went to one cigar factory they called Don Salas Mora, around Eigh­ teenth Street and Thirteenth Ave­nue. Mormino: How long did it take you? Vega Díaz: Two years. Mormino: Tell me how you learned to make cigars. Vega Díaz: Well, how you learn? They put me in place beside one of the cigar makers, and then he tell me, “Make a stripe,” the ­thing that go inside the cigar. I make that, I give to him. I make another, I give it to him. And a­ fter I have made many of them very good, then they send me to learn how to make the cigar. Mormino: Tell me about the lectores. Vega Díaz: The reader is a good t­ hing that we had in the factory, b­ ecause the manufacturers ­don’t want a reader. We select the reader, and we select the paper that we got to read. Yeah, the book, we pick the book, and we had the paper, the news, American paper, the Spanish paper, and we had some ­labor paper, too. The manufacturers d­ on’t want that. Mormino: Why not? Why ­didn’t the manufacturers want them?

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Vega Díaz: You know what Victor Hugo say? Victor Hugo say, in ­every town, in ­every place, they have a schoolteacher. They had a schoolteacher. In e­ very town—no, he said that it’s a light. It’s a light. A schoolteacher is a light, the lamp. And they had ­every time, had someone that blow away the light, the preachers. That’s why they d­ on’t want any (laughs). That’s what Victor Hugo say. In e­ very town, they had one light, the schoolteacher. And the preachers, they put out the light. Mormino: Did you join a u­ nion? Vega Díaz: The u­ nion? Yeah, I joined the u­ nion. Mormino: What was the name of the first u­ nion you joined? Vega Díaz: La Resistencia. Mormino: Why did you join the ­union? Vega Díaz: Why? For better conditions in the cigar, on the job and the work—­better conditions—­because the cigar manufacturers want to take more and more of the money. They pay very bad. You know, they sometimes used to pay—­I tell you, the small cigars, fourteen dollars a thousand. They pay fourteen dollars a thousand. Then they change you from the main hall, and they give you the same job, the same size [cigars] in the downstairs, another hall, and pay you two dollars less. Mormino: Did you ever meet Mr. Ybor? Vega Díaz: Oh, yes. Mormino: What was he like? Vega Díaz: He was a good fellow. Yeah, a good man. Mormino: If he was a good man, why did you need a ­union? Vega Díaz: Oh, well, t­here w ­ ere many cigar factories. Not only Martínez Ybor, ­there’s many cigar factories ­here. Mormino: Right. Who ­were the leaders in La Resistencia? Vega Díaz: Well, the main secretary—­it’s not a president, they have only a secretary. They call Jose Gonzalez Padilla, that’s the name of the fellow. He had to quit [organ­izing in] Tampa, b­ ecause if [the Citizen’s Committee] catch him, they kill him. They kill him. Mormino: So, he left. Vega Díaz: They say this president of the Citizens’ Committee—­Comité de ­Ciudadanos . . . ​they [break up] many strikes. When [the head of the ­union called] a strike one night, the [Citizens Committee] come in and they catch two men who ­don’t belong to the cigar factories, the cigar makers, anything . . . ​and [the Citizens Committee] hang them. And they put a sign: “We need seven more.” Mormino: How about yourself? Did you ever receive discrimination? Vega Díaz: Well, not exactly—­sometimes I had to hide myself, ­because I used to be president of the Joint Advisory Board, the committee for [the ­union], and

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sometimes they have some trou­ble. I had to go hide myself, ­because I’d be afraid of [being killed by the Citizens Committee]. One friend of mine, that used to be the president of Joint Advisory Board, he had to quit [organ­izing in] Tampa, too. One night, we had to take him, by railroad—by automobile—to Lakeland, so he could go on his way from Tampa, b­ ecause if they catch him, they kill him, too. Mormino: Would you call yourself a socialist, at that time? Vega Díaz: Well, at that time? Yeah. A socialist? Yeah, every­one would be socialist ­because of the—­the laborer get better conditions if the socialists coming. So it’s supposed to be that. Mormino: Would you do it over? Would you be a cigar worker over again, if you had a chance? Vega Díaz: Oh, no, no, no. Mormino: Why? Vega Díaz: You know, ­every time I dream about cigar factory, it’s bad dreams. Mormino: Bad dreams? Vega Díaz: Yeah, bad dreams. Mormino: Why? What are you dreaming? Vega Díaz: (laughs) Bad dreams ­because you know, we start—­when I go to work making cigars, we start at six ­o’clock in the morning, till six ­o’clock in the eve­ ning. Twelve hours in the cigar factory. Well, ­after that, we started ­later than that, but we finished l­ ater . . . When I dream about [the] cigar factory, I dream it’s late, late. I cannot finish, I cannot finish. Every­thing breaks . . . ​. ­Every time I dream about the cigar factory it’s a bad dream. I ­don’t like cigar factories. At first, I liked them, but then a­ fter that, I d­ on’t like the cigar factory. And last time I dreamed about the cigar factory, [I had a] good morning, and wake very good, but I ­don’t like it. Source: Excerpt and edited se­lection from oral history transcript. José Vega Díaz interviewed by Gary Mormino, August 24, 1980. Ybor City Oral History Proj­ect, Special Collections, University of South Florida, Tampa, Florida. Reprinted with permission.

Oral History with Cigar Maker Dolores Patiño Río, 1985 The following document is a transcript of an oral history with cigar maker Dolores Patiño Río. Historian Nancy Hewitt interviewed Mrs. Patiño Río in the 1980s as the last generation of Ybor cigar workers began to fade. This excerpt is part of a longer, three-­part interview that unravels the details of what it was like to be a ­woman, a worker, a wife, and a ­mother in the Cigar City. Dolores Patiño Río was born Dolores Patiño in West Tampa in 1909, and grew up in Ybor City. Her m ­ other was Cuban and born in Key West; her f­ather was of

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Spanish heritage. Patiño Rí­o’s f­ather worked in the Sanchez y Haya cigar factory and ­later opened his own chinchal (small cigar shop). As the oldest of eight siblings, Dolores Patiño Río went to work in the cigar factories at the age of 14 to help support her ­family. Over the course of her ­career as a cigar worker she labored as a bunchera (bunch maker), a rollera (roller), and a machine operator while also raising three c­ hildren of her own. In 1974, Dolores Patiño Rio ended her ­career and was the first tabaquera to receive a pension. Hewitt: Mrs. Río, did you learn to make cigars in a buckeye shop (chinchal)? Patiño Río: No, I went to the factory, Sanchez y Haya. I was 14 years old when I started ­there. Hewitt: How did you get your first job? Patiño Río: I went over t­here [to Sanchez y Haya] to learn to make cigars, and I was working with someone teaching me, helping me. But in town Weeks, the old man who was the foreman ­there (I think he like me or something, he always called me “Lolita”), he says, “­You’re g­ oing to earn money.” My f­ ather worked ­there and my aunt, so he says, “How would you like to learn bunches and your aunt rolls.” I say OK, if you want, I’ll do it. So, the first paycheck I got, I never forget—­$3.25. I went “Ayyyy,” and took it home to my ­mother. Then the old man says, “Do you want to learn to work by hand?” I say yes, I want to learn. So he says, “Go to your f­ ather in the after­noon.” So I used to go and make by hand bunches for my ­father so he can make more cigars. Then one day, I was so scared, but I d­ idn’t say no. He says, “Hey, I’m g­ oing to make you a bunchmaker. ­You’re ­going to make bunches for two rollers.” It’s dif­fer­ent making for two. ­Every time they finish one more, you got to have another ready. Hewitt: ­Were many ­women bunchmakers? Patiño Río: ­Women always worked at the factory d­ oing the stripping, putting bands on, bunching for two rollers. But ­women who made bunches ­were afraid to do this for two men. You know, they w ­ ere embarrassed, standing between t­ hese two men. They look up at you, yell at you that ­you’re too slow, make jokes. But they had dif­fer­ent rooms for the strippers and the packers, just all ­women. Hewitt: ­Were t­here more Cuban w ­ omen who became bunchmakers and rollers? Patiño Río: Way back, at the beginning it was only men. Then they start like they do now. They d­ on’t want the ­women. The only ­thing the ­woman could do in the factory was to strip the tobacco leaves. Italian ­women ­were strippers too. Italian, Cuban, Spanish, they all try to get on as rollers ­because they all want to make more money. Hewitt: Did you get to be friends with the w ­ omen you worked with? Patiño Río: You had to be friendly. I talk if I have a chance sometimes, but if I have fast rollers, I have to be fast. But I talk, and if I ­don’t I hear every­body ­else

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talk. That’s why they used to say, the cigar makers, they know every­thing. You know, we had the man who came to read to us. We paid for that, but the man comes and reads the papers from ­every part. And then we all discuss it. ­There they read to you, and you heard t­hings from all parts of the country. Hewitt: Starting in 1930, with the Depression, times must have been hard again. Patiño Río: Yes, and they had another big strike then. They start accusing most cigar workers of being comunistas (communists). I tell you one t­hing, I see many ­things that have changed in the u­ nions ­today, but still I say, work with the ­union, work with the ­union. Other­wise it’s ­going to be worse. Hewitt: Did you make a lot less money during the Depression? Patiño Río: Oh yes, every­one was making less. We w ­ ere on a limit. You know it’s piece work, but they put you on limit. We only work three days or what­ever. They keep on working, but they earn less. But it’s better to earn less than to be on the streets. Hewitt: When did you get married and how did you meet your husband? Patiño Río: He came one night to visit my f­ amily. My m ­ other and his m ­ other, way, way back w ­ ere relatives. She came to see my m ­ other and brought three of her sons, and one was my husband [Fransisco Río]. We d­ idn’t marry right away. I met him in [November] 1929, and we married on September 30, 1930. Hewitt: Then when you got pregnant, did you quit work? Patiño Río: Oh, I worked ­until six, seven months before I had Sylvia. And then I left b­ ecause they fired me. Around Christmas they fire many ­people ­because they have Christmas o­ rders all done. With Gloria, I worked u­ ntil the last day ­because then I was working in a ­little factory. Hewitt: Then how soon a­ fter the baby did you go back to work? Patiño Río: As soon as they gave me the chance. When my ­daughter Gloria was born, ­after 15 days I was back again in the buckeye . . . ​. I was 40 days when I go back to work. They call me. I say I cannot lose the chance. I got to work. I need the money. Hewitt: And did your ­mother take care of the ­children then? Patiño Río: Oh yes, she took care of them. My m ­ other, she took care of ­children of ­women who worked in the factories, three or four at a time. And when I marry and have c­ hildren, my ­mother takes care of them too. Hewitt: What other kinds of work did your ­mother do? Patiño Río: Ybor City, it was like the frontier. Husbands say their wives ­don’t work, but w ­ omen always work. Like my m ­ other, she raised eight c­ hildren. Grandma and two cousins also lived in the ­house. We got a duplex, ­there w ­ ere so many ­people . . . ​. Laundry, so much laundry. And cooking, of course. She even kept a vegetable garden to help out . . . ​yes, and in the buckeye, the chinchal. Hewitt: So she worked in your ­father’s buckeye?

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Patiño Río: Well, he w ­ ouldn’t say so. She just “helped out.” But she worked ­there, a lot, especially in slow times or when workers ­were hard to get. Hewitt: When did the kind of work you did in the factory start changing? Was it during the Depression? Patiño Río: Yes, then they start pulling every­thing down. But it starts ­because they are putting in machines, taking the skill away. P ­ eople start taking up other trades. Hewitt: When did you change over to machines? Patiño Río: It was in 1950. The machines make more cigars and make them cheaper. At the beginning I ­didn’t like it. I was afraid. Then the man told me, “This [hand work] is ­going down. ­Don’t tell nobody but go to some machine and see how it works.” Then pretty soon, he says, “OK, Monday you go on the machine.” Hewitt: Do you think it was harder for older men and w ­ omen to shift to the machines? Patiño Río: Oh yes, some of them ­couldn’t make it ­because they ­were so used to ­doing it right, and not g­ oing fast. And they cannot go as fast as the machine. Hewitt: So all the fine craft work was gone ­after the machines came in? Patiño Río: At the machines, you have to be fast, fast. To make 5,000 cigars a day, the machines run, r­ eally run. Hewitt: Given all the changes you experienced as a cigar worker, what did you like best about your job? Patiño Río: Cigars, well, the only ­thing I can tell you is ­because I make money. It’s the only way I can make money. ­There was no other way . . . ​. That’s all I know so I had to like it. Source: Excerpted and edited se­lection from oral history transcript. Dolores Patiño Río interviewed by Nancy A. Hewitt, September 4, 1985. “­Women in Ybor City: An Interview with a ­Woman Cigar Worker,” Tampa Bay History Journal, Fall/Winter, 1985, pp. 161–165.

See also: Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City; Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence; ­Labor Activism during the G ­ reat Depression

Further Reading Daniel, Evan Matthew. 2015. “Cuban Cigar Makers in Havana, Key West, and Ybor City, 1850s-1890s: A Single Universe?” in Geoffrey de Laforcade and Kirwin Shaffer, eds., In Defiance of Bound­aries: Anarchism in Latin American History, pp. 25–47. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Federal Writers Proj­ect. 1935. “Ybor City, General Description, Latin Population.” Manuscript, Special Collections, University of South Florida, Tampa, Florida. Greenbaum, Susan D. 2002. More than Black: Afro-­Cubans in Tampa. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.

Settlement of Ybor City, 1885–1930 | 195 Greenbaum, Susan D. 2010. “Afro-­Cubans in Tampa,” in Miriam Jimenez Roman and Juan Flores, eds., The Afro-­Latin@ Reader: History and Culture in the United States, pp. 51–61. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hewitt, Nancy A. 1985. “­Women in Ybor City: An Interview with a ­Woman Cigar Worker,” Tampa Bay History Journal, Fall/Winter, 161–165. Hewitt, Nancy  A. 2001. Southern Discomfort: ­Women’s Activism in Tampa, Florida, 1880s-­1920s. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Hewitt, Nancy A. 2007. “Economic Crisis and Po­liti­cal Mobilization: Reshaping Cultures of Re­sis­tance in Tampa’s Communities of Color,” in Sharon Harley, ed., ­Women’s ­Labor in the Global Economy: Speaking in Multiple Voices, pp. 62–81. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Ingalls, Robert P. 1985. “Strikes and Vigilante Vio­lence in Tampa’s Cigar Industry,” Tampa Bay History Journal, 117–134. Ingalls, Robert P. 1988. Urban Vigilantes in the New South: Tampa 1882–1936. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press. Ingalls, Robert P. 1996. “The Life and Work of Jose Yglesias,” Tampa Bay History Journal, Spring/Summer: 5–28. Manach, Jorgé. 1950. Marti: Apostle of Freedom. Trans. Coley Taylor. New York: Devin-­Adair. Mormino, Gary, and George Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City: Italians and Their Latin Neighbors, 1885–1895. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Parado, Peter. 2008. Oral History Interview with Sarah McNamara [interview in possession of the author]. Pérez, Louis A. 1978. “Cubans in Tampa: From Exiles to Immigrants,” Florida Historical Quarterly 57 (2): 129–140. Pérez, Louis A. 1978. “Ybor City Remembered,” Southeastern Latin Americanist 22 (1): 174–177. Pérez, Louis A. 2003. Cuba and the United States: Ties of Singular Intimacy (3d ed.). Athens: University of Georgia Press. Poyo, Gerald Eugene. 1989. With All and for the Good of All: The Emergence of Popu­lar Nationalism in the Cuban Communities of the United States, 1848-­1898. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Terkel, Studs. 1970. Hard Times: An Oral History of the ­Great Depression. New York: Pantheon Books. U.S. ­Women’s Bureau. 1932. The Effects on ­Women of Changing Conditions in the Cigar and Cigarette Industries (Bulletin of the U.S. ­Women’s Bureau, No. 100). Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Westfall, L. Glen. 1985. “Latin Entrepreneurs and the Birth of Ybor City,” Tampa Bay History Journal 7 (2, Fall/Winter): 6–11.

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Spanish-­American War, 1898 Bonnie A. Lucero

Chronology 1868, On September  23, the Grito de Lares—­a public call for in­de­pen­ September dence in the town of Lares—­initiates the Puerto Rican strug­gle for in­de­pen­dence against Spain. 1868, October

On October 10, Carlos Manuel de Céspedes issues the Grito de Yara, a call for in­de­pen­dence in the town of Yara, initiating the first of Cuba’s three wars for in­de­pen­dence from Spain: the Ten Years’ War (1868–1878).

1879

Cuba’s second war of in­de­pen­dence, la Guerra Chiquita or “­Little War” (1879–1880) erupts following dissatisfaction with the Pact of Zanjón, which ended the Ten Years’ War.

1891

Cuban nationalist and intellectual José Martí establishes the Cuban Revolutionary Party in New York.

1895

On February 24, the Grito de Baire inaugurates Cuba’s final War of In­de­pen­dence against Spanish colonial rule (1895–1898).

1896, February

In Cuba, Spain replaces Captain General Arsenio Martínez Campos y Antón with Valeriano Weyler, who implements the policy of reconcentration.

1896, August

On August 26, rebels ­under General Emilio Aguinaldo begin the Philippine revolution against Spanish colonial rule with the Grito de Balintawak.

1896–1898 U.S. newspapers—­including the New York Journal, owned by William Randolph Hearst, and The New York World, owned by Joseph Pulitzer—­publish graphic press coverage of Spanish atrocities in Cuba. This galvanizes U.S. support for Cuban rebels. 1897

Clara Barton brings the American Red Cross to assist relief efforts for Cuban reconcentrados (­those in concentration camps).

1897, November

Spain grants po­liti­cal autonomy in Cuba and Puerto Rico, scheduling elections for the following year.

1898, February

On February 9, U.S. newspapers publish a letter in which the Spanish ambassador to the United States, Enrique Dupuy de Lôme, criticizes

Spanish-­American War, 1898 | 197

U.S. President William McKinley as vain and weak, helping galvanize anti-­Spanish sentiment. The battleship USS Maine mysteriously sinks in Havana Harbor on February 15, killing 266 men aboard, leading to heightened tensions between the U.S. and Spanish governments. 1898, March

On March 29, the U.S. government threatens war if Spain does not leave Cuba, an ultimatum Spain refuses on April 1.

1898, April

On April 20, President McKinley signs the Joint Resolution with the Teller Amendment declaring war against Spain ­under the condition that the United States renounce any claim over Cuban sovereignty. Spain severs diplomatic relations with the United States on April 21, and the United States initiates a naval blockade of Cuba’s major harbors. Spain formally declares war on the United States on April 23.

1898, June U.S. Marines land at Guantánamo, Cuba, on June 10, initiating the invasion of Cuba. On June  12, General Aguinaldo declares Philippine in­de­pen­dence following American military intervention and the joint defeat of Spanish forces. The United States Congress votes to annex Hawai’i on June 15. Spanish forces in Guam surrender to the United States on June 21. On June 23, the First Volunteer Cavalry, known as the “Rough Riders,” arrives in eastern Cuba. Led by Leonard Wood and Theodore Roo­se­velt, the cavalry was formed in response to McKinley’s call for 125,000 volunteers. 1898, July

Spanish forces surrender at Santiago on July 17. U.S. forces invade Puerto Rico on July  25, escalating the naval blockade.

1898, August

The peace protocol, which serves as the foundation for the subsequent Treaty of Paris, ends all hostilities between Spain and the United States in Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam on August 12. Spanish forces at Manila surrender on August 13.

1898, November

On November  29, the Philippine Revolutionary Congress declares the Philippine Republic ­under the Malolos Constitution.

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1898, December

On December  10, Spain and the United States sign the Treaty of Paris in which Spain cedes Puerto Rico and Guam to the United States, relinquishes sovereignty over Cuba, and sells the Philippines to the United States for $20 million. In the Proclamation of Benevolent Assimilation, issued on December 21, McKinley declares the need to annex the Philippines by force if necessary.

1899, January

On January 1, the United States inaugurates its military occupation of Cuba (1899–1902).

1899, January–­ February

Spanish forces leave Cuba.

1899, February

Philippine rebels ­under Emilio Aguinaldo declare war on the United States on February 4, initiating the Philippine-­American War (1899– 1902) to consolidate their in­de­pen­dence.

1900, April

The enactment of the Foraker Act on April 12 allows for the establishment of civilian government in Puerto Rico.

1901, June Facing pressure from the United States, the Cuban Constitutional Convention fi­nally approves the Platt Amendment on June 12, in a 16–11 vote. The amendment limits Cuba’s sovereignty and allows the United States to intervene militarily on the island whenever such action is deemed necessary. 1902, May

On May 20, U.S. troops depart from Cuba, facilitating the establishment of the Cuban Republic.

1902, July

Enactment of the Philippine Organic Act on July 1 allows for limited self-­government, which emerged with the establishment of the Tagalog Republic. On July  4, U.S. forces suppress the Philippine Insurrection, which claimed the lives of 20,000 Philippine soldiers and 200,000 Philippine civilians and inaugurated a half-­century of U.S. colonial rule.

1903

The United States intervenes on behalf of rebels against Colombia, culminating in the establishment of the in­de­pen­dent Republic of Panama; the United States quickly negotiates a treaty for the construction of a trans-­isthmian canal.

1906

The United States intervenes in Cuba following a po­liti­cal revolt, establishing the second military occupation, which lasts from 1906 to 1909.

Spanish-­American War, 1898 | 199

1912

The United States intervenes in Cuba to suppress po­liti­cal protests by Cuba’s black po­liti­cal party, the In­de­pen­dent Party of Color, following the prohibition of race-­based associations.

1915–1934 The United States occupies multiple countries in the Ca­rib­bean, including Cuba (1917–1922), the Dominican Republic (1916– 1924), and Haiti (1915–1934). 1916, August

Passage of the Jones Act on August 29 grants autonomy to the Philippines, creating the first elected legislature ­there.

1917, March

On March 17, limited U.S. citizenship is granted to Puerto Ricans via the Jones-­Shafroth Act, ­after 20,000 Puerto Ricans serve in World War I.

1934

The Cuban government successfully negotiates an end to the Platt Amendment as part of United States’ “Good Neighbor Policy.”

1935

A commonwealth government is established in the Philippines in accordance with the 1934 Tydings-­McDuffie Act.

1937

Police in the Puerto Rican town of Ponce assassinate 17 unarmed, peaceful civilian protesters associated with the Nationalist Party, and wound 200 more in the Ponce Massacre.

1946

The Philippines secures sovereignty from the United States.

1950

The United States violently suppresses Puerto Rican Nationalist revolts against U.S. rule, by means including the active aerial bombing of the towns of Utuado and Jayuya.

1952

Puerto Rico becomes a commonwealth ­under its own constitution.

1959

Cuban rebels ­under Fidel Castro march into Havana, proclaiming the triumph of the Cuban Revolution: a movement largely envisioned as a vindication of the stunted Cuban in­de­pen­dence following the Spanish-­American War.

Narrative Conventional narratives of United States history celebrate the Spanish-­American War as one of the early pinnacles of American greatness. It showcased American altruism, as the United States selflessly fought to liberate the Cuban p­ eople from the tyrannical colonial rule of Spain. It also marked the triumphant projection of U.S. military power on an international stage, not only to avenge the lives of 266 men who died in the explosion of the battleship USS Maine on February 15, 1898, but also to vindicate insults to U.S. national honor allegedly perpetrated by Spanish

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The ­Battle of Manila Bay on May 1, 1898, during the Spanish-­American War. The b ­ attle demolished the Spanish Navy and allowed the United States to acquire the Philippines. (Library of Congress)

officials. The military victory was swift and decisive. Between late April and August 1898, the United States defeated Spanish forces in Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam in what U.S. Secretary of State John Hay called a “Splendid ­Little War”—­and annexed the Republic of Hawai’i in the pro­cess. With the signing of the Treaty of Paris in December that year, the United States acquired Puerto Rico and Guam outright, paid $20 million for the Philippines, and claimed pacification privileges over Cuba. The U.S. acquisition of ­these territories transformed the global balance of power, dismantling Spain as one of the world’s most power­ ful empires and ushering in what many historians call the “American ­Century,” a prolonged period of U.S. military dominance on the global stage. Unfortunately, this romantic and triumphalist narrative of the Spanish-­American War implicitly reproduces imperialist and racial hierarchies by erasing the participation of Spain’s former colonies in the conflict. If we examine developments in Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam, it becomes clear that the Spanish-­ American War was ­really more of a U.S. intervention in a much longer trajectory of ongoing anti-­colonial strug­gles and colonial negotiations in Spain’s remaining colonies. By interrupting ­these pro­cesses, the United States intervention in 1898 forever transformed the United States’ relationship with the world and with its own growing population of Latino p­ eople, which the war helped create. In Cuba and the Philippines, where nationalists waged wars of in­de­pen­dence long before U.S.

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involvement, the Spanish-­American War marked the erasure of their anti-­colonial victories over Spain and the beginning of a new series of strug­gles for national self-­determination against U.S. rule. In Puerto Rico and Guam, where anti-­colonial strug­gle at the moment of U.S. intervention was ­either temporarily suspended or inactive, the war unleashed more than a ­century of colonial dominance. In the case of Puerto Rico, U.S. rule brought de­cades of anti-­nationalist repression. The enduring significance of Cuban, Filipino, Puerto Rican, and Guamanian engagement in the war suggests that a more appropriate name for the war would be the Spanish-­ Cuban-­Filipino-­American War (Foner, 1972).

The Expansionist Antecedents to 1898 The Spanish-­American War built on a solid foundation of expansionism in British North Amer­i­ca and, subsequently, the United States. From the outset of British colonization in North Amer­i­ca, colonists encroached upon Native American land, fighting wars against the diverse native ­peoples of North Amer­ic­ a to expand their dominion over territory. The Anglo-­Powhatan Wars, Pequot War, and King Philip’s War of the 17th ­century aimed to carve out formal control over the 13 original colonies. By the 18th ­century, British colonists fought both Native Americans and Eu­ro­pe­ans to expand their territorial holdings westward. They did just this in the French and Indian War (1754–1763) and the suppression of Pontiac’s Rebellion (1763–1768). As an in­de­pen­dent nation, the United States quickly renewed this penchant for territorial expansion. In 1803, the United States took advantage of major tumult in the French empire following the French and Haitian Revolutions (1789–1799; 1791–1804) to negotiate the Louisiana Purchase. This deal expanded U.S. territorial possessions by nearly 1 million miles. The same developments that facilitated U.S. acquisition of the Louisiana Territory from France also set in motion a series of changes within the Spanish empire. The French capture of Spanish monarch Fernando VII in 1808, though initially prompting Spanish American monarchal loyalty, eventually led to a series of anti-­colonial wars raging through Spain’s Central and South American colonies during the first three de­cades of the 19th ­century. In the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, U.S. President James Monroe laid official claim to U.S. regional supremacy in the region, denouncing Eu­ro­pean interference in the Amer­i­cas in an effort to stave off the return of Spanish and French presence to newly in­de­pen­dent Latin American republics and to prevent Rus­sian expansion southward through Alaska. The Latin American republic that bore the brunt of 19th-­century U.S. expansionism was Mexico, which had recently gained in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821. The Mexican government had encouraged the settlement of U.S.-­based planters in

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order to strengthen state control over its sparsely populated northern frontier. Many U.S. citizens relocated to the northern Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas to take advantage of favorable land acquisition terms—­and brought their slaves with them. The abolition of slavery in Mexico in 1829, despite its delayed implementation on the northern frontier, prompted a crisis among newly settled Anglo slave ­owners. Refusing to relinquish their “right” to own enslaved ­people, ­these settlers declared in­de­pen­dence from Mexico, and eventually established the short-­lived Republic of Texas (1836–1846). The ensuing Mexican-­American War (1846–1848) set an impor­tant pre­ce­dent for U.S. military engagement in sovereign countries beyond its con­temporary borders. The defeat of Mexico resulted in unpre­ce­dented territorial gains for the United States, including the U.S. annexation of Texas in 1845. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo established the Rio Grande as the U.S.-­ Mexico border, and the United States exchanged $15 million for the rest of Mexico’s northern territories, part of which became the f­ ree state of California in 1850. At the same time as other Spanish American colonies ­were declaring their in­de­pen­dence and establishing republics, Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam remained loyal to Spain. Cuba’s permanence in the Spanish empire was largely owed to the eco­nom­ically lucrative production of sugarcane cultivated by a growing enslaved population at the turn of the 19th ­century. In the wake of the Haitian Revolution, the formerly profitable sugar plantations of French St. Domingue lay in ruins, making way for Cuba to replace that colony as the world’s largest sugar producer. ­Because the Haitian Revolution had given birth to the first black republic, and even inspired similar revolts, like the 1812 Aponte Rebellion in Cuba, wealthy slave-­owning Cuban sugar planters sought to prevent “another Haiti” by exchanging military protection from slave revolt for continued loyalty to Spain, making Cuba the “Ever-­Faithful Isle.” The survival of Spain’s American empire in Cuba and Puerto Rico represented a consistent thorn in the side of advocates of the Monroe Doctrine—an ongoing challenge to U.S. hemispheric dominance and an obstacle to U.S. trade in the Pacific. U.S. annexationist desires centered most explic­itly on Cuba, located just 90 miles off the coast of Florida. Almost e­ very U.S. president since John Adams had expressed explicit interest in acquiring the island, which they viewed as a “natu­ral appendage” of the United States. Cuba was often portrayed in po­liti­cal cartoons as a ripe piece of fruit ready to fall in the lap of U ­ ncle Sam. As U.S. Southern planters continued to cling to slavery into the 1850s, they actively courted Cuba as a potential slave-­holding ally, sponsoring filibustering expeditions (unauthorized military missions in foreign countries) ­under Narciso López in 1849–1851, and to Nicaragua ­under William Walker, who reinstated slavery in 1856. Although the trajectory of U.S. expansionism and expansionist designs before the 1860s set impor­tant pre­ce­dents for the voracious imperial appetite in 1898, many

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of the most impor­tant U.S. military leaders of the Spanish-­American War had built their c­ areers through their participation in the Civil War, Reconstruction, and subsequent expansionist and internally colonizing proj­ects. The Northern military occupations of Southern departments during Radical Reconstruction and the alleged racial instability produced by the 14th and 15th Amendments in par­tic­ul­ ar led some Union veterans, who would ­later serve in Cuba and the Philippines, to conclude that nonwhite populations w ­ ere unfit for self-­government. Moreover, the acceleration of industrialization in the Northeast following the Civil War reinvigorated American interest in Manifest Destiny, in part driving westward expansion, encroachment on Native Americans’ land, and a series of “Indian Wars” during the late 19th ­century. The emphasis on assimilation—of Native Americans and of the Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean immigrants pouring into industrial cities in the late 19th ­century—­would also become the prevailing ideology in “pacifying” Spain’s former colonies and the primary rationale for extending U.S. rule in ­these islands. While the end of slavery in the United States in 1865 ended the sectional interest in annexing Cuba as a slave state, the outbreak of anti-­colonial strug­gle in Cuba complicated U.S. relations with the Ever-­Faithful Isle. Cuban rebels waged two unsuccessful strug­gles for in­de­pen­dence against Spain: the Ten Years’ War (1868– 1878) and the Guerra Chiquita (“­little war”) (1879–1880). ­These wars had failed to capture the attention of the American public, but the third and final war of in­de­ pen­dence (1895–1898) commanded broad interest in the United States due in part to the vivid press coverage of Spanish atrocities against Cuban civilians. When General Valeriano Weyler, known as the Butcher, initiated the policy of reconcentration, whereby thousands of w ­ omen and c­ hildren ­were forcibly relocated into concentration camps, images of starving ­children graced the front pages of major newspapers from New York to Boston (Hoganson, 2000). This graphic press coverage also heightened support for Cuban rebels, who ­were sometimes compared to the founding ­fathers of the United States. They ­were led by General-­in-­Chief Máximo Gómez. Despite the broad sympathy of the American public for the suffering of the Cuban ­people, not to mention active agitation among Cuban nationalists in the United States, the U.S. government refused to lend material aid to the rebels. The Cuban Revolutionary Party, founded in 1891 by Cuban nationalist José Martí, pleaded with Congress to recognize Cuban belligerency in order to support their war effort and relieve suffering. However, the United States was starkly divided between imperialists, who sought to continue the U.S. legacy of expansionism, and anti-­ imperialists, who opposed expansion abroad. Anti-­imperialists employed vari­ous arguments, ranging from the idea that government required the consent of the governed to the fear that the nonwhite populations of islands like Cuba would bring the American republic down (Love, 2004). U.S. President William McKinley refused to

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Cuban and Puerto Rican Activism in New York and South Florida The anti-­colonial activism of Cuban and Puerto Rican nationalists in the de­cades leading up to the Spanish-­American War proved to be crucial in the development of po­liti­cally conscious Latino communities in South Florida and New York. Cuban settlement in Key West and Ybor City followed the relocation of the cigar manufacturing factories in the wake of the outbreak of anti-­colonial war in Cuba in 1868. Fleeing militant l­ abor activism, cigar manufacturers again moved their establishments to Tampa, prompting a significant influx of Cuban l­ abor ­there. The late 19th-­century establishment of prominent Cuban communities in South Florida made this area integral to the Cuban strug­gle for in­de­pen­dence, as manufacturers and workers alike donated money and material assistance to the cause and some of the most impor­tant Cuban revolutionaries passed through. The massive destruction caused by 30 years of war in Cuba motivated many of the members of this emerging Cuban community to remain in South Florida following the Spanish-­American War. Other Cubans and Puerto Ricans fled po­liti­cal persecution, mobilizing nationalist activities in New York City. In 1891, José Martí, the intellectual architect of Cuban nationalism, founded the Cuban Revolutionary Party, which became the civil wing of the Cuban War of In­de­pen­dence (1895– 1898). The black nationalist, journalist, and Cuban po­liti­cal activist Rafael Serra y Montalvo, who had initially migrated to South Florida, established himself in New York in the late 1880s and founded vari­ous nationalist newspapers. Puerto Rican-­born historian Arturo Alfonso Schomburg established himself in New York in the early 1890s and became one of the most prominent black intellectuals of the early 20th ­century. The nationalist and diasporic activism of t­ hese and other Puerto Rican and Cuban persons formed the foundation for a vibrant and cosmopolitan Hispanic community in New York (Guridy, 2010).

aid Cuban forces. U.S. nurse and founder of the American Red Cross Clara Barton, then in her seventies, mobilized her organ­ization to aid starving Cuban families in early 1897. By December, despite the lack of military assistance, the Cuban rebels seemed to have secured an impor­tant victory over the Spanish, who granted autonomy to the island, an act widely recognized as an admission of defeat. As the anti-­colonial war seemingly drew closer to an end, relations between Spain and the United States deteriorated. Two developments w ­ ere key to this mounting

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animosity. First, a letter in which the Spanish ambassador to the United States, Enrique Dupuy De Lôme, insulted U.S. President William McKinley was leaked to the U.S. press on February 9, 1898. De Lôme reportedly called McKinley “weak and a bidder for the admiration of the crowd besides being a would-be politician [politicastro] who tries to leave a door open ­behind himself while keeping on good terms with the jingoes of his party.” Second, just days ­later, the battleship USS Maine mysteriously exploded in Havana Harbor, killing 266 men aboard. The United States quickly blamed Spain for torpedoing the ship. Although the U.S. Naval Court of Inquiry initially claimed that an e­ nemy mine had provoked the explosion, subsequent investigations suggest that it was more likely caused by an internal fire which ignited the munitions stores. With the sinking of the battleship Maine, the objectives of the United States in Cuba became more complex. Now the U.S. government not only had a pretext to help “liberate” the Cubans from Spanish rule, as many sympathetic Americans demanded; it also had the obligation to vindicate or avenge the deaths of the soldiers and officers on the sunken ship, restore President McKinley’s honor, and punish the suspected perpetrator for the offenses. McKinley sought permission from Congress to go to war against Spain. Likely recognizing the dangers to Cuban sovereignty posed by the long history of U.S. designs on the island, Colorado Republican Senator Henry M. Teller composed an amendment to the Joint Resolution allowing the United States to declare war. The Teller Amendment, as it came to be known, placed conditions on the U.S. role in Cuba, forcing the expansionist nation to renounce any claim over the island’s sovereignty. McKinley signed the Amended Joint Resolution on April 20, 1898, and war commenced the following day with a U.S. naval blockade of Cuba’s major harbors. On May 1, U.S. forces fought the first ­battle at Manila in the Philippines. By early June, U.S. troops, including all four of the black regiments in the United States army—­the 24th and 25th Infantry as well as the 9th and 10th Cavalry—­landed in eastern Cuba. U.S. forces reached Guam on June 20, capturing the island within two days, and continuing on to reinforce troops in the Philippines. In order to bolster military operations in the Pacific theater, the United States expedited the annexation of the Republic of Hawai’i, with a law passed in July 1898. A naval blockade on June 25 preceded a land invasion of Puerto Rico on July 25 (Pérez, 1998). The conflicts w ­ ere most heated in Cuba and the Philippines, where active strug­ gles against Spanish rule already raged well prior to U.S. intervention. In both cases, U.S. and rebel forces held fundamentally dif­fer­ent understandings of the nature of U.S. involvement. Whereas rebel forces in both Cuba and the Philippines envisioned the U.S. role as supplementary to their own goal of po­liti­cal in­de­pen­dence from Spain, U.S. forces regarded their role more as conquerors of t­hese lands. In Cuba, this manifested in the intense animosity between U.S. soldiers and volunteers

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and their Cuban counter­parts, many of who w ­ ere starving and appeared ragged a­ fter years of guerilla-­style warfare. U.S. soldiers found the racial background of their “accidental allies” to be problematic as well. The majority of Cubans residing in the United States and active in the Cuban Revolutionary Party w ­ ere white, wealthy, and formally educated. In contrast, many of the soldiers, particularly in eastern Cuba, ­were of vis­i­ble African descent. ­These pejorative impressions led many prominent U.S. officers to treat their Cuban allies as subordinates rather than equals. U.S. officers treated Cuban forces like laborers rather than soldiers, often ordering them to perform menial tasks in ser­vice of their U.S. counter­parts and excluding them from the front lines. They slandered Cuban nationalists by labeling (and treating) them as looters rather than honorable patriots. U.S. forces ­under General William R. Shafter even refused to permit Cuban forces u­ nder General Calixto García to march triumphantly into Santiago following the defeat of Spain. Subsequent narratives of the war overemphasized the U.S. contribution: for example, in the ­Battle of San Juan Hill, which occurred on July 1, 1898, just outside the eastern Cuban city of Santiago. Although the victory in this b­ attle is typically attributed to the military acumen of Theodore Roo­se­velt with his First Volunteer Cavalry, the “Rough Riders” ­were but a small fraction of the U.S. ser­vicemen involved. The so-­called “Smoked Yankees” of the 9th and 10th Cavalry and 24th Infantry, who fought valiantly in the face of heavy fire, ­were key players. Victory would likely not have been pos­si­ble without significant Cuban intelligence and support, not to mention the years of fighting that had preceded the ­battle (Gatewood, 1987). Similarly, in the Philippines, U.S. forces ignored the June 12 declaration of Philippine in­de­pen­dence, subsequently excluding the Filipino representative from peace talks. The exclusion of Spain’s former colonies from negotiations on the Treaty of Paris essentially negated the sovereignty that Cuban and Philippine leaders had already declared, and transferred Puerto Rico and Guam from the Spanish to the U.S. empire in­def­initely. The absence of an active in­de­pen­dence strug­gle in Guam and the temporary suppression of the Puerto Rican anti-­colonial strug­gle enabled the United States to install lasting colonial regimes in both islands. Cuba and the Philippines ­were another ­matter entirely. Despite the ongoing in­de­pen­dence strug­gles in ­these islands, the United States refused to honor their sovereignty, frustrating Cuban and Philippine nationalists. In order to justify U.S. rule in Cuba and the Philippines, U.S. officials drew on their recent experiences with Reconstruction and Indian assimilation to argue that the nonwhiteness of many Cubans and most Filipinos rendered them unfit for self-­government. In par­tic­ul­ ar, social Darwinism, the application of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution to h­ uman difference, provided the pseudo-­scientific backing for claims that the United States, as an Anglo nation, had the responsibility

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to “civilize” the savage and barbaric nonwhite ­peoples of the world. This idea, encapsulated in the concept of the “White Man’s Burden,” suggested that ­peoples who failed to live up to the Anglo-­Saxon ideal needed white American tutelage in order to become more civilized and learn the “art of self-­government.” ­These racial ideas provided a power­ful rationale for violation of the Teller Amendment in Cuba and the violent repression of Philippine nationalists. In order to understand the lasting legacy of the Spanish-­American War, it is necessary to examine the violent strug­gles for national self-­determination in Cuba, the Philippines, and subsequently in Puerto Rico that defined much of the 20th ­century and the U.S. colonial rule in Puerto Rico and Guam that endures to this day.

Eugenics in the United States’ Ca­rib­bean Colony Following the U.S. acquisition of Puerto Rico in 1898, U.S. colonial administrators became increasingly concerned with what they viewed to be the excessive population growth on the island due to high fertility. ­These concerns stemmed from prejudiced preconceptions about Puerto Ricans as racially degenerate, uncivilized, culturally backward, and potentially harmful to the United States (Suárez-­Findlay, 2000). B ­ ecause fertility rates w ­ ere significantly higher among the racially mixed poor and working-­class Puerto Ricans than they w ­ ere among Anglos in the United States, some policymakers worried that, if unchecked, the high fertility of Puerto Rican ­women would not only increase the number of p­ eople living in poverty, but would also negatively affect the racial composition of the United States. As a result, proponents of eugenics, a scientific movement that sought to improve a population’s race through manipulating reproduction, enacted a series of mea­sures to reduce the fertility of Puerto Rican ­women. Initially, U.S. policy centered on regulating prostitution to reduce venereal disease, a threat to mainland w ­ omen and c­ hildren if U.S. troops became infected by Puerto Rican prostitutes. By the 1920s, U.S. efforts focused on reducing Puerto Rican fertility by developing, testing, and disseminating hormonal birth control among Puerto Rican w ­ omen. ­These efforts even included proposals to introduce contraceptive agents into the ­water supply. Between the 1930s and the 1960s, the U.S. government pursued a policy of postpartum sterilization without w ­ omen’s consent. At its apex in 1968, this policy affected more than one-­third of Puerto Rican w ­ omen, leading Puerto Rican nationalists to level the charge of genocide at the U.S. government (Briggs, 2002).

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A Prolonged Strug­gle for In­de­pen­dence in Cuba Following the cessation of hostilities in June and the signing of the Treaty of Paris in December, 1898, U.S. forces remained in Cuba. On January 1, 1899, the United States inaugurated the first military occupation (1899–1902) to “pacify” the island. During the first year of the occupation, Cuba’s first military governor, John Rutter Brooke, disbanded the Cuban Liberating Army, or­ga­nized police and rural guard forces, reformed and expanded public education, inaugurated massive infrastructure proj­ects, and invested heavi­ly in hygiene and public health. Some military officials judged ­these efforts so successful that they claimed the United States had already fulfilled its obligations ­under the Teller Amendment and should end the occupation. High-­ranking U.S. government officials, however, disagreed, seeking to extend the U.S. presence in Cuba. By 1900, the United States prolonged the military occupation by establishing a civil government u­ nder its auspices and replacing Brooke with General Leonard Wood, who had earned a reputation as a  particularly brutal leader during his tenure as military governor of Santiago de Cuba. Cuban nationalists actively protested what they saw as a violation of the Teller Amendment, and voiced their discontent in their elections. Even though the U.S. military officials initially attempted to limit the electorate through suffrage restrictions, and actively committed or encouraged fraud to ensure pro-­U.S. victories, Cuban voters overwhelmingly elected nationalist candidates in 1900 and 1901. The nationalist electoral victories became particularly problematic for the United States in the se­lection of delegates to the Cuban Constitutional Assembly, all but two of whom ran on pro-­independence platforms. In order to counteract ­these “radical” delegates, the United States pressed the Cuban Constitutional Assembly to add to its constitution the Platt Amendment, which limited Cuban sovereignty by allowing for ­future U.S. intervention, among other conditions. Although the majority of the delegates initially rejected the Platt Amendment, they eventually accepted it ­under U.S. pressure, resulting in the birth of the Cuban republic on May 20, 1902 (Pérez, 1983). Due to the restrictions on Cuban sovereignty imposed by the Platt Amendment, the United States launched several military interventions on the island, three of which culminated in full-­blown military occupations. In 1905, following the fraudulent re-­election of U.S. preferred presidential candidate Tomás Estrada Palma, the Liberal Party rebelled in what became known as the August Revolution. The United States sent the “Army of Cuban Pacification” to suppress the disturbance, occupying the island from 1906 ­until 1909. In 1910, the passage of the Moret Law outlawed race-­based po­liti­cal organ­izations, effectively criminalizing the island’s only black

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po­liti­cal party, the In­de­pen­dent Party of Color. Protests against the law culminated in a state-­sponsored massacre in 1912, and U.S. troops again intervened militarily. Again in 1917, U.S. forces responded to a request from American sugar planters in Cuba for protection in the wake of a po­liti­cal uprising, resulting in the longest occupation from 1917 u­ ntil 1922. Even ­after Cubans successfully repealed the Platt Amendment in 1934, the United States still exerted overwhelming po­liti­cal influence in Cuba, backing dictators such as Gerardo Machado and Fulgencio Batista. As a result of popu­lar discontent over the stark social inequalities and po­liti­cal repression in the wake of Batista’s 1952 coup d’etat, Cuban rebels ­under a young ­lawyer, Fidel Castro, or­ga­nized a movement to reclaim Cuba for Cubans. The initial attack on the military installation at Moncada Barracks, on July 26, 1953, marked the abysmal failure of the early movement, known subsequently as the 26th of July Movement. Following a general amnesty in 1955, Castro and the surviving participants of the attack w ­ ere released from prison and fled to Mexico, where they trained for their next attempt against the Batista regime. In 1956, Castro and his followers returned to Cuba, where they employed guerrilla tactics and gained broad popu­lar support for toppling Batista from power. The triumph of the Cuban Revolution on

Spain’s Generación del 98 While the Spanish-­American War was largely heralded as a triumph of civilization and military might in the United States, in Spain the war became known as the Disaster of 1898. The loss of its remaining colonies plunged Spanish po­liti­cal elites into apathy and neglect, following the embarrassing disintegration of what had been one of the most power­ful and wealthiest empires in the world. In response, Spanish intellectuals and artists from a variety of genres sought to redefine Spain by reinvigorating pride in Spanish culture and identity. Writers, poets, playwrights, phi­los­o­phers, and other thinkers who ­were active between 1898 and 1918 turned away from Spain’s imperial past, cultivating pride in Castilian heritage and challenging po­liti­cal stagnation through active involvement in politics. They became known as the Generación del 98 (Generation of ’98) or the Generación Finisecular (­Century’s End Generation), a group of intellectuals and artists defined by their patriotic sentiment, historical pessimism, and critiques of the established order. Among the most prominent thinkers of the Generación del 98 ­were phi­los­op­ her Miguel de Unamuno, writers Azorín and Antonio Machado, and painter Darío de Regoyos.

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January 1, 1959, was widely regarded as the final vindication of Cuba’s stunted in­de­pen­dence in 1898.

Philippine-­American War U.S. forces remained in the Philippines too, refusing to recognize the First Philippine Republic declared by long-­time nationalist Emilio Aguinaldo on June 12, 1898. The United States, excluding Filipinos from the peace negotiations, purchased the archipelago from Spain for $20 million. An incident in which a U.S. sentry killed a Filipino ignited conflict between Philippine nationalists and U.S. forces on February 4, 1899. The United States violently suppressed vari­ous Philippine nationalist factions, capturing then-­president Aguinaldo in 1901. A separate faction ­under Macario Sacay proclaimed the Tagalog Republic in 1902, which had limited self-­governing abilities. This marked the formal end of the Philippine-­American War, which claimed the lives of 34,000 Filipino combatants and approximately 200,000 civilians, and inaugurated more than four de­cades of U.S. colonial rule in the Philippines. Periodic rebellions raged on for more than a de­cade, as rebel groups including the Moros and the Pulahanes in the Muslim south resisted U.S. forces ­until 1913. It was not ­until 1946 that the United States relinquished sovereignty over the Philippines—as it had promised in 1917 ­under the Jones–­ Shafroth Act.

The Suppression of Puerto Rican Nationalism Although Puerto Rico lacked the kind of active anti-­colonial insurrection that defined Cuba and the Philippines upon the arrival of U.S. troops in 1898, nationalist strug­ gle in that island stretched at least as far back as Cuba’s first anti-­colonial war. Puerto Rican nationalist leaders had mounted a brief and unsuccessful attempt to secure in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1868, with the Grito de Lares led by Ramón Emeterio Betances. Another series of anti-­colonial attacks, known as the Intentona de Yauco, broke out in 1897, but Spanish forces quickly suppressed them. By November 1897, changing po­liti­cal tides in Spain, not to mention the ongoing conflicts in Cuba and the Philippines, led to the declaration of autonomy in Cuba and Puerto Rico and the brokering of an amnesty deal in the Philippines. Unlike in Cuba, where rebels continued fighting, autonomy in Puerto Rico temporarily pacified advocates of in­de­pen­dence, as Puerto Ricans accepted the Carta de Autonomía (which granted Puerto Ricans self-­rule within the Spanish empire) and ushered in an elected island-­government within the Spanish empire in March 1898. With the defeat of Spain in the Spanish-­American War, control over Puerto Rico was transferred to the United States, and Puerto Ricans lost much of the autonomy

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they had briefly enjoyed ­under Spanish rule. The United States quickly established a military government in Puerto Rico. By 1900, the Foraker Law replaced the military government with a civil government in which the governor was not elected by the p­ eople, but rather appointed by the U.S. president. A series of inept U.S.-­appointed governors effectively transformed the island into a U.S.-­owned agricultural colony and military base, and subjected Puerto Ricans to medical and phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal experimentation. Charles Herbert Allen (1900–1901), for example, used his position as Puerto Rico’s first governor to build one of the world’s largest sugar syndicates, American Sugar Refining Com­pany (now Domino Sugar). Even ­after Puerto Ricans gained limited U.S. citizenship ­under the 1917 Jones–­Shafroth Act, they remained disenfranchised in presidential elections and the se­lection of the island’s governor—­resulting in catastrophic disparities between the needs and desires of the p­ eople and the policies of the government. For example, E. Montgomery Reily (1921–1923) made En­glish the official language in Puerto Rican public schools, embezzled public funds for private gain, and openly expressed his racial disdain for Puerto Ricans. ­Under Reily’s mounting campaign against Puerto Rican culture, opposition to U.S. colonial rule surged, resulting in the establishment of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party in 1922. Pedro Albizu Campos, a veteran of World War I, became its president in 1930. Between the 1930s and the 1950s, the United States government violently suppressed nationalists. One of the most severe periods of anti-­nationalist vio­lence occurred during the governorship of Blanton Winship (1934–1939), who crushed or­ga­nized l­abor and mercilessly persecuted nationalists. Police murdered four unarmed nationalists in the 1935 Rio Piedras Massacre. Two nationalists retaliated by assassinating the police chief, whose force executed the men and arrested dozens of nationalist leaders, including Albizu Campos, who served 10 years in prison. In 1937, Winship rescinded permission for a nationalist parade commemorating the anniversary of the abolition of slavery, and ordered police to fire on the unarmed protesters. Police killed 19, wounded more than 200, and arrested 250 in what became known as the Ponce Massacre. In the 1940s, debates over a new status for Puerto Rico as a “­free associated state” with the power to elect its own governor, though still subject to U.S. control, stoked nationalist fires. The Gag Law (Ley de la Mordaza), which made open nationalism illegal—­including displaying a Puerto Rican flag, speaking or writing in ­favor of in­de­pen­dence, or criticizing the U.S. government—­passed in 1948, despite objections that it v­ iolated the freedom of speech. It legalized government persecution of peaceful nationalist protest, prompting a series of nationalist revolts across the island in 1950. Police and National Guard forces slaughtered nationalists in all the revolting towns, and the U.S. government actively bombed the towns of Jayuya and Utuado—­the only time the federal government has bombed its own citizens.

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The ensuing wave of repression and arrests effectively quashed Puerto Rican nationalism and perpetuated U.S. colonial rule on the island thereafter.

Limited Citizenship in Guam Po­liti­cal agitation in Guam did not reach the heights it did in Cuba, the Philippines, or Puerto Rico. Still, re­sis­tance to po­liti­cal subjugation and unrest following the Japa­nese occupation of the island (1941–1944) culminated in 1950 with congressional passage of the Organic Act, which granted limited self-­government and restricted citizenship rights for Guamanians. It was not u­ ntil 1970, however, that Guamanians could elect their own governor. ­Today, as residents of an “unincorporated territory of the United States,” the ­people of Guam cannot vote for president, can only pass laws with U.S. approval, and since 1972 have only a nonvoting member of Congress to represent them. Guamanians may obtain full citizenship by moving to one of the 50 states.

Biographies of Notable Figures Máximo Gómez (1836–1905) A Dominican by birth, Máximo Gómez fought for Cuban in­de­pen­dence, emerging in the final war (1895–1898) as the General in Chief of the Cuban Liberating Army. Gómez was born in 1836 in Baní, a provincial town in what was then the Republic of Haiti, and is now the Dominican Republic. The series of conflicts between what eventually became the Dominican Republic and neighboring Haiti offered him his first opportunities at military experience. Shortly ­after the declaration of Dominican in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821, u­ nder the title of the Republic of Spanish Haiti, Haitian forces invaded the western portion of Hispaniola in 1822, initiating a period of unification u­ nder Haiti. Although the Dominican Republic was declared in 1844, Dominican nationalists fought to repel a series of Haitian invasions and defend national in­de­pen­dence from Haiti ­until 1856. Gómez first participated in the military expulsions of Haitian invasions in the 1850s. He trained as a military officer in Spain and, in his position as captain in the Dominican Reserve Army, he fought alongside Spanish forces during the Dominican Annexation War, in which Spain attempted to restore control over the Dominican Republic between 1861 and 1865. Following the defeat of Spanish annexationist forces in 1865, Gómez retired from the Spanish army and relocated to eastern Cuba. ­There, he joined the first anti-­ colonial insurrection against Spain, the Ten Years’ War (1868–1878). He became well known for his unique military strategies, which included the deployment of

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small units of soldiers using guerrilla tactics and machete charges, as well as a controversial military proposal to expand the incipient insurrection beyond its regional frontiers in the eastern portion of the island. This plan proposed that inflicting severe economic hardship on Spain, through the freeing of slaves and the destruction of sugar plantations, would help the insurgents secure victory. The per­sis­tence of slavery in the profitable sugar-­producing western provinces of Cuba made this plan unpop­u­lar with planters and caused dissension among nationalists. By 1875, Gómez’s attempt to implement his western invasion failed to extend the revolution far beyond the central province of Las Villas, and Gómez was forced to resign his position of command. Though he remained in Cuba u­ ntil 1878, he left the island for Jamaica just prior to the signing of the 1878 Pact of Zanjón, which ended the war in f­ avor of Spain. Between 1878 and 1895, Gómez supported Cuban in­de­pen­ dence from outside the island while earning his subsistence through diverse activities, including a brief tenure as a supervisor of laborers working on the Panama Canal. While in Honduras, Gómez aided rebels in the failed Guerra Chiquita, Cuba’s second attempt at in­de­pen­dence (1879–1880). By 1884, Gómez traveled to the United States, where he met and conspired with Cuban nationalists including José Martí and mulatto general Antonio Maceo. He also lent support to Puerto Rican nationalists following a wave of severe po­liti­cal repression in the late 1880s, though his close personal friend, Puerto Rican nationalist Emeterio Betances, avoided war. By 1895, Gómez heeded a call by the Cuban nationalist José Martí, who had or­ga­nized the Revolutionary Cuban Party in New York in 1891, to act as general-­ in-­chief of Cuba’s final War of In­de­pen­dence (1895–1898). Although the insurrection began in Cuba’s eastern provinces as the two previous wars had, Gómez quickly implemented his invasion plan, extending the revolution throughout the island in a series of successful military campaigns in 1895 and 1896. Despite key military successes, the Spanish offensive following the appointment of Spanish military leader Valeriano Weyler as Captain General led to several impor­tant setbacks including the loss of his second-­in-­command, Antonio Maceo, as well as the death of his own son, Francisco “Panchito” Gómez, in December 1896. This only added more impetus to his military strategy of targeted economic destruction, which contributed to the Spanish decision to grant autonomy to Puerto Rico and Cuba in late 1897. With the outbreak of the Spanish-­American War in April 1898, Gómez refused the proposal of Cuba’s final Captain General, Ramón Blanco, to join rebel and Spanish forces against the U.S. invasion. Gómez led Cuban forces to victory over Spain alongside U.S. forces, although the United States refused to recognize the contributions of Cuban soldiers. Gómez remained an impor­tant, albeit controversial, public figure during the first years of the American military occupation of Cuba (1899–1902). Indeed, he was instrumental in securing the payment of Cuban troops, although the United States did not heed his demands to pay Cuban veterans more

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than $75 each. Leading Cuban nationalists criticized Gómez for his role in the disarmament and disbandment of the Cuban Army in response to such low pay and he was dismissed from his position as commander-­in-­chief of the Cuban Army. He refused to participate in politics, and even rejected the presidential nomination in 1901. He passed away outside Havana in 1905.

Leonard Wood (1860–1927) A prominent officer of the United States military during the Spanish-­American War, Leonard L. Wood emerged as a key figure of U.S. rule in both Cuba and the Philippines. A native of New Hampshire, Wood earned an MD from Harvard Medical School in 1884. ­After being fired from his short-­lived employment at a Boston hospital, Wood entered the Army as a contract surgeon, stationed in Arizona Territory. In this capacity, he witnessed and participated in the final years of the Apache Wars, actively serving ­under Captain Henry W. Lawton in the pursuit of Chiricahua Apache leader Geronimo in 1886. He reached the rank of captain and assistant surgeon during his ser­vice in Arizona and other frontier posts. Wood’s connections to prominent U.S. po­liti­cal figures aided him greatly in gaining promotions and securing impor­tant positions. In 1890, he married Louisa A. Condit, the d­ aughter of a well-­connected f­ amily in the nation’s capital. Thereafter, he quickly obtained the prestigious post of assistant attending surgeon, a position that charged him with the medical care of high-­ranking government officials. He was the White House physician during the presidencies of Grover Cleveland and William McKinley. He was even retroactively awarded a Medal of Honor for his ser­vice in the Apache Wars, though some speculated that this was due to the maneuverings of his friends in Washington. His time in Washington’s inner po­liti­cal circle allowed him to cultivate close friendships with some of the most prominent po­liti­cal figures in the United States, including Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roo­se­velt. Upon the outbreak of the Spanish-­American War, Wood, then Col­o­nel of Volunteers, used his po­liti­cal connections to or­ga­nize a volunteer force, the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. He named Roo­se­velt as his second in command of the force, which became known as the “Rough Riders.” Following the U.S. victory at Las Guásimas in June 1898, Wood turned over command of the Rough Riders to his friend Roo­ se­velt, then a lieutenant col­o­nel, who led the volunteer forces in the B ­ attle of San Juan Hill. Wood assumed command of the 2nd Cavalry, being promoted to Brigadier General of Volunteers. With the cessation of hostilities in August 1898, Wood was appointed military commander of the city of Santiago. During the first year of the U.S. military occupation of Cuba, Wood assumed control over the w ­ hole province of Oriente in 1899, u­ nder the leadership of John

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Rutter Brooke, the island’s first military governor. ­There, he gained a reputation for a ruthless campaign against Cuban “bandits,” alleged criminals ranging from an impoverished chicken thief to critics of U.S. rule, but rarely the or­ga­nized lawbreakers the term implied. The following year, Brooke was removed, and to the surprise of many U.S. military officials in Cuba, Wood was chosen as his successor. His rise to the position of military governor of Cuba in 1900 proved controversial. Officers with far more experience and se­niority, such as Brigadier General James H. Wilson, a veteran of the Civil War, former military commander of Georgia during Reconstruction, and Major General of Volunteers in Cuba and Puerto Rico, ­were overlooked for the position, causing resentment against Wood. As military governor of Cuba, Wood built on his reputation as a ruthless imperial administrator. Whereas Brooke’s tenure as military governor had been plagued by a lack of clear purpose as McKinley and the War Department negotiated the limits of the Teller Amendment, Wood’s rule in Cuba could best be described as the blossoming of the U.S. imperial trajectory. Perhaps his most impor­tant legacy on the island was his staunch opposition to Cuban nationalism, which inspired his prominent role in electoral engineering and fraud during the 1900 and 1901 elections. Although Wood mobilized his po­liti­cal and personal connections in and outside of Cuba to ensure the election of pro-­U.S. candidates, Cuban voters successfully elected nationalist candidates in many cases. In 1900, Wood authorized funding for scientific research on yellow fever, one of the most significant impediments to prolonged U.S. presence in Cuba. ­These experiments led to U.S. Major Walter Reed being credited with the discovery of the infection vector, rather than the Cuban scientist Carlos Findlay, who had hypothesized the connection between the Aedes aegypti mosquito and yellow fever years earlier. Following a surprising promotion to Brigadier General in the Regular Army in February 1901, Wood successfully pressured the Cuban Constitutional Convention to accept the sovereignty-­limiting Platt Amendment. He served as military governor ­until the inauguration of the Cuban Republic on May 20, 1902. The next chapter in Wood’s ­career centered on the Philippines. Upon his promotion to major general in 1903, he was appointed military governor of the Moro Province, where Muslim-­Philippine nationalists resisted U.S. imperial rule. Wood waged ruthless warfare against Moro rebels, slaughtering 600 (including ­women and ­children) in a single b­ attle. His close personal friendship with Roo­se­velt, by then U.S. president, protected him from the severe criticism and demands for recall ­until 1908. He returned to the United States, where he dabbled in military ser­vice and politics. In 1921, he was appointed to the fact-­finding Wood-­Forbes Mission to report on the prospects for Philippine in­de­pen­dence, in accordance with the Jones-­ Shafroth Act of 1917. The report was issued in October, arguing that Filipinos ­were not ready for self-­government. It even posited that the most intelligent and

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educated Filipinos desired to remain u­ nder U.S. control—­a posture similar to the one Wood had maintained during his tenure in Cuba. The report prompted anger in the Philippines, where Wood served as governor general of the archipelago from 1921 ­until 1927. He returned to the United States in 1927, where he passed away.

Emilio Aguinaldo (1869–1964) Emilio Aguinaldo y Famy emerged as one of the most prominent figures of Filipino nationalism against both Spanish and U.S. rule, and served as the first president of the Philippines from 1899 ­until his capture by U.S. forces in 1901. He was born into an elite Chinese-­Tagalog f­amily on the island of Luzon. His comparatively privileged upbringing facilitated his access to formal education and his ­father’s po­liti­cal influence positioned the young Aguinaldo for a life of prominence. Beginning his po­liti­cal ­career at the early age of 17, Aguinaldo served in vari­ous local leadership positions in his native province of Cavite Viejo, including leading one of the principal towns of his province, and l­ater becoming municipal governor of Cavite Viejo, following in his f­ ather’s footsteps. Already developing a strong nationalist consciousness, in 1894 Aguinaldo joined the secret anti-­colonial organ­ization called the Katipunan, formed by Andrés Bonifacio, Teodoro Plata, and Ladislao Diwa in Manila in 1892 to or­ga­nize opposition to Spanish colonial rule. He created a local chapter of the organ­ization, calling it the Sanguniang Magdalo, and had it headed by his cousin, Baldomero Aguinaldo. The following year, the budding nationalist joined the F ­ ree Masons. ­These two organ­izations provided crucial support for the Philippine Revolution of 1896. Aguinaldo joined Philippine nationalists u­ nder Bonifacio and led a series of successful b­ attles against Spanish forces. Nationalists convened the Tejeros Convention in 1897, proclaiming the Philippine Republic, drawing up a constitution, and electing Aguinaldo as president. Following a series of internal conflicts among dif­fer­ent factions of Philippine nationalists, which led to the arrest and execution of Bonifacio, and sustained Spanish diplomatic efforts, Aguinaldo signed the Biak-­na-­Bato Pact in December 1897, exchanging amnesty and a small payment of indemnity for the dissolution of the incipient Philippine Republic and agreement to go into exile in Hong Kong. Aguinaldo exploited his exile in Hong Kong to reconstitute the revolutionary movement, which reinvaded the Philippines alongside U.S. forces u­ nder George Dewey. Following a successful siege of Manila, Aguinaldo proclaimed Philippine in­de­pen­dence from Spain on June 12, 1898, l­ ater re-­establishing his presidency. Aguinaldo inaugurated the First Philippine Republic in January 1899 u­ nder the Malalos Constitution, even while U.S. forces continued hostilities against the Spanish in an effort to conquer the island. Though Philippine nationalists u­ nder Aguinaldo and U.S. forces had initiated the conflict as allies, the terms of the Treaty of

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Paris by which the United States purchased the Philippines for $20 million quickly created tensions, as the United States established a military government and refused to recognize Aguinaldo’s republic. Hostilities erupted between Philippine nationalists and U.S. forces in February 1899, following the murder of a Philippine nationalist at the hands of an American sentry. Aguinaldo declared war on the United States, initiating the Philippine-­American War. He led guerrilla-­style warfare against U.S. forces in northern Luzon. Aguinaldo was captured by U.S. forces in March 1901 and the First Philippine Republic fell as a result. Macario Sakay established the Tagalog Republic on the heels of Aguinaldo’s capture, but Philippine re­sis­tance against U.S. rule persisted. As Aguinaldo swore his allegiance to the United States shortly ­after his capture, another Philippine nationalist, Miguel Malvar continued the fight ­until surrendering to U.S. forces in April 1902. Theodore Roo­se­velt, the same Rough Rider who had denigrated Cuban forces a few years earlier, declared an end to the Philippine-­American war and granted amnesty in July 1902. However, Muslim-­Filipino (Moro) nationalists in the southern islands of Mindanao, Sulu, and Palawan continued to wage war for more than a de­cade during the Moro Rebellion (1899–1913), due to U.S. violation of Sulu autonomy granted ­under the Bates Treaty of 1899. Aguinaldo may have sworn his allegiance to the United States and promised to absent himself from Philippine politics, but he remained a prominent figure in the movement for Philippine in­de­pen­dence. He advocated for veterans of the Philippine-­ American War, establishing the Association of Veterans of the Revolution, an organ­ization that fought to secure pensions and access to land for Philippine veterans. He also turned his home into a monument to Philippine nationalism following an amendment of the Sedition Act of 1907, which had prohibited open displays of nationalism. Following a prolonged hiatus from public life, Aguinaldo ran unsuccessfully for president in 1935. ­After defeating Aguinaldo, Manuel Quezón paid homage to the Philippine nationalist leader by officially moving Flag Day to June 12, the day Aguinaldo had proclaimed in­de­pen­dence in 1898. Inspired in part by his feelings of powerlessness a­ fter de­cades of fighting had failed to oust U.S. troops from the Philippines, Aguinaldo collaborated with Japa­nese forces during the short-­ lived Japa­nese occupation of the Philippines (1942–1945) during World War II. For this, he faced arrest a­ fter the surrender of the Japa­nese in 1945 and remained in jail ­until he was released u­ nder presidential amnesty. Despite his ripe age, upon the U.S. recognition of Philippine sovereignty in 1947, Aguinaldo enjoyed a brief po­liti­cal resurgence. He was appointed by President Elpidio Quirino to the Philippine Council of State in 1950. Following his retirement, the University of the Philippines bestowed on him the honorary title of juris doctor in 1953. In 1962, Philippine president Diosdado Macapagal eliminated one of the remaining symbolic vestiges of U.S. colonial rule by formally moving

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In­de­pen­dence Day from the U.S.-­centric date of July 4 to June 12, honoring Aguinaldo’s fateful declaration on that day in 1898. His revolutionary memoirs, titled Mga Gunita ng Himagsikan, ­were published in 1964, following his death from a heart attack in February that year. ­Today, his face graces the five peso coin.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Teller Amendment, 1898 Named ­after its author, Colorado Senator Henry M. Teller, the Teller Amendment was an addendum to the Joint Resolution providing U.S. President William McKinley permission to go to war with Spain. The Amendment, approved in the Senate and House of Representatives on April 20, 1898, and signed by McKinley the following day, set the conditions by which the United States could wage war against Spain. It forced the United States to relinquish any claim over the sovereignty of Cuba, rendering the sole aim of the war to be helping the Cubans secure in­de­pen­dence from Spain. The Teller Amendment marked a crucial renunciation of the historic desire of the United States to annex Cuba, expressed by nearly e­ very U.S. president since John Adams. Although it offered the Cuban rebels the assurance they needed to welcome U.S. assistance, the United States l­ater reneged on its promise, establishing the American military occupation of the island (1899–1902) u­ nder the pretense of pacifying the island. Whereas the abhorrent conditions which have existed for more than three years in the Island of Cuba, so near our own borders, have shocked the moral sense of the ­people of the United States, have been a disgrace to Christian civilization, culminating, as they have, in the destruction of a United States ­battle ship, with two hundred and sixty-­six of its officers and crew, while on a friendly visit in the harbor of Havana, and cannot longer be endured, as has been set forth by the President of the United States in his message to Congress of April eleventh, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­ eight, upon which the action of Congress was invited: Therefore, Resolved, First. That the p­ eople of the Island of Cuba are, of right o­ ught to be, ­free and in­de­pen­dent. Second. That it is the duty of the United States to demand, and the Government of the United States does hereby demand, that the Government of Spain at once relinquish its authority and government in the Island of Cuba and withdraw its land and naval forces from Cuba and Cuban w ­ aters. Third. That the President of the United States be, and he hereby is, directed and empowered to use the entire land and naval forces of the United States, and to

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call into the a­ ctual ser­vice of the United States the militia of the several States, to such extent as may be necessary to carry t­hese resolutions into effect. Fourth. That the United States hereby disclaims any disposition or intention to exercise sovereignty, jurisdiction, or control over said Island except for the pacification thereof, and asserts its determination, when that is accomplished, to leave the government and control of the Island to its ­people. Source: U.S. Congressional Rec­ord, 31, April 16, 1898, pp. 3988–3989.

Treaty of Paris, 1898 Following the cessation of hostilities in August 1898, the United States and Spain entered into peace talks beginning October 1 in Paris. No representatives from Cuba, the Philippines, Puerto Rico, or Guam w ­ ere allowed to attend. In fact, the request of a representative of the First Philippine Republic, l­ awyer Felipe Agoncillo, to participate in the negotiations was denied. The two most significant discussions of the peace talks revolved around the fate of Cuba and that of the Philippines. The United States demanded that Spain assume the national debt of Cuba, and penned in an impending military occupation of the island, which lasted from 1899 to 1902. Spain sought to keep the Philippines, arguing that U.S. forces had captured Manila ­after the signing of the Peace Protocol. However, the United States demanded the cession of the entire archipelago, offering a payment of $20 million in return. The result was a massive transfer of territories from Spain to the United States without considering the demands of Cuban and Philippine nationalists, who had fought and in their view won their in­de­pen­dence from Spain. Representatives of Spain and the United States signed the Treaty of Paris on December 10, 1898. The United States of Amer­i­ca and Her Majesty the Queen Regent of Spain, in the name of her august son Don Alfonso XIII, desiring to end the state of war now existing between the two countries . . . . ​­After discussion of the m ­ atters before them, [the representatives] agreed upon the following articles:

Article I Spain relinquishes all claim of sovereignty over and title to Cuba. And as the island is, upon its evacuation by Spain, to be occupied by the United States, the United States w ­ ill, so long as such occupation ­shall last, assume and discharge the obligations that may u­ nder international law result from the fact of its occupation, for the protection of life and property.

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Article II Spain cedes to the United States the island of Porto Rico and other islands now ­under Spanish sovereignty in the West Indies, and the island of Guam in the Marianas or Ladrones.

Article III Spain cedes to the United States the archipelago known as the Philippine Islands . . . . ​ The United States w ­ ill pay to Spain the sum of twenty million dollars ($20,000,000) within three months a­ fter the exchange of the ratifications of the pres­ent treaty.

Article IV The United States ­will, for the term of ten years from the date of the exchange of the ratifications of the pres­ent treaty, admit Spanish ships and merchandise to the ports of the Philippine Islands on the same terms as ships and merchandise of the United States. ***

Article XVI It is understood that any obligations assumed in this treaty by the United States with re­spect to Cuba are limited to the time of its occupancy thereof; but it ­will upon termination of such occupancy, advise any Government established in the island to assume the same obligations.

Article XVII The pres­ent treaty ­shall be ratified by the President of the United States, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate thereof, and by Her Majesty the Queen Regent of Spain; and the ratifications ­shall be exchanged at Washington within six months from the date hereof, or earlier if pos­si­ble. In faith whereof, we, the respective Plenipotentiaries, have signed this treaty and have hereunto affixed our seals. Done in duplicate at Paris, the tenth day of December, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and ninety-­eight. [Seal] William R. Day [Seal] Cushman K. Davis [Seal] William P. Frye

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[Seal] Geo. Gray[Seal] Whitelaw Reid [Seal] Eugenio Montero Rios [Seal] B. de Abarzuza [Seal] J. de Garnica [Seal] W. R. de Villa Urrutia [Seal] Rafael Cerero Source: “A Treaty of Peace Between the United States and Spain,” U.S. Congress, 55th Cong., 3d sess., Senate Doc. No. 62, Part 1 (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1899), 5–11.

Creating Tropical Yankees: “School Begins,” 1899 This po­liti­cal cartoon, published in the United States mere weeks ­after the inauguration of U.S. military occupations in Cuba, the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and Guam, illustrates some of the racial ideas undergirding the United States expansionism during the 19th ­century. Studious, well-­groomed white ­children, representing some of the territories acquired during the Mexican-­American War and a slightly darker, but still orderly child representing Alaska read quietly in the background. Four unkempt, squirming figures depicted as smaller black and brown c­ hildren represent the newest territorial acquisition that resulted from the Spanish-­American War. An imposingly authoritative figure of U ­ ncle Sam leans over the desk, threatening

“School Begins” cartoon.

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the c­ hildren into submission, in an effort to “civilize” them and transform them into “Tropical Yankees.” The musings on the “consent of the governed” on the chalkboard ­behind them remind them that the strict civilizing education ­Uncle Sam is giving them is for their own good. Allusions to the defeat of the Confederacy in the Civil War, the “benevolent” subordination of black workers in the North, Indian assimilation policies, and Chinese exclusion appear in the backdrop. Source: Library of Congress.

Platt Amendment, 1901 The U.S. military occupation of Cuba (1899–1902) clashed with the desires of Cuban nationalists to crown their in­de­pen­dence strug­gle by establishing an in­de­ pen­dent Cuban republic. During the elections of June and August 1900, Cubans voted strongly nationalist candidates into municipal positions of power and as delegates to the Cuban Constitutional Convention (1900–1901), despite the suffrage restrictions imposed by the U.S. military government. The defeat of pro-­U.S. candidates in both elections underscored Cuban demands for in­de­pen­dence, quashing the dreams of imperialists who sought to prolong U.S. rule in or even to annex Cuba. Advocates of extending U.S. rule in Cuba developed creative strategies to work around the requirements of the Teller Amendment. One of the principal preoccupations of pro-­imperialists was the fact that they had failed to ensure the electoral victories of pro-­U.S. candidates in municipal elections on the island. Connecticut Republican senator Orville Platt proposed a strategy whereby the United States would retain influence over Cuban affairs, even ­after the formation of a Cuban Republic, by imposing sovereignty-­limiting conditions on the Cuban Constitution of 1901. Although the majority of delegates at the Cuban Constitutional Convention initially rejected the Platt Amendment, they eventually caved in to pressure from the United States, understanding that rejecting the amendment would only prolong U.S. rule in Cuba. ­Until its abrogation in 1934, the Platt Amendment allowed the United States to intervene in Cuba, among other restrictions on its sovereignty, which produced four major U.S. military interventions in the first three de­cades of the Cuban republic. Whereas the Congress of the United States of Amer­ic­ a, by an Act approved March 2, 1901, provided as follows: Provided further, That in fulfillment of the declaration contained in the joint resolution approved April twentieth, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­eight, entitled “For the recognition of the in­de­pen­dence of the p­ eople of Cuba, demanding that the Government of Spain relinquish its authority and government in the island of

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Cuba, and withdraw its land and naval forces from Cuba and Cuban w ­ aters, and directing the President of the United States to use the land and naval forces of the United States to carry t­hese resolutions into effect,” the President is hereby authorized to “leave the government and control of the island of Cuba to its p­ eople” so soon as a government s­ hall have been established in said island u­ nder a constitution which, ­either as a part thereof or in an ordinance appended thereto, ­shall define the ­future relations of the United States with Cuba, substantially as follows: “I. That the government of Cuba ­shall never enter into any treaty or other compact with any foreign power or powers which ­will impair or tend to impair the in­de­pen­dence of Cuba, nor in any manner authorize or permit any foreign power or powers to obtain by colonization or for military or naval purposes or other­wise, lodgement in or control over any portion of said island.” “II. That said government ­shall not assume or contract any public debt, to pay the interest upon which, and to make reasonable sinking fund provision for the ultimate discharge of which, the ordinary revenues of the island, ­after defraying the current expenses of government ­shall be inadequate.” “III. That the government of Cuba consents that the United States may exercise the right to intervene for the preservation of Cuban in­de­pen­dence, the maintenance of a government adequate for the protection of life, property, and individual liberty, and for discharging the obligations with re­spect to Cuba imposed by the treaty of Paris on the United States, now to be assumed and undertaken by the government of Cuba.” “IV. That all Acts of the United States in Cuba during its military occupancy thereof are ratified and validated, and all lawful rights acquired thereunder ­shall be maintained and protected.” “V. That the government of Cuba w ­ ill execute, and as far as necessary extend, the plans already devised or other plans to be mutually agreed upon, for the sanitation of the cities of the island, to the end that a recurrence of epidemic and infectious diseases may be prevented, thereby assuring protection to the p­ eople and commerce of Cuba, as well as to the commerce of the southern ports of the United States and the p­ eople residing therein.” “VI. That the Isle of Pines s­ hall be omitted from the proposed constitutional bound­aries of Cuba, the title thereto being left to f­ uture adjustment by treaty.” “VII. That to enable the United States to maintain the in­de­pen­dence of Cuba, and to protect the ­people thereof, as well as for its own defense, the government of Cuba ­will sell or lease to the United States lands necessary for coaling or naval stations at certain specified points to be agreed upon with the President of the United States.” “VIII. That by way of further assurance the government of Cuba ­will embody the foregoing provisions in a permanent treaty with the United States.”

224 | Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 Source: Treaty Between the United States and the Republic of Cuba Embodying the Provisions Defining Their ­Future Relations as Contained in the Act of Congress, approved March 2, 1901, signed 05/22/1903; General Rec­ords of the United States Government, 1778 -­2006, RG 11, National Archives.

See also: Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence; Insular Cases; U.S.-­Mexican War

Further Reading Briggs, Laura. 2002. Reproducing Empire: Race, Sex, Science, and U.S. Imperialism in Puerto Rico. Berkeley: University of California Press. De la Fuente, Alejandro. 2001. A Nation for All: Race, In­equality, and Politics in Twentieth-­ Century Cuba. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Espinosa, Mariola. 2009. Epidemic Invasions: Yellow Fever and the Limits of Cuban In­de­ pen­dence, 1878–1930. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ferrer, Ada. 1999. Insurgent Cuba: Race, Nation and Revolution, 1868–1898. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Foner, Philip S. 1972. The Spanish-­Cuban-­American War and the Birth of American Imperialism, 1895–1902 (2 vols.). New York: Monthly Review Press. Gatewood, Jr., Willard. 1987. “Smoked Yankees” and the Strug­gle for Empire: Letters from Negro Soldiers, 1898–1902. Fayetteville: University of Arkansas. Go, Julian. 2008. American Empire and the Politics of Meaning: Elite Po­liti­cal Cultures in the Philippines and Puerto Rico during U.S. Colonialism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Guerra, Lillian. 2005. The Myth of José Martí: Conflicting Nationalisms in Early Twentieth-­ Century Cuba. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Guridy, Frank Andre. 2010. Forging Diaspora: Afro-­Cubans and African Americans in a World of Empire and Jim Crow. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Hitchman, James H. 1971. Leonard Wood and Cuban In­de­pen­dence, 1898–1902. The Hague, Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff. Hoganson, Kristin L. 2000. Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American Wars. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Horne, Gerald. 2014. Race to Revolution: The United States and Cuba ­under Slavery and Jim Crow. New York: Monthly Review Press. Iglesias Utset, Marial. 2011. A Cultural History of Cuba during the U.S. Occupation, 1898– 1902. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Kaplan, Amy, and Donald E. Pease. 1994. Cultures of United States Imperialism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Love, Eric Tyrone Lowery. 2004. Race over Empire: Racism and U.S. Imperialism, 1865– 1900. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. McCoy, Alfred W., and Francisco A. Scarano. 2009. Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State. Madison: University of Wisconsin.

Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City, 1870s–1920s | 225 Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 1983. Cuba Between Empires, 1878–1902. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 1998. The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2005. Cuba Between Reform and Revolution. New York: Oxford University Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2008. On Becoming Cuban: Identity, Nationality, and Culture. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2013. The Structure of Cuban History: Meanings and Purpose of the Past. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Suárez-­Findlay, Eileen. 2000. Imposing Decency: The Politics of Sexuality and Race in Puerto Rico, 1870–1920. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City, 1870s–1920s William Noseworthy

Chronology 1613

Juan Rodríguez is the first Latino person to become a long-­term resident of what is now the island of Manhattan, and the first of mixed Portuguese-­African ancestry to do so.

1830

Puerto Ricans found the Spanish Benevolent Society in New York to promote trade.

1838

The first Puerto Ricans migrate to New York City.

1869

Cuban po­liti­cal exile, Emilia Casanova Villaverde, establishes La Liga de Las Hijas de Cuba (The League of the D ­ aughters of Cuba), an all-­women’s po­liti­cal society in New York City.

1870

Approximately 4,500 Cubans are living in New York City. Many are supporters of in­de­pen­dence for Cuba from Spanish colonial rule.

1891

Arturo Alfonso Schomburg, the Puerto Rican revolutionary and a leading figure in the Harlem Re­nais­sance, arrives in New York City.

1892–­1924

More than 5,000 Dominicans move to New York City.

1892, January

José Martí forms the Cuban Revolutionary Party (PRC). The PRC’s central office is in New York City.

1892, October

Renowned Afro-­Puerto Rican composer and soldier Rafael Hernández Marín is born.

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1895

Hispanic American associations form in South Central Harlem, the Mid-­West Side, the Lower West Side, and the Lower East Side of Manhattan. ­Others form in the Brooklyn neighborhoods of Williamsburg, Fort Greene, Bushwick, and Park Slope.

1898

The Treaty of Paris assigns the Spanish Philippines, Guam, Puerto Rico, and Cuba to the United States, although the United States removes its occupying military force from Cuba three years ­later.

1899

Abel Linares begins the U.S. tour of his baseball team, the All Cubans, in New York City. The team plays against semi-­professional, minor-­league, and African American teams in the Northeast and Midwest. Other teams from the Ca­rib­bean regularly travel to New York where they have a following among Ca­rib­bean fans.

1904

Afro-­Puerto Rican intellectual leader Arturo Alfonso Schomburg publishes his critical essay “Is Hayti De­cadent?”

1910

Approximately 641 Puerto Ricans are living in New York City. The community is small compared to the larger Cuban and Dominican communities, although it expands more rapidly in the coming de­cade.

1910

Alejandro Pompez arrives in New York City from Ybor City, Florida, and begins working as a cigar maker.

1911

Arturo Alfonso Schomburg and John Edward Bruce co-­found the Negro Society for Historical Research, dedicated to documenting the historic, scholarly, and cultural contributions of black p­ eople throughout the world.

1916

Alejandro Pompez forms the Cuban Stars, an in­de­pen­dent professional baseball team, in New York City. The team tours throughout the Ca­rib­bean and plays to enthusiastic crowds of Latino fans in New York over the next two de­cades.

1916

Bernardo Vega, a skilled tobacco worker, arrives in New York from Puerto Rico.

1917, April

The Jones-­Shafroth Act grants citizenship rights to Puerto Ricans born a­ fter April 25, 1898. This makes more than 236,000 Puerto Rican men eligible for the draft.

1917, May

The Selective Ser­vice Act is signed, allowing approximately 18,000 Puerto Rican men from the island to be drafted into the United States Armed Forces during World War  I. They include b­ rothers Rafael and Jesús Hernández Marín who join the “Harlem Hell Fighters.”

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1920

Puerto Ricans in New York City make up 64.3 ­percent of the Puerto Rican population in the continental United States; 12,000 live in the continental United States at the time. Puerto Rican migration to the city accelerates through the 1940s.

1920

Rafael Hernández Marín forms the Trío Borinquen with Pedro Flores, a famous Puerto Rican composer.

1920s–­1930s Thousands of Cubans flee the Machado regime and declining economic conditions in Cuba. 1925

Arturo Alfonso Schomburg publishes “The Negro Digs Up His Past” in the Survey Graphic, a so­cio­log­i­cal and po­liti­cal research magazine that ran from 1921 to 1952. The essay appears in the Survey Graphic special issue on “Harlem: Mecca of the New Negro.”

1929

“Linda Borinquen” (“Beautiful Puerto Rico”) is composed, and ­later recorded as “Linda Quisqueya,” from the Taíno word “Kisekeya,” which is thought to mean “­mother of all lands.”

1930

Pedro Flores splits with Rafael Hernández Marín and forms a new trio. Rafael forms a quartet, Cuarteto Victoria, named in honor of his booking agent and s­ ister, with Myrta Silva, also known as La Gorda de Oro, as the lead vocalist.

1932

Arturo Alfonso Schomburg visits Cuba, with the explicit intention of collecting works of art, knowledge about culture and history, and ­music to bring back to the Harlem community in New York.

1937

Rafael Hernández Marín composes two of his best known songs, out of some 3,000 total works: “Lamento Borincano” and “Preciosa.”

1941–­1945

The United States drafts thousands of Puerto Ricans from the mainland and the island during World War II. The booming war­time economy spurs a ­Great Migration to New York City that continues for more than a de­cade.

1947

Composer Rafael Hernández Marín returns to live in Puerto Rico.

1948

A division of the Department of ­Labor of Puerto Rico opens an office in New York to assist Puerto Rican immigrants who are coming to the city by the thousands.

1965

Rafael Hernández Marín gives his last radio address to the ­people of Puerto Rico. He dies l­ater the same year.

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Narrative The Latino population of New York City can be traced to the earliest migrations of Ca­rib­bean ­peoples in the late 1800s and early 1900s. ­These early mi­grants included business o­ wners, po­liti­cal exiles, advocates of in­de­pen­dence, musicians, students, and ­others. This diverse migration from the Dominican Republic, Cuba, and Puerto Rico marked the beginning of a flourishing Antillean (Ca­rib­bean) community in the city. From the 1870s to the 1920s, New York’s Antillean populations engaged in rich and vibrant cultural production of m ­ usic, art, and lit­er­a­ture. ­These early mi­grants provided the po­liti­cal, economic, and social foundation for much larger subsequent migrations of all three groups in l­ater de­cades. New York and the Ca­rib­bean had close relations in the U.S. colonial period ­because of ongoing trade and commerce—the shipping and exchange of ­people (slave ­labor and other mi­grants) as well as goods like rum, sugar, and tobacco. The first non-­Native American person to inhabit the area that became New York City was in fact, not Dutch, as many history texts would suggest, but rather Latino. Juan

Residents of a Puerto Rican neighborhood in New York City sit at their win­dows, 1955. (Library of Congress)

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Rodríguez was born to a Portuguese ­father and African ­mother on Santo Domingo (­later the Dominican Republic) when Spain and Portugal ­were a unified kingdom. He was raised in a Spanish settlement on the island. He was a merchant and translator who worked with the Dutch fur trading mission. However, he spoke Algonquin much better than his shipmates, and became a resident of the area as early as 1613, several years before the Dutch claimed “New Netherland.” He was both the first Latino and the first person of mixed Iberian and African ancestry to s­ ettle in what is now New York City (Grasmuck and Pessar, 1991; Remeseira, 2010). In the late 1800s, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, and Dominicans traveled to New York City on the trade routes that brought goods from the G ­ reat Antilles in exchange for American goods shipped back to the Ca­rib­bean. Some mi­grants also came to New York fleeing po­liti­cal and economic turmoil as a result of Cuba’s in­de­pen­dence wars, ­labor unrest, or changes in Ca­rib­bean economies. The emergence of Puerto Rican and Cuban communities in New York was therefore directly related to American imperialism, just as much as it was related to the history of Spanish colonialism. The Ca­rib­bean transplants reflected g­ reat diversity in their ancestry and skin color. Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic had racially “mixed” populations with p­ eople of varying degrees of Eu­ro­pean and African descent. Still, in the 19th and 20th centuries U.S. definitions of “whiteness” w ­ ere more absolute, and individuals who might have been classified as “pardo,” or “mulatto” in Spanish socie­ties, ­were frequently reclassified as simply “negro” or “black” in the United States. B ­ ecause of their diversity of skin color and the much more rigid binary racial classification system in the United States, Ca­rib­bean ­people encountered a perplexing American racial order. ­Those who ­were darker-­skinned tended to socialize and integrate themselves among African Americans. Nineteenth-­century Cuban migrations to New York City w ­ ere fueled by the collapse of the colonial tobacco industry in Cuba and during that time w ­ ere increasingly centered around the importance of finding a new home for skilled expatriate l­abor. During the 19th ­century, Cubans migrated to Texas, New Orleans, and Key West, but by 1870 the largest number—­some 4,500—­lived in New York City. From the 1840s through the 1860s, Cubans in New York moved to new neighborhoods, including Rose Hill, which gave a few select families easier access to St. John’s College, the pre­de­ces­sor to Fordham University (Mirabal, 2017; Abreu, 2015). The first Cuban to play professional baseball in the United States, Esteban Bellán, was a gradu­ate of St. John’s (Burgos, 2007). ­These expatriate concentrations of skilled ­labor, however, w ­ ere also ideal breeding grounds for anti-­colonial organ­izing. Not all had supported in­de­pen­dence before their arrival, but some had, and they used their networks in the new community to expand their revolutionary platform. Initially, in the 1860s, some Cubans supported American annexation of the island as a means to

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end slavery. However, their position was harshly and effectively critiqued by organizers such as Emilia Casanova de Villaverde, who or­ga­nized for Cuban in­de­ pen­dence between the 1860s and 1880s (Mirabal, 2017). The central topic that captivated Cubans’ and Puerto Ricans’ po­liti­cal imagination before the turn of the ­century was the question of in­de­pen­dence. Cuban po­liti­ cal exiles and in­de­pen­dence advocates of all races wrote extensively on the topic and discussed their vision of what a liberated Cuban nation might look like. The question of race figured centrally in ­these conversations, as Cuba had a large enslaved African population in the 19th ­century (Mirabal, 2017). From the 1860s to the 1880s in New York City, affiliated Cuban American organ­izations, business networks, funding, and printing presses ­were key tools for the revolutionary cause. Furthermore, José Martí had a long track rec­ord of independence-­oriented activities before he founded the Cuban Revolutionary Party (Partido Revolucionario Cubano; PRC) in 1892. Living in exile from Cuba, he based the PRC’s operation in his a­ dopted New York City (Whalen, 2005, p. 5; Sanchez-­Korrol and Hernández, 2010, p. 10). Like Cubans, many Dominicans moved to New York at the end of the 19th century, predominantly as a result of shifts in the sugar, cacao, and coffee industries, along with the U.S. occupation of the island from 1916 to 1924. Between 1892 and 1924, an estimated 5,000 Dominicans moved through Ellis Island to New York City, often settling in Spanish Harlem, Brooklyn, and, ­later, the South Bronx. Spanish Harlem, also known as East Harlem or “El Barrio,” became a site for Latin American immigration in the city, especially the blocks between 110th Street and Lexington Ave­nue. The community was increasingly “Pan-­Latino,” attracting Cubans, Dominicans, and Puerto Ricans, particularly by the 1920s (Grasmuck and Pessar, 1991; Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994). Hispanic American associations ­were active in South Central Harlem, the mid-­ West Side, the Lower West Side, and the Lower East Side of Manhattan, along with Williamsburg, Fort Greene, Park Slope, and Bushwick, in 1895 (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994, p. 171). By the turn of the c­ entury, New York Latinos found themselves living amongst very diverse populations. ­Those who ­were fair-­skinned found housing among Italians, Rus­sian Jews, and other Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean immigrants (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994, pp.  54–56). They settled in East Harlem, the Lower East Side, and parts of Brooklyn. Dark-­skinned Latinos who would have been recognized as “black” in the United States often settled in Harlem among African Americans and a wide range of other black mi­grants—­Antiguans, Trinidadians, Barbadians, and Jamaicans (Burgos, 2007, p. 126). One of the most famous and financially successful early Cuban residents of Harlem was Alejandro Pompez. Born in Key West, Florida, to Cuban parents, Pompez became a very successful businessman through his involvement in illegal gambling

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El Partido Revolucionario Cubano The Revolutionary Party of Cuba (PRC) was a po­liti­cal organ­ization founded by José Martí while he was in exile in Florida, on April 10, 1892. The party headquarters ­were quickly relocated to New York City, where t­here w ­ ere already strong printing and funding networks, along with a deep base of support for revolutionary activity. For example, the organ­ization founded by Emilia Casanova de Villaverde, La Liga de Las Hijas de Cuba (The League of the ­Daughters of Cuba), a revolutionary ­women’s group, had been active in the city since 1869. The organ­ization critically stamped out “annexationist” sentiments, which favored the annexation of Cuba by the United States to abolish slavery on the island. With the annexationist position all but dissolved, the New York City community was primed for broader support of a violent revolution in support of in­de­pen­dence. The PRC’s stated purpose was to work for the in­de­pen­dence of Spanish colonies broadly, and Cuba specifically. Given the proximity to Puerto Rico, the Cuban-­Puerto Rican alliance was natu­ral, and the PRC sought to prevent the expansion of American imperialism in the Ca­rib­bean as well. Martí had likely developed many of the under­lying po­liti­cal philosophies of in­de­pen­ dence (in­de­pen­dentista), Latin Americanism (Latino-­americanista), anti-­ imperialism (anti-­imperialista), anti-­racism (anti-­racista), and democracy (democrático) earlier, but the idea of forming a party to accomplish ­these aims was shared with compatriots on January 3, 1892. By the end of January, ­there ­were already approvals for branches in Key West and Tampa, Florida, as well as New York City. The Puerto Rican section of the PRC became a subor­ga­ni­za­tion in 1895, marked by the ac­cep­tance of its flag as a symbol for the Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence movement.

operations and as the owner of professional baseball teams. He arrived in New York in 1910 and began booking baseball games. By 1916, he owned his own team, the Cuban Stars, whose Cuban players ranged from the fairest-­skinned men, who went on to play in the segregated white professional leagues; to Afro-­Cubans, who went on to the “Negro” leagues. Pompez was one of many Afro-­Caribbean leaders in New York and Harlem, specifically. He became a popu­lar figure among black and white Ca­rib­bean mi­grants as well as African Americans (Burgos, 2007, pp. 111–134; Burgos, 2012). Between 1900 and the 1930s, Cuban immigration to New York shifted, as new mi­grants ­were predominantly laborers, fleeing the remnants of the plantation

Latino Baseball Players in the Early 1900s The all-­American sport of baseball was popu­lar among early Ca­rib­bean communities in New York City. Latinos played in professional leagues as early as 1869. Cuban player Esteban Bellán, a gradu­ate of St. John’s College (class of 1868; now Fordham University), played for the Troy Haymakers in 1869, before he returned to Cuba and founded the island’s first baseball team in 1872. Ca­rib­bean teams frequently played games in New York City as well, assured that they would draw large crowds from the city’s Spanish-­speaking residents. Perhaps the most famous early team owner and promoter of Latino baseball players was Alejandro Pompez, an Afro-­Cuban native of Key West who migrated to New York in 1910. Pompez successfully navigated the racial segregation of American sports. His team, the Cuban Stars, played in the Eastern Colored League from 1923 to 1928 b­ ecause some of its players would have been barred from playing against white professional teams. Latino players confounded the rigid color line in the United States. Many Latino players who would have been described as “pardo” (part Amerindian, African, and Eu­ro­pean) or “mulatto” (mixed black and white) in the Ca­rib­ bean ­were restricted to the Negro Leagues in the United States. The ambiguity of Latino identity allowed a very small number of light-­skinned players from the New York City area, such as Adolfo Luque and Armando Marsans, to play on both black and white teams at vari­ous points during their c­ areers. Furthermore, the allure of an exotic and “foreign” identity could make some Latino players appealing as a way to attract fans to the games. Pompez brought a number of very talented players to New York, including Afro-­Cuban Martin Dihigo, Alejandro Oms, and Pelayo Chacon. The New York Cubans team experienced its heyday from 1935 to 1950, when the racial integration of professional baseball spelled the demise of Negro League teams. Other Latinos played for other New York City teams: Angel Aragon, who started with the Yankees in 1914; Emilio Palmero and Jose Rodriguez, both Cubans, who debuted with the New York G ­ iants in 1915 and 1916, respectively; and Al Lopez and Adolfo Luque, who played for the Brooklyn Dodgers beginning in 1929 and 1930, respectively (Burgos, 2007, pp. 269–272). A poster dated Sunday, July 20th, 1924, recounts a game series at Howard Field, on Atlantic and Ralph Ave­nues in Brooklyn, New York. The game included the San Juan BBC, from the East Side of New York, which advertised Rebollo and Accordo “the southpaw twirler” as all-­stars. At 1:30 p.m., they faced off against the Porto Rican Stars, who ­were to play the second game that day (against the “Sheridan Caseys” from Knights of Columbus) at 3:30 p.m. Although the Porto Rican Stars played primarily in Puerto Rico, the San Juan BBC w ­ ere a local team, but they ­were not the only ones.

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economy. A significant number of Cuban mi­grants ­were Afro-­Cubans. ­There w ­ ere individuals of all races who w ­ ere fleeing the collapse of the plantation industry, but ­there w ­ ere also young students and musicians. For the musicians, the favored destination was the Harlem jazz clubs where they went to play for black and white audiences. ­There w ­ ere also activists who fled the 1920s Machado government in Cuba, journalists, and young intellectuals (Mirabal, 2017, pp. 139–192; Davila and Lao-­Montes, 2001; Abreu, 2015). ­After 1902, the cause of Cuban in­de­pen­dence no longer occupied the central place in Cuban mi­grants’ politics. Instead of organ­izing to help liberate the island from the grip of Spanish colonialism, Cubans turned to leftist politics and other ­causes. In the 1930s, General Batista took the reins of the government and—­with U.S. approval—­controlled Cuban politics u­ ntil he was forced into exile by the Cuban revolution in 1958. Many Cuban activists in New York became affiliated with the International Worker’s Order (IWO), a Communist-­affiliated organ­ization, whose meetings served as a point of interaction between like-­minded young literary figures, activists, musicians, and u­ nion organizers. By the end of the 1930s, t­here w ­ ere already 43,000 Cubans in the United States, although the ever-­changing po­liti­cal situation, led by Batista, resulted in fluctuations in Cuban migration to the United States, as a ­whole, from the 1940s through the 1950s (Mirabal, 2017, pp. 139–192). Much like the history of the Cuban New York City population, the history of the migration of Puerto Ricans to the United States is marked by American imperialism. Merchants from Puerto Rico founded the Spanish Benevolent Society in New York, as a way of promoting trade and business, in 1830 (Whalen, 2005, p. 4). Still, it would be years before Puerto Ricans migrated to the city as full-­time residents. Furthermore, although Puerto Ricans first immigrated to New York City in 1838, ­there w ­ ere only an estimated 641 Puerto Ricans living in the city by 1910 (Whalen, 2005, p. 11). ­After Puerto Rico became a U.S. possession, however, the question of Puerto Ricans’ citizenship status in the United States drew the attention of the ­legal system. In 1902, a Puerto Rican w ­ oman by the name of Isabel Gonzalez was denied entry at Ellis Island. Gonzalez brought her case to the Supreme Court, and in 1904 the Supreme Court ruled that Puerto Ricans could not be denied entry to the United States. Like early Cuban mi­grants, early Puerto Rican migration to the city was closely related to the shifting tobacco economy, which by the beginning of the 20th ­century was increasingly focusing on the production of cigars (Whalen, 2005, p. 4). The most famous Puerto Rican cigar maker, Bernardo Vega, arrived in the city in 1916. He recalled that the “theme of . . . ​conversations, however, was what we expected to find in New York City. With our first earnings, we would send for our nearest relative” (Whalen, 2005, p. 12). The indication was that Puerto Ricans ­were building ethnic enclaves in New York City around ­family relations, even though they

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­ ere not yet guaranteed the rights of full citizenship. With the Jones-­Shafroth w Act (1917), the U.S. Congress approved the citizenship rights of Puerto Ricans living in Puerto Rico, so long as they ­were born ­after April 25, 1898. That act also allowed Puerto Ricans to travel between the island and the U.S. mainland without a passport. Thousands of Puerto Ricans came to New York City as a result of World War I. The Selective Ser­vice Act (1917), made effective in May, ensured that Puerto Ricans could be drafted into the U.S. military, resulting in the substantial draft of 20,000 Puerto Ricans from the mainland and the island, or roughly 10% of the registered draft-­eligible population, into the U.S. armed forces during World War I. Sixteen Puerto Ricans, who ­were classified as “Negro” by American racial standards, joined the “Harlem Hellfighters” (the 369th  Infantry Division of the U.S. Army) which served in Germany, and w ­ ere alternatively known as “The Black Rattlers” or “The Men of Bronze.” Among them was Rafael Hernández Marín (1892–1965), who was born in Puerto Rico before the Spanish-­American War, but lived in North Carolina in 1917. Like many of his compatriots, Hernández Marín moved to New York City ­after World War I in search of employment and economic opportunities (Harris, 2003). Several Puerto Rican musicians who had served in all-­black segregated bands during the war settled in New York by the 1920s. They played in many black jazz bands and orchestras throughout the city, although they often faced lower pay and discrimination at certain h­ otels and nightclubs (Glasser, 1995). Still, the interracial and intercultural mingling of African American, Puerto Rican, and Cuban musicians in the city eventually led to a creative fusion of vari­ous musical influences that produced some of the most popu­lar and innovative m ­ usic of the ­century. By 1926, Puerto Ricans in New York reached an estimated almost 100,000, according to some sources (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994, p. 59), although other estimates for the early 1930s are as low as 45,000 (Mirabal, 2017, p. 167). Mi­grants established new businesses, po­liti­cal organ­izations, and social clubs. They built boarding ­houses, barbershops, and restaurants. They also founded Spanish-­language newspapers like La Prensa. Crucially, by the 1910s and 1920s, many of ­these Puerto Ricans, along with their Cuban and Dominican counter­parts, had broken “color lines” in the professional world, becoming licensed doctors, dentists, and ­lawyers, in addition to t­ hose who worked in the world of professional sports (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994; Burgos, 2012). The 1940s through the 1950s saw the largest migration of Puerto Ricans to the mainland United States, an influx known as the Puerto Rican “­Great Migration” and closely resembling the migration of African Americans from southern states to the north during this same period. In 1940, 40,000 Puerto Ricans left the island for New York City alone. By 1950, 254,880 (84.5 ­percent) of the 301,375 Puerto Ricans in the United States lived in New York City (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994, p. 213);

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63,000 Puerto Ricans arrived in 1950 alone. Another 58,500 mi­grants came in 1952. Fi­nally, in 1953, Puerto Rican migration to the United States hit an all-­time high, with 75,000 mi­grants in a single year. The development of air travel in the 1940s and the 1950s made migration easier and less expensive. In addition, the G ­ reat Depression and the war economy during World War II, which deepened as the United States committed more and more troops abroad, both pushed and pulled Puerto Ricans off the island to the mainland. As jobs opened up for w ­ omen and other Americans in defense industries, l­ abor shortages in agriculture, on the railroads, and in domestic work prompted large-­ scale recruitment of Puerto Ricans. Additionally, as in World War I, ser­vice in the military was a reliable way to earn a living. Thus, some mi­grants resettled in New York ­after serving in the armed forces. Migration to New York grew so rapidly that by 1948, the Puerto Rican Department of ­Labor opened a Migration Division office in New York to help mi­grants transition to life in the big city and find employment (Sanchez-­Korrol, 1994). Puerto Ricans remained the largest Latino ethnic group in New York City, comprising almost 80 ­percent of all Hispanics, ­until the 1990s when the Latino community began to diversify with new mi­grant populations. According to the Department of City Planning, in 2005, Mexico, Ec­ua­dor, Colombia, El Salvador, and the Dominican Republic w ­ ere the most common “countries of origin” for the Latino community. Puerto Ricans currently represent some 32 ­percent of New York’s Hispanic community, which altogether currently makes up more than an estimated 27.5 ­percent of the city’s population.

Biographies of Notable Figures Rafael Hernández Marín (1892-­1965) Rafael Hernández Marín was an Afro-­Puerto Rican soldier in the American military during World War I. He was best known, however, for his work as a composer. Born on October 24, 1892, in Aguadilla, Puerto Rico, like many Puerto Ricans at the turn of the ­century, he learned the craft of cigar making at an early age. His true love, however, was ­music. With the permission of his parents, at the age of 12, he enrolled in his first studies in San Juan ­under Jesús Figueroa and José Ruellan Lequenica, renowned professors of m ­ usic on the island. He studied piano, violin, clarinet, tuba, and guitar, among other instruments, and played in his first orchestra at the age of 13. He worked as a professional musician for eight years before he had his first child, with Ana Bone: a son, Antonio Hernández. As a young unmarried father and a musician, he was left with no other options but to continue to play ­music, make as much money as he could, and support his child as much as

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pos­si­ble. When he had the opportunity to tour in the United States, he took it. While he was on tour in 1917 in North Carolina, the jazz musician James R ­ eese Eu­rope recruited him, his b­ rother (Jesús), and at least 16 other Puerto Ricans to join the United States Army. ­Because the b­ rothers w ­ ere visibly of African descent, they ­were assigned to the infamous segregated “Harlem Hellfighters,” the U.S. 369th Infantry Regiment. They served in France and their regiment was awarded the Croix de Guerre by the President of France. Hernandez also earned a World War I Victory Medal for his ser­vice in the American forces (Glasser, 1995). Even during World War I, Hernandez never stopped playing, touring through Eu­rope with the Orchestra Eu­rope. As soon as the war ended, he moved to New York City to pursue a ­music ­career. In the 1920s he formed the Trío Borinquen (the Puerto Rican Trio), which included another famous musician, Pedro Flores. The two competed as they composed, even as they became close friends. For example, when Flores wrote the song “Sin Bandera,” Hernandez followed upon his heels, rapidly finishing the composition “Preciosa.” However, Flores preferred faster tempos and left the group to form his own trio in 1930. In response, Hernandez formed a quartet known as the Cuarteto Victoria, named in honor of Hernandez’s ­sister and booking agent. His new quartet included the famous singer Myrta Silva, another Puerto Rican, who was particularly well known for her rendition of boleros, a genre of romantic m ­ usic. Silva was also known as La Gorda de Oro and La Guarachera. With both Trío Borinquen and Cuarteto Victoria, Hernandez toured all over Latin Amer­i­ca and North Amer­i­ca. He also remained relatively close with Flores and Silva would go on to perform with Pedro Flores’s new sextet in the 1940s. In t­ hese musical ventures, “the ­family” (la familia) was an especially impor­tant inspiration for Hernandez. His younger s­ ister, Victoria, had opened a m ­ usic store in 1927 and ran the booking agency for Hernandez from its office. In 1929, the song “Linda Borinquen” was written in her honor, and was ­later recorded as “Linda Quisqueya” by the Trío Borinquen. Hernandez’s musical ­career made him a truly international figure in the Latin American world, even though he remained based in New York City. He moved his artistic residence to Mexico in 1932, where he married and became involved in the burgeoning film industry. During this “golden age” of Mexican cinema, he composed musical scores and acted in movies. L ­ ater in his c­ areer, he developed a passion for a return to study, and enrolled in Mexico’s National ­Music Conservatory, even while he worked as a professional composer and directed his orchestra. In 1947, Hernandez returned to Puerto Rico to become the director of WIPR Radio’s government-­funded orchestra. In total, Hernandez composed nearly 3,000 works, but he never stopped being involved in all aspects of community life. He ­later became Honorary President of the Authors and Composers Association. Upon his return to Puerto Rico, he founded

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­ ittle League baseball on the island. He remained an influential part of the transL national San Juan-­New York community and was even invited to give a national address broadcast on all stations in Puerto Rico in 1965. Although he died that year, his memory lived on, particularly among musically inclined Puerto Ricans in New York, who recalled his 1937 compositions “Lamento Borincano” and “Preciosa” for many years ­after his death.

Arturo Alfonso Schomburg (1874–1938) Arturo Alfonso Schomburg was a half-­German, half-­Afro Puerto Rican who first arrived in New York City in 1891. In Puerto Rico he would have been considered “mulatto” or of mixed white and black ancestry. However, in the United States, the fact that his ­mother was a Puerto Rican of African ancestry made him simply “black.” He was born on January 24, 1874, in Santurce, Puerto Rico. Schomburg was active in the revolutionary circles in New York City before he became an early intellectual leader in the Harlem Re­nais­sance. His ­mother, María Josefa, was a midwife who had been born ­free, in St. Croix. His ­father was Carlos Federico Schomburg, a German merchant. As was common in the 19th ­century for c­ hildren of mixed parentage, Schomburg was allowed to attend primary school. However, as was also common, he was confronted with teachers who claimed that Africans had no history, no notable figures, and no par­tic­u­lar culture that was worth studying. This motivated Schomburg to research African history, and he became particularly interested in the development of the Afro-­Atlantic world. He went on to be educated at the Instituto Popu­lar in San Juan, as well as St. Thomas College (Danish Virgin Islands), having achieved a meaningful education by the time that he arrived in New York when he was just 17 years of age. He referred to himself as an “Afro-­Puerto Rican” (Afroborinqueno) member of the Puerto Rican division of the PRC in­de­pen­dence organ­ization, expressing a ­great deal of pride in his African heritage (Sanchez-­Korrol and Hernández, 2010, p.10; Sinnette, 1989). In New York, Arturo married at the age of 21. His wife, Elizabeth Hatcher, of Staunton, ­Virginia, was part of the early “­Great Migration” of African Americans from the U.S. South to cities in the north. Schomburg began teaching Spanish the year ­after marrying. The c­ ouple had three sons in rapid succession: Maximo Gomez, Arthur Alfonso Jr., and Kingsley Guarionex Schomburg. Elizabeth died young, in 1900. A year ­later Schomburg changed jobs. He got a position at Pryor Mellis & Harris Law Firm, where he worked as a messenger and a clerk. In 1902, he married his second wife, Elizabeth Morrow Taylor, of Williamsburg (Rockingham County), North Carolina, and they had two sons: Reginald Stanton and Nathaniel José Schomburg. It was at this time that Schomburg began to have an impact as an author (Sinnette, 1989).

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In 1904, his first essay, “Is Hayti De­cadent?,” was published in The Unique Advertiser, as a short rebuttal to the widespread portrayal of Haitian society as de­cadent and descending rapidly away from civilization. Schomburg aimed, instead, to promote the understanding of Haiti as a society that had fought for in­de­pen­dence, like the United States. By 1906, he changed positions again and began work for the Bankers Trust Com­pany. He then became supervisor of the Ca­rib­bean and Latin American mail section, a position that he held u­ ntil 1929, as a day job. In 1909, he put out a short pamphlet publication, Placido, A Cuban Martyr. The po­liti­cal pamphlet was a common form among the early authors of the Harlem Re­nais­sance, and the release gained a substantial audience. It was a sort of biographical vignette of the rather romantic figure of Gabriel de la Concepción Valdés, a poet and revolutionary. In 1911, John Edward Bruce and Schomburg co-­founded the Negro Society for Historical Research. Their aim was to create a scholarly society to support the efforts of African, West Indian, and Afro-­American scholars, and effectively included the efforts of many African-­descended Latino academics, such as Schomburg. He subsequently was appointed president of the American Negro Acad­emy, a scholarly association that W.E.B. DuBois had co-­founded in 1897 with many contemporaries (Sinnette, 1989). By 1912, Schomburg was co-­editor of that year’s edition of the Encyclopedia of the Colored Race. In 1916, he published A Bibliographical Checklist of American Negro Poetry, the first such bibliographic survey work of its kind. His impact was so substantial that years ­later he was featured in the 1925 special issue of Survey Graphic: “Harlem: Mecca of the New Negro.” His essay “The Negro Digs Up His Past” was devoted to a type of intellectual proj­ect that aimed to excavate the history of Africa and the Afro-­Atlantic world. Schomburg aimed to demonstrate his own place in history, therefore, by digging into the past and revealing pieces of the narrative that w ­ ere previously unknown. The essay was so influential that John Henrik Clarke cited it as his sole reason for leaving his home in Columbus, Georgia, at the age of 17, making his way across the country, and studying African and Afro-­Atlantic history in New York with Schomburg. The essay was ­later included in the edited edition of The New Negro by Alain Locke. By 1926, the 135th Street Branch of the New York Public Library appointed Schomburg the curator of a collection that is now named in his honor. ­After a term as curator of the Negro Collection at the Fisk University Library in Nashville, Tennessee, between 1931 and 1932, Schomburg visited Cuba. ­There he met artists, authors, and musicians, all the while adding to his library collection. Upon his return to New York City, the Men’s Business Club of Yonkers, New York, granted him an honorary membership, and he also held a position as the Trea­surer of the Loyal Sons of Africa. In 1938, he fell ill a­ fter dental surgery and died shortly thereafter. By that time, he had amassed a substantial collection of Puerto Rican,

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Cuban, and Afro-­Atlantic materials that included art, books, manuscripts, slave narratives, and historical rec­ords. This exclusive collection is now held at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, located at 103 West 135th Street, Manhattan, New York City (Sinnette, 1989).

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Fermín Souto, WPA Oral History, 1939 During the 1930s, the Works Pro­gress Administration (WPA) collected oral interviews in its American Life Histories: Manuscripts from the Federal Writers’ Proj­ect. The following is an excerpt from an oral history with Fermín Souto, a secretary of the Centro Español de Tampa (Spanish Club of Tampa). Souto was originally from Galicia in Spain, but migrated to Florida ­after living in Cuba for some time. He ­later migrated to New York City. He is representative of Ca­rib­bean cigar makers who created the city’s early Latino community. I was born in the l­ ittle village of “Perrol de Galicia,” Spain in June of [1858?]. I have reached the advanced age of 77 years. My f­ ather was a stone-­cutter, toiling from sun up ­until night. My ­mother was born and raised in the country. I am, therefore a plebeian. My parents ­were poor ­people, and in ­those days a poor man could only look forward to very meager education. This was the education that I acquired. I never obtained a degree or title of any kind. I was especially interested in Universal History and Geography. ­These w ­ ere my pet studies. On October 30th of 1870, a friend took me to Havana, Cuba, although usually the p­ eople from Galicia (my province) went to Argentina and Uruguay; while the Asturianos and ­those from the region of Santander went to Cuba. I was then only twelve years of age. This friend put me to work, at that tender age, in a hat factory situated in Monte Street, No. 165. I was very badly treated during the time I worked at this place. Part of my duties consisted in ­going ­every day to a coal yard and fetch coal with which to heat the flat irons. The owner of this coal yard was a kind and sympathetic man. I made him a confidante of all my trou­bles, telling him of the ill treatment I was receiving at the hat factory. This man had a nephew who owned a variety store in the town of Santiago de las Vegas, some seventeen miles from Havana. One day, to my im­mense joy, he took me ­there to work for his nephew. In a comparatively short time I knew every­one in town, and was much esteemed by all. ­Here I passed the best years of my life. It was the custom of the owner of this variety store to purchase old newspapers at a very low price. With t­ hese newspapers he would wrap the dif­fer­ent articles that ­were sold. I remember that I used to dig into this pile of old newspapers, reading

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avidly e­ very scrap of news I could find. One day, while looking over t­ hese newspapers, I came upon a very old number of the “[Gaceta?] de la Havana” (“Gazette” of Havana) in which I found many in­ter­est­ing articles of the Civil War of the United States, depicting the vari­ous ­battles that had been fought between the North and the South. From then on, I would seek e­ very bit of news from the United States, reading with the keenest interest anything about Washington or Lincoln, in fact anything I could got a hold of that dealt with the United States. *** At about this time I met a cigar maker by the name of Don Federico, who had been in New York for many years. I told him that I was very desirous of ­going to the United States, but did not know what to do, for although I should be able to save a ­little money, what was I to do in New York when this money gave out, not even knowing how to speak En­glish. He then told me that the best ­thing I could do was to learn how to make cigars. In that manner I could easily find work in New York. I, therefore, deci­ded to learn the trade, and come to the United States. When I imparted my decision to the owner of the variety store, he told me that it was pure foolhardiness, that the cigar makers ­were always needy, and that I should remove such a foolish idea from my head. He took the w ­ hole t­ hing hard, but nothing daunted me. I went to see a cigar manufacturer, who was a friend of mine, in Santiago de las Vegas, and he told me that I must pledge myself to work two years as an apprentice. ­There and then I signed the contract, and bent my energies to the learning of the cigar business. As soon as I left the variety store, the owner closed that store and another branch he had. At the end of the two years I was well versed in the cigar industry. It was about this time that I came across a friend of mine, who had been a co-­worker with me at the variety store. He was at that time planning on setting up a general variety store, and asked me if I would go to work with him. I foresaw that this was the very t­ hing I needed in order to obtain sufficient funds for my trip to New York. I worked one year and eleven months at this place, during which time I saved every­thing I could. Another t­hing that proved favorable to me was that Mr. Diego López Trujillo was established in New York City, operating a small cigar factory. He had been a resident of Santiago de las Vegas, so I procured myself with a recommendation to him. As soon as I reached New York City (the place of my dreams) I was employed by Mr. Trujillo, and my worries for the pres­ent ­were over. One of the first ­things I did was to become a citizen of my chosen country. My citizenship papers w ­ ere issued on October 13th, 1886. It was in this same year that I married the ­daughter of Mr. Diego López Trujillo. We had three ­children in New York: two d­ aughters and one son. Of t­ hese, two died: a girl and a boy. The l­ ittle girl died of scarlet fever, due to a very crowded . . . ​apartment ­house, which my b­ rother

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had chosen for me. For several days we w ­ ere unable to bury her due to a terrible blizzard, and a ­great amount of snow that had fallen. We had to wait ­until the railroad tracks between Broadway and Williamsburg to Cypress Hill Cemetery had been cleared. The reader can well imagine the anguish we went through seeing our ­little ­daughter in state day in and day out. The boy died when he was teething. Shortly a­ fter my marriage, my father-­in-­law moved his l­ ittle factory to Key West. ­There, fortune smiled at his constant efforts, and he built one of the largest factories in Key West. He became im­mensely rich. In the year 1889, t­here was a g­ reat epidemic of flu in New York City. It spread like wild fire throughout the city. My wife contracted the disease, and as a result her lungs ­were seriously affected. Due to her condition, I found it impossible to allow her to remain in New York City during the winter months, so I took advantage of an invitation from my father-­in-­law to come to Key West with my wife and only remaining d­ aughter and pass the winters t­here, as the climate was very temperate. Upon my arrival in Key West with my wife and l­ ittle ­daughter, I found that a strike had been declared in all the cigar factories. The cigar makers w ­ ere demanding $1.00 increase per thousand on the cigar brands, and also that a Regulation Committee be appointed. Seeing this state of affairs, and realizing that if I remained t­here I would be living off my father-­in-­law, I deci­ded to return to New York, and leave my wife and ­daughter in Key West, u­ ntil winter was over. On my way to New York, however, I passed through Tampa, and noted that every­one was well satisfied and working hard. H ­ ere I found an old friend of mine from New York, Mr. Enrique Pendas of the factory of Lozano Pendas & Co. Talking with him, he showed me the many advantages in Tampa, and prevailed upon me to remain. I, therefore, deci­ded to stay h­ ere and work for Mr. Pendas. When winter was over, I went back to Key West for my f­amily, and from t­here returned to New York City. ­There, I went to work at the principal factory of Mr. Enrique Pendas which was situated on Pearl Street. Several years afterwards, however, Mr. Pendas removed that factory, and enlarged the one in Tampa. In the winter of 1890, my wife once more took sick, and I hurried her off to Key West. I remained alone in New York, and experienced the severest cold weather that I can remember. I would think of the wonderful winter I had passed in Tampa, and remember that while winter was at its worse in New York, the flowers bloomed ­here. I felt something akin to homesickness for Tampa, although I had spent only a few months ­here. One day while looking over the vari­ous t­hings of my wife, and which goes to make a home, I deci­ded that I would not remain another day in New York. I, therefore, wrote to my wife saying that I was leaving for Tampa; bade “good-­ bye” to all my friends in New York, and arrived ­here in January of 1891. Since then I have remained ­here for good.

242 | Remaking the U.S. Map, 1846–1898 Source: Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, WPA Federal Writers’ Proj­ ect Collection.

See also: Birth of Latin Jazz; Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence; Operation Bootstrap and Puerto Rican Migration; Settlement of Ybor City

Further Reading Abreu, Christina. 2015. Rhythms of Race: Cuban Musicians and the Making of Latino New York City and Miami, 1940-­1960. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Andreu Iglesias, Cesar, ed. 1984. Memoirs of Bernardo Vega: A Contribution to the History of the Puerto Rican Community in New York. New York: Monthly Review Press. Bloch, Peter. 2000. La-­le-­lo-­lai: The Story of Puerto Rican ­Music. New York: Association for Puerto Rican-­Hispanic Culture. Burgos, Adrian. 2012. Cuban Star: How One Negro League Owner Changed the Face of Baseball. New York: Hill & Wang. Burgos, Jr., Adrian. 2007. Playing Amer­i­ca’s Game: Baseball, Latinos, and the Color Line. Berkeley: University of California Press. Butterworth, Douglas, and John K. Chance. 1981. Latin American Urbanization. New York: Cambridge University Press. Davila, Arlene M., and Agustin Lao-­Montes. 2001. Mambo Montage: The Latinization of New York. New York: Columbia University Press. Fernandez, Aurea Matilde, and José Martí. 1998. El Partido Revolucionario Cubano. Asturias, Spain: University of Oviedo. Glasser, Ruth. 1995. My ­Music Is My Flag: Puerto Rican Musicians and Their New York Communities, 1917-­1940. Berkeley: University of California Press. González, Lisa Sánchez. 2001a. Boricua Lit­er­at­ ure: A Literary History of the Puerto Rican Diaspora. New York: NYU Press. González, Lisa Sánchez. 2001b. “Modernism and Boricua Lit­er­a­ture: A Reconsideration of Arturo Schomburg and William Carlos Williams.” American Literary History 13 (2): 242–264. Grasmuck, Sherri, and Patricia R. Pessar. 1991. Between Two Islands: Dominican International Migration. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Harris, Stephen L. 2003. Harlem’s Hellfighters: The African American 369th Infantry in World War I. Washington, DC: Brassey’s Corp. Maldonado-­Denis, Manuel. 1981. “Puerto Rican Emigration: Proposals for Its Study.” Con­ temporary Marxism 5: 19–26. Mirabal, Nancy Raquel. 2017. Suspect Freedoms: The Racial and Sexual Politics of Cubanidad. New York: NYU Press. Remeseira, Claudio Iván. 2010. Hispanic New York: A Sourcebook. Perseus Books. [E-­book.] Salazar, Max. 2002. Mambo Kingdom: Latin ­Music in New York. New York: Schirmer Trade Books. Sanchez-­Korrol, ­Virginia  E. 1994. From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City, 1870s–1920s | 243 Sanchez-­Korrol, ­Virginia E., and Pedro Juan Hernández. 2010. Pioneros II: Puerto Ricans in New York City, 1948-­1998. Chicago: Arcadia. Sinnette, Elinor des Verney. 1989. Arthur Alfonso Schomburg: Black Bibliophile & Collector. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Whalen, Carmen Teresa. 2005. “Colonialism, Citizenship, and the Making of the Puerto Rican Diaspora: An Introduction,” in Carmen Teresa Whalen and Victor Vázquez-­Hernández, eds., The Puerto Rican Diaspora, 1–20. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press.

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4 Immigration, World War I, and Community Formation, 1900–1929

Insular Cases, 1901–1922 Gabriel Mayora

Chronology 1859

Luis Muñoz Rivera is born in Barranquitas, Puerto Rico, on July 17.

1882

Isabel González is born in San Juan, Puerto Rico, on May 2.

1887

In March, Luis Muñoz Rivera co-­founds the Autonomist Party. Members of the party travel to Spain to meet with the nation’s prime minister, who authorizes the creation of a Puerto Rican local government elected by the p­ eople of Puerto Rico.

1897, November

Spain grants Puerto Rico autonomy in response to calls for in­de­pen­dence.

1898, February

Tensions between the United States and Spain arise as Cuba’s fight for in­de­pen­dence from Spain continues to gain momentum.

1898, April

Despite his initial reluctance to help Cuba, on April 11 President McKinley asks the U.S. Congress to authorize military intervention to support Cuba’s in­de­pen­dence efforts against Spain. The Spanish-­American War begins with the United States sending troops to Cuba and Spanish colonies in the Pacific. On April 25, the U.S. Congress states that war against Spain began on April 21.

1898, June President McKinley writes a letter to Lord Salisbury, a British statesman and war intermediary, stating that Spain must relinquish Puerto Rico, one of Spain’s colonies in the Ca­rib­bean, to the United States. 245

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1898, July

In mid-­July, an executive council is formed on the island. Luis Muñoz Rivera is elected the council’s leader and serves as secretary of state. A week l­ater, on July 25, U.S. General Nelson Appleton Miles and his troops occupy Puerto Rico, effectively ending the autonomous local government authorized by Spain.

1898, August

U.S. troops finish their military operations in Puerto Rico.

1898, October

Spain surrenders San Juan to the United States. The United States establishes a U.S.-­controlled military government in Puerto Rico. This government changes the spelling of the island name to “Porto Rico.”

1898, December

The Treaty of Paris, a peace agreement between the United States and Spain, is signed on December 10, ending the Spanish-­American War. Cuba gains in­de­pen­dence while Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines become U.S. territories.

1899

The Treaty of Paris is ratified in February. The same year, Luis Muñoz Rivera leaves Puerto Rico and moves to New York ­after facing persecution from the U.S. military government of the island.

1900, April

The Foraker Act is enacted. The bill establishes a Puerto Rican government with officials selected by the U.S. president, imposes taxes on trade between the United States and Puerto Rico, and determines that the p­ eople of Puerto Rico are Puerto Rican citizens.

1900, May

The U.S. military government in Puerto Rico is replaced by a U.S.-­ civilian government established by the Foraker Act.

1901

On May 27, the Supreme Court delivers a series of decisions known as the “Insular Cases” following confusion over the Foraker Act. Six of ­these cases ­were specific to Puerto Rico: De Lima v. Bidwell, Goetze v. United States, Armstrong v. United States, Downes v. Bidwell, and Huus v. New York and Porto Rico Steamship Com­pany. The Court’s decisions establish that the U.S. Constitution does not apply to the ­people of Puerto Rico.

1902

Isabel González, a young w ­ oman from Puerto Rico, is detained as an alien immigrant at Ellis Island and denied entry into the United States.

1904

­ fter multiple appeals, González’s case goes to the Supreme Court. In A Gonzales v. Williams (with the misspelling in the official case caption), the Supreme Court decides that the p­ eople of Puerto Rico are not aliens, while reaffirming that they are not U.S. citizens. González becomes an activist for the rights of Puerto Ricans following the Court’s decision.

Insular Cases, 1901–1922 | 247

1906–1910 Luis Muñoz Rivera is elected to public office in 1906 ­after returning to Puerto Rico. In 1910, he is elected the Resident Commissioner to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1910. As part of this position, Muñoz Rivera strongly lobbies for the elimination of the Foraker Act. 1916

Luis Muñoz Rivera dies on November  25, before the Jones Act is passed.

1917

The Jones-­Shafroth Act of 1917 replaces the Foraker Act. The bill grants Puerto Ricans  U.S. citizenship for the first time, though it establishes key limitations distinguishing this citizenship from that of ­people in the mainland United States.

1920

President Woodrow Wilson signs the Jones Act, also known as the Merchant Marine Act, to regulate shipping between U.S. ports.

1922

The Supreme Court reaches a decision on the last of the Insular Cases, Balzac v. ­People of Porto Rico. The decision clarifies that the Jones Act does not grant Puerto Rico’s inhabitants constitutional rights. This law remains in place ­today.

1923

The spelling of “Porto Rico” is officially changed back to “Puerto Rico.”

Narrative The Insular Cases ­were a series of Supreme Court decisions delivered between 1901 and 1922 that determined the rights and protections of Puerto Rico’s inhabitants in the aftermath of the Spanish-­American War of 1898. ­After the United States acquired the island of Puerto Rico as a colonial possession, vari­ous plaintiffs brought forth lawsuits to clarify w ­ hether or not they had to pay import tariffs for shipping goods to the mainland United States, and ­whether Puerto Ricans had to submit to immigration procedures like foreigners did. The cases thus presented critical issues about the status of the island and its ­people. Given the numerous decisions that the Supreme Court delivered regarding U.S. territories during this time period, historians widely disagree as to exactly which cases constitute the Insular Cases. However, all historians include six cases specific to Puerto Rico deci­ded on May 27, 1901, as part of the Insular Cases: De Lima v. Bidwell (1901), Goetze v. United States (1901), Dooley v. United States (also known as Dooley I) (1901), Armstrong v. United States (1901), Downes v. Bidwell (1901), Huus v. New York and Porto Rico Steamship Com­pany (1901). Moreover, a significant number of historians include Balzac v. ­People of Porto Rico, a 1922 ruling, as part of this group. ­Because t­ hese decisions determined—­and continue to determine—­the ­legal status of Puerto Rico and the rights and protections afforded

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to Puerto Rico’s inhabitants, the Insular Cases represent essential and timely landmarks in the history of Latinos in the United States.

The Spanish-­American War of 1898 The Insular Cases are a direct byproduct of the Spanish-­American War of 1898. The war between the United States and Spain began as a result of Cuba’s efforts to gain in­de­pen­dence from Spain. Given the island’s close proximity, the United States was invested in Cuba’s po­liti­cal and financial stability. Therefore, Cuba’s in­de­pen­ dence movement was widely publicized in the United States, leading to increasing support for Cuban in­de­pen­dence among the American public. At the same time, in early 1898, the diplomatic relationship between Spain and the United States was becoming increasingly strained. ­After failed attempts to buy Cuba from Spain, President William McKinley asked the U.S. Congress to authorize military intervention to support Cuba (Sparrow, 2006). Concerned that McKinley would try to seize control of Cuba ­after defeating Spain, Congress devised the Henry Teller Amendment, which was signed into law on April 20, 1898. The amendment authorized U.S. military intervention in Cuba, but prevented the United States from claiming owner­ship of the island once Spain was defeated (Sparrow, 2006). Between April 21 and April 24, 1898, the United States sent military forces to Cuba and the Philippines, one of Spain’s colonies in the Pacific. On April 25, 1898, Congress retroactively proclaimed that war against Spain had been declared on April 21, 1898 (Sparrow, 2006). Based on his well-­known rec­ord of victories against Native Americans, the U.S. military gave General Nelson Appleton Miles control over the occupation of Spanish colonies in the Ca­rib­bean. Occupying Puerto Rico was a priority for Miles, especially since as early as June  3, President McKinley had written a letter to Lord Salisbury, a British statesman who served as an intermediary between Spain and the United States during the war, stating that Spain had to relinquish Puerto Rico to the United States as a reward for its inevitable victory in the war (Monge, 1997). By mid-­July, peace talks between the two nations had begun, with the United States continuing to demand possession of Puerto Rico and other Spanish territories before agreeing to cease fire (Monge, 1997). ­After a quick victory in Santiago de Cuba, Miles and his troops arrived in Puerto Rico on July 25, 1898 (Monge, 1997). Most accounts of the U.S. occupation of Puerto Rico emphasize the relatively minor vio­lence that took place during the invasion as well as the swiftness with which the U.S. forces defeated Spanish troops. One historian writes that Miles’s troops “­were joyously received” and cites newspapers that characterized the invasion as a “military picnic” (Monge, 1997, p. 26). Similarly, another Puerto Rican scholar writes that Puerto Ricans “[embraced] the invaders

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with open arms,” welcoming American troops, assisting them, and proclaiming their love of Amer­i­ca (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004, p. 11). Yet another historian points out that even though the invasion was not particularly brutal or lengthy, “young men on both sides died and t­ hose who lived did so in fear” (Malavet, 2004, p. 35). The U.S. military seizure of Puerto Rico was over by August 12, with the majority of the Spanish soldiers gone by September 14 and the official surrender of San Juan to the United States taking place on October 23 (Malavet, 2004). The Treaty of Paris of 1898 was signed on December 10, 1898, and ratified by the U.S. Senate on February 6, 1899, thus ending the Spanish-­American War. As part of the treaty, Cuba gained its in­de­pen­dence, and a defeated Spain agreed to hand over Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines to the United States. The Treaty of Paris would go on to become an essential blueprint for the Supreme Court’s rulings in the Insular Cases, especially as the treaty did not delineate the exact status or rights of the ­people in the newly acquired territories. Article IX of the treaty simply stated that “the civil rights and po­liti­cal status of the native inhabitants of the territories hereby ceded to the United States s­ hall be determined by Congress” (quoted in Burnett and Marshall, 2001, p. 3).

The Foraker Act and Its Aftermath ­ fter the acquisition of t­ hese territories, the United States had to determine how to A approach the po­liti­cal status of the territories and their inhabitants. In Puerto Rico, the U.S. Department of War—­known as the War Department at the time—­established and controlled a military government that ruled the island from October 18, 1898, to May 1, 1900 (Monge, 1997). It was during the term of this military government that the spelling of the island’s name was changed to “Porto Rico,” which remained its official spelling ­until 1923 (Library of Congress, n.d.b; Sparrow, 2006). On April 12, 1900, the United States approved the Foraker Act, which consisted of three major provisions that served to distinguish Puerto Rico from states in the Union. The Foraker Act designated a civilian government in Puerto Rico consisting of officials in the executive, legislative, and judicial branches who—­except for the lower legislative body—­were appointed by the president of the United States. The act also imposed a tax on the exchange of goods between Puerto Rico and the United States and declared that Puerto Ricans in the island ­were Puerto Rican—­not American—­ citizens (Sparrow, 2006). The enactment of the Foraker Act more than a year a­ fter the ratification of the Treaty of Paris engendered numerous disputes over duties collected post-­treaty but prior to the Foraker Act as well as the period a­ fter the Foraker Act. ­These disputes led to the Insular Cases of 1901, a series of Supreme Court cases in which the Court was forced to determine how the United States would approach its newly acquired

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Justifying a Colonial Enterprise The acquisition of territories in the aftermath of the Spanish-­American War of 1898 proved to be highly controversial among Americans. This controversy was widely publicized, covered, and discussed in newspapers, scholarly journals, and politics. Following the Treaty of Paris, a national debate began between what historians tend to refer to as “imperialist” and “anti-­imperialist” camps. The side traditionally perceived as anti-­imperialist strongly believed that the anti-­colonial origins of the U.S. Constitution meant that the United States could not “constitutionally acquire territories and govern them as colonies” (Rivera Ramos, 2001, p. 74). Anti-­imperialists wanted the United States ­either to give up the territories or to fully incorporate them as states. The side traditionally perceived as imperialist mainly thought the United States had the right to acquire territories and treat them “as permanent dependencies” much like the power­ful Eu­ro­pean nations did (Rivera Ramos, 2001, p. 74). Negative perceptions in the United States ­toward Puerto Ricans played a major role in ­these debates. For instance, Congressman Henry Teller characterized the fact that Puerto Ricans did not fight Spain for their in­de­pen­dence as a weakness that made Puerto Ricans “unworthy of American citizenship” (Negrón-­ Muntaner, 2004, p. 13). Senator Albert J. Beveridge believed it was the duty of the United States to own Puerto Rico and eliminate what he perceived as the island’s “debased civilizations and decaying races” through colonialism (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004, p. 13). ­These congressmen’s opinions proved to be central to the policies that Congress devised and a­ dopted in key documents such as the Foraker Act and the Jones Act.

territory. Decisions in all six cases ­were delivered on May 27, 1901. Newspapers published on that day indicate that the entire nation was focused on the Supreme Court’s decisions, which ­were considered key to the widely debated topic of the United States’ global expansion (Sparrow, 2006). Even the Supreme Court Justices involved ­were keenly aware of the decisions’ historical significance. For example, in a letter to ­future president William Howard Taft, Supreme Court Justice John Marshall Harlan expressed his concerns over the decisions’ de facto granting of unpre­ce­dented power to Congress as well as the decisions’ potential “radical departure” from American values and ideals (Sparrow, 2006, p. 79). Four of the 1901 Insular Cases, De Lima v. Bidwell, Goetze v. United States, Dooley v. United States, and Armstrong v. United States, specifically focused on taxes and trading that took place ­after the signing of the Treaty of Paris and prior

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to the enactment of the Foraker Act. De Lima v. Bidwell and Goetze v. United States focused on the taxes imposed on imports from Puerto Rico into the United States. The Court’s decision in De Lima, the first of the Insular Cases, informed the other three cases. In De Lima v. Bidwell, the firm D.A. de Lima and Co. demanded to be refunded money paid for taxes imposed on sugar imports from San Juan by the collector of the Port of New York (Rivera Ramos, 2001). De Lima’s case was built on the agreement that a tax on Puerto Rican imports that did not also apply to other parts of the United States was unconstitutional. The Court’s decision favored De Lima, declaring that with the ratification of the Treaty of Paris, Puerto Rico was no longer a foreign country. Key to the eventual implication of this decision was the majority opinion’s argument that the acquisition of a territory gave Congress “complete authority over the ­people of the territories” (Rivera Ramos, 2001, p. 77). In Goetze v. United States, the Court similarly deci­ded that the collection of taxes on merchandise imported from Puerto Rico prior to enactment of the Foraker Act was invalid. Dooley v. United States and Armstrong v. United States dealt with imports from the United States into Puerto Rico, with the Court ruling that the taxing of ­these imports at the time was illegal (Rivera Ramos, 2001). Though each of the six decisions in the 1901 Insular Cases had significant implications for the status and rights of Puerto Ricans, the majority of scholars and historians agree that Samuel B. Downes v. Thomas G. Bidwell stands out as the most impactful. Unlike the previous four cases, Downes v. Bidwell dealt with the collection of taxes on imports from Puerto Rico to the United States ­after the Foraker Act was enacted. Given the Foraker Act’s provision establishing this kind of tax on trade between Puerto Rico and the United States, the Supreme Court had to decide on the constitutionality of the provision. Though the case on its face had to do with taxation, the larger question the Supreme Court faced was ­whether the rights and protections provided in the U.S. Constitution applied to Puerto Rico as a territory of the United States (Neuman, 2015). Moreover, the Court had to determine w ­ hether the United States had any responsibility to provide Puerto Rico with a pathway to statehood (Burnett and Marshall, 2001). In a controversial 5-4 decision, the Supreme Court declared that the tax established in the Foraker Act did not violate the U.S. Constitution. Most scholarship on Downes v. Bidwell highlights Justice Edward Douglass White’s decision, which became the basis for what would be known as the United States’ “Incorporation Doctrine” (Burnett and Marshall, 2001). In his decision, White wrote that Puerto Rico was “foreign to the United States in a domestic sense, ­because the island had not been incorporated into the United States,” adding that the island was a possession of the United States (Downes, 182 U.S. 244, at 341–342). Thus, the Court determined that the p­ eople of Puerto Rico had no claim to the protections and rights provided by the U.S. Constitution, such as po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion in the federal

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government or the right to vote in presidential elections, even though Puerto Rico was ­under the control of the United States. The Court’s decision established that Congress had full control over incorporation of a territory. Thus, it eliminated any guarantees that unincorporated territories would eventually become states—­similar to previous territories like Hawai’i or California—or gain in­de­pen­dence (Burnett and Marshall, 2001). The decision was widely debated in the U.S. media, with vari­ous outlets celebrating or condemning the Supreme Court. Regardless of their position, all newspapers agreed that Downes v. Bidwell was the most impor­tant of the Insular Cases ­because of its impact on the United States’ relationship to the rest of the world (Sparrow, 2006). The last of the Insular Cases, Huus v. New York and Porto Rico Steamship Com­ pany, deci­ded on May 27, 1901, similarly dealt with issues of trading. Much like Downes v. Bidwell, the case had to do with the piloting of ships between New York and Puerto Rico ­after the Foraker Act. Nonetheless, the Court pointed to language in the Foraker Act that allowed the Justices to decide that vessels used for trading between Puerto Rico and U.S. ports ­were considered to be participating in “coasting trade”—­a term used to describe trading between ports that belonged to the United States. Hence, t­hese vessels would not be regulated any differently from coasting trade between two U.S. ports (Rivera Ramos, 2001).

The Jones-­Shafroth Act Much like the original six Insular Cases ­were a direct result of the Foraker Act, the last of the Insular Cases was a byproduct of the Jones-­Shafroth Act, which replaced the Foraker Act. Influenced by pressure from Puerto Rican politician Luis Muñoz Rivera, a major opponent of the Foraker Act, President Woodrow Wilson signed the Jones Act of 1917 into law on March 2 of that year. The main effect of the Jones-­ Shafroth Act was to confer U.S. citizenship on Puerto Ricans; however, this citizenship came with several limitations. Mainly, Puerto Ricans whose permanent residence was Puerto Rico ­were not eligible to vote in federal elections (i.e., U.S. president, U.S. Congressional representatives). To vote in t­hese elections, Puerto Ricans had to establish permanent residency in the continental United States. In addition, the new bill did not grant Puerto Rico repre­sen­ta­tion in Congress or a path to statehood. Though many elected officials in Puerto Rico opposed the bill, their lack of voting repre­sen­ta­tion in the U.S. government meant that they had no input on Congress’s decision to pass the Jones-­Shafroth Act. The law led to Balzac v. ­People of Porto Rico, which the Supreme Court deci­ ded on April 10, 1922, once again confirming Puerto Rico’s lack of constitutional rights. The case centered on Puerto Rican newspaper editor Jesús M. Balzac, who had been denied trial by jury on a misdemeanor charge on the basis that Puerto

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Rican law only grants trial by jury on felony charges (Rivera Ramos, 2001). Balzac claimed that ­because he was now a U.S. citizen as established by the Jones-­ Shafroth Act, he had the right to a trial by jury for a misdemeanor ­under the Sixth Amendment of the Constitution. The Court had to decide ­whether the provisions in the Jones-­Shafroth Act meant that Puerto Rico was now an incorporated territory and ­whether U.S. citizenship in Puerto Rico meant that the island’s inhabitants could claim constitutional rights. The Court deci­ded that no part of the Jones-­Shafroth Act indicated that Puerto Rico had been incorporated and also reaffirmed that as Luis Muñoz Rivera was an activist for Puerto Rican long as a person born in Puerto in­de­pen­dence, first from Spain and then from the Rico resided on the island, that United States. He died before seeing his efforts person had no claim to the rights come to fruition. (Puerto Rican Cultural Institute) provided by the U.S. Constitution (Rivera Ramos, 2001). In 1920, Congress signed a second Jones Act, also known as the Merchant Marine Act, which requires ships transporting goods between U.S. ports to be owned, built, and staffed by Americans. Such cabotage laws, as they are known, are common in many countries. They reflect a protectionist trade stance aimed at promoting a nation’s workers and manufacturing industries over competition from other countries. The law also serves a national security or defense purpose of ensuring that private American ships can be pressed into ser­vice to transport military goods and troops during war­time. Nonetheless, the law has had a disproportionately negative impact on Puerto Rico and other remote parts of the nation (such as Alaska, Hawai’i and Guam), ­because t­hese places import almost all of their food and goods from the mainland United States. ­Because t­hese locales are unable to have commodities transported on non-­U.S. ships, by non-­American crews, this raises the price of shipping and therefore the cost of consumer goods for their residents. In 2017, ­after the devastating impact of Hurricane Maria, many Puerto Ricans and other Americans called for a permanent waiver of the Jones Act to help

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Voting for Statehood Puerto Rico’s status as an unincorporated territory of the United States has divided the island’s population into dif­fer­ent factions. Some islanders believe Puerto Rico’s current status is the most beneficial to its p­ eople, while o­ thers advocate for statehood or in­de­pen­dence. As of 2017, ­there have been five referendums on the island in which the p­ eople in Puerto Rico have voted on their preferred option. However, the results have been mixed. For instance, in a 1998 referendum, the majority of voters chose “none of the above,” indicating their support for the continued status of Puerto Rico as an unincorporated territory (Robles, 2017). On June  11, 2017, in the midst of a major financial crisis on the island, Puerto Rico’s government once again held a referendum. This time, only 23 ­percent of registered voters participated, which represents a major deviation from the average 80  ­percent voting participation on the island (Robles, 2017). Though 97 ­percent of votes favored statehood, reports indicate that the low voter turnout w ­ ill pose a major challenge in realizing the objective of the referendum. Ricardo A. Rosselló, who serves as Puerto Rico’s governor and supports statehood, plans on ­going to Washington, D.C., and pushing the U.S. Congress to honor the results of the referendum. Though many ­people on the island and in the U.S government remain skeptical, President Donald Trump indicated during his presidential campaign that he would be open to incorporating Puerto Rico as the 51st state (Bernal, 2017).

alleviate high consumer costs on the island. The U.S. Virgin Islands, for example, are currently exempt from the law. Though the Insular Cases w ­ ere controversial and widely publicized at the time, historians and law scholars writing about the subject in the 21st ­century consistently lament the fact that the Insular Cases remain largely forgotten in the United States. This is a major area of concern for scholars given that ­these decisions led to what ­these scholars generally perceive to be an unequal and subordinate citizenship for the ­people of Puerto Rico as well as for the inhabitants of other unincorporated U.S. territories like Guam and the U.S. Virgin Islands (Sparrow, 2007; Neuman, 2015). In his introduction to the 2015 edited collection Reconsidering the Insular Cases: The Past and F ­ uture of the American Empire, Gerald L. Neuman illuminates the need for learning about the Insular Cases. Neuman highlights the fact that ­these decisions continue to define and limit the civil rights of the territories’ inhabitants by “limiting their po­liti­cal rights, which in turn reduces their ability to influence the laws that regulate them” (p. xv). Hence, the Insular Cases continue to play a

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significant role in issues of citizenship and ­human rights in Puerto Rico and other areas of the world.

Biographies of Notable Figures Luis Muñoz Rivera (1859–1916) Luis Muñoz Rivera was a Puerto Rican politician and writer, who became a prominent supporter of Puerto Rican autonomy and played a crucial role in the enactment of the Jones Act of 1917. Muñoz Rivera was born in the rural town of Barranquitas, Puerto Rico, on July 17, 1859. His f­ ather, Luis Ramón Muñoz Barrios, worked in commerce prior to entering politics as the mayor of Barranquitas. L ­ ittle is known about his m ­ other, Monserrate Rivera Vásquez, except that she died when he was 12  years old (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013). Although Muñoz Rivera attended public school and l­ater had a private tutor, evidence suggests that he was primarily self-­taught. As an adult, Muñoz Rivera became a nationally known poet and writer. He founded numerous newspapers and published two poetry books, Retamas (1891) and Tropicales (1902). His writings usually expressed his desire for Puerto Rican autonomy (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013). In 1883, he married stage actress Amalia Marín Castillo (dif­fer­ent sources spell her name as “Castillo” or “Castilla”), who was known as a vocal supporter of Puerto Rican autonomy. On February 18, 1898, the ­couple had a son, Luis Muñoz Marín, who went on to become a renowned politician and historical figure much like his ­father (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013). Growing up, Muñoz Rivera was exposed to politics both through his f­ ather, who was a prominent member of Puerto Rico’s Conservative Party, and through his u­ ncle, a member of the Liberal Party. In the mid-­to late 1800s, the Conservative Party supported loyalty to the Spanish crown, while the Liberal Party sought autonomy for the island (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013). However, a­ fter facing a series of po­liti­cal losses to the Conservative Party, the Liberal Party modified its stance to support the incorporation of Puerto Rico as a Spanish province (Malavet, 2004). Dissatisfied with this development, Muñoz Rivera and other disgruntled nationalists cofounded the Autonomist Party (Partido Autonomista) in March, 1887. As historian Pedro A. Malavet notes, autonomists differed from Cuban nationalists (i.e., Cuban rebels fighting for complete in­de­pen­dence from Spain) in that they w ­ ere not seeking in­de­pen­dence; rather, autonomists sought “decentralized control” from Spain and “the strongest pos­si­ble local government” (Malavet, 2004, p. 54). Muñoz Rivera and members of the Autonomist Party proposed this type of government to the Prime Minister of Spain, Práxedes Mateo Sagasta, who became an ally to the autonomists when he came to power in 1897. With Sagasta’s support,

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a Puerto Rican local government elected by the p­ eople of Puerto Rico was established, with elections taking place on March 27, 1898 (Malavet, 2004). In July 1898, an executive council was created, and Muñoz Rivera was elected as its leader in addition to acting as Puerto Rico’s Secretary of State. However, a week ­after the council’s first session, the United States invaded the island, effectively ending the newly established government (U.S. House of Congress, 2013). Initially, Muñoz Rivera saw the U.S. invasion as a positive development that would facilitate the emergence of the strong local Puerto Rican government that he advocated. Yet, with the establishment of a U.S. military government in Puerto Rico and the passing of the Foraker Act—­which gave the United States full control over ­matters on the island—­these hopes ­were quickly dashed (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004). As the owner of one of the island’s major newspapers, Muñoz Rivera wrote editorials in which he called for the end of the military government. When U.S. General Guy V. Henry took over control of the island’s administration, he targeted Muñoz Rivera, denouncing the newspaper and demanding criminal prosecution. In light of this situation, Muñoz left Puerto Rico and moved to New York with his ­family in 1899. In New York, Muñoz Rivera remained a strong opponent of the United States’ treatment of Puerto Rico, denouncing the Foraker Act as undemo­ cratic and anti-­American (Monge, 1997). He returned to Puerto Rico in 1904. In 1906, Muñoz Rivera successfully ran for public office and was elected to the House of Delegates. ­After this election, Muñoz Rivera would never lose an election (Monge, 1997). He was reelected twice to the same position ­until he was elected to represent Puerto Rico as the Resident Commissioner to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1910 (Library of Congress, n.d.a). Throughout his c­ areer as a politician in the United States, he continued to be a vocal opponent of the Foraker Act and was instrumental in the drafting of the Jones Act of 1917, though he acknowledged that certain provisions in the final version of the bill ­were detrimental to the p­ eople of Puerto Rico (Monge, 1997). By 1916, Muñoz Rivera’s health had deteriorated, and on November 15, 1916, he died in San Juan, unable to witness the end of the Foraker Act and the enactment of the Jones Act in 1917 for which he was largely responsible (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013). ­Today, Luis Muñoz Rivera is remembered both as a key po­liti­cal figure in Puerto Rico’s transition from Spanish colony to U.S. unincorporated territory and as a notable Puerto Rican author whose nationalist ideals ­were embodied in his poetry and writings. His role in the creation of the Jones Act has s­ haped his legacy as a controversial figure. Though he helped the p­ eople of Puerto Rico gain rights denied to them by the Foraker Act, in the eyes of his critics his championing of the Jones Act has made him complicit in the limitation of civil rights of Puerto Rico’s inhabitants. His son Luis Muñoz Marín continued Muñoz Rivera’s aspiration for a strong local government on the island, as he became the first governor elected by the ­people

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of Puerto Rico and made considerable efforts to strengthen the autonomy of the island’s government in the 20th ­century (U.S. House of Representatives, 2013).

Isabel González (1882–1971) Isabel González was a Puerto Rican activist whose role in the Supreme Court case Gonzales v. Williams in the early 1900s contributed to the recognition of the ­people of Puerto Rico as U.S. citizens. González was born on May 2, 1882, in San Juan, Puerto Rico to Severo González and Antonia Dávila when Puerto Rico was still a Spanish colony. Through her mid-­teens, native Puerto Ricans like González ­were considered subjects of the Spanish crown. When the Treaty of Paris handed over control of the island from Spain to the United States, their citizenship status became unclear. Section 7 of the Foraker Act attempted to resolve this. It states that Puerto Rico’s inhabitants would become Puerto Rican citizens as long as they renounced their allegiance to Spain and resided on the island when the treaty was ratified. ­Little is known about Isabel González’s early life prior to her decision to leave Puerto Rico and move to New York in 1902. Historians consistently highlight the fact that in 1902 González was an unemployed single ­mother and had become pregnant with a second child, but few sources address González’s first son, who, according to her testimony, was the result of a first marriage that ended with the death of her husband (Erman, 2008). González became pregnant with her second child when she was 20. The ­father was Juan Francisco Torres, González’s fiancé and a native islander, who had secured employment at a factory in New York prior to learning about the pregnancy and moved off the island (Erman, 2008). Soon thereafter, González deci­ded to move to New York to join Torres. However, while she was aboard the SS Philadelphia, the U.S. Trea­sury Department issued new immigration regulations that established Puerto Ricans as aliens (i.e., foreigners) for immigration purposes (Suarez, 2013). For González, the new regulations meant that despite the fact that she was native to a territory ruled by the United States, she was now subject to the same limitations imposed on aliens attempting to enter the United States (Erman, 2008). On August 4, 1901, González was detained upon arrival to New York and sent to Ellis Island, the New York port where U.S. immigration authorities pro­ cessed immigrants (Suarez, 2013). Following the new law, immigration authorities at Ellis Island denied González entry to the country on the basis that she was an alien who, due to her pregnancy, was likely to become a “public charge” or be unable to support herself financially (Suarez, 2013). González deci­ded to appeal the decision. Initially, her l­ egal defense countered the claim that she would pose a financial burden to the United States, but multiple courts continued to deny her entry to the country.

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When the case went to the Supreme Court, González’s l­ egal team built the case on a dif­fer­ent argument. Rather than focusing on the reasons for denying entry to aliens, they argued that the ­people of Puerto Rico could not be treated as aliens ­because U.S. rule over the island meant that its p­ eople w ­ ere American citizens (Suarez, 2013). In its decision in the case, Isabella Gonzales v. William Williams (U.S. officials misspelled both of González’s names), issued on January 4, 1904, the Court ruled that the Treaty of Paris and the Immigration Act of 1891 prevented the United States from treating the inhabitants of U.S. territories as aliens. However, in the decision, the Supreme Court Justices made sure to state that the p­ eople of Puerto Rico w ­ ere not U.S. citizens (Sparrow, 2006). During the trial, González married Torres, whose residence in New York prior to the new immigration rules allowed him to become an American citizen. Thus, through marriage, González became an American citizen, which meant that she thus had the right to stay in the United States regardless of the Court’s decision. However, she believed her case represented a valuable opportunity to force the Supreme Court to recognize all of the ­people of Puerto Rico as American citizens, so she kept her marriage secret throughout the case (Erman, 2008). In the years following the decision, González denounced the Supreme Court and the United States in a series of letters to The New York Times (Erman, 2008). In New York, she became an activist for the right of Puerto Rico’s inhabitants to be recognized as U.S. citizens. Thus, she contributed to the passage of the Jones Act and is considered to have influenced the migration of the 7,000 Puerto Ricans estimated to have moved from the island to the mainland between 1908 and 1916 (Suarez, 2013). She died on June 11, 1971, and is still remembered as one of the most influential figures in the development of the citizenship status of Puerto Ricans.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT The Foraker Act, 1900 In the aftermath of the ratification of the Treaty of Paris in 1899, the U.S. Congress was responsible for establishing the rights and limitations on Puerto Rico as a newly acquired territory. As a result, the Foraker Act was signed into law in 1900. The following excerpts highlight the bill’s approach to the relationship between the United States and Puerto Rico—an approach that became the basis for the six Insular Cases of 1901. Sec. 2. That on and a­ fter the passage of this Act the same, tariffs, customs, and duties ­shall be levied, collected, and paid upon all articles imported into Porto Rico from ports other than ­those of the United States which are required by law to be

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collected upon articles imported into the United States from foreign countries: Provided, That on all coffee in the bean or ground imported into Porto Rico ­there ­shall be levied and collected a duty of five cents per pound, any law or part of law to the contrary notwithstanding: And provided further, That all Spanish scientific, literary, and artistic works, not subversive of public order in Porto Rico, ­shall be admitted ­free of duty into Porto Rico for a period of ten years, reckoning from the eleventh day of April, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, as provided in said treaty of peace between the United States and Spain: And provided further, That all books and pamphlets printed in the En­glish language s­ hall be admitted into Porto Rico f­ ree of duty when imported from the United States. *** Sec. 6. That the capital of Porto Rico s­ hall be at the city of San Juan and the seat of government ­shall be maintained t­here. Sec. 7. That all inhabitants continuing to reside therein who ­were Spanish subjects on the eleventh day of April, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, and then resided in Porto Rico, and their ­children born subsequent thereto, ­shall be deemed and held to be citizens of Porto Rico, and as such entitled to the protection of the United States, except such as ­shall have elected to preserve their allegiance to the Crown of Spain on or before the eleventh day of April, nineteen hundred, in accordance with the provisions of the treaty of peace between the United States and Spain entered into on the eleventh day of April, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine; and they, together with such citizens of the United States as may reside in Porto Rico, ­shall constitute a body politic ­under the name of The ­People of Porto Rico, with governmental powers as hereinafter conferred, and with power to sue and be sued as such. Sec. 8. That the laws and ordinances of Porto Rico now in force ­shall continue in full force and effect, except as altered, amended, or modified hereinafter, or as altered or modified by military o­ rders and decrees in force when this Act s­ hall take effect, and so far as the same are not inconsistent or in conflict with the statutory laws of the United States not locally inapplicable, or the provisions hereof, ­until altered, amended, or repealed by the legislative authority hereinafter provided for Porto Rico or by Act of Congress of the United States: Provided, That so much of the law which was in force at the time of cession, April eleventh, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, forbidding the marriage of priests, ministers, or followers of any faith b­ ecause of vows they may have taken, being paragraph four, article eighty-­ three, chapter three, civil code, and which was continued by the order of the secretary of justice of Porto Rico, dated March seventeenth, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, and promulgated by Major-­General Guy V. Henry, United States Volunteers, is hereby repealed and annulled, and all persons lawfully married in Porto Rico ­shall have all the rights and remedies conferred by law upon parties to ­either

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civil or religious marriages: And provided further, That paragraph one, article one hundred and five, section four, divorce, civil code, and paragraph two, section nineteen, of the order of the minister of justice of Porto Rico, dated March seventeenth, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, and promulgated by Major-­General Guy  V. Henry, United States Volunteers, be, and the same hereby are, so amended as to read: “Adultery on the part of e­ ither the husband or the wife.” Sec. 9. That the Commissioner of Navigation s­ hall make such regulations, subject to the approval of the Secretary of the Trea­sury, as he may deem expedient for the nationalization of all vessels owned by the inhabitants of Porto Rico on the eleventh day of April, eigh­teen hundred and ninety-­nine, and which continued to be so owned up to the date of such nationalization, and for the admission of the same to all the benefits of the coasting trade of the United States; and the coasting trade between Porto Rico and the United States s­ hall be regulated in accordance with the provisions of law applicable to such trade between any two g­ reat coasting districts of the United States. *** Sec. 16. That all judicial pro­cess ­shall run in the name of “United States of Amer­i­ca, ss: the President of the United States,” and all criminal or penal prosecutions in the local courts ­shall be conducted in the name and by the authority of “The ­people of Porto Rico;” and all officials authorized by this Act ­shall before entering upon the duties of their respective offices take an oath to support the Constitution of the United States and the laws of Porto Rico. Sec. 17. That the official title of the chief executive officer ­shall be “The Governor of Porto Rico.” He s­ hall be appointed by the President, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate; he s­ hall hold his office for a term of four years and u­ ntil his successor is chosen and qualified u­ nless sooner removed by the President; he ­shall reside in Porto Rico during his official incumbency, and ­shall maintain his office at the seat of government; he may grant ­pardons and reprieves, and remit fines and forfeitures for offenses against the laws of Porto Rico, and respites for offenses against the laws of the United States, ­until the decision of the President can be ascertained; he s­ hall commission all officers that he may be authorized to appoint, and may veto any legislation enacted, as hereinafter provided; he s­ hall be the commander in chief of the militia, and ­shall at all times faithfully execute the laws, and he ­shall in that behalf have all the powers of governors of the Territories of the United States that are not locally inapplicable; and he ­shall annually, and at such other times as he may be required, make official report of the transactions of the government in Porto Rico, through the Secretary of State, to the President of the United States: Provided, That the President may, in his discretion, delegate and assign to him such executive duties and functions as may in pursuance with law be so delegated and assigned.

Insular Cases, 1901–1922 | 261 Source: The Foraker Act, Pub. L. No. 56–191, 31 Stat. 77, enacted April 12, 1900.

See also: Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City; Rise of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party; Spanish-­American War

Further Reading Bernal, Rafael. 2017, June 7. “Puerto Rico Goes to the Polls.” The Hill. Retrieved fromhttp://­ thehill​.­com​/­latino​/­336667​-­puerto​-­rico​-­goes​-­to​-­the​-­polls​-­for​-­statehood Burnett, Christina Duffy, and Burke Marshall. 2001. Foreign in a Domestic Sense: Puerto Rico, American Expansion, and the Constitution. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Erman, Sam. 2008. “Meanings of Citizenship in the U.S. Empire: Puerto Rico, Isabel Gonzalez, and the Supreme Court, 1898 to 1905.” Journal of American Ethnic History 27: 5–33. Library of Congress. (n.d.a). “Luis Muñoz Rivera.” The World of 1898: The Spanish-­ American War. Retrieved from https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​/­rr​/­hispanic​/­1898​/­munoz​.­html Library of Congress. (n.d.b). “Military Government in Puerto Rico.” The World of 1898: The Spanish-­American War. Retrieved from https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​/­rr​/­hispanic​/­1898​ /­milgovt​.­html Malavet, Pedro A. 2004. Amer­i­ca’s Colony: The Po­liti­cal and Cultural Conflict Between the United States and Puerto Rico. New York: New York University Press. Monge, José Trías. 1997. Puerto Rico: The ­Trials of the Oldest Colony in the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Negrón-­Muntaner, Frances. 2004. Boricua Pop: Puerto Ricans and the Latinization of American Culture. New York: New York University Press. Neuman, Gerald L. 2015. “Introduction,” in Gerald L. Neuman and Tomiko Brown-­Nagin, eds., Reconsidering the Insular Cases: The Past and ­Future of the American Empire. Cambridge, MA: ­Human Rights Program, Harvard Law School. Rivera Ramos, Efrén. 2001. The ­Legal Construction of Identity: The Judicial and Social Legacy of American Colonialism in Puerto Rico. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Robles, Frances. 2017, June 11. “23% of Puerto Ricans Vote in Referendum, 97% of Them for Statehood.” New York Times. Retrieved from https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­06​/­11​ /­us​/­puerto​-­ricans​-­vote​-­on​-­the​-­question​-­of​-­statehood​.­html​?­mcubz​=­0&​_­r​=­0 Sparrow, Bartholomew H. 2006. The Insular Cases and the Emergence of American Empire. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas. Suarez, Ray. 2013. Latino Americans: The 500-­Year Legacy That ­Shaped the Nation. New York: Penguin Group. U.S. House of Representatives. 2013. Hispanic Americans in Congress: 1822–2012. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. Walsh, Mary Williams. 2017, May 5. “Puerto Rico: A Debt Prob­lem That Kept Boiling Over.” New York Times. Retrieved from https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­05​/­05​/­business​ /­dealbook​/­puerto​-­rico​-­debt​.­html​?­mcubz​=­0

262 | Immigration, World War I, and Community Formation, 1900–1929

The Mexican Revolution, 1910–1921 Lilia Fernández

Chronology 1876

Porfirio Diaz becomes president of Mexico on a campaign that champions a “liberal revolt” meant to enact po­liti­cal reforms. He remains in power for 35 years.

1876

The Flores Magón ­brothers—­Ricardo, Jesus, and Enrique—­ begin publishing their newspaper Regeneración in Mexico City and call for the overthrow of Diaz.

1876–­1911

Diaz oversees the modernization and industrialization of Mexico by inviting foreign investors to mine for mineral resources (silver and copper) and drill for petroleum. Foreign corporations also begin building a railroad network to transport t­hose raw materials to the United States.

1884

Railroad construction, which had been ongoing throughout the United States but more recent in Mexico, fi­nally connects the two countries, making the transportation of goods and ­people between them much easier.

1904

­ fter Diaz closes their newspaper, imprisons Ricardo, and the A Mexican Supreme Court bans the Flores Magón ­brothers from publishing or writing in Mexico again, the three flee to San Antonio, Texas, where they resume publication of their paper and get help smuggling it into Mexico. ­ fter they are pursued in San Antonio, the Flores Magón brothA ers relocate to St. Louis, Missouri; resume their publishing; and create the Partido Liberal Mexicano (Mexican Liberal Party, PLM).

1909

Francisco Madero, a wealthy northerner from the state of Chihuahua, publishes La Sucesion Presidencial en 1910 (The Presidential Succession in 1910) supporting Diaz’s re-­election but calling for an in­de­pen­dent vice-­presidential election in hopes of establishing a legitimate successor. Emiliano Zapata begins a land re­distribution plan among peasants in the state of Morelos.

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1910

Early in the year, Diaz announces his bid for re-­election and Madero announces that he w ­ ill challenge the Diaz candidacy; Madero has a strong following among supporters.

1910, October

Diaz jails Madero, but he manages to escape and flees to San Antonio, Texas, where he publishes El Plan de San Luis Potosí, calling for armed revolt.

1910, November

Several small uprisings erupt in the state of Chihuahua. Madero comes to the area but returns to the United States a­ fter he is unable to marshal an army.

1911, May

On May 11, Pasqual Orozco and Pancho Villa, northerners allied with Madero’s cause, attack Ciudad Juarez, the Mexican city across from El Paso, Texas, despite Madero’s o­ rders that they retreat. They succeed in capturing the city.

1911, May

Porfirio Diaz, who finds himself in poor health, resigns on May 25 and exiles himself to Paris.

1911, September

Jovita Idar and ­others join a fraternal organ­ization in convening the First Mexican Congress of Texas in Laredo to discuss po­liti­cal issues affecting the Mexican American community. The meeting welcomes w ­ omen’s participation, making it a significant attempt to foment a militant ­women’s movement.

1911, October

Francisco Madero is elected president and calls for an end to rebellion.

1911, December

Emiliano Zapata releases El Plan de Ayala, calling for land reforms and denouncing Madero for betraying the Revolution and taking the presidency.

1912

Several generals, including Victoriano Huerta, plot with U.S. Ambassador Henry Lane Wilson to oust Madero from office.

1913, February “La Decena Tragica” (The Tragic Ten Days) take place in Mexico City on February 9, with rebels exchanging fire in a military coup to oust President Madero. General Victoriano Huerta helps force Madero and his vice president, Pino Suarez, to resign from their posts. 1913, February On February  22, Madero and vice president Suarez are executed, most likely by General Huerta. 1913

Victoriano Huerta assumes the presidency.

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Venustiano Carranza, who had announced his Plan de Guadalupe in the state of Coahuila, denounces President Huerta for plotting Madero’s death and names himself First Chief of the Constitutionalist Army. Francisco Villa returns to Mexico from the United States seeking to avenge Madero’s assassination. He leads his troops, La Division del Norte (The Northern Division), against Huerta’s army. 1914

Emiliano Zapata seizes towns allied with Huerta and redistributes their land to peasants. He urges peasants to arm themselves and defend the land. Huerta’s army brings brutal force against them. Pancho Villa captures much of northern Mexico.

1914, July

Victoriano Huerta is forced out of the presidency and flees to the United States.

1914, Factions develop between Constitutionalists and ConventionalJuly-­December ists. Venustiano Carranza supports the Constitutionalists, though Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata ultimately oppose them. Carranza, ­after declaring himself de facto leader, moves his central government from Mexico City to Veracruz. Villa and Zapata occupy Mexico City with plans to defeat revolutionary general Alvaro Obregon, a Carranza ally, though Obregon eventually prevails. 1915

Obregon defeats Villa’s army in the north. Carranzista forces capture Morelos away from Zapatistas (Zapata’s followers).

1915, October

U.S. President Wilson recognizes the Carranza government, which outrages Pancho Villa.

1916

Victoriano Huerta dies while in U.S custody in El Paso, Texas.

1916, March

On March 9, Pancho Villa and his soldiers create a diplomatic crisis for President Carranza by leading an attack on Fort Furlong in Columbus, New Mexico, the first foreign invasion of the United States in more than 100 years.

1916, March–­ President Wilson ­orders General John J. Pershing and his troops 1917, February to invade Mexico to capture Villa. 1916–­1917

­ fter participating in a constitutional convention in Queretaro A in late 1916, Carranza oversees the signing of a new Mexican constitution that continues to be in effect into the 21st ­century.

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1917, May

Mexico holds its first presidential elections on May 1 ­under the new constitution, and Venustiano Carranza becomes the nation’s president.

1918

Zapatistas suffer ­under an intense campaign by Carranza, a lack of supplies, defections, and an influenza epidemic.

1919

Carranza o­ rders the assassination of Zapata.

1920

Alvaro Obregon issues his Plan de Agua Prieta and marches to Mexico City. President Carranza again relocates his government to Veracruz but is assassinated. Obregon gains enough broad-­based support to win the presidency.

1920–­1924

Obregon remains in office u­ ntil 1924. Po­liti­cal stability fi­nally reigns, with the exception of brief rebellions in 1923 and 1924, and the revolution comes to an end.

1923

Pancho Villa is killed in an ambush, possibly by former rivals.

1924

As the po­liti­cal instability of the revolution dies down, the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), is established, based on the revolution’s ideals. The PRI remains in control of the Mexican presidency ­until 2000, with the election of Vicente Fox.

1928

Alvaro Obregon is assassinated.

Narrative The Mexican Revolution was a series of social and po­liti­cal insurrections that wracked Mexico from 1910 ­until about 1920. The uprisings ­were aimed at overthrowing the tyrannical dictatorship of President Porfirio Diaz and spreading democracy and reforms in Mexico. At their core, the Revolution’s ideals included extending democracy to all of the nation’s p­ eople, diminishing the population’s gaping economic inequalities, and limiting the power and influence of the Catholic Church. Revolts w ­ ere led by a variety of rebels from vari­ous social classes and backgrounds who w ­ ere unhappy with existing social, economic, and po­liti­cal conditions. Many ­were deeply dissatisfied with the way in which Diaz had modernized and industrialized the nation with the help of foreign investors, something that benefited ­those investors and only a limited sector of Mexican society. ­Others w ­ ere troubled by the increasing power of the federal government. Still ­others bristled ­under the heavy hand of the Catholic Church and its control over education. ­After Diaz’s ouster, however, vari­ous factions fought for power throughout the country, creating tremendous po­liti­cal instability for several years. The po­liti­cal upheaval and ongoing warring across the countryside created extensive social and

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economic turmoil and severe hardship for most Mexicans. Food shortages and the destruction of crops caused widespread hunger as well. ­These effects, and indeed the warring, spilled over the U.S.-­Mexico border. Although many Americans might consider the Mexican Revolution to be a historical event that occurred in a separate nation with ­little relation to the United States, the U.S.-­Mexico border saw a ­great deal of traffic—­military generals, dissidents, and refugees all sought refuge across the Rio Grande. Indeed, the Mexican Revolution had an enormous impact on cities like San Antonio, Los Angeles, El Paso, Chicago, and even St. Louis, Missouri—­thus making the revolution a much more binational or transnational phenomenon than might be ­imagined. Though the end of the revolution promised demo­cratic reforms, greater popu­ lar participation in governance, and improved conditions for Mexican citizens, many of ­those promises ­were difficult to realize. Still, the Mexican Revolution represented a  significant historical event for the impact it had on Mexico, on the U.S.-­Mexico border, and on the massive migration it set in motion. Approximately one-­tenth of Mexico’s population, well over 1 million ­people, perished. Another 1.5 million fled the country, dislocated by the military ­battles, po­liti­cal turmoil, vio­lence, and hunger. Some w ­ ere modest business o­ wners, skilled craftsmen, or ­humble farmers; ­others were educated and wealthy ­ (McCaa, 2003). They sought shelter and a means to make a living in Texas, California, and Midwestern states like Illinois and Indiana. Many of them never returned home. ­Those refugees and exiles planted settlements in old and new destinations, expanding the Pancho Villa was one of the ­great revolutionary Mexican American population in heroes of the Amer­i­cas. A general in the epic strug­gle of the Mexican Revolution of 1910, Villa the United States dramatically and took on legendary importance in Mexico for his establishing the roots for commusocial ideals and daring military exploits. ­Today he nities that would continue to grow remains an easily recognizable symbol of Mexican nationalism and social justice. (Library of Congress) throughout the 20th ­century.

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Life during the Porfiriato Porfirio Diaz is credited with having made ­great strides in modernizing and industrializing Mexico and introducing po­liti­cal stability ­after years of foreign occupation and internal strife—­but for average Mexican citizens, his achievements came at a ­great cost. Diaz came to power a­ fter ousting President Sebastian Lerdo de Tejada in November 1876, campaigning on a reform platform. In the previous 55 years, Mexico’s presidency had changed hands 75 dif­fer­ent times. Though Diaz forced Lerdo out of office through a military revolt, he waited ­until he was officially elected to office three months ­later before assuming the presidency. To maintain his commitment to prohibiting presidential re-­election ­after amending the 1857 constitution, Diaz stepped down in 1880 and allowed his chosen successor to take office for four years. As the nation expressed dissatisfaction with his successor, he easily returned to the presidency, to which he was re-­elected seven times (defying his earlier opposition to re-­election). He remained in office ­until 1911 (Ceeko, 2016). Diaz surrounded himself with scientists and po­liti­cal conservatives who looked to Eu­rope for its modernity and pro­gress. The United States was also a favored role model, for its rapid economic development and shift from an agrarian society. In the span of only a few de­cades, Americans had built extensive railroad networks, factories, and commercial farms. Diaz sought the same for Mexico. He promoted his country’s economic and industrial development, such as the textile industry, which brought new workers to urban areas. He introduced electricity in Mexico City and oversaw the installation of thousands of miles of telegraph wires (Ceeko, 2016). Diaz also facilitated the building of 12,000 miles of railroad tracks (Easterling, 2012). Contradicting his earlier critiques of President Lerdo for allowing foreigners to dominate Mexico’s economy, Diaz invited American and British investors to build railroads, buy enormous tracts of land, and extract the nation’s oil and mineral resources. The sleepy village of Cananea, Sonora, in northern Mexico, for example, went from only 100 residents in 1891 to 25,000 by 1906 as mining operations boomed (Easterling, 2012). As a result of ­these extractive industries, Mexico became “the largest producer of silver in the world, second in copper, and third in gold” in t­hese years (Sosa and Noriega, 2012, p. 33). Diaz also facilitated the massive transfer of large tracts of public lands into private hands. This reversed the traditional practice of communal owner­ship through ejidos. As railroad corporations extended their networks throughout the country, they made the surrounding land much more valuable and desirable for investors, ranchers, and large farmers. Thus, the coming of the railroads brought greater pressure on public lands. An elite few citizens managed to acquire large swaths of this land very cheaply and turned it into enormous ranches and commercial farms, leaving peasants landless and forced into debt peonage, working for the hacendados

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The Railroads Railroads in both the United States and Mexico played a central role during the Mexican Revolution, for a variety of reasons. Mexico’s railroad systems had been developed primarily in the years of the Porfiriato and w ­ ere essential to the country’s economic growth, moving raw materials from Mexico’s interior to port cities and to the United States. The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe line, for example, connected the United States to Mexico. During the war, trains w ­ ere essential for transporting soldiers, the w ­ omen who accompanied them, weapons, and goods. Many often rode on top of the railroad cars, making it a very dangerous journey. The trains also transported citizens who w ­ ere trying to escape the fighting and seek shelter and safety in the United States. Middle-­and upper-­class refugees who could afford a train ticket rode in the comfort of passenger trains for the hundreds of miles it took to deliver them to safety in Texas or further away. ­Those who could not afford a train ticket simply followed the tracks on foot (Ceeko, 2016, p. 51). San Antonio became an impor­tant destination for many refugees and a Mexican immigrant community rapidly grew on the city’s west side, just steps from where the International and G ­ reat Northern Railroad stopped on its northward journey from Laredo. U.S. railroads also provided employment for many Mexican men (and some w ­ omen) who arrived in El Paso and Laredo and w ­ ere quickly recruited to do track maintenance and other l­abor. Working on the rails allowed p­ eople to travel throughout the country, as far as the Midwest, the Northeast, and the West Coast, wherever the trains took them. Many immigrants rode the trains to places like Kansas City and Topeka, Kansas; Omaha, Nebraska; ­Grand Rapids, Michigan; and Chicago, Illinois, where they began new lives. In many ways, the railroads played an overlooked yet fascinating role in the Mexican Revolution and the ­human migration that accompanied it.

(large landholders). Indigenous p­ eople, who made up most of the nation’s lowest classes and rural population, suffered very poor living conditions. A crisis in the national food supply in 1909 and 1910 had a widespread effect on the populace. Other f­ actors also contributed to the citizenry’s discontent. Population growth created greater pressures for employment, schooling, health care, transportation, and homes. Mexico’s population nearly doubled during the Diaz administration, ­going from 8.7 to 15 million over 3 de­cades. In addition, Diaz had centralized Mexico’s government, giving the federal administration in Mexico City greater power over the states. Many middle-­class po­liti­cal and business leaders, particularly in the

The Mexican Revolution, 1910–1921 | 269

north, resented the loss of their autonomy and po­liti­cal power, especially b­ ecause their regions generated so much of the nation’s mineral resources. They felt constrained in their financial and social status ambitions by a regime that rewarded its own friends and cronies but did ­little for the rest of the nation. Most Mexicans did not reap the benefits of Diaz’s economic advancements. A select group of upper-­class citizens amassed enormous wealth, but for the m ­ iddle and lower classes, life did not improve. The majority of the population remained illiterate, without access to education, in poor health, and unable to exert their vote in any meaningful way. Even urban skilled workers faced stagnant wages despite the nation’s growing wealth. In the United States, this was the age of the robber barons, and the convulsions of modern industrial capitalism w ­ ere occurring elsewhere as well. Just as workers in the United States and Eu­rope strug­gled against bosses to determine the conditions u­ nder which they would toil on railroads, in mines, and in factories during ­these years, Mexican workers ­were also trying to determine the conditions ­under which they would work for wages and produce wealth for corporations and their investors. Mexicans became especially critical of Diaz’s laissez-­faire government that allowed foreigners to extract so much of Mexico’s riches with ­little regulation or accountability to its ­people (Sosa and Noriega, 2012, p.  33). As one historian described it, “In Chihuahua, the Hearsts, starting with U.S. Senator George Hearst and continuing with his son, William Randolph Hearst, secured more than 1,600,000 acres of land, which they used to operate a massive cattle-­ranching operation. In Sonora, William Greene developed the mining town of Cananea through his acquisition of the largest copper ore body in Mexico. Along the Gulf of Mexico, in Tampico and Tuxpan, Tamaulipas, the fortune hunter Edward Doheny first struck oil and then took hold of more than 600,000 acres of land, only to prompt Standard Oil to expand its operations in Mexico” (Flores, forthcoming, pp. 107–108). Mexico became such an impor­tant center of commercial activity for Americans that “by 1910, more than 75,000 Americans ­were living” ­there (Flores, forthcoming, 108). Perhaps the most frustrating characteristic of Mexican society at this time was that po­liti­cal dissent was met with severe repression. Diaz did not tolerate critics and often found ways to silence them and prevent them from sowing seeds of rebellion. This eventually reached a boiling point when, in 1910, the 80-­year old dictator announced in an interview that he would soon retire but then reversed his stance and sought re-­election yet again. A rival would soon emerge, surprisingly, among the upper classes in the north. Francisco Madero, who hailed from the Porfirian elite, became po­liti­cally emboldened with po­liti­cally progressive ideas and would challenge the long-­standing ruler. Although most Mexicans would never become ardent followers of him personally, his po­liti­cal insurgency unleashed multiple uprisings throughout the country. Over the next de­cade, Mexico became

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consumed by civil war, with vari­ous factions sparring over po­liti­cal power using military force.

Po­liti­cal Uprisings Begin When Francisco Madero challenged Porfirio Diaz’s rule by announcing that he would run against Diaz for the presidency, Diaz ordered him arrested and kept him in jail during the election, thus easily winning office yet again. Upon his release, Madero fled to San Antonio, Texas. From ­there, he issued a manifesto, El Plan de San Luis Potosí, calling for a po­liti­cal revolution. In fact, he indicated the day and time it should begin: November 20, 1910, at 6:00 pm. Upon returning to Mexico, presumably to lead the rebellion, he was disappointed to find that no large-­scale army had formed prepared to do ­battle, so he went back to the United States. He returned in February 1911, this time able to mobilize an army but he faced defeat. He deci­ded to enlist Pascual Orozco and Pancho Villa to lead the revolution’s military operations. ­Those two men secured a decisive victory by capturing Ciudad Juarez, just across the river from El Paso, Texas. By May of 1911, Madero had convinced Diaz to resign. Diaz and his vice-­ president did just that in late May, thereby opening the way for new elections in October. Perhaps the greatest betrayal to t­hose who had supported Madero’s call for revolution, however, was Madero’s promise to demobilize the revolutionary army and allow Diaz’s federal army to remain in power. Madero’s military allies ­were infuriated. They refused to put down their arms and instead planned their next moves. In the state of Morelos, Emiliano Zapata, who had been organ­izing indigenous peasants, issued El Plan de Ayala demanding agrarian reforms. He denounced Madero for betraying the revolution. Ultimately, Madero was a po­liti­cal moderate. While he believed he had achieved the revolution’s objectives by removing Porfirio Diaz from power, his limited goals did not include or attain the massive social and economic reforms that most Mexican urban workers and peasants had hoped for. His class position may also have ­shaped his po­liti­cal imagination and his perspective on what the nation needed. Madero proceeded to initiate demo­cratic po­liti­cal reforms, but dissent among the revolutionaries who had supported him spread rapidly. Pascual Orozco rebelled against him and Madero called Pancho Villa to suppress the revolt. By 1913, Madero was ousted and murdered, likely in a plot by General Victoriano Huerta. Pancho Villa was particularly devastated by the death of Madero, a man whom he considered a dear friend and hero. General Huerta then assumed the presidency, but Villa and Emiliano Zapata immediately opposed him. Huerta crushed the insurgencies that ­rose up against him. By mid-1914, however, he too was removed from power. In his wake, two major factions had developed, the Constitutionalists and the Conventionalists.

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Las Adelitas/Soldaderas War and military conflicts are generally characterized by the male actors who participate in t­hese events: the soldiers, generals, rebels, and po­liti­cal leaders who take up arms, make public declarations, and inspire the general citizenry. In the case of the Mexican Revolution, however, ­women played a prominent and critical role, w ­ hether they participated voluntarily or against their w ­ ill. The iconic figure of the Adelita or soldadera (literally, the female soldier) remains impor­tant to the history of the Revolution. The term “Adelita” originated in a popu­lar corrido of ­those years, a genre of Mexican folksong that served as a form of storytelling or a way to spread news about brave heroes and impor­tant events. Adelita became the generic term used for ­women who accompanied male troops into ­battle, in both the federal and rebel armies, often performing a variety of essential duties. ­Women fed, nursed, and washed clothes for soldiers on the road. Some ­women joined troops to support their husbands, lovers, ­brothers, ­fathers, or sons who ­were fighting in the war. ­Others joined out of their own po­liti­cal conviction and commitment to the ideals of the revolution. Still o­ thers w ­ ere kidnapped from their homes and pressed into ser­vice against their ­will. Although they might be forced to find food, fetch w ­ ater, do laundry, heal wounds, or carry and care for weapons, some ­were also forced to entertain the troops or perform sexual ser­vices for them. Some ­women actually engaged in direct military action—­again, ­either by choice or by necessity—­ sometimes taking up arms, transporting or smuggling weapons, delivering messages, or working as spies. A number of w ­ omen, in some cases disguised as men, actually led battalions and became famous for their heroism in the face of danger. Two popu­lar images endure of the soldadera or Adelita: one is of a w ­ oman in a blouse and long skirt or dress, wrapped in a shawl, as was traditional for Mexican w ­ omen to wear in t­ hese years. The other is of a w ­ oman in a similar style but with a bandolier of bullets strapped across her torso. ­These images, much like the American “Rosie the Riveter” icon of World War II, embody ­women’s strength, bravery, resilience, and commitment to democracy and freedom. The Adelita and soldadera figure became inspirational to young Mexican American w ­ omen in the 1960s and 1970s, who embraced them as a symbol of feminism and female empowerment. Venustiano Carranza, a former governor of Coahuila, who had served as Madero’s minister of war and opposed Victoriano Huerta’s presidency, aligned himself with the Constitutionalists. In 1913, Carranza had issued his Plan de Guadalupe in which he appointed himself “First Chief of the Constitutionalist Army” and

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eventually president once the Revolution came to a close. He initially counted on Pancho Villa’s allegiance, but eventually found himself at odds with Villa as well. While Carranza tried to unify the military forces, the civil warfare only worsened. The year of 1915, one of the most difficult of the Revolution, is remembered as the year of hunger, as food supplies dwindled and Mexicans experienced scarcity and severe hardship. In early 1916, Pancho Villa initiated his infamous raid on Columbus, New Mexico, marking the first time in more than a ­century that foreign forces had invaded U.S. soil. Villa did this intentionally to create a diplomatic crisis for the Carranza regime, though he thereby invited the wrath of President Woodrow Wilson, who dispatched General John J. Pershing in a “punitive expedition” to capture Villa. Pershing fi­nally retreated in early 1917 at the same time that Carranza unveiled a new constitution. In 1916, delegates had gathered in the city of Querétaro to create a new constitution. President Venustiano Carranza initially offered only a moderately modified version of the 1857 Constitution, much to the disappointment of delegates who wanted a document that reflected the revolution’s core ideals. Like Madero, Carranza focused on po­liti­cal reforms, such as the “no re-­election” princi­ple but cared less about instituting widespread social and economic changes. However, the delegates negotiated a more radical document, and by May of 1917, Carranza was officially elected and took office as the nation’s constitutional president. ­Because the constitution allowed presidents to serve only one term, Carranza sought to hand-­pick his replacement. Alvaro Obregon, who had helped Carranza do ­battle with Pancho Villa, wanted the position and hoped Carranza would support his candidacy in 1920. Carranza and his supporters tried once again to relocate the central government to Veracruz, but w ­ ere routed by Obregon’s forces in spring of that year. ­After Obregon’s election, the nation experienced a mea­sure of stability. The uprisings and insurgencies that had wracked the country for so many years fi­nally dissipated and Mexicans enjoyed relative peace. Though it would take years for the Mexican government to enact some of the most significant ideals of the revolution, Mexicans witnessed some decline in the Catholic Church’s power, greater democracy and enfranchisement, and agrarian policies aimed at redistributing land and easing the enormous economic inequalities that had plagued them for so many years.

The Impact of the Revolution on Mexican Migration The Mexican Revolution coincided with a number of developments internationally. In Eu­rope, the outbreak of World War I created economic reverberations throughout the world. In the United States, ­labor militants, anarchists, and radicals, many of

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them immigrants from Southern and Eastern Eu­rope, prompted American officials to crush leftist po­liti­cal rumblings in what became known as the Red Scare. Many of ­these activists focused their efforts on ­labor issues, insisting on controlling the conditions u­ nder which they worked for wages. Moreover, b­ ecause so many radicals ­were foreigners, and ­because nativist and xenophobic sentiment had reached fever pitch in the United States, Americans began enacting stricter immigration laws, thus reducing the volume of immigrant workers, who ­were generally more willing to take on the nation’s least desirable jobs. ­These varied f­ actors contributed to an interest in recruiting Mexican immigrant ­labor in many sectors. Employers in agriculture, mining, railroads, and construction flocked to the U.S.-­Mexico border ­eager to recruit strong, able-­bodied young men looking for work. Indeed, Laredo, El Paso, and San Antonio became impor­ tant locations where enganchistas (literally, “­those who hook you”) enticed mi­grants with promises of good wages, favorable work conditions, and a chance for adventure. As a result, w ­ hether mi­grants ­were prompted by the turmoil of the revolution or not, the U.S. l­abor market functioned as a g­ reat magnet drawing many Mexicans northward. This mass migration would change the U.S. Southwest and Midwest as well. Cities like Los Angeles, San Antonio, and even Chicago welcomed thousands of new residents in the 1910s and 1920s. San Antonio’s population, for example, went from 96,614 in 1910 to more than 161,000 just a de­cade l­ ater (Ceeko, 2016, p. 51). Though not all of t­hese ­were Mexican mi­grants, an overwhelming majority w ­ ere. Some of them ­were middle-­and upper-­class refugees—­newspaper publishers, doctors, teachers, craftsmen, and professors—­who would try to re-­create their home lives for what many anticipated would be temporary stays. Some soon established businesses and ser­vices to cater to their compatriots. O ­ thers came from more h­ umble origins: peasants, farmers, and ordinary laborers, who picked fruits and vegetables, constructed roads, repaired railroad tracks, or built irrigation channels throughout the Southwest and Midwest. Mexican immigrants had an enormous impact on the places where they settled. In San Antonio, for example, the city’s Mexican barrios grew out of this revolutionary mi­grant generation (Sosa and Noriega, 2012). Refugees and o­ thers established communities, infusing their culture, language, cele­brations, and social practices into the fabric of local life. This migration during the Revolution was also remarkable in its po­liti­cal diversity. Spanish-­language newspapers, such as the numerous ones published in Chicago in the 1920s, reveal that refugees from the Revolution and subsequent Cristero Wars ­were not homogenous and monolithic as a group; rather, they had strong po­liti­ cal and ideological leanings; held varying opinions about life in Mexico, politics

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and relations between the sexes; and about their ­future in the United States. Some called themselves “liberals,” promoted demo­cratic ideals, and issued anti-­imperialist critiques of foreign influence in Mexico. They also discouraged fellow Mexicans from naturalizing (becoming U.S. citizens). The conservatives, who w ­ ere more ardently Catholic, supported naturalization and assimilation into American culture and society. ­These competing ideologies appeared at war in the pages of local publications. Conservatives espoused traditional ideas about gender relations and implored Mexican ­women to fulfill their duties as ­mothers and wives, whereas liberals had much more permissive views on the same topic. The adherents of ­these po­liti­cal ideas also formed separate mutual aid socie­ties, social clubs, and patriotic organ­izations (Flores, forthcoming).

Biographies of Significant Figures Jovita Idar (1885–1946) Jovita Idar was born in Laredo, Texas, in 1885, as one of eight c­ hildren, to Jovita and Nicasio Idar. Idar’s ­father had been a railroad worker and u­ nion or­ga­nizer in Texas and Mexico before he settled his f­ amily in Laredo in the 1890s. ­There, he opened a printing shop, served in local government, and became active in a fraternal association. Although Laredo had several Spanish-­language newspapers (Mexicans ­were the majority in town), Idar began publishing his own weekly paper, La Cronica, in 1895. His sons Clemente and Eduardo joined him. Idar did not join the ­family business immediately. Instead, she had attended the Holding Institute, a Methodist school, and trained to be a teacher, earning her  certificate in 1903. She went to work in Laredo’s segregated schools that served Mexican American or Tejano c­ hildren and grew increasingly frustrated by and disappointed with the poor conditions in which Mexican c­ hildren w ­ ere educated. She quit her position and deci­ded to join her f­ ather and ­brothers in the newspaper business, traveling throughout the Rio Grande Valley (South Texas) as a correspondent reporting on stories and events of interest in the region. The ­family paper became an impor­tant and highly respected publication along the border for vividly documenting the Mexican American experience, especially the injustices Mexican Americans often faced at the hands of a po­liti­cally dominant Anglo minority. Idar became a talented journalist in her own right, exposing the unequal conditions in public schools, the lynching of Texas Mexican Americans, and the seizures of Tejano lands. La Cronica often included fervent editorials urging Mexicans to embrace their culture and heritage and preserve their language. Such writing was dangerous in South Texas, as newspaper editors could experience reprisals from

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local white residents. Writing about po­liti­cal issues became even more dangerous as revolution erupted in Mexico. Idar became a supporter of Francisco “Pancho” Villa, a northern rebel leader in the Mexican Revolution. In 1913, she joined a friend, Leonor Villegas de Magon, to care for Villa’s wounded soldiers across the border in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. Villegas de Magon founded La Cruz Blanca (The White Cross) and enlisted Idar to travel with her for several months tending to the wounded. ­After returning home, Idar became the editor of another radical Laredo newspaper, El Progreso, and published an editorial critical of President Woodrow Wilson’s decision to dispatch U.S. troops into Mexico. ­After learning of Idar’s critical writings, Texas Rangers came to the offices of El Progreso to shut the paper down. Idar reportedly stood in the doorway and refused to let them in. However, they eventually succeeded in shuttering the paper, forcing Idar to return her ­father’s La Cronica. When he died in 1914, she took over as publisher of that paper. In 1916, she joined her ­brother Eduardo in forming their own weekly paper, Evolucion. Idar’s f­ amily had rather feminist leanings, enlisting the contributions of another Mexican American ­woman writer, Sara Estela Ramirez, to write for their paper. Ramirez was also a close friend of Ricardo Flores Magon and edited her own radical publications in Laredo, La Corregidora (The Corrector) and Aurora (Dawn). Idar was a teacher, w ­ omen’s rights activist, journalist, and president of the Mexican Feminist League, which she helped found in 1911.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Ricardo Flores Magón: “­Women Comrades: The Revolution Approaches!” 1910 The Mexican Liberal Party (PLM) was primarily concerned with organ­izing a revolutionary movement of workers and peasants to win a classless society in Mexico, but it also paid attention to the par­tic­u­lar exploitation and oppression of ­women. Aside from the handful of feminist organ­izations and publications that existed prior to the Mexican Revolution, the PLM was the only po­liti­cal party to consistently call for equality between men and w ­ omen and for regulations to protect the interests of ­women in the workplace. The PLM was also the only revolutionary organ­ization in 1910 to make an explicit appeal to w ­ omen to support and participate in the armed strug­gle against the Porfirian regime. The following document, penned by Ricardo Flores Magón and published in the PLM newspaper Regeneración, explains the oppression of ­women as systemic in class-­based socie­ties and historically developed, but not as an inevitable or natu­ral condition. The solution, Magón argued, lay in overthrowing class society.

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­Women Comrades: Revolution approaches! With angered eyes and flaming hair, her trembling hands knock anxiously on the doors of our nation. Let us welcome her with serenity, for even though she carries death in her breast, she is also the herald of life and hope. She ­will destroy and create at the same time. Hers are the invincible fists of a p­ eople in rebellion. She does not offer roses or caresses; she offers an axe and a torch. Interrupting the millennial feast of the contented, sedition raises her fist against the so-­called ruling class. Revolution approaches! Her mission ­will ignite the flames in which privilege and injustice w ­ ill burn. ­Women comrades, do not fear the revolution. You are one-­half of the h­ uman species and what affects humanity affects you. If men are slaves, you are too. Bondage does not recognize sex; the infamy that degrades men degrades you also. You cannot escape the shame of oppression. We must stand in solidarity in the strug­gle for freedom and happiness. Are you ­mothers? Are you wives? Are you s­ isters? Are you ­daughters? Your duty is to help your man, to encourage him when he vacillates, to stand by his side when he suffers, to lighten his sorrow, to laugh and to sing with him when victory smiles. You ­don’t understand politics? This is not a question of politics; this is a m ­ atter of life or death. Man’s bondage is yours and yours is more sorrowful, more sinister, and more infamous. Are you a worker? B ­ ecause you are a w ­ oman you are paid less than men, and must work harder. You suffer the impertinence of the foreman or proprietor, and if you are attractive, the bosses w ­ ill make advances. Should you weaken, they would rob you of your virtue in the same cowardly manner as you are robbed of the product of your ­labour. ­Under this regime of social injustice which corrupts humanity, the existence of ­women wavers in the wretchedness of a destiny which fades away ­either in the blackness of fatigue and hunger or in the obscurity of marriage and prostitution. In order to fully appreciate ­women’s part in universal suffering, it is necessary to study page by page this sombre book called Life, which like so many thorns strips away the flesh of humanity. So ancient is w ­ omen’s misfortune that its origins are lost in the obscurity of legend. In the infancy of humankind, the birth of a female child was considered a disgrace to the tribe. ­Women tilled the land, carried firewood from the forest and w ­ ater from the stream, tended the livestock, constructed shelters, wove cloth, cooked food, and cared for the sick and the young. The filthiest work was done by w ­ omen. If an ox died of fatigue, ­women pulled the plough. When war broke out, ­women changed masters and continued ­under the lash of new ­owners to work as beasts of burden. ­Later, u­ nder the influence of Greek civilization, ­women w ­ ere elevated one step in the esteem of men. No longer ­were they beasts of burden as in the primitive clan, nor did they lead secluded lives as in oriental socie­ties. If they belonged to a ­free

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class, their role was one of procreators of citizens for the state; if they w ­ ere slaves, they provided workers for the fields. Chris­tian­ity aggravated the situation of ­women with its contempt for the flesh. The founding ­fathers of the Church vented their rage against feminine qualities. St. Augustine, St. Thomas, and ­others, before whose statues w ­ omen now kneel, referred to ­women as d­ aughters of the devil, vessels of impurity, and condemned them to the tortures of hell. ­Women’s position in this ­century varies according to their social stature, but in spite of refined customs and the pro­gress of philosophy, w ­ omen continue subordinated to men by tradition and laws. ­Women are treated as minors when the law places the wife ­under the custody of the husband. She cannot vote or be elected, and to enter into civil contracts she must own a sizeable fortune. Throughout history ­women have been considered inferior to men, by law and by custom. From this derives the misfortune which she has suffered since humanity differentiated itself from lower animal forms. Humiliated, degraded, bound by chains of tradition, indoctrinated in the affairs of heaven by clerics, but ignorant of world prob­lems, she is suddenly caught in the grind of industrial production which requires cheap ­labour to sustain the profits of the voracious “princes of capital” who exploit her. She is not as prepared as men for industrial strug­gle, nor is she or­ga­nized with the ­women of her class to fight alongside her ­brother workers against the rapacity of capitalism. Thus, ­women work more than men, but are paid less, and misery, mistreatment, and insult are the b­ itter harvest for a life of sacrifice. So meagre are w ­ omen’s salaries that frequently they must prostitute themselves to meet their families’ basic needs, especially when in the marketplace of marriage they do not find a husband. When it is motivated by economic security instead of love, marriage is another form of prostitution, sanctioned by the law and authorized by public officials. That is, a wife sells her body for food exactly as does a prostitute; this occurs in most marriages. And what can be said of the vast army of w ­ omen who do not succeed in finding a husband? The increasing cost of life’s basic necessities, the displacement of ­labour by machinery, the ever-­decreasing price of h­ uman l­abour—­all contributes to the burden. The compulsory draft tears strong and healthy young men from the bosom of society and lessens the number eligible for marriage. Migration of workers, caused by economic and po­liti­cal phenomena, also reduces the number of men capable of marriage. Alcoholism, gambling and other ills further reduce the number of available men. Consequently, the number of single ­women grows. Since their situation is so precarious, they swell the ranks of prostitution, accelerating the degeneration of the h­ uman race by this debasement of body and spirit. Comrades: This is the frightful picture offered by modern society. In it you see men and w ­ omen alike suffering the tyranny of a po­liti­cal and social environment

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in complete discord with the pro­gress of civilization and the advances of philosophy. But in times of anguish, do not look to the heavens for solutions and explanations, for ­there lies the greatest contribution to your bondage. The solution is ­here on earth! That solution is rebellion. Demand that your husbands, b­ rothers, ­fathers, sons and friends pick up the gun. Spit in the face of t­hose who refuse to pick up a weapon against oppression. Revolution approaches! Source: Regeneración, September 24, 1910. Translated by Chris Frazer.

PLAN OF SAN LUIS POTOSÍ, 1910 In 1910, the Mexican presidential election was stolen by the incumbent president and longtime dictator Porfirio Diaz, who ordered his opponent Francisco Madero imprisoned. Instead, Madero fled into exile and issued this statement on November 20, which became known as the Plan of San Luis Potosí. An excerpt appears ­here. With this plan, Madero called for the Mexican ­people to rise up against Diaz’s government and demand new, legitimate elections. His call to arms initiated the Mexican Revolution of 1910. ­ eoples, in their constant efforts for the triumph of the ideal of liberty and jusP tice, are forced, at precise historical moments, to make their greatest sacrifices. Our beloved country has reached one of t­hose moments. A force of tyranny which we Mexicans ­were not accustomed to suffer a­ fter we won our in­de­pen­dence oppresses us in such a manner that it has become intolerable. In exchange for that tyranny we are offered peace, but peace full of shame for the Mexican nation, b­ ecause its basis is not law, but force; ­because its object is not the aggrandizement and prosperity of the country, but to enrich a small group who, abusing their influence, have converted the public charges into fountains of exclusively personal benefit, unscrupulously exploiting the manner of lucrative concessions and contracts. The legislative and judicial powers are completely subordinated to the executive; the division of powers, the sovereignty of the States, the liberty of the common councils, and the rights of the citizens exist only in writing in our ­great charter; but, as a fact, it may almost be said that martial law constantly exists in Mexico; the administration of justice, instead of imparting protection to the weak, merely serves to legalize the plunderings committed by the strong; the judges instead of being the representatives of justice, are the agents of the executive, whose interests they faithfully serve; the chambers of the u­ nion have no other w ­ ill than that of the dictator; the governors of the States are designated by him and they in their turn designate and impose in like manner the municipal authorities.

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From this it results that the ­whole administrative, judicial, and legislative machinery obeys a single w ­ ill, the caprice of General Porfirio Diaz, who during his long administration has shown that the principal motive that guides him is to maintain himself in power and at any cost. For many years profound discontent has been felt throughout the Republic, due to such a system of government, but General Diaz with ­great cunning and perseverance, has succeeded in annihilating all in­de­pen­dent ele­ments, so that it was not pos­si­ble to or­ga­nize any sort of movement to take from him the power of which he made such bad use. The evil constantly became worse, and the deci­ded eagerness of General Diaz to impose a successor upon the nations in the person of Mr. Ramon Corral carried that evil to its limit and caused many of us Mexicans, although lacking recognized po­liti­cal standing, since it had been impossible to acquire it during the 36 years of dictatorship, to throw ourselves into the strug­gle to recover the sovereignty of the p­ eople and their rights on purely demo­cratic grounds. . . . In Mexico, as a demo­cratic Republic, the public power can have no other origin nor other basis than the w ­ ill of the ­people, and the latter can not be subordinated to formulas to be executed in a fraudulent manner. . . . For this reason the Mexican p­ eople have protested against the illegality of the last election and, desiring to use successively all the recourses offered by the laws of the Republic, in due form asked for the nullification of the election by the Chamber of Deputies, notwithstanding they recognized no l­egal origin in said body and knew beforehand that, as its members ­were not the representatives of the ­people, they would carry out the ­will of General Diaz, to whom exclusively they owe their investiture. In such a state of affairs the p­ eople, who are the only sovereign, also protested energetically against the election in imposing manifestations in dif­fer­ent parts of the Republic; and if the latter ­were not general throughout the national territory, it was due to the terrible pressure exercised by the Government, which always quenches in blood any demo­cratic manifestation, as happened in Puebla, Vera Cruz, Tlaxcala, and in other places. But this violent and illegal system can no longer subsist. I have very well realized that if the ­people have designated me as their candidate for the Presidency it is not ­because they have had an opportunity to discover in me the qualities of a statesman or of a ruler, but the virility of the patriot determined to sacrifice himself, if need be, to obtain liberty and to help the p­ eople f­ ree themselves from the odious tyranny that oppresses them. From the moment I threw myself into the demo­cratic strug­gle I very well knew that General Diaz would not bow to the ­will of the nation, and the noble Mexican ­people, in following me to the polls, also knew perfectly the outrage that awaited them; but in spite of it, the ­people gave the cause of liberty a numerous contingent

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of martyrs when they w ­ ere necessary and with wonderful stoicism went to the polls and received ­every sort of molestation. But such conduct was indispensable to show to the ­whole world that the Mexican ­people are fit for democracy, that they are thirsty for liberty, and that their pres­ ent rulers do not mea­sure up to their aspirations. Besides, the attitude of the ­people before and during the election, as well as afterwards, shows clearly that they reject with energy the Government of General Diaz and that, if ­those electoral rights had been respected, I would have been elected for President of the Republic. Therefore, and in echo of the national ­will, I declare the late election illegal and, the Republic being accordingly without rulers, provisionally assume the Presidency of the Republic ­until the ­people designate their rulers pursuant to the law. In order to attain this end, it is necessary to eject from power the audacious usurpers whose only title of legality involves a scandalous and immoral fraud. With all honesty I declare that it would be a weakness on my part and treason to the p­ eople, who have placed their confidence in me, not to put myself at the front of my fellow citizens, who anxiously call me from all parts of the country, to compel General Diaz by force of arms, to re­spect the national ­will. Source: Excerpted from United States Congress, Senate Subcommittee on Foreign Relations, Revolutions in Mexico, 62nd Congress, 2nd Session. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1913, 730–736, passim.

See also: ­Labor Activism during the ­Great Depression; Mexican Repatriation; Texas Revolt

Further Reading Baker Jones, Nancy. 2017, January 19. “Idar, Jovita.” Handbook of Texas Online. Retrieved from http://­www​.­tshaonline​.­org​/­handbook​/­online​/­articles​/­fid03 Ceeko, Jessica K. 2016. “The Effect of the Mexican Revolution on San Antonio.” Touchstone 35: 46–55. Easterling, Stuart. 2012. The Mexican Revolution: A Short History, 1910-­1920. Chicago: Haymarket Books. Flores, John. (forthcoming). The Mexican Revolution in Chicago. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Hall, Linda B., and Don M. Coerver. 1988. Revolution on the Border: The United States and Mexico, 1910-­1920. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Hart, John M. 1987. Revolutionary Mexico: The Coming and Pro­cess of the Mexican Revolution. Berkeley: University of California Press. Heatherton, Christina. 2014. “University of Radicalism: Ricardo Flores Magon and Leavenworth Penitentiary.” American Quarterly 66 (3): 557–581. Knight, Alan. 1986. The Mexican Revolution. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Texas Revolt, 1915 | 281 MacLachlan, Colin M., and William H. Beezley. 1994. El Gran Pueblo: A History of Greater Mexico. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. McCaa, Robert. 2003. “Missing Millions: The Demographic Costs of the Mexican Revolution.” Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos (2): 367. Salas, Elizabeth. 1990. Soldaderas in the Mexican Military: Myth and History. Austin: University of Texas Press. Sosa, Lionel, and Cristina Noriega, eds. 2012. The ­Children of the Revolución: How the Mexican Revolution Changed Amer­i­ca. Austin: University of Texas Press. Smith, Stephanie J. 2009. Gender and the Mexican Revolution: Yucatán ­Women and the Realities of Patriarchy. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Womack, John. 1969. Zapata and the Mexican Revolution (1st ed.). New York: Knopf.

Texas Revolt, 1915 Trinidad Gonzales

Chronology 1835

The Texas Rangers form as a force to fight Indians. Over time they become known as heroes by Anglo Texas but as brutal persecutors by Tejanos (Mexican American Texans) and Mexicans.

1836

Texas declares its in­de­pen­dence from Mexico.

1845

The United States annexes Texas, a move that brings it closer to war with Mexico.

1846–­1848

The United States and Mexico are at war; at the war’s conclusion, the United States annexes nearly half of Mexico’s northern territory.

1857

The Cart War erupts—­a series of violent Anglo attacks on Mexicans and Mexican Americans in retaliation for the competition their freight-­ hauling operations posed to Anglos.

1858

­ fter San Antonio’s Tejano and Mexican population is forced out of A the city by Anglo vio­lence, former mayor Juan Nepomuceno Seguin describes feeling like “a foreigner in my native land.”

1859, July

Tejano Juan Nepomuceno Cortina confronts and shoots an Anglo Brownsville marshal who had beaten Cortina’s former Mexican ranch hand. This sets off about 10 years of raids and confrontations between Cortina, his supporters, and Anglo Texans. Cortina issues proclamations demanding full recognition of Tejano rights as outlined in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

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1910

A challenge to the legitimacy of Mexican President Porfirio Díaz and several uprisings occur in northern Mexico, setting off what becomes the Mexican Revolution.

1915, January

The Plan de San Diego (PSD) is drafted in a Monterrey, Mexico jail by Augustín S. de la Garza. Basilio Ramos, Jr., is arrested in McAllen, Texas, for attempting to recruit members for the revolt. The launch date for the PSD is set as February 20.

1915, February

The PSD fails to take place as planned on the 20th, but a second manifesto is published: ¡Los Pueblos Oprimidos de América! (The Oppressed ­People of Amer­i­ca!). Augustín S. de la Garza is the lead author.

1915, July

Beginning of Mexican American re­sis­tance to Anglo oppression through vari­ous insurgent activities such as stealing h­ orses and supplies, burning a railroad bridge, and cutting telegraph wires. Lorenzo Manriquez, Gregorio Manriquez, and Rodolfo Muñiz are killed while in law enforcement custody.

1915, August

August 3: Aniceto Pizaña’s ranch, Los Tulitos, is attacked. August  4: A second railroad bridge is burned and more telegraph and telephone lines are cut. August  4–5: Desiderio Flores and his sons Desiderio and Antonio are killed at the Armendaiz Ranch by Texas Rangers. August 5: The Brownsville Herald publishes an editorial titled “Possibly a Filibuster Movement.” August 6: A. L. Austin, the Sebastian Law and Order League president, and Charles Austin, his son, are executed by insurgents. August  7: Luis de la Rosa leads an attack on the Norias Division headquarters of the King Ranch. August 13: A report surfaces that 30 Mexicans have been killed in San Juan. August 16: The Hearst-­Selig s­ ilent movie news ser­vice arrives to film events. August 17: A Brownsville Herald editorial, titled “The Cause of the Border Trou­bles,” provides six dif­fer­ent reasons for pos­si­ble insurgency: German machinations, local po­liti­cal infighting, factions seeking U.S. intervention against Venustiano Carranza, Huertista ele­ ment seeking U.S. intervention against Carranza, banditry, and Plan

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de San Diego. On the same day, a Galveston News editorial warns that “necessary mea­sures of repression ­will degenerate into a man hunt, on which we ­shall look back with shame and humiliation.” August 26: Luis de la Rosa and Aniceto Pizaña publish a manifesto, A Nuestros Compatriotas Los Mexicanos en Texas. 1915, September 3: A Brownsville Herald editorial, “The Time Has Come!,” September states that supporters of the insurgency are just as guilty as insurgents and are liable to face extralegal vio­lence. September 5: A cross-­border firefight at Cavazos crossing takes place. It lasts 8 hours, with more than 2,000 rounds fired. September 8: The town of San Benito disarms Mexicans within its city limits. September 9: The Brownsville Herald estimates that 300 Mexican refugees fled to Brownsville and more than 1,000 fled to Matamoros as a result of vio­lence from Texas Rangers and other paramilitary groups. September 16: Cameron County Sheriff W. T. Vann renews ­orders to his deputies to protect prisoners in their custody, as it was becoming common practice for prisoners to be executed by vigilantes or law enforcement such as the Texas Rangers. September 21: Josiah Turner, owner of a Galveston ranch, writes a letter condemning the killing of Mexican prisoners. September 24: The Brownsville Herald writes an editorial supporting the publication of the Josiah Turner letter condemning the killing of prisoners, ­after receiving threats to desist from publishing such information. The same day, prominent land o­ wners Jesus Bazán Villarreal and Antonio Longoria are killed by Texas Rangers; James B. McAllen kills several pos­si­ble raiders at his ranch; and ­there is a cross-­border firefight between U.S. soldiers and Carranzistas, with an estimated 3,000 rounds fired. 1915, October

October 2: Fourteen bodies are discovered along the road from Donna to Ebenezer. The deceased had been dead for a week or two. October 4: Constitutionalist General Eugenio Lopez replaces General Nafarrate as commander of Matamoros. October 18: A train is derailed six miles north of Brownsville, resulting in the death of three individuals.

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October 19: Five Mexicans are killed, likely in retaliation for the train derailment. The same day, the United States recognizes Venustiano Carranza as Mexico’s po­liti­cal leader. October 20: The B ­ attle of Ojo de Agua, the last military engagement of the Revolt, takes place; three U.S. soldiers are killed. 1919

The Texas legislature holds a joint hearing to investigate Ranger abuses against Mexicans.

1929

The League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) is founded.

Narrative During the summer and fall of 1915, Mexican Americans and Mexicans launched the last insurgency against the United States in an effort to return territory lost during the U.S.-­Mexican War (1846–1848). Numerous ­battles, skirmishes, and ambushes occurred from July to October in the Texas counties of Willacy, Cameron, and Hidalgo in an attempt to return the Nueces Strip—­territory between the Nueces and Rio Grande rivers—to Mexico. The United States responded by sending more than 4,000 troops to the area, while Texas increased the presence of its

The ­Battle of the Alamo (February 23–­March 6, 1836) stands out in American history as a turning point in the Texas Revolution. Won by the Mexicans, it drove Texans to defeat the Mexican Army in the decisive ­battle at San Jacinto in 1836. (Library of Congress)

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Ranger force. Local paramilitary organ­izations ­were also formed that worked with state and local law enforcement in extralegal killings of prisoners and suspected supporters. Several labels ­were (and still are) utilized for this historical event. Con­temporary Spanish-­language accounts refer to the insurgency as the revolución de Texas (Texas Revolution). English-­language newspapers at the time referred to it as the Plan de San Diego, with l­ ater generations referring to it as the Bandit War. Insurgents w ­ ere labeled sediciosos (seditionists) or bandits. ­There was no con­temporary En­glish label for the mass extralegal killings of Mexican Americans and Mexicans, but in Spanish t­hese killings ­were labeled the matanza (massacre). Much as this difference in labels for the insurgency exists, scholars differ on two major historical points. First, was the insurgency a po­liti­cal movement? Second, was the insurgency a locally or­ga­nized effort, or part of a plan by Venustiano Carranza, the First Chief of the Mexican Constitutional forces, to gain U.S. recognition as the legitimate leader of Mexico in the midst of the Mexican Revolution? Historians who dismiss the revolt was a po­liti­cal movement tend to view the insurgents as social bandits who w ­ ere responding to U.S. modernization efforts. Indeed, the United States witnessed a populist movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, especially in rural areas in the Midwestern and Western states, against technology, modernization, and the commercialization of agriculture. In many places this was manifested by fence-­cutting, the destruction of railroads, and other acts of vandalism. In the case of Mexican Americans in Texas, historians who insist that the insurgents ­were engaged in a po­liti­cal movement point to the vari­ous manifestos issued by its leaders. The debate over w ­ hether the insurgency had local or nonlocal origins centers on the extent to which Carranzista forces supported the revolt. (Support included providing soldiers and supplies and providing a safe base of operation from the Mexican side of the Rio Grande.) Did Carranza support such efforts, e­ ither willingly or through the purposeful neglect of his local commander? While it is clear at this point that the insurgents engaged a po­liti­cal ideology to justify their efforts, a lively debate continues concerning ­whether Carranza orchestrated and/or allowed the insurgency to continue, in a master stroke of diplomacy to gain U.S. recognition. The Lower Rio Grande Valley (LRGV) is composed of the Texas counties of Willacy, Cameron, Hidalgo, and Starr, and is the southern tip of Texas along the Rio Grande. The Spanish settled the area along both sides of the river during the 1740s with the first cities, known as the villas del norte of Nuevo Santander. The cities included Camargo, Reynosa, Matamoros, and Guerrero Viejo on the south side of the river. San Ygnacio and Laredo w ­ ere established on the north side, which was primarily divided into porciones and land grants. Unlike other Spanish colonization efforts, Nuevo Santander was settled by ranchers who took on both roles normally

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given to soldiers and missionaries. In return for developing the territory and pacifying Native Americans ­either militarily or through Christian conversion, settlers ­were given land and tax exemptions for 10 years. This unique settlement pro­cess led to Nuevo Santander being one of the most productive Spanish colonies of Northern Spain. ­After the Spanish War of In­de­pen­dence (1810–1821), Nuevo Santander was renamed Tamaulipas, and retained its northern boundary of the Nueces River and west to Laredo and following the current bound­aries of Tamaulipas south of the river. The Texas War of Secession (1836) did not lead to any po­liti­cal changes in the Nueces Strip even though the Republic of Texas claimed the territory. The new republic’s government was too militarily weak to enforce its claim, ­because the area was heavi­ly populated with loyal Mexicans. It was not ­until the U.S.-­Mexican War that Mexico lost the Nueces Strip. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848) that ended the war granted U.S. citizenship to Mexicans who chose to remain on U.S. territory, and promised to recognize Mexican land titles that could be proven valid. Although granting U.S. citizenship was easily accomplished, the ac­cep­tance of Mexican land titles varied based on where the claims occurred. For Mexicans living in the Nueces Strip, the vast majority of claims ­were accepted, but many Mexicans lost their ranches due to environmental and economic crises during the late 19th ­century. ­There ­were also cases of land loss due to vio­lence. By 1900, the majority of landowners in the Lower Rio Grande Valley ­were no longer Spanish-­surnamed p­ eople, with the exception of Starr County. Nevertheless, Mexicans continued to hold onto land and po­liti­cal power well into the 20th ­century in that county. By the early 20th ­century, Mexican Americans and Mexicans in Texas began to face increased extralegal vio­lence. El Primer Congreso Mexicanista (1911), the first statewide civil rights meeting, was held in response to that vio­lence. At that meeting, which was held in Laredo, participants spoke out against the mistreatment and segregation their communities suffered. La ­Gran Liga Mexicanista was formed as a statewide civil rights organ­ization, but failed to materialize; local mutualistas (mutual aid socie­ties) continued to carry the responsibility for addressing local civil rights abuses throughout the state. By 1904, the St. Louis, Brownsville, and Mexico Railroad had built a line south to Brownsville and west to the boundary of Hidalgo and Starr counties. New cities ­were built along the railroad as ranchland was subdivided into farmland. With a shift from ranching to farming, long-­standing cooperative po­liti­cal ties between Mexican Americans and ethnic white ranchers changed dramatically. Newcomer farmers brought racist views of Mexican Americans and Mexicans. The new cities of Raymondville, San Benito, Harlingen, McAllen, and Mission practiced racial

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segregation. Much like the rest of Texas, Mexican Americans and Mexicans faced increased extralegal vio­lence as a result of the upending of the old po­liti­cal order. The Mexican Revolution (1910–1920) created three opportunities for armed rebellion in the Lower Rio Grande Valley. First, the flow of arms from the United States to Mexico allowed insurgents to acquire weapons easily. Second, ­because of the continued fighting and lack of policing on the Mexican side of the border, insurgents could easily set up bases of operation to launch raids and retreat from pursuing forces. Third, Mexican Americans and Mexicans who served in the vari­ous factions of the revolution learned impor­tant military skills that they used during the insurgency. The Plan de San Diego (PSD) was written during January 1915 in a Monterrey, Mexico, jail, most likely by Augustín S. de la Garza. The PSD called for the capture of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and California through a revolution that would align itself with Native Americans and African Americans. Native Americans ­were to be given land back, and African Americans ­were to capture six states that bordered the newly acquired territories. In addition to providing general instructions concerning military occupations, the PSD ordered all Anglo males over the age of 16 to be killed. Basilio Ramos, Jr., went to the LRGV during late January to recruit members for the movement, but was arrested in McAllen, Texas, for sedition. The launch date for the rebellion was February 20, but nothing occurred. A second PSD document released on that day, titled ¡Los Pueblos Oprimidos de América! (The Oppressed P ­ eople of Amer­i­ca), included specific civil rights grievances and added Utah and Nevada as states that should be taken. The second manifesto used more anarchist language than the first. However, no uprising began a­ fter its release. The fact that the ­actual insurgency erupted several months a­ fter the manifestos circulated pres­ents a challenge in linking t­ hese events together. In addition, the two recognized leaders of the insurgency, Luis de la Rosa and Aniceto Pizaña, released their manifesto A Nuestros Compatriotas, Los Mexicanos en Texas (To Mexican Compatriots in Texas) on August 26th with no reference to the PSD. Like the previous manifestos, A Nuestros Compatriotas included a call to liberate Texas, New Mexico, California, and Arizona, but this one also included parts of Mississippi and Oklahoma. However, a customs official located in Brownsville, Texas, indicated that the primary territorial goal was the Nueces Strip. The territory identified in the vari­ous manifestos is part of the México perdido (lost Mexico) imagination that dates back to the 19th ­century. Hence, the inclusion of ­these territories in the vari­ ous manifestos as goals is not surprising. Although we cannot find a direct link between PSD documents and the ­actual leaders of the insurgency, what is clear is that the insurgency began during July of 1915.

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In early July, authorities did not readily recognize that it was insurgents who ­were stealing h­ orses and supplies. Even the burning down of a railroad bridge on July 24 and the cutting of telegraph wires w ­ ere first thought to be acts of vandalism. However, continued skirmishes between soldiers and insurgents through the last days of July and the burning of a second bridge in early August made it clear that an insurgency was occurring. The Brownsville Herald wrote an editorial speculating about this point following the second bridge burning. Si­mul­ta­neously during the last days of July, three Mexicans or Mexican Americans ­were killed by e­ ither law enforcement or vigilantes, further spurring local support for the insurgency. Although, it is unclear to what extent locals actually supported the insurgency, both Mexican Americans and Mexicans w ­ ere identified as participants by government officials, who indicated that extralegal killings and the development of postcards of dead Mexicans tended to prompt support. (The use of postcards of lynched African Americans as well as of killed Mexicans was common during the early 20th ­century.) Extralegal killings w ­ ere viewed as a means of publicly enforcing racial control over minority communities. Postcards of dead Mexicans labeled the dead as bandits to justify such killings. For the Mexican Americans and Mexicans, it reinforced the racist nature of American society. Local po­liti­cal leaders responded by requesting increased military troops and Texas Rangers for the area. Local ethnic white paramilitary groups developed blacklists of individuals targeted for “evaporation,” the term that was used to describe the extralegal killing of Mexican Americans and Mexicans. Many times individuals dis­appeared and their remains ­were found in the brush years ­later. As a result of the matanza, many Mexican Americans and Mexicans abandoned their farms and ranches and moved across the river to Mexico for safety. The matanza that ensued resulted in large part due to the inability of the military and local authorities to capture insurgents who engaged in hit-­and-­run guerrilla tactics. The densely wooded mesquite and brush countryside allowed small units to evade capture. Thus, suspected supporters ­were targeted and killed by local law enforcement, the U.S. military, and paramilitary organ­izations. When insurgents ­were captured, they ­were usually executed as well. It is estimated that around 300 individuals ­were killed between July and October of 1915. On October 19th, the United States recognized Carranza as the leader of Mexico, and by this time he was able to secure northern Mexico’s boundary with his forces. It is clear that Carranzista General Emiliano P. Nafarrate secretly supported the revolt, with several of his officers and men engaging in attacks across the river. Carranzistas also provided key covering fire for retreating raiders on two occasions. With Nafarrate’s removal, by October such support dwindled. Once Carranza secured northern Mexico with his forces and replaced Nafarrate, the insurgency lost its operational bases on the southern side of the river. Historians debate w ­ hether

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Remembrance The events surrounding the Texas Revolt and matanza (massacre) continue to be remembered through ­music, lit­er­at­ ure, film, historical markers, and a temporary exhibit at the Bob Bullock Museum of Texas. ­These endeavors of remembrance are impor­tant aspects of community memory that help shape ­people’s sense of their past and pres­ent. The first efforts to capture ­these events for public memory ­were corridos (traditional Mexican ballads). Currently t­ here are only three known corridos about the 1915 revolt. The “Versos de Los Bandidos” or “Versos del Rancho de Las Norias” that J. Frank Dobie, a Texas folklorist, found describes the Norias raid that occurred during August 1915. The second corrido, “Los Sediciosos,” was reproduced by Américo Paredes in A Texas-­Mexican Cancionero. In this song the insurgents are portrayed as Mexican citizens who began an uprising that costs the lives of México Texanos. The last known song was recorded by John A. Lomax in Brownsville, Texas, in 1939, titled “Venimos de Matamoros,” also known as “La Batalla del Ojo de Agua.” The song recounts one of the last ­battles of the Texas Revolution near Mission, Texas. Paredes grew up hearing stories about the insurgency and matanza, and incorporated t­hese events into his book George Washington Goméz. Written during the 1930s, but not published ­until the 1990s, the book begins with the protagonist’s innocent f­ ather being killed by Texas Rangers in retaliation for rebel attacks, and ends with the emergence of Mexican American po­liti­cal activity. Philipp Meyer’s novel, The Son, also incorporates the events of the rebellion as he traces the history of conquest of Native Americans and Mexicans within Texas during the 19th and 20th centuries. Efforts to bring this history to a wider audience began with Kirby Warnock’s documentary, Border Bandits (2004), and the Refusing to Forget public history proj­ect. Warnock’s documentary is an examination of the Texas Rangers’ killing of Antonio Longoria and Jesus Bazán, as well as the killing of Warnock’s great-­grandfather Frank Warnock by W. W. Bill Sterling and his ­brother Ed. The Refusing to Forget proj­ect requested vari­ous state historical marker plaques to memorialize state-­sanctioned vio­lence against México Texanos and Mexicanos during the 1910s, including a marker for Cameron County, Texas, to remind visitors about the matanza. The 2016 installation of the Bullock State History Museum exhibit “Life and Death on the Border, 1910–1920” was the first time the state of Texas acknowledged the tragic events of the matanza.

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Nafarrate was operating u­ nder the direct o­ rders of Carranza or on his own. To date, no document exists to prove ­either side of this argument. José Tomás Canales (1877–1976), the lone Mexican American Texas State Representative from 1918 to 1920, advocated for a hearing concerning Texas Ranger killings of Mexican Americans and Mexicans. A joint committee of the Texas Senate and House of Representatives held a hearing concerning 19 charges that Canales brought against the Rangers. The 1919 hearing included significant testimony about the matanza. The investigation did not result in any legislative reform of the Ranger force or criminal charges against individual Rangers, but the hearing was a starting point for the wave of Mexican American civil rights organ­izations that developed during the 1920s. Eventually, the vari­ous civil rights groups created the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) during 1929. LULAC continues as the oldest Latina/o civil rights organ­ization in the United States.

Biographies of Notable Figures Agustín Solis de la Garza (ca. 1881–1970) Agustín Solis de la Garza, a.k.a. León Caballo, was the probable author of the Plan de San Diego manifestos during 1915. Prior to authoring the plans, he sent a tele­ gram to Mexican President Victoriano Huerta (1913–1914) promising to raise 200 soldiers to fight against the U.S. occupation of Vera Cruz during 1914. It is unclear if Huerta accepted this offer, as he was defeated by Constitutionalist forces ­later that year. De la Garza played a propagandist role and was a pos­si­ble financier of the Texas Revolt and Laredo raid of 1916. During the 1916 U.S. “Punitive Expedition” into Mexico to pursue Pancho Villa, de la Garza helped gather men and arms to engage in counter-­raids into the United States. A failed July raid into the Laredo area occurred ­under the command of Col­o­nel Esteban Fierros, whose forces ­were known as the Brigada Fierros. As in the Texas Revolt, de la Garza played a background role, and was not actively engaged in military operations. The only known document that possibly linked Venustiano Carranza (1915– 1920) to the Texas Revolt was written by de la Garza. In a letter to Mario Méndez, general director of the Mexican National Telegraph, de la Garza recounted how Carranza had refused to acknowledge his involvement in the Texas Revolt ­because he could possibly lose f­avor with the United States. However, the de la Garza letter was a 1930s typed reproduction of a 1919 letter, and historians continue to dispute its validity. B ­ ecause of this difference of views, the debate continues as to w ­ hether Carranza orchestrated or at least supported the Texas Revolt as a means to achieve United States recognition. The Mexican government never recognized de la Garza’s military ser­vice during the revolution, leaving him without a military pension.

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Aniceto Pizaña (ca. 1870–1957) Aniceto Pizaña was a follower of Ricardo and Enríque Flores Magón and their anarchist views. A rancher and avid reader of Regeneración, the Flores Magón newspaper, he owned Los Tulitos ranch. It was not u­ ntil the Los Tulitos raid—­instigated by a neighbor, John D. Scrivner—­that Pizaña was forced into engaging in rebel activities. A force of Texas Rangers, local law enforcement officers, some federal officials and soldiers along with vigilantes attacked Pizaña’s ­family on August 3, resulting in the death of a soldier and the wounding of three other raiders. Pizaña’s wife, ­brother, and son ­were captured (the son had to have a leg amputated as a result of injuries incurred during the raid). José Buenrosto was also captured. Pizaña escaped and joined forces ­under the command of Luis de la Rosa. Pizaña’s last known military engagement was the B ­ attle of Ojo de Agua, on October 20, in which three U.S. soldiers ­were killed. ­After that Pizaña moved to Mexico, where he died without being involved in any further military action.

Luis de la Rosa (ca. 1865–­ca. 1930) Luis de la Rosa was the most active military leader of the Texas Revolt. He led the Norias raid as well as the Olmito train derailment. He was a former deputy sheriff and ­either a butcher or grocer at Rio Hondo. De la Rosa remained militarily active through 1916, with both the U.S. and Mexican governments monitoring his activities. He was arrested several times by Venustiano Carranza, but never served long prison terms. Based on newspaper reports, de la Rosa was likely the military leader of the revolt, as he avoided capture on many occasions and led successful guerrilla raids.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Plan de San Diego, 1915 The Plan de San Diego document was written by Augustín S. de la Garza, penned from a jail cell in Monterrey, Mexico, in January 1915. The plan called for a revolution and the capture of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and California, with the hopes of joining forces with Native Americans and African Americans, groups that both had a vested interest in acquiring ­those territories. The chilling words of the document demand that all Anglo males 16 years and older should be killed. This version uses less anarchist language than the second manifesto, ¡Los Pueblos Oprimidos de Amer­i­ca!, that would follow. We, who in turn sign our names, assembled in the revolutionary plot of San Diego, Texas, solemnly promise each other on our word of honor that we w ­ ill

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fulfill and cause to be fulfilled and complied with, all the clauses and provisions stipulated in this document and execute the o­ rders and the wishes emanating from the provisional directorate of this movement and recognize as military chief of the same Mr.-­, guaranteeing with our lives the faithful accomplishment what is ­here agreed upon. 1. On the 20th day of February, 1915, at 2 ­o’clock in the morning, we ­will rise in arms against the Government and country of the United States and North Amer­ i­ca, one as all and all as one, proclaiming the liberty of the individuals of the black race and its in­de­pen­dence of Yankee tyranny, which has held us in iniquitous slavery since remote times; and at the same time and in the same manner we ­will proclaim the in­de­pen­dence and segregation of the States bordering on the Mexican nation, which are: Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Upper California, of which States the Republic of Mexico was robbed in a most perfidious manner by North American imperialism. 2. In order to render the foregoing clause effective, the necessary army corps ­will be formed u­ nder the immediate command of military leaders named by the supreme revolutionary congress of San Diego, Texas, which s­ hall have full power to designate a supreme chief who s­ hall be at the head of said army. The banner which s­ hall guide us in this enterprise ­shall be red, with a white diagonal fringe, and bearing the following inscription: “Equality and In­de­pen­dence,” and none of the subordinate leaders or subalterns ­shall use any other flag (except only the white for signals). The aforesaid army ­shall be known by the name of “Liberating Army for Races and ­Peoples.” 3. Each one of the chiefs ­will do his utmost by what­ever means pos­si­ble, to get possession of the arms and funds of the cities which he has beforehand been designated to capture in order that our cause may be provided with resources to continue the fight with better success, the said leaders each being required to render an account of every­thing to his superiors, in order that the latter may dispose of it in the proper manner. 4. The leader who may take a city must immediately name and appoint municipal authorities, in order that they may preserve order and assist in ­every way pos­ si­ble the revolutionary movement. In case the capital of any State which we are endeavoring to liberate be captured, t­ here ­will be named in the same manner superior municipal authorities for the same purpose. 5. It is strictly forbidden to hold prisoners, e­ ither special prisoners (civilians) or soldiers; and the only time that should be spent in dealing with them is that which is absolutely necessary to demand funds (loans) of them; and ­whether ­these demands be successful or not, they ­shall be shot immediately, without any pretext.

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6. ­Every stranger who ­shall be found armed and who cannot prove his right to carry arms, ­shall be summarily executed, regardless of race or nationality. 7. ­Every North American over 16 years of age ­shall be put to death, and only the aged men, the w ­ omen, and ­children s­ hall be respected. And on no account s­ hall the traitors to our race be respected or spared. 8. The Apaches of Arizona, as well as the Indians (redskins) of the territory, s­ hall be given ­every guarantee, and their lands which have been taken from them ­shall be returned to them, to the end that they may assist us in the cause which we defend. 9. All appointments and grades in our army which are exercised by subordinate officers (subalterns) ­shall be examined (recognized) by the superior officers. ­There s­ hall likewise be recognized the grades of leaders of other complots which may not be connected with this, and who may wish to co-­operate with us—­also ­those who may affiliate with us ­later. 10. The movement having gathered force, and once having possessed ourselves of the States above alluded to, we ­shall proclaim them an in­de­pen­dent republic, ­later requesting, if it be thought expedient, annexation to Mexico without concerning ourselves at that time about the form of government which may control the destinies of the common ­mother country. 11. When we ­shall have obtained in­de­pen­dence for the Negroes, we ­shall grant them a banner which they themselves ­shall be permitted to select, and we ­shall aid them in obtaining six States of the American Union, which States border upon t­ hose already mentioned, and they may from t­hese six States form a republic, and they may therefore be in­de­pen­dent. 12. None of the leaders ­shall have the power to make terms with the ­enemy without first communicating with the superior officers of the army, bearing in mind that this is a war without quarter, nor ­shall any leader enroll in his ranks any stranger ­unless said stranger belongs to the Latin, the Negro, or the Japa­nese race. 13. It is understood that none of the members of this complot (or anyone who may come in l­ater) s­ hall upon the definite triumph of the cause which we defend, fail to recognize their superiors, nor ­shall they aid ­others who with bastard designs may endeavor to destroy what has been accomplished with such ­great work. 14. As soon as pos­si­ble each local society (junta) s­hall nominate delegates, who ­shall meet at a time and place beforehand designated, for the purpose of nominating a permanent directorate of the revolutionary movement. At this meeting ­shall be determined and worked out in detail the powers and duties of the permanent directorate, and this revolutionary plan may be revised or amended. 15. It is understood among ­those who may follow this movement that we ­will carry as a singing voice the in­de­pen­dence of the Negroes, placing obligations upon both races, and that on no account ­shall we accept aid, ­either moral or pecuniary,

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from the government of Mexico, and it need not consider itself ­under any obligations in this, our movement. EQUALITY AND IN­DE­PEN­DENCE. Source: From a translated copy of Plan de San Diego, Rec­ords of the Department of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Mexico, 1910–1929, 812.00/1583, National Archives Microfilm Publications, microcopy no. M-274, pp. 145–148.

See also: Anglo-­American Colonization of Northern Mexico; The Mexican Revolution; Texas In­de­pen­dence

Further Reading Cumberland, Charles C. 1954. “Border Raids in the Lower Rio Grande Valley—1915.” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 57 (3, January): 301–324. Gómez-­Quiñones, Juan. 1970. “Plan de San Diego Reviewed.” Aztlan 1 (1 Spring): 124–132. Gonzales, Trinidad. 2012. “The Mexican Revolution, Revolución de Texas, and Matanza de 1915,” in Arnoldo De Leon, ed., War Along the Border: The Mexican Revolution and Tejano Communities, 107–133. College Station: Texas A&M Press. Harris, Charles H., and Louis R. Sadler. 1978. “The Plan of San Diego and the Mexican­—­ United States Crisis of 1916: A Reexamination.” Hispanic American Historical Review 58 (3, August): 381–408. Harris, Charles H., and Louis R. Sadler. 2004. The Texas Rangers and the Mexican Revolution: The Bloodiest De­cade, 1910–1920. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Harris, Charles H., and Louis R. Sadler. 2013. The Plan de San Diego: Tejano Rebellion, Mexican Intrigue. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Johnson, Benjamin H. 2003. Revolution in Texas: How a Forgotten Rebellion and Its Bloody Suppression Turned Mexicans into Americans. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Meyer, Philipp. 2013. The Son: A Novel. New York: HarperCollins. Paredes, Américo. 1976. A Texas-­Mexican Cancionero: Folksongs of the Lower Border. Austin: University of Texas Press. Paredes, Américo. 1990. George Washington Gomez: A Mexicotexan Novel. Houston: Arte Público Press. Refusing to Forget Proj­ect. (n.d.). “Refusing to Forget.” Retrieved from http://­refusingtoforget​ .­org/ Rocha, Rodolfo. 2000. “The Tejano Revolt of 1915,” in Emilio Zamora, Cynthia Orozco, and Rodolfo Rocha, eds., Mexican Americans in Texas History: Selected Essays 103–120. Austin: Texas State Historical Association. Sandos, James A. 1992. Rebellion in the Borderlands: Anarchism and the Plan of San Diego, 1904–1923. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

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Rise of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, 1922–1954 Margaret Power

Chronology 1897

Spain grants Puerto Rico autonomy in order to appease forces in Puerto Rico that threatened to fight for in­de­pen­dence.

1898, July

On July  25, U.S. troops invade Puerto Rico during the Spanish-­ American War b­ ecause the island is strategically located; this furthers the U.S. goal to gain military, po­liti­cal, and economic domination of the Ca­rib­be­an.

1898, December

The United States acquires Puerto Rico ­after signing the Treaty of Paris with Spain.

1900

On April 12, the U.S. Congress passes the Foraker Act, which establishes a civilian government in Puerto Rico.

1917

On March 3, the U.S. Congress unilaterally confers citizenship on Puerto Ricans.

1922, April

At the end of the Insular Cases, the U.S. Supreme Court fi­nally reaches a decision in Balzac v. ­People of Porto Rico. The Court rules Puerto Rico is an unincorporated territory; it belongs to but is not part of the United States.

1922, On September 17, the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party is founded with September the goal of ending U.S. colonial rule on the island. 1927–1930

Nationalist Party Vice President Pedro Albizu Campos tours the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Haiti, Mexico, Peru, and Venezuela to generate solidarity for an in­de­pen­dent Puerto Rico.

1930s

The ­Great Depression leads to heightened unemployment, increased poverty, growing opposition to U.S. rule in Puerto Rico, and greater support for the Nationalist Party.

1930, May

Pedro Albizu Campos is elected president of the Nationalist Party.

1930, The Nationalist Party initiates its annual commemoration of the 1868 September Lares uprising against Spanish colonialism. 1931

The Nationalist Party organizes a military wing, the Cadetes de la República (Cadets of the Republic) for young men and the Enfermeras de la República (Nurses of the Republic) for w ­ omen.

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1932, November

Following its electoral defeat, the Nationalist Party calls for an electoral boycott and the formation of the Ejército Libertador (Liberation Army).

1934, January

Sugarcane workers strike for better wages and conditions and ask Pedro Albizu Campos to lead them.

1935

On October  24, Puerto Rican police, u­ nder the command of U.S. Col­o­nel Riggs, kill four young Nationalist men in Rio Piedras.

1936, February

On February 23, Elías Beauchamp and Hiram Rosado, two young Nationalists, kill Col­o­nel Riggs in retaliation for the murder of the four Nationalists. Police arrest and kill the two Nationalists.

1936, July

A jury composed of eight North Americans and two Puerto Ricans find eight Nationalist leaders guilty of vari­ous charges, including sedition.

1937, March

On March 21, police open fire on a peaceful march of Nationalists, killing 19 and wounding 200. The event is remembered as the Ponce Massacre.

1937, June

The Nationalist leaders who ­were convicted of sedition are imprisoned in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary.

1943, June

Pedro Albizu Campos is released from prison and goes to New York City. Due to his ill health, he stays in Columbus Hospital to recuperate u­ ntil the autumn of 1946.

1944, February

Albizu Campos meets Ruth Reynolds and other North American pacifists who have joined the movement to oppose U.S. colonial rule in Puerto Rico.

1947, December

Albizu Campos returns to Puerto Rico on December 15 where thousands welcome him home.

1948

The Nationalist Party intensifies calls to male members to reject the draft and refuse induction into the U.S. military.

1949, January

Luis Muñoz Marín becomes governor of Puerto Rico.

1950s

Solidarity movements across Latin Amer­i­ca call for Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence and the release of the Nationalist po­liti­cal prisoners.

1950, October

On October 30, the Nationalist Party attacks towns across the island and the governor’s h­ ouse in San Juan to oppose governmental efforts to convert Puerto Rico into a ­Free Associated State and thus claim it is no longer a U.S. colony.

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More than a thousand Puerto Ricans are arrested following the uprising. Most are quickly released. 1950, November

Griselio Torresola and Oscar Collazo, members of the New York City Nationalist Party, attack Blair House, where President Truman is staying, to call world attention to U.S. attacks in Puerto Rico.

1952

Puerto Ricans approve a new constitution. Puerto Rico becomes an Estado Libre Asociado (­Free Associated State) or Commonwealth.

1954

On March  1, Lolita Lebrón, Rafael Cancel Miranda, Irvin Flores, and Andres Figueroa Cordero, members of the New York City Nationalist Party, shout “Viva Puerto Rico Libre!” (“­Free Puerto Rico!”) and open fire in the U.S. Congress. Five U.S. congressmen are wounded, but all survive. The four Nationalists are sentenced to life imprisonment.

1960s

National and international campaigns demand the release of the Nationalist prisoners.

1965

Pedro Albizu Campos dies on April 21.

1970s

Only five Nationalists remain in prison (all in U.S. jails): Rafael Cancel Miranda, Oscar Collazo, Andres Figueroa Cordero, Irvin Flores, and Lolita Lebrón. International campaigns call on the U.S. government to “­Free the Five!”

1974

20,000 supporters of Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence rally in Madison Square Garden on October  27. Again, one of the key demands is “­Free the Five!”

1979

President Jimmy Car­ter commutes the sentences of the five Nationalists on September 10. The last Nationalist Party prisoners are freed.

Narrative From the 1920s through the early 1950s, the Nationalist Party of Puerto Rico was the principal proponent of Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence—on the island, in the United States, and around the world. In 1922, 24 years ­after the United States colonized the island, male members of the professional and intellectual elite in Puerto Rico founded the Nationalist Party. The party opposed the increased Americanization of Puerto Rico, including the requirement that classes on the island be conducted in En­glish and U.S missionaries’ efforts to convert Puerto Ricans to Protestantism. Instead, the party called for in­de­pen­dence. The Nationalists lacked a clear economic critique of U.S. colonialism or a concrete plan for what an in­de­pen­dent Puerto Rico

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As the most prominent leader of the Nationalist Party, Pedro Albizu Campos fought against American imperialism, which eventually led to his imprisonment. (Bettmann/Getty)

would look like. Nevertheless, the party united many forces that opposed U.S. colonial rule. The Nationalist Party believed that Puerto Rico was part of Latin Amer­i­ca, a region with which it shared a language, culture, and history. The party sent Nationalist Party Vice President Pedro Albizu Campos (1891–1965) on a tour of Latin Amer­i­ca from 1927 to 1930 to strengthen ties with like-­minded organ­izations, governments, and individuals. Albizu Campos went to the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Cuba, Mexico, Peru, and Venezuela, where he met with key po­liti­ cal figures and organ­izations. He condemned U.S. colonial rule in well-­received public gatherings; spoke to the press; built lasting, mutually supportive relationships with anti-­imperialist forces; and generated solidarity for Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence, particularly in the Dominican Republic and Cuba (Power, 2013b, pp. 25–27; Rosado, 2008, pp. 117–141).

Albizu Campos and the Nationalist Party ­ fter he returned to the island in 1930, Albizu Campos was elected president of A the Nationalist Party (PN). His election coincided with higher unemployment and poverty, in part the result of the ­Great Depression, and growing dissatisfaction with U.S. rule. ­Under his leadership the Nationalists ­adopted a more confrontational attitude and policy ­toward the United States. The party or­ga­nized and directed the Cadetes de la República (Cadets of the Republic) for young men and the Enfermeras de la República (Nurses of the Republic) for young w ­ omen. Members of the Nationalist Party, some of whom had served in the U.S. military, trained the Cadets

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in military skills and discipline. The role of the Cadets was to defend the party and the nation. Many of the Cadets ­were also members of the PN-­sponsored Ejército Libertador, which was the armed wing of the party. The Nurses also received military training, but their primary jobs w ­ ere to tend to wounded Cadets, raise funds for the party, and, along with the Cadets, attend the party’s public meetings and marches, which the Nationalists sponsored frequently during the 1930s. Many Nationalist events began with a church ser­vice. Following the Mass, Nationalists marched through the streets of Puerto Rican towns, the Cadets leading the parade followed by the Nurses. In addition to being the president, Pedro Albizu Campos was also the party’s leading theoretician. He developed the thesis that the Treaty of Paris, which ended the war between Spain and the United States in 1898 and ceded Puerto Rico to the United States, was null and void (Albizu Campos and Rodríguez León, 2007, p. 253). ­Because Spain had granted Puerto Rico autonomy in 1897, Albizu Campos argued, it lacked the ­legal power to dictate Puerto Rico’s status. Albizu Campos concluded that Spain’s transfer of Puerto Rico to the United States was illegal, thus the United States’ possession of the island was unlawful. Therefore, according to Albizu Campos, Puerto Ricans ­were legally, po­liti­cally, and morally justified in fighting against the United States’ occupation. The Nationalists understood that to generate opposition to U.S. rule, they needed to awaken Puerto Rican national identity. To this end, the party flew the Puerto Rican flag, sang the national anthem, upheld patriotic heroes as role models, and celebrated impor­tant moments of Puerto Rican history in both its internal meetings and public gatherings. They delivered their message via radio programs that w ­ ere beamed across the island and widely heard, through their newspapers and other publications, in local and national meetings of the party, and in public programs and marches, such as the program in Lares.

The Gathering at Lares One of most impor­tant national events was the annual gathering in Lares, a small town in Puerto Rico’s mountainous interior. In 1868, pro-­independence and anti-­ slavery forces ­rose, unsuccessfully, against Spanish rule on the island. The revolt was centered in Lares. To Nationalists, Lares represented the beginning of the Puerto Rican nation, since it was t­here that anti-­colonial forces first declared the in­de­pen­ dent Republic of Puerto Rico. For that reason, beginning in the 1930s the Nationalist Party or­ga­nized annual pilgrimages to Lares to commemorate the beginnings of Puerto Rican nationalism and to honor t­ hose whom they considered national heroes. Two of the Nationalist heroes ­were Marianna Bracetti and Lola Rodríguez de Tío. Bracetti, one of the leaders of the uprising, is credited with knitting the first Puerto

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Pedro Albizu Campos’s 1927–1930 Tour of the Ca­rib­bean, Mexico, and Peru The Nationalist Party believed that Puerto Rico belonged with its s­ ister republics of the Amer­i­cas, not as an unincorporated territory of the United States. It also understood that to achieve in­de­pen­dence, it needed the backing of Latin Amer­i­ca. From 1927 to 1930, Pedro Albizu Campos traveled to and met with governments, organ­izations, and individuals throughout the region to build or strengthen ties with them and raise solidarity with the cause of Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence (Power, 2010b, pp. 25–27). Traveling by ship, he went first to the Dominican Republic, then Haiti, Cuba, Mexico, back to Cuba, then to Peru, where Laura Meneses, his wife, and his c­ hildren w ­ ere living. Albizu Campos received his warmest welcome and generated the most concrete and lasting expressions of solidarity in the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Cuba. Cuba and the Dominican Republic shared with Puerto Rico a history of fighting Spanish colonialism. All four nations also suffered from recent or ongoing U.S. military occupation. ­These joint experiences united them and made the three Ca­rib­bean nations particularly responsive to Albizu Campos’s denunciations of U.S. colonialism. Cubans and Dominicans established solidarity committees with Puerto Rico. Haitian and Puerto Rican anti-­occupation activists pledged to contribute what each could to the o­ thers’ fight to end U.S. rule (Power, 2013b). Albizu Campos accomplished very ­little in Mexico, largely due to the internal situation ­there, which was somewhat chaotic as a result of Catholics fighting against the secular government of President Calles. His visit to Peru was equally frustrating. He managed to contact impor­tant forces in Argentina, who urged him to visit. However, he and the Nationalists lacked the funds to finance the visit, so he was unable to go. Nonetheless, his visit bore fruit over the next three de­cades when po­liti­cal leaders, parties, cultural luminaries, student groups, and l­abor ­unions wrote letters, demonstrated, and signed petitions in support of Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence and the Nationalist prisoners.

Rican flag, the flag of Lares. Rodríguez de Tío, another leader of the Lares revolt, wrote the lyr­ics to “La Borinqueña,” which Nationalists ­adopted as their national anthem. (­There are two versions of “La Borinqueña.” Puerto Rican Nationalists sing the revolutionary one written by Rodríguez de Tío, whereas the anthem officially a­ dopted by the Puerto Rican government in 1977 uses the same m ­ usic but dif­fer­ent words.)

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By celebrating Lares as the birthplace of the Republic of Puerto Rico, the Nationalists challenged and countered the notion taught in U.S.-­run schools across the island that George Washington was the ­father of their country. To ­counter this U.S.-­centric vision of Puerto Rican history, the Nationalists spoke of 19th-­century pro-­independence figures such as Ramon Emeterio Betances and Eugenio María de Hostos, or the heroes of Lares. By referencing ­these individuals and the activities they engaged in, the Nationalists evoked the vision of a heroic past and linked their calls for in­de­pen­dence with ­those they considered the founding ­fathers and ­mothers of the Puerto Rican nation. Nationalists traveled from all over the island to attend the first “Pilgrimage to Lares” in 1930. The activities began early, at 5:00 am, with the playing of “Reveille” and the firing of guns. The mayor and other municipal dignitaries met the attendees, who then walked to the Plaza de la Revolución. Next, the assembly celebrated Mass in memory of the “Martyrs for In­de­pen­dence,” t­hose who had died fighting for the cause. From t­here they returned to the Plaza de la Revolución to lay floral wreaths for the heroes of Lares (Power, 2013a, p. 124).

The Party’s Structure Takes Place In terms of structure, the party established juntas municipales (local governing boards) in towns and cities across the island. In keeping with the time, most officers w ­ ere men, although several ­women ­were elected to leadership on the local level during the 1930s. The juntas municipales served as the local expression of the Junta Nacional, the national leadership body. The local juntas or­ga­nized meetings, hosted speakers from the Junta Nacional, raised money to support the party, and rallied and transported supporters to national events and marches. The Nationalist Party was predominantly Catholic, although Protestants ­were also members. A Catholic religious and Hispanic cultural identity distinguished the party and the nation from the United States, which was largely Protestant and Anglo-­ Saxon. In addition, Catholicism and Hispanism, the common history, language, and cultural traditions that Spain’s former colonies in the Amer­i­cas shared, connected Puerto Rico more closely to Latin Amer­i­ca, the region with which the Nationalist Party aimed to rejoin. Although the original leaders and members of the party w ­ ere largely from the elite, by the 1930s and through the 1950s, the class position of the leadership and membership had evolved. Although some members of the intellectual and cultural elite continued to affiliate with the PN, o­ thers distanced themselves from the party as it became more radical and openly defiant of U.S. rule. During the same time, the base had expanded to include peasants, workers, and sections of the lower and ­middle classes. This change in composition can be attributed, in part, to the increased

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­Women and the Nationalist Party Puerto Rican w ­ omen first joined the Nationalist Party in the 1930s. They became members for the same reasons men did: they wanted an in­de­pen­dent nation and they felt it was their duty to help end U.S. colonialism. Pedro Albizu Campos, the president of the party, encouraged ­women to join the organ­ ization. In November 1930, the Nationalist Party created its first ­Women’s Section, in Vieques. Over the course of that de­cade w ­ omen joined similar organ­izations across the island. ­Women Nationalists participated in party marches, protests, and events. They raised money for the party and the po­liti­cal prisoners. They spoke at rallies and on the radio, wrote about in­de­pen­dence, and held impor­tant positions in the party. Nationalist w ­ omen made significant contributions to the party. Dominga de la Cruz, a black, working-­class Nationalist, traveled to the 1935 party’s National Assembly to request that the party convert the Hijas de la Libertad (­Daughters of Liberty) into the Enfermeras de la República (Nurses of the Republic), ­because she thought this would make ­women more active members. The assembly enthusiastically endorsed her suggestion (Jiménez de Wagenheim, 2016, pp. 28–29). During the 1950s, uprising Blanca Canales helped to lead the revolt in Jayuya. Like other female Nationalists, she was a Nurse and she had received military training. ­After the Nationalists took over the town, she climbed to a ­hotel balcony, waved the Puerto Rican flag, and proclaimed the Republic. Isabel Rosado, a Nationalist, played no armed role in the insurrection, but she publicly voiced her support for in­de­pen­dence. ­These two and other Nationalist ­women ­were arrested ­after the rebellion and served many years in prison. They remained committed to a ­free Puerto Rico their entire lives. impoverishment many Puerto Ricans experienced during the G ­ reat Depression, as well as to their growing alienation from U.S. rule. The U.S. government appointed all the top officials who governed Puerto Rico. ­These men, born and raised in the United States, seldom spoke Spanish, and generally knew ­little about the island, the territory they had been sent to rule. To ­counter growing nationalist sentiment and heightened unrest, the U.S. government appointed Col­o­nel Francis Riggs to head the Puerto Rican police and General Blanton Winship to govern the island in the 1930s. Their rule initiated an upward spiral of armed confrontations. The increased vio­lence began in 1935, when the police murdered four Nationalists. Two Nationalists retaliated by assassinating Police Chief Col­o­ nel Riggs in 1936. The police arrested the two Nationalists and shot them.

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Nationalists on Trial The killing of Col­on­ el Riggs prompted the U.S. government to arrest the leadership of the Nationalist Party in 1936 and charge them with sedition, namely, conspiring to overthrow the U.S. government by force. To protest their arrest and imprisonment, the Nationalist Party or­ga­nized a peaceful march on Palm Sunday in 1937 in Ponce, a town on the southern coast. Shortly before the march began, Governor Winship revoked permission for the parade and the Ponce police ordered the marchers to disband. The Nationalists refused to heed their command. When the Cadets and Nurses, who stood at the front of the parade, began the march, the police opened fire on the unarmed crowd, killing 19 and wounding more than 200. The American Civil Liberties Union extensively investigated the incident and concluded that the police had indeed carried out a massacre of peaceful civilians, which has since been known as the Ponce Massacre. No charges w ­ ere brought against the police, however. The first jury to hear the case of the Nationalist leaders arrested in 1936 was composed of seven Puerto Ricans and two North Americans. The case resulted in a hung jury. Determined to convict the Nationalists, the U.S. government conducted a second trial; this time the jury was made up of ten North Americans and two Puerto Ricans. The Nationalist leadership, including Pedro Albizu Campos, was found guilty of seditious conspiracy and other charges and imprisoned in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary. With much of its top leadership in jail, the Nationalist Party entered a period of disor­ga­ni­za­tion. Police repression and infiltration of the Nationalists generated widespread fear and mistrust among Puerto Ricans who supported the Nationalists, as well as ­those who did not, which deterred p­ eople from participating in Nationalist activities. ­Because Albizu Campos was in prison, the Nationalist Party elected a new leader and began to rebuild its municipal boards and national structure. From 1937 to 1947, much of the party’s resources, energy, and activities ­were dedicated to obtaining the release of its imprisoned comrades. Supporters in New York City and across Latin Amer­i­ca also worked to secure their release, as they considered them po­liti­cal prisoners unjustly jailed for their po­liti­cal beliefs. They believed Puerto Rico was being treated as a U.S. colony when it should be an in­de­ pen­dent nation.

Puerto Rican Migration ­ fter acquiring U.S. citizenship in 1917, thousands of Puerto Ricans migrated to A New York City in search of jobs and a higher standard of living. By the early 1930s, members of the Nationalist Party had established a presence in New York,

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and by 1943 juntas Nacionalistas existed in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Bronx. The juntas or­ga­nized within the Puerto Rican community and worked closely with other Latino organ­izations and progressive forces. They held educational events, raised funds for the po­liti­cal prisoners, and or­ga­nized rallies and protests. They encouraged progressive North Americans to work for the freedom of Puerto Rico and the Nationalist prisoners convicted of sedition and serving time in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary. U.S. Congressman Vito Marcantonio was a close ally. Numerous North Americans, ranging from Nobel Prize-­winning author Pearl Buck to pacifist members of the Harlem Ashram, also heeded their call. During the 1940s and 1950s, U.S.-­based supporters formed a variety of organ­izations, such as the American League for Puerto Rico’s In­de­pen­dence, to support the Nationalist Party, sovereignty for Puerto Rico, and the release of the Nationalist prisoners. The Nationalist Party initiated two new campaigns in the 1940s. Although Puerto Ricans living on the island could not vote in any federal election (they still cannot do so as of 2017), Puerto Rican men w ­ ere subjected to the draft. The Nationalist Party called on Puerto Rican men to refuse the draft and not fight in the Korean War. A number of male members of the party heeded the call and some 80 persons ­were arrested and jailed for refusing to serve in the U.S. military. During World War II, the U.S. Navy took control of the Puerto Rican island of Vieques to use as a training ground and for target practice. Pedro Albizu Campos decried the U.S. Navy’s seizure of Vieques while he was still in prison. When he returned to Puerto Rico in 1947, he initiated the second campaign: protest the U.S. Navy’s use of Vieques and other bases in Puerto Rico, in part ­because (Albizu Campos claimed) the presence of U.S. bases transformed the islands into a likely target of nuclear attack. Individuals, organ­izations, and governments throughout Latin Amer­i­ca also acted in support of Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence and the Nationalist prisoners. From Chile to Mexico to Cuba, impor­tant intellectuals, politicians, and officials sent tele­ grams, wrote letters, spoke at events, passed resolutions in their respective parliaments and international congresses, and published materials calling for an end to U.S. colonialism on the island. They established solidarity committees, such as the Argentine Association of Friends of Puerto Rico; passed legislation in f­avor of Puerto Rico, as the Ec­ua­doran Parliament did in 1957; condemned the imprisonment of the Nationalist prisoners; and pressured the U.S. government to grant Puerto Rico in­de­pen­dence (Power, 2013b).

The Creation of a Commonwealth Pedro Albizu Campos was released from prison on parole in 1943. Due to his poor health, he spent the next several years in Columbus Hospital in New York City. He

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returned to Puerto Rico in 1947, and thousands turned out to welcome him home. However, the Puerto Rico that Albizu Campos returned to was very dif­fer­ent from the one he had left. The Popu­lar Demo­cratic Party (PPD), led by Luis Muñoz Marín, had become the principal party on the island. Poverty still plagued the population, but the PPD promised to end it and improve p­ eople’s living conditions—­and many ­people believed Muñoz. In 1948, Puerto Ricans elected Muñoz Marín governor; this marked the first time the United States had allowed the islanders to vote for their own leader. Luis Muñoz Marín and the PPD worked with the U.S. government to engineer a pro­cess that would ostensibly end U.S. colonial rule by turning Puerto Rico into a ­Free Associated State or, as it is often called, the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico. According to them, once Puerto Rico became a commonwealth—­which is a constitutional anomaly—­U.S. colonial rule would end and Puerto Rico would govern itself. ­These conditions did not materialize. The U.S. government continued (and continues) to maintain control over all significant aspects of Puerto Rico, such as the military, foreign trade, the judicial system, and, ultimately, the status of Puerto Rico. However, this change did allow the United States to claim that Puerto Rico was no longer a U.S. colony, which was critical to its image as the leader of the ­free world during the Cold War. The PPD, in turn, presented itself as the party that had ended U.S. colonial rule and developed policies that would modernize Puerto Rico and improve ­people’s standard of living; in fact, it became the dominant party on the island for the next two de­cades. To undermine Nationalist opposition to this change, the Puerto Rican Senate (which the PPD dominated) passed Law 53: the Ley de Mordaza (muzzle law) in 1948. This law made it illegal to display a Puerto Rican flag (but not a U.S. flag), or to call for or be a member of an organ­ization that demanded an end to U.S. rule. The Nationalist Party opposed the PPD’s plan to make Puerto Rico a ­Free Associated State since, for them, this cosmetic change would deal a death blow to their strug­gle for an in­de­pen­dent Puerto Rico. The Nationalists believed (correctly, as it turned out) that the PPD’s platform, which consisted of more and better jobs; more hospitals, schools, and public transportation; and greater po­liti­cal power on the island, would convince a majority of Puerto Ricans that Marín and the PPD had achieved the goals they longed for and that, as a result, they did not need the Nationalists. To prevent this outcome, and to alert the world that the dream of a f­ree Puerto Rico still existed, the Nationalists launched the 1950 uprising. On October 30, 1950, armed units of the Nationalist Party attacked the governor’s mansion in San Juan in addition to nine towns across Puerto Rico. They managed to hold only one site, Jayuya, for any length of time (48 hours). In Jayuya, Nationalist leader Blanca Canales climbed to a ­hotel balcony, waved the Puerto Rican flag, and proclaimed the Republic, just as pro-­independence fighters had done in Lares in 1868. The U.S. government sent planes to strafe Jayuya and Utuado,

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another small town in the mountainous interior, and the Insular Police wrested back control of the towns.

Attack on Blair House On November 1, 1950, Griselio Torresola and Oscar Collazo, two members of the New York City Nationalist Party, attacked Blair House, the residence in Washington, D.C., where President Truman was temporarily staying. Their action aimed to call world attention to the fighting in Puerto Rico, which they considered an anti-­ colonial strug­gle, not a civil war. Torresola was killed and Collazo was wounded in the assault. Collazo was given the death penalty, but President Truman commuted the sentence to life imprisonment in 1952. Demands from a broad range of Latin American politicians, artists, intellectuals, u­ nions, and po­liti­cal organ­izations that he spare Collazo’s life contributed to Truman’s decision (Power, 2013b, pp. 24–25). Following t­hese actions, the Puerto Rican police arrested some 1,106 p­ eople across the island, including Pedro Albizu Campos and other party leaders. The FBI arrested dozens of Puerto Ricans in New York City and Chicago, where the Nationalist Party also had a following. The ­trials and imprisonments that followed absorbed much of the Nationalist Party’s energy and resources over the next few years. Support for the Nationalist Party and in­de­pen­dence declined in the face of the government repression that swept the island and Puerto Rican communities in the United States. Equally, support for Muñoz Marín and the PPD grew. In 1952 the majority of Puerto Rican voters approved the ­Free Associated State proposition and the PPD rode a wave of popu­lar approval for the rest of the 1950s. Despite shrinking numbers, some Nationalists refused to give up their dream of a ­free country. Determined to show the world that Puerto Ricans still opposed U.S. colonial rule, four Puerto Rican Nationalists from New York City—­Rafael Cancel Miranda, Irvin Flores, Lolita Lebrón, and Oscar Collazo—­staged what would be the party’s last armed action. Led by Lolita Lebrón, the four Nationalists entered the visitors’ gallery of the U.S. Congress. Lebrón yelled “­Free Puerto Rico!” and fired a pistol into the air; her three companions shot at the congressmen below. They wounded five congressmen, all of whom survived. The four Nationalists ­were arrested, convicted of vari­ous charges, and given life sentences. All the Nationalists arrested in Puerto Rico following the 1950s uprising ­were released from prison by the early 1960s. Pedro Albizu Campos was arrested again in 1950, released in 1953, then rearrested in 1954 a­ fter the attack on the U.S. Congress. He spent a total of 26 years in prison and was released a few weeks before his death in April 1965. During the 1960s and 1970s, the five remaining Nationalist prisoners who had carried out attacks in the United States, and w ­ ere all ­housed in U.S. jails, became global symbols of anti-­colonial freedom fighters and po­liti­cal

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prisoners. The campaign for their release was embraced by a broad range of organ­ izations, governments, and individuals in Puerto Rico, the United States, and across the world. The pressure was so g­ reat that President Jimmy Car­ter first released Andres Figueroa Cordero in 1977 ­because he was very ill with cancer. In September 1979, President Car­ter pardoned the remaining four Nationalists. They went home to Puerto Rico and remained active in the movement for an in­de­pen­dent Puerto Rico. Irvin Flores and Oscar Collazo died in 1994. Lolita Lebrón died in 2010. As of 2017, only Rafael Cancel Miranda remained alive. The Nationalist Party never regained the popularity it had achieved in the 1930s. However, new organ­izations emerged that also called for in­de­pen­dence. In 1946, the Puerto Rican In­de­pen­dence Party (PIP) formed, and from that time to the pres­ent has primarily sought to achieve national sovereignty through electoral means. In the 1960s and 1970s, a growing number of Puerto Ricans on the island and in the United States called for an end to U.S. rule. Many of them joined the Puerto Rican Socialist Party (PSP), which was founded in 1971 and disbanded in 1993. As of 2017, the in­de­pen­dence movement is divided into a number of small parties, the largest of which is the PIP. The Nationalist Party still exists in Puerto Rico and New York City. Its numbers are greatly reduced, but its members continue to uphold the hope that one day Puerto Rico ­will be an in­de­pen­dent nation. The two largest Puerto Rican parties are the New Progressive Party, which supports statehood for the island; and the PPD, which continues to uphold the Commonwealth.

Biographies of Notable Figures Pedro Albizu Campos (1898–1965) Pedro Albizu Campos, the f­ uture president of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, was born September 12, 1898, in Ponce, Puerto Rico. His parents, who w ­ ere not married, w ­ ere at the opposite ends of the class structure. His ­mother, who raised him ­until she died when he was four years old, had been a slave. His maternal aunt raised him ­after his ­mother died. His ­father, who was of Basque origin, was a landowner. Albizu Campos’s remarkable intelligence and studious nature ensured that he excelled in school. He was also popu­lar with the other students, who elected him class president. ­After he graduated high school, he obtained a scholarship from the Masonic Lodge in Ponce. That, and the money his f­ ather gave him, allowed him to attend college at the University of Vermont in 1912. Despite the marked cultural differences between Puerto Rico and Vermont, Albizu Campos was an outstanding student. In 1913 he transferred to Harvard and graduated in 1916 with a Bachelor of Arts degree. He then entered Harvard Law School. While at Harvard he was active in student clubs and president of the

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prestigious Cosmopolitan Club. He learned about the anti-­colonial strug­gles between the British and Irish. He or­ga­nized university students in Boston to support Irish in­de­pen­dence and welcomed Eamon de Valera, the president of Ireland, when he visited the city in 1919. ­After the United States entered World War I in 1917, Albizu Campos interrupted his studies to serve in the U.S. military from 1918 to 1919. He then returned to Harvard Law School and completed his studies. While at Harvard he met Laura Meneses, a Peruvian, who was studying at Radcliffe. They married in 1922 in Ponce, where Albizu Campos was working as a ­lawyer. The ­couple had three ­children: Pedro, Laura, and Rosa. Albizu Campos joined the Nationalist Party in 1924, and from that date ­until his death in 1965 he dedicated his life to ending U.S. colonial rule in Puerto Rico. In 1927, when he was vice president of the Nationalist Party, Albizu Campos traveled throughout the Ca­rib­bean, to Mexico, Peru (where Laura and his c­ hildren ­were staying with her f­ amily), and Venezuela to generate solidarity with Puerto Rican in­de­pen­dence. Shortly a­ fter he returned to Puerto Rico in 1930, he was elected president of the party. Albizu Campos employed his l­ egal training to develop the argument that b­ ecause Spain had granted Puerto Rico autonomy in 1897, Spain had no lawful right to cede the island to the United States at the end of the Spanish-­American War. He thus concluded that as U.S. rule of Puerto Rico contradicted the law, Puerto Ricans ­were justified in opposing it, including with armed actions. This l­egal, theoretical, and po­liti­cal argument has underpinned Nationalist Party attitudes, beliefs, and actions from the 1930s to ­today. Although his Harvard law degree could have guaranteed him a very comfortable life, Albizu Campos chose to offer his ­legal ser­vices to defend the poor and, beginning in the 1930s, arrested Nationalists. He was a skilled and passionate orator and during the 1930s thousands of Puerto Ricans raptly listened to his speeches in plazas across the island or on the radio. In his speeches and writings, he denounced U.S. rule and rejected colonial notions and teachings that Puerto Ricans w ­ ere inferior ­people who needed U.S. tutelage and support to survive. Instead, he affirmed Puerto Ricans’ cultural and historical heritage, their ability and need to rule themselves, and their ­legal and moral right to fight for in­de­pen­dence. B ­ ecause p­ eople learned so much from his speeches and writings, he was called El Maestro, the teacher. ­Those who knew him well emphasize his kindness to ­others, his warmth, and his ­great sense of humor. He loved to tell jokes and make ­those around him laugh. At the same time, he publicly called for and secretly or­ga­nized armed strug­ gle against U.S. rule in Puerto Rico. The Ejército Libertador, the armed wing of the Nationalist Party, was his idea, as was the Cadetes de la República. Although Albizu Campos did not participate in e­ ither group or in any of the Nationalists’

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armed actions, the U.S. government held him responsible for the attacks that members of the party carried out in the 1930s and 1950s. For that reason, the U.S. government, and most particularly J. Edgar Hoover, head of the FBI, kept close tabs on Albizu Campos, had him arrested once in the 1930s and twice in the 1950s, and made sure that he was convicted of a range of charges and sentenced to lengthy prison terms. Albizu Campos spent 26 of the 28 years between 1937 and 1965 (when he died) in jail. His writings, his speeches, his dedication to the cause of Puerto Rican in­de­ pen­dence, and his repudiation of U.S. imperialism in Latin Amer­i­ca established him as one of the leading po­liti­cal figures of the Amer­i­cas. When he was imprisoned, leading politicians, intellectuals, ­labor leaders, and artists (such as Chileans Salvador Allende, Pablo Neruda, and Gabriela Mistral; ­labor leaders; and Mexicans Vicente Toledano and José Vasconcelos) campaigned on his behalf. They wrote letters, signed petitions, and gave speeches demanding that he and all the Nationalist prisoners be released. When he died, Che Guevara eulogized him in the United Nations, calling him “a symbol of the yet unfree but indomitable Latin Amer­i­ca” (Guevara, 1964). Albizu Campos’s time in prison led to a severe deterioration of his health. He charged that the U.S. government bombarded him with x-­rays in his cell, which led to burns, swollen legs, and a general weakening of his constitution. Governor Muñoz Marín released him from prison in 1965 ­because he did not want him to die in jail. The U.S. government fi­nally allowed Laura Meneses, Albizu Campos’s wife, whom it had prevented from visiting him in prison, to enter Puerto Rico so she could be at his bedside when he died. Seventy-­five thousand p­ eople attended his funeral pro­cession. He is buried in the Old San Juan Cemetery.

Lolita Lebrón (1919–2010) Lolita Lebrón was born in Lares, Puerto Rico, on November 19, 1919. Like most ­women in the area, her m ­ other worked at home, raising c­ hildren and tending to the ­house. Her ­father worked in the coffee fields that surrounded the town, first as a day laborer and then as a foreman. Her f­ather died of tuberculosis when Lolita was 18. The loss of his income meant that Lebrón could no longer continue her education in San Juan, the capital; instead, she had to return home to help take care of the ­family. Lebrón was beautiful. Her beauty led her to be crowned “Queen of the Flowers of May” in Lares and attracted the interest and promises of love of two men, one when she was 14 and the second when she was 18. Both men abandoned her, leaving her heartbroken and, in the case of the second man, with a child. B ­ ecause her ­family was poor and unable to support her and a child, she left her ­daughter with her ­mother and, like many Puerto Ricans in the 1940s, traveled to New York City in search of work (Jiménez de Wagenheim, 2016, pp. 245–246).

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The major source of employment for Puerto Rican ­women in New York City was in the garment industry, which is where Lebrón found a job. She also found low pay, long hours, racist attitudes, and loneliness. Nevertheless, lacking other options, she stayed at the job and sent what money she could home. Lebrón had heard of Albizu Campos and the Nationalist Party when she was in Puerto Rico. However, it was only ­after she arrived in New York City and experienced the poor treatment, hard work, shabby living conditions, and racist attitudes ­there that she joined the Nationalist Party in 1947. Living in New York City led her to see herself and other Puerto Ricans as colonized subjects of the United States (Power, 2017). In 1940, the year she arrived in New York City, she married a man with whom she had a son. Her husband, like the other two men with whom she had had romantic relationships, also disappointed her and they divorced. Unable to work and raise a child, she took her son from this marriage back to Puerto Rico to live with her m ­ other in 1948 (Jiménez de Wagenheim, 2016, p. 247). Lebrón was an active member of the New York City Nationalist Party. She served as both vice president and secretary general of the New York junta. Although they ­were both in New York City at the same time, Lebrón never met Pedro Albizu Campos. Nonetheless, she developed a deep and lasting admiration for and devotion to him. Lebrón believed that Albizu Campos empowered w ­ omen and supported their involvement and leadership in the Nationalist Party. She was a devout Catholic and the three male figures she worshiped ­were God, her ­father, and Albizu Campos. By 1954, Puerto Rico had become a ­Free Associated State, Luis Muñoz Marín was a popu­lar governor who had overseen the change in Puerto Rico’s status, and the number of ­those who supported in­de­pen­dence had declined. The Nationalist Party considered the change in status to be fundamentally in name only, as the United States continued to rule the island. Determined to alert the world to their belief that Puerto Rico was not a sovereign nation, the Nationalists conducted what they thought would be a suicide mission: an armed action in the U.S. House of Representatives. They timed their attack to coincide with the meeting of the Organ­ization of American States in Caracas, Venezuela, ­because they particularly wanted Latin American nations to hear their message. Lolita Lebrón oversaw the New York-­based Nationalist Party unit that carried out the assault. She and three male comrades bought one-­way tickets to Washington, D.C. They entered the visitors’ gallery of the U.S. Congress, whereupon Lebrón unfurled the Puerto Rican flag and shouted “­Free Puerto Rico!” The four fired their pistols, wounding six congressmen. D.C. police arrested them all. In her purse Lebrón carried a note that read, in part, “Before God and the world, my blood clamors for the in­de­pen­dence of Puerto Rico. My life I give for the freedom of my country. I take responsibility for all” (Jiménez de Wagenheim, 2016, p. 259).

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The four w ­ ere found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. On the day of her sentencing, Lebrón learned that her son had died, news that plunged her into grief. Lebrón was confined in the Federal Reformatory for ­Women in Alderson, a small, rural town tucked away in the rolling hills of West ­Virginia. She spent the next 25 years of her life t­ here. Isolated and mistreated, she claims to have been raped and subjected to electric shock. She sought solace in her religious beliefs and commitment to a ­free Puerto Rico. Lolita Lebrón entered prison in 1954 branded a terrorist by the U.S. government and media. When she left in 1979, many in Puerto Rico, across the United States, and around the world hailed her as a courageous fighter for the freedom of her captive nation and a strong, inspirational ­woman who was a role model for the oppressed, especially w ­ omen, everywhere. Lebrón, along with the four male Nationalist prisoners in U.S. jails, refused to say they w ­ ere sorry for what they had done or to seek clemency. Instead, they maintained that they w ­ ere morally justified in attacking the nation that colonized their country. By 1979, the international and domestic clamor for their release had grown so strong that President Jimmy Car­ter offered the four remaining prisoners an unconditional p­ ardon. ­After their release, joyful supporters welcomed and thanked them in cities across the United States and in Puerto Rico. Lebrón continued to advocate for an end to U.S. colonialism, although she renounced vio­lence and declared herself a pacifist. She joined with hundreds of other peaceful demonstrators to protest the U.S. Navy’s bombing of the Puerto Rican island of Vieques, for which she was arrested and served almost 30 days in jail. She died at age 91 in 2010 and is buried in the Old San Juan Cemetery, close to the grave of Pedro Albizu Campos. See also: Founding of the Young Lords; Insular Cases; Operation Bootstrap and Puerto Rican Migration

Further Reading Albizu Campos, L. M., and Rodríguez León, M. A. 2007. Periodistas norteamericanos entrevistan a Albizu Campos. Pedro Albizu Campos Escritos. Hato Rey, PR: Publicaciones Puertorriqueños. Ayala, César J., and Rafael Bernabe. 2007. Puerto Rico in the American ­Century: A History Since 1898. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Bosque-­Pérez, Ramón, and José Javier Colón Morera, eds. 2006. Puerto Rico ­Under Colonial Rule: Po­liti­cal Persecution and the Quest for H ­ uman Rights. Albany: State University of New York Press. Guevara, Ernesto (Che). 1964. Address to the General Assembly of the United Nations, December 12, 1964. Retrieved from https://­www​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v​=­WAbsjOz5hOw Jiménez de Wagenheim, Olga. 2016. Nationalist Heroines: Puerto Rican ­Women History Forgot, 1930s-­1950. Prince­ton, NJ: Markus Weiner.

312 | Immigration, World War I, and Community Formation, 1900–1929 Paralitici, Ché. 2004. Sentencia Impuesta: 100 Años de Encarcalemiento por la Independencia de Puerto Rico. San Juan, PR: Ediciones Puerto. Power, Margaret. 2013a.“Nacionalismo en una Nación Colonizada: El Partido Nacionalista y Puerto Rico [Nationalism in a Colonized Nation: The Nationalist Party and Puerto Rico].” Memorias 10 (20, May-­August). Retrieved from http://­rcientificas​.­uninorte​.­edu​ .­co​/­index​.­php​/­memorias​/­article​/­view​/­5269 Power, Margaret. 2013b. “The Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and Transnational Solidarity: Latin American Anti-­Colonialism vs. The United States during the Cold War in Latin Amer­i­ca,” in Jessica Stites Mor, ed., ­Human Rights and Transnational Solidarity in Cold War Latin Amer­i­ca, 21–47. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Power, Margaret. 2017. “Interview with Lolita Lebrón.” Radical History Review 128 (May): 36–45. Rosado, Marisa. 2008. Pedro Albizu Campos: Las Llamas de la Aurora Acercamiento a Su Biografía (2nd ed.). San Juan, PR: Ediciones Puerto. Seijo Bruno, Miñi. 1997. La Insurrección Nacionalista en Puerto Rico, 1950. Río Piedras, PR: Editorial Edil.

5 ­ reat Depression and G Repatriation, 1929–1941

Founding of LULAC, 1929 Trinidad Gonzales

Chronology 1848

The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo is signed, ending the war between the United States and Mexico, and granting U.S. citizenship rights to Mexicans.

1897

In the In re Ricardo Rodriguez hearing, the Know Nothing Party attempts to have Mexicans reclassified as Native American, non-­ Caucasian, and therefore ineligible for citizenship. The judge rules in ­favor of Rodriguez, noting that the Republic of Texas and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo granted Mexicans U.S. citizenship.

1910

The Mexican Revolution begins, leading to thousands of Mexican refugees fleeing to the United States.

1910–1911 The lynchings of Antonio Rodríguez in Rockspring, Texas, and Antonio Gómez in Thorndale, Texas, create an international incident. 1911

El Primer Congreso Mexicanista (the First Mexicanist Congress) is held in response to increased vio­lence against Mexicans and Mexican Americans.

1915

The Texas Revolt and matanza (massacre) occur, constituting the last Mexican revolt against the United States undertaken to achieve equal rights.

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1917

The United States enters World War I; Mexicans and Mexican Americans serve in the U.S. military. The Mexican Revolution’s military phase comes to an end.

1918

Texas Rangers, U.S. Army personnel, and vigilantes kill 11 Mexican men in what becomes known as the Porvenir Massacre.

1919

José T. Canales, the only Mexican American in the Texas state legislature, sponsors a bill to investigate the Ranger force. As a result of the passage of this bill, the state forms the Joint Committee of the Investigation by the Senate and House of the Texas Rangers.

1921

Mexican consulates create the Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana (Mexican Honorable Commission) and the Cruz Azul (Blue Cross) to provide civil protections and health care ser­vices for Mexican immigrants. The Orden Hijos de Amer­i­ca (Order of the Sons of Amer­i­ca) is formed to provide civil rights protection to U.S. citizens of Mexican origin.

1927

Vari­ous Mexican American civil rights organ­izations and leaders meet, in what becomes the Harlingen Convention, to form a statewide civil rights organ­ization for U.S. citizens of Mexican origin. The convention ends in failure b­ ecause of members who do not support a U.S. citizenship requirement for membership. As a result, a new organ­ization is created, the League of Latin American Citizens (LLAC).

1929

A second attempt is made to form a statewide civil rights organ­ization in Corpus Christi, Texas. At that meeting the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) is formed, composed of members from the Orden Hijos de Amer­i­ca, the Knights of Amer­i­ca, and the League of Latin American Citizens.

1930

The U.S. Census Bureau creates a separate “Mexican” racial category in order to reclassify Mexicans as non-­Caucasian. LULAC and the Mexican government successfully lobby the U.S. government to abandon the use of a Mexican racial category for the next census.

1930, October

The Texas Court of Appeals rules, in In­de­pen­dent School District v. Salvatierra, that Mexican and Mexican American c­ hildren can be segregated for pedagogical reasons. However, the court officially recognizes for the first time the ­legal princi­ple that Mexican and Mexican American ­children are Caucasian and cannot be segregated based on their racial background.

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1931

The California Assembly passes a bill reclassifying Mexicans and Mexican Americans as Indian in order to legally segregate them in schools. However, as a result of intense po­liti­cal pressure following the ruling in Alvarez v. Lemon Grove, the state senate rejects the bill.

1931, March

In Alvarez v. Board of Trustees of the Lemon Grove School District (Alvarez. v. Lemon Grove), a California court rules that it is unconstitutional ­under California statute to segregate Mexican and Mexican American ­children; the court also rejects the school district’s attempts to justify its segregation policy as educational.

1935

In the In re Timoteo Andrade immigration hearing, the California Joint Immigration Committee successfully lobbies to have Andrade classified as an Indian by the Bureau of Immigration case officer and federal judge. However, pressure from LULAC, the Mexican government, and the U.S. State Department gets the decision reversed.

1940

To avoid having Mexican immigrants possibly classified as Indians and denied citizenship, the U.S. State Department lobbies the U.S. Congress to pass the 1940 Nationality Act, including Section  303, which states that descendants of indigenous p­ eople who reside in the Amer­i­cas can become U.S. citizens.

Narrative The 1920s represented a formative time for the development of orga­nizational capabilities for Mexican American civil rights efforts. Although the fight for Mexican American civil rights began in vari­ous forms immediately ­after the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848), several civil rights organ­izations ­were unified with the formation of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) in 1929. LULAC was the most impor­tant civil rights organ­ization to represent the interests of Mexican Americans from the 1930s through World War II. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ended the U.S.-­Mexico War (1846–1848) and granted Mexicans living on newly acquired U.S. territory the right ­either to become U.S. citizens or to retain their Mexican citizenship. If a person did not announce a choice between U.S. and Mexican citizenship within a year of the signing of the treaty, then the individual automatically became a U.S. citizen. During the 19th ­century, however, only Caucasians ­were granted the right to become U.S. citizens. African Americans ­were not allowed to become citizens ­until the passage of the 14th Amendment in 1868, and most Native Americans w ­ ere not granted

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The officers of the Denver council of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), 1954. (Ira Gay Sealy/The Denver Post via Getty Images)

citizenship u­ ntil passage of the 1924 Indian Citizenship Act. Asian Americans who had been born in the United States ­were granted citizenship based on the ­Fourteenth Amendment, but Asian immigrants w ­ ere largely restricted from becoming citizens ­because they ­were not considered Caucasian u­ ntil the 1952 McCarran-­Walter Act eliminated racial criteria for citizenship. Thus, the granting of citizenship to Mexicans after 1848 meant they ­were considered Caucasian by the federal government— an impor­tant racial distinction for accessing equal rights. Mexican Americans’ Caucasian status thus afforded them l­egal protections that prevented the de jure (­legal) segregation and discrimination that other racial minority groups suffered. However, de facto (in practice) segregation and discrimination ­were widely used against Mexican Americans. As a result, discrimination against Mexicans and Mexican Americans took distinct and complex forms from the late 19th ­century to the ­mid-20th ­century. In par­tic­u­lar, attempts ­were made to reclassify Mexicans and Mexican Americans as Indians in order to justify segregation based on de jure arguments. The reclassification effort came to an end with Section 303 of the Nationality Act of 1940, which stated that immigrant descendants of Western Hemi­sphere indigenous groups could become U.S. citizens (Gross, 2008; López, 2006; Lukens, 2012).

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The first effort to reclassify Mexican immigrants as Indian occurred in connection with Ricardo Rodriguez’s attempt to become a U.S. citizen in San Antonio in 1896. During his final appeal in front of a federal court, the Know-­Nothing Party, a group that embraced an anti-­immigrant platform, intervened, arguing that ­because Rodriguez acknowledged his Indian heritage, as a non-Caucasian he could not become a citizen. The intent b­ ehind the Know-­Nothing Party intervention was to have all Mexican Americans reclassified as Indian in order to deny them the right to vote. Judge Thomas S. Maxey ruled, in In re Ricardo Rodriguez (1897), that ­because the Republic of Texas (1836–1846) and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo recognized Mexicans as citizens, they ­were considered Caucasian. Judge Maxey’s decision frustrated ­those seeking to have Mexicans and Mexican Americans racially reclassified (Lukens, 2012). During the late 19th ­century and the first de­cade of the 20th ­century, anti-­ Mexican vio­lence increased, including lynchings that received state and binational attention. The lynchings of Antonio Rodríguez at Rocksprings (1910), and of Antonio Gómez at Thorndale (1911), prompted the first statewide gathering of Mexicans and Mexican Americans in Texas to discuss issues of civil rights: the Primer Congreso Mexicanista (First Mexicanist Congress) at Laredo in 1911. The meeting attracted mutual aid socie­ties such as the Orden Caballeros de Honor (Order of the Knights of Honor), Mexican consuls, and journalists. The ­Grand Liga Mexicanista de Beneficencia y Protección (­Great Mexican League for Protection and Well-­being) was nominally formed during that meeting, but an a­ ctual organ­ization never materialized. It would be 18 years before the first successful civil rights organ­ ization was started (Limón, 1974; Montejano, 1987; Orozco, 2009). A few years ­after this meeting, the Texas Revolt of 1915 exploded as frustration grew over increased civil rights violations, especially the execution of prisoners by law enforcement officers in Hidalgo County during July of 1915. The revolt, which represented the last use of po­liti­cal vio­lence to achieve the restoration of equality for Mexicans and Mexican Americans, failed by October. During the months from July to October, Texas Rangers, vigilantes, local law enforcement, and some U.S. soldiers killed about 300 innocent Mexicans and Mexican Americans in what became known as the matanza (massacre). Three years ­later, the Porvenir Massacre occurred in December 1918, when Texas Rangers, U.S. soldiers, and vigilantes killed 15 Mexican and Mexican American men who ­were accused of stealing ­cattle from Anglo ranchers. ­Family members of ­these men fled to Mexico to seek protection from the Mexican military, even though they w ­ ere U.S. citizens. The Mexican army commander notified Mexican government officials, who notified the U.S. State Department. Texas Governor William P. Hobby was informed of the killings, and disbanded the Ranger com­pany responsible for the atrocity; however, no charges ­were filed against the Rangers.

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José T. Canales, the lone Mexican American state representative, got a bill passed in 1919 to investigate the Texas Rangers. U ­ nder this bill, the Texas Senate and House of Representatives created a joint committee to examine alleged Ranger abuses. During two weeks of testimony, the investigation made public for the first time the extensive number of Ranger abuses, including the matanza. The conclusion of the committee’s report noted that the abuses and violation of law ­were significant, but that such abuses ­were a result of bad Rangers, and not representative of the Ranger force as a ­whole. The reported concluded that ­because t­ hose “bad Rangers” ­were no longer members of the force, no major reform would be recommended (Orozco, 2009). Although the 1919 Canales Hearings (as they become known) failed to reform the force or have criminal charges filed against Texas Rangers for indiscriminately killing Mexicans and Mexican Americans, it represented a turning point for Mexican American civil rights. For the first time, the State of Texas was forced to make a public accounting of state-­sanctioned vio­lence against Mexicans and Mexican Americans. Importantly, that effort was led by the sole Mexican American state representative. Two changes occurred by the beginning of the 1920s that s­ haped the de­cade with regard to Mexican and Mexican American civil rights organ­izing: the emergence of nationalism and nationalist-­citizenship. World War I (1914–1918) and the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920) ushered in both notions for promoting unity among diverse p­ eoples, both within their respective nations and outside their nations. Nationalism refers to the pro­cess through which diverse groups of p­ eople see themselves as a unified community belonging to one nation. Nationalist-­citizenship is a ­legal status granted by a nation’s government to individuals that allows them access to equal rights, but denies or limits such rights for noncitizens. ­These two concepts came into conflict ­because of racial and ethnic divisions in the United States that treated some ­people as second-­class citizens or undeserving of equal protections. Nonetheless, minority groups in the United States embraced nationalism, and expressed pride in being American citizens. In par­tic­u­lar, Mexican American civil rights leaders displayed their patriotism through military ser­vice, an act they believed expressed loyalty to the United States, and insisted on their community’s right to equal treatment (Gonzales, 2008). For example, José de la Luz Sáenz volunteered to serve in World War I; the ­later publication of his war diary made him one of the best-­known Mexican American WWI veterans. During his ser­vice, he met with other Mexican and Mexican American soldiers to discuss issues of civil rights and their place within U.S. society. As a result of their patriotic ser­vice, the men Sáenz met and o­ thers would ­later advocate for equal treatment at home. The earliest Mexican American civil rights organ­izations founded by some veterans was the Orden Hijos de

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Amer­i­ca (Order of the Sons of Amer­i­ca or OSA), created in November 1920 in San Antonio, Texas. Unlike the ­Grand Liga Mexicanista de Beneficencia y Protección, which accepted both U.S. and Mexican citizens, the OSA only accepted U.S. citizens as members. Due to internal divisions, the OSA splintered into several other groups. According to Cynthia Orozco, t­ hese groups included “the Order Sons of Texas, Club Protector México-­Texano (México-­Texano Protective Club), and Order Knights of Amer­i­ca” (Orozco, 2009). The OSA and Order Knights of Amer­i­ca (OKA) persisted through the de­cade, whereas the Club Protector dissolved. Prior to the 1920s, in Texas and elsewhere in the United States, an individual did not need to be a citizen to vote. An immigrant only needed to officially declare the intention to become a citizen in order to register and vote. By 1920, though, Texas required U.S. citizenship to be eligible to vote. The emergence of nationalism and nationalist-­citizenship prompted the shift to the citizenship requirement for voting. As a result, the OSA and the splinter groups that emerged from it emphasized citizenship as a requirement for group membership. During 1921, the Mexican consuls from throughout the United States held a convention in San Antonio several months prior to the formation of the OSA. At this meeting they created two organ­izations for Mexican citizens, one to provide civil rights protection and the other to provide health care benefits. The first organ­ ization was the Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana (Mexican Honorable Commission), and the second was the Cruz Azul (Blue Cross). Like the shift in voting requirements to U.S. citizenship, the formation of ­these organ­izations represented Mexico’s embrace of nationalism and nationalist-­citizenship as organ­izing components for its policies to protect Mexican immigrants residing in the United States. Prior to the 1920s, the Mexican government through its consuls would provide ser­vices for ­people of Mexican origin regardless of their citizenship status. So, for Mexican Americans who ­were U.S. citizens, by the 1920s it had become increasingly necessary to create their own civil rights organ­izations, b­ ecause both the United States and Mexico required citizenship in order to provide protection or assistance for equal rights (Gonzales, 2008; Orozco, 2009). The second attempt at creating a statewide civil rights organ­ization occurred during what became known as the Harlingen Convention, in 1928. At this meeting, members from the OSA and its splinter groups, as well as Mexican citizens, met to discuss the formation of a unified group. The convention became contentious, however, ­after it was deci­ded that any new organ­ization could only be composed of U.S. citizens. Attendees who objected to the U.S. citizenship requirement walked out in protest. Although the meeting failed to form a statewide association, a new organ­ ization with chapters primarily in the Lower Rio Grande Valley was created: the League of Latin American Citizens or LLAC (Orozco, 2009).

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During 1929, members of the OSA, OKA, and LLAC met twice in Corpus Christi to form a unified organ­ization, the League of United Latin American Citizens. At the February meeting, the vari­ous organ­izations’ representatives and attendees agreed to unite, and during the May meeting the group wrote a constitution. LULAC’s constitution emphasized loyalty to the United States by limiting membership to U.S. citizens and making En­glish the organ­ization’s official language. The newly formed group was composed only of men, a common practice at a time when ­women ­were just gaining po­liti­cal franchise. Still, Mexican American ­women would challenge this exclusion through the formation of ladies’ auxiliaries, and ­were eventually included in the organ­ization by 1933 (Acosta and Winegarten, 2003). Four major incidents related to Mexicans and Mexican Americans and their racial categorization occurred during the early 1930s. In­de­pen­dent School District v. Salvatierra (1930) was the first case in which Texas courts dealt with the question of public-­school segregation of Mexican and Mexican American ­children. LULAC marshaled its l­ egal and financial resources to help fight the case, but ended up with a mixed ruling. The court affirmed Mexican and Mexican Americans’ Caucasian status and stated that they could not be segregated ­because of their race, but also held that Mexican and Mexican American ­children could be segregated for pedagogical (educational) reasons. In other words, schools that could claim to be separating students for their educational benefit could legally continue that practice. The following year, in California, Mexicans and Mexicans Americans w ­ ere successful in overturning segregation in Roberto Alvarez v. Board of Trustees of the Lemon Grove School District (1931). As in Texas, California law did not allow for the segregation of Mexican and Mexican American c­ hildren on racial grounds. Thus, the school district tried to justify segregation on pedagogical reasons, arguing in par­ tic­u­lar that Mexican and Mexican American ­children ­were deficient in the En­glish language and needed special or additional instruction. However, the court found the school district’s justification wanting once Mexican and Mexican American pupils demonstrated their English-­language proficiency while testifying. Si­mul­ta­neously, California State Assemblyman George R. Bliss attempted to have the California legislature pass a bill that would reclassify Mexicans and Mexican Americans as Indian. Although the bill passed the California House of Representatives, the state Senate came ­under intense pressure and did not pass the bill. Its failure was in part a result of the Lemon Grove ruling that Mexicans and Mexican Americans ­were Caucasian and could not be segregated (Alvarez, 1984; San Miguel, 2000). The third incident arose when the U.S. Census Bureau utilized “Mexican” as a separate racial category for the 1930 census. LULAC, the Mexican government, and other groups successfully argued and litigated to ensure that the Mexican category was abandoned by the 1940 census. However, much like the Know-­Nothing

LULAC and ­Women’s Participation Women’s activism is impor­tant to consider in the formation and development of LULAC during the 1930s. The founding constitution of the organ­ ization did not clearly state that it should be exclusively composed of men, but ­women ­were not part of its original membership. Ladies’ auxiliaries to LULAC ­were formed by separate chapters during the early 1930s, ­until they ­were consolidated into Ladies LULAC at the 1933 LULAC convention. The all-­female organ­ization represented a separate sociopo­liti­cal space that was given an orga­nizational voice within LULAC, and focused on f­ amily concerns such as health care and education. When the Primer Congreso Mexicanista formed the Gran Liga Mexicanista de Beneficencia y Protección in 1911, it allowed both men and w ­ omen to be members and officers. Such inclusivity in this organ­ization is not surprising. Mexican and Mexican American mutualista (mutual aid) traditions included both gender-­segregated and integrated organ­izations dating through the late 19th ­century. Mutualistas had a variety of social, po­liti­cal, and l­abor aims. Hence, Mexican and Mexican American mutualista traditions must be accounted for in order to understand LULAC’s gender orga­nizational princi­ples. The formation of the Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana (Mexican Honorable Commission) and the Cruz Azul Mexicana (Mexican Blue Cross) during 1921 help provide some insight into the development of LULAC and Ladies LULAC. The Comisíon was composed only of men and focused on civil rights issues; the Cruz Azul group (composed only of ­women) focused on health care and education. Both groups worked in partnership with each other. Thus, the relationship between LULAC and Ladies LULAC had a  con­temporary pre­ce­dent. However, though similar in formation to the Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana and Cruz Azul, LULAC and Ladies LULAC would eventually integrate w ­ omen’s leadership into LULAC by the 1930s. Such an integration did not happen within the Comisíon Honorífica or the Cruz Azul. The integration of ­women into leadership positions occurred in large part ­because of the feminist critiques that Mexican American ­women leaders made against their male counter­parts. In par­tic­u­lar, Alice Dickerson Montemayor and Esther Nieto Machuca pressed for increased inclusion of ­women, and argued that any successful civil rights efforts would be hampered by excluding w ­ omen. Montemayor would become Second National Vice-­President for LULAC in 1937, but it was not u­ ntil Belen Robles was elected president in 1994 that the first ­woman served as the organ­ization’s leader. Belen Robles served four terms, lasting ­until 1998.

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effort during the late 19th ­century to have Mexicans classified as Indians, the California Joint Immigration Committee (CJIC) attempted to do the same during the immigration hearing of Timoteo Andrade in 1935. The CJIC found a sympathetic judge and Immigration Bureau case man­ag­er to support its argument. As a result of the CJIC’s influence, Judge John Knight accepted the bureau case man­ag­er’s assessment that Andrade’s responses indicated he was Indian, and therefore could not become a citizen. This decision contradicted the previous Rodriguez ruling. The CJIC celebrated the decision but LULAC, the Mexican government, and the U.S. State Department worked together to have Judge Knight reverse his ruling through an appeal. The Immigration Bureau reassigned the original case officer who had recommended that Andrade be denied citizenship, ­because of his support for the CJIC effort, and replaced him with a new case officer who would help Andrade. The issue at hand was the common understanding by Mexicans of their indigenous ancestry through the pro­cess of mestizaje (racial mixing). Mexicans generally understood their heritage to be part Spanish and part indigenous. Whereas mestizaje is an impor­tant component of Mexican national identity, in the United States race theories deemed mixed ancestry to be a sign of inferiority, and p­ eople of mixed blood are generally classified as non-­Caucasian. During the appeal pro­cess, the new case officer noted the common expression of mestizaje as a response by Mexicans, and included Andrade’s ­mother’s testimony which indicated that her son’s ancestry was white. With the new testimony, the added pressure from the State Department, and the need to maintain friendly foreign relations with Mexico, Judge Knight reversed his decision (Lukens, 2012). To prevent any ­future possibility of Mexicans and Mexican Americans being considered non-­Caucasian, the U.S. Congress passed Section 303 of the Nationality Act of 1940, which allowed descendants of indigenous p­ eople from the Amer­i­ cas to become citizens. With the passage of that law, anti-­Mexican and anti-­Mexican American forces could no longer seek to reclassify them as non-­Caucasian. However, ­those who had anti-­Mexican prejudices continued to engage in vari­ous forms of de facto discrimination in public accommodations, schools, and housing. Not ­until the U.S. Supreme Court ruling in Hernandez v. Texas (1954) would the U.S. government recognize Mexicans and Mexican Americans as a distinct class who had endured a history of discrimination. However, the 1954 Court decision did not racially reclassify them. It would not be u­ ntil the Court recognized Mexicans and Mexican Americans as an ethnic minority group, in Cisneros v. Corpus Christi In­de­pen­dent School District (1970), that they w ­ ere no longer simply considered a class of Caucasians, but an ethnic group composed of one or more races (Gross, 2008; López, 2006; Lukens, 2012; San Miguel, 2000). In the 1920s and 1930s, Mexicans and Mexican Americans, and particularly their civil rights organ­izations like LULAC, clearly sought to assert their ­legal status

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as white in order to claim their rights in the United States and avoid l­ egal segregation. B ­ ecause LULAC used a strategy of asserting whiteness in order to claim rights and avoid segregation, historians debate w ­ hether LULAC espoused racist beliefs against African Americans. In par­tic­u­lar, two historians, Neil Foley and Carlos Blanton, disagree with each other on this point. Foley (2010) argues that ­because of the use of the whiteness strategy, LULAC and its leaders avoided creating po­liti­ cal alliances with African American organ­izations such as the National Association for the Advancement of Colored P ­ eople (NAACP). By asserting that Mexican Americans should not be discriminated against ­because they ­were white, they essentially condoned or at least remained ­silent on the issue of ­whether African Americans should be racially segregated. Blanton rejects Foley’s claims in his biography of George I. Sánchez (2014), in which he examines Sánchez’s interaction with African Americans and their civil rights organ­izations, such as the NAACP. In par­tic­u­lar, Blanton notes how both groups interacted during the case of Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County (1946). In that case, the NAACP submitted a brief in support of Mexican and Mexican American c­ hildren, and l­ater built on the social science l­egal strategy utilized to show the psychological damage that school segregation created and fostered among students. The subject of Mexican American and African American po­liti­cal relations is a new area of research that continues to expand (Blanton, 2014; Foley, 2010). In the 1950s, LULAC continued its interest in educational equity for Mexican American students by establishing the “­Little School of the 400,” a preschool program aimed at preparing Mexican American ­children for school with 400 En­glish vocabulary words. The schools sought to help Spanish-­speaking c­ hildren overcome the language barrier that disadvantaged them when they entered elementary school. The first school was established in Ganado, Texas, in 1957, but soon schools appeared in several other Texas towns as well. Although the program did not secure ongoing funding, it did lay the groundwork for educational legislation that created preschool programming for non-­native English-­speaking ­children and received support from the Johnson administration in Washington, D.C. (Kreneck, 2010). LULAC’s “­Little School of the 400” is credited as being a model for HeadStart early childhood education funded by the federal government around the country. By 1960, LULAC had expanded and established more than 150 councils (chapters) in Mexican American communities around the country, in places as distant as Davenport, Des Moines, and Fort Madison, Iowa, to San Bernardino and Santa Ana, California. The organ­ization succeeded in drawing the attention of national leaders like President John F. Kennedy and Vice-­President Lyndon B. Johnson, who attended the Houston Council’s gala in November 1963. In 1973, the organ­ization branched out to provide educational ser­vices and leadership training to students by creating the LULAC National Educational Ser­vice

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Centers. ­These have been formed in cities like Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Miami, Florida. In 2017, councils exist in places like Portland, Oregon; Columbus, Ohio; and ­Little Rock, Arkansas.

Biographies of Notable Figures Alonso Perales (1898–­1960) Alonso S. Perales was at the forefront in crafting the intellectual foundations for a Mexican American identity that sought to harness the best of both American and Mexican cultural beliefs. Born in Alice, Texas, in 1898, Perales attended public school in Alice, and Draughn’s Business College in Corpus Christi. ­After serving in World War I, he moved to Washington, D.C., and continued his studies at the Preparatory School in Washington and George Washington University. He received his B.A. from National University and ­later earned a law degree. During the 1920s and 1930s, Perales served in 13 diplomatic missions to dif­ fer­ent Latin American countries. In 1924, he, along with J. Luz Saenz (another LULAC founder), lectured to Mexican communities about civil rights. During ­these lectures and advocacy, Perales began fleshing out his ideas about being Mexican American. Mexican citizens living in the United States had a ready po­liti­cal and ­legal resource for their civil right concerns from the Mexican government, and he noted that Mexican Americans would not have such a resource ­unless they sought to be fully recognized as United States citizens. Like other World War I veterans, he believed military ser­vice provided proof of loyalty to the nation, and that such proof should result in equal treatment. In this time period, Mexican Americans w ­ ere still viewed as foreigners who threatened United States society. As result of t­hose continued racially biased views, Perales argued for the development of a Mexican American identity founded on pride of heritage, both American and Mexican; patriotism to the United States; belief in God; being educated; and embracing h­ uman rights and pro­gress. The linchpin holding this identity together was citizenship. By 1927, Perales, Saenz, and José Tomas Canales or­ga­nized the Harlingen Convention to form a statewide Mexican American civil rights organ­ization. ­Under their leadership, the convention limited the new organ­ization to United States citizens. Half the del­e­ga­tion left in protest. Although a statewide organ­ization failed to materialize, the League of Latin American Citizens was created. In the aftermath of the division, ­those who objected to the citizenship requirement attacked Perales, Saenz, and Canales for creating unnecessary internal divisions within the Mexican-­ origin community. Perales responded by stressing the need for Mexican Americans to be viewed first and foremost as loyal Americans to ensure their civil rights. Eventually, the League of Latin American Citizens, along with the Order Sons of

Founding of LULAC, 1929 | 325

Amer­i­ca and Order Knights of Amer­i­ca, united to form LULAC in Corpus Christi in 1929. Perales was central to shaping its ideology and constitution based on patriotism and citizenship. ­After serving as president of LULAC from 1930 to 1931, Perales continued his activism by writing to both English-­and Spanish-­language newspapers concerning issues of racism and segregation for the rest of the de­cade. ­These writings and other essays are included in his book, En Defensa de Mi Raza (1936). His second book, Are We Good Neighbors (1948), is a collection of testimonies about civil rights abuses against Mexican Americans throughout the state of Texas. In 1941, Perales worked with Texas state representatives to write Racial Equality Bill No. 909, a law that would have outlawed discrimination in public facilities. However, the bill failed to pass in the legislature. The Spanish government awarded Perales the rank of Commander in the Spanish Order of Civil Merit in 1952 to recognize his efforts to secure civil rights for Spanish-­speaking p­ eople. He died May 9, 1960, in San Antonio, Texas.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS El Paladin, 1929 The Spanish-­language newspaper El Paladin reported on the February 22, 1929, Corpus Christi convention that led to the formation of the League of United Latin American Citizens. What follows is a translated excerpt of its coverage found in the Oliver Douglas Weeks Collection at the University of Texas League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) Archive. Weeks wrote the first scholarly article about the formation of LULAC during 1930. As we said in our last edition last Sunday ­there was carried to completion in the Salon Obreras of this city the Convention or­ga­nized by vari­ous Institutions of identical ideals in order to unite themselves and form a single nucleus which, more numerous and more substantial, might at once and for all clearly define the pres­ent as well as the f­ uture situation of individuals born in this country, but of Latin descent. *** . . . ​Prof. Luz Saenz took the floor, and he said, “it is time that we unite or on the contrary we ­shall be lost, and not only we, but—­what is sadder—­our descendents [sic]. Separated we ­shall be no more than dispersed forces easy to overcome. All we citizens of Latin origin have before us ­today arduous and diffucult [sic] prob­ lems which did not exist yesterday, and tomorrow, we s­ hall certainly encounter other prob­lems more complicated yet. In my constants [sic] journeys across the State of Texas, the State which without doubt gives the least guarantees to Latinamerican

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[sic] individuals, I have seen not a few injustices, and I have become convinced of the necessity that exists of forming one single ­union of all ­those ele­ments which like us fulfill all their duties ­toward this country, and who on the other hand are not recognized in their rights as citizens. . . . ​And now not only in peace but in war we have taken up arms in its defense, and when we have returned with the scar of a wound or the grief of having left in the fields over ­there across the sea hundreds of our dead b­ rothers, we have met with the fact that all our forces w ­ ere lost in the abyss of inicuous [sic] racial prejudice, and we continue being the same.” *** Sr. Jose G. Gonzales followed thanking them for the opportunity given to give his opinion and saying, “I truly praise the noble and in­ter­est­ing work which t­hese organ­izations represented h­ ere have been d­ oing. Always attentive to this grave racial prob­lem which the Latins originate in this country, I have sometimes come to doubt ­whether the day ­will come when it can be solved satisfactorily. Like ­those who have preceded me in this course of deliberations, I see that we form a conglomerate without a country, without prerogatives, and what is ever more sad, with very few hopes of obtaining a betterment of this deplorable condition of parias [sic]. . . . ​[I] n my deep preoccupations, in my moments of painful meditation, I have found the idea that only a general ­union well understood can save us from the complete shipwreck of our citizenship, and now that opportunity pres­ents itself to carry this out, I suggest the appropriateness of d­ oing it. Perhaps this u­ nion ­will serve to give a country to our ­children, who other­wise each time they thought of us would say: They lived parias [sic], and they left us this sad inheritance.” Source: Excerpt from El Paladin, February 22, 1929, translated (1930). Oliver Douglas Weeks Collection at the University of Texas League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) Archive.

LULAC News Editorial, 1937 The LULAC News was the official publication for the League of Latin American Citizens. In volume 4, number 4, July 1937, the newspaper published an editorial requesting more ­women’s support.

“We Need More Ladies Councils” First let’s take stock of our duties and then set to strengthen them. It seems like we are allowing ourselves to soften, to abandon our Aims and Purposes, to escape responsibility whenever pos­si­ble, we are growing to abhor the very words DUTY and UNITY.

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Our inactive Councils at pres­ent are so many and the reor­ga­ni­za­tion of all inactive men’s Councils and the necessity of more and more Ladies Councils is of such magnitude—­one so intricate in its complexities and so baffling in its contradictions that Lulacs need e­ very iota of help. And this time we are challenging the w ­ omen to come to the rescue. ­Sisters Lulacs our ­brothers need a good big dose of competition. Competition in ­every field of ­human relationships is a ­great stimulant leading to the practice and the acquisition of skills and habits of consideration for other p­ eople. Out of seventy one men’s Councils, 26 Men’s councils w ­ ere represented. Out of 15 Ladies Councils 4 ­were represented at the Last annual Convention at Houston this year. This means that 57 Councils in the League are dormant and that the Trea­sury General is out of $1140.00 worth of dues. Just think all we could have accomplished with that money. Now that our b­ rothers have given the w ­ omen a chance to show them what we can do, let all the Ladies Councils that are active now try and revive the Dormant Ladies Councils and the Ladies Organizers and the Governors to join our League so that we may prove to our ­brothers that we can accomplish more than they can. ­Brothers get busy for you are ­going to have to work fast in order to catch up with your ­sisters. ­Sisters let’s give them a race bearing in mind that they are 71 to 15. The League of United Latin American Citizens belong to the Latin American race and it’s up to the Latins to join it in order to educate our race and make better American Citizens out of ­every Latin American. Source: League of United Latin American Citizens, LULAC News 4 (4), July 1937; El Paso, Texas. Retrieved from texashistory​.­unt​.­edu​/­ark:​/­67531​/­metapth221898​/­ (University of North Texas Libraries, “The Portal to Texas History,” texashistory​.­unt​.­edu; crediting Houston Metropolitan Research Center at Houston Public Library).

See also: Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st ­Century; Mendez v. Westminster; Texas Revolt

Further Reading Acosta, Teresa Palomo, and Ruthe Winegarten. 2003. Las Tejanas: 300 Years of History. Austin: University of Texas Press. Alvarez, Jr., Robert R. 1984. “The Lemon Grove Incident.” San Diego Historical Society Quarterly 32 (2, Spring 1986). Retrieved from http://­www​.­sandiegohistory​.­org​/­journal​ /­1986​/­april​/­lemongrove Anderson, Benedict. 1983. ­Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Blanton, Carlos Kevin. 2014. George I. Sánchez: The Long Fight for Mexican American Integration. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

328 | ­Great Depression and Repatriation, 1929–1941 de la Luz Sáenz, José. 2014. The Word War I Diary of José de la Luz Sáenz, 1933. Ed. Emilio Zamora, trans. Emilio Zamora and Ben Maya. College Station: Texas A&M Press. Foley, Neil. 2010. Quest for Equality: The Failed Promise of Black-­Brown Solidarity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Garcia, Richard A. 2015. “Alonso S. Perales: The Voice and Visions of a Citizen Intellectual,” in Anthony Quiroz, ed., Leaders of the Mexican American Generation: Biographical Essays, 85–117. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Gonzales, Trinidad. 2008. “Conquest, Colonization, and Borderland Identities: The World of Ethnic Mexicans in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, 1900–1930,” in Keri E. Iyall Smith and Patricia Leavy, eds., Hybrid Identities: Theoretical and Empirical Examinations, 179–195. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill Press. Gross, Arela J. 2008. What Blood ­Won’t Tell: A History of Race on Trial in Amer­ic­ a. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kreneck, Thomas H. (2010, June 10). “­Little School of the 400,” in Handbook of Texas Online. Retrieved from http://­www​.­tshaonline​.­org​/­handbook​/­online​/­articles​/­kdl02 Limón, José E. 1974. “El Primer Congreso Mexicanista de 1911: A Precursor to Con­ temporary Chicanismo.” Aztlán 5 (1–2): 85–115. López, Ian Haney. 2006. White by Law: The L ­ egal Construction of Race (rev. and updated ed.). New York: New York University Press. Lukens, Patrick D. 2012. A Quiet Victory for Latino Rights: FDR and the Controversy Over “Whiteness.” Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Márquez, Benjamín. 1993. LULAC: The Evolution of a Mexican American Po­liti­cal Organ­ ization. Austin: University of Texas Press. Montejano, David. 1987. Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986. Austin: University of Texas Press. Olivas, Michael, ed. 2012. In Defense of My P ­ eople: Alonso S. Perales and the Development of Mexican American Public Intellectuals. Houston: Arte Público Press. Orozco, Cynthia E. 2009. No Mexicans, ­Women or Dogs Allowed: The Rise of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement. Austin: University of Texas Press. Ramírez, José A. 2009. To the Line of Fire: Mexican Texans and World War I. College Station: Texas A&M Press. San Miguel, Guadalupe. 2000. “Let All of Them Take Heed”: Mexican Americans and the Campaign for Educational Equality in Texas, 1910–1981. College Station: Texas A&M Press (first published by University of Texas Press, 1987).

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Mexican Repatriation, 1930–1935 Delia Fernández

Chronology 1910

The Mexican Revolution begins, leading to an unstable social, economic, and po­liti­cal environment in Mexico.

1910–1920 Hundreds of thousands of Mexicans flee across the U.S.-­Mexico border in order to escape the revolution. Many of them ­settle in communities throughout the Southwest and the Midwest. 1910–1929 Steel mills, automotive factories, and other industrial employers in the Midwest, including Chicago, Detroit, and Gary, Indiana, recruit Mexican workers, especially as Eu­ro­pean immigration declines during World War I and a­ fter passage of restrictive immigration quotas. 1917

In February, the U.S. Congress passes the 1917 Immigration Act, which institutes a literacy test for all prospective immigrants. The law is aimed at restricting ­those coming from Southern and Eastern Eu­rope. The El Paso immigration station establishes procedures to quarantine and delouse Mexicans upon arrival; this becomes a less humane pro­cess than what had been practiced previously.

1917–1919 The United States participates in World War I. The agricultural industry recruits thousands of Mexican immigrants to help with ­labor shortages resulting from the limited migration from Eu­rope during the war. 1920–1921 The United States experiences a brief economic depression ­after the war. 1920–1923 A small repatriation campaign occurs as a result of the economic depression. About 100,000 ­people return to Mexico at the urging of the Mexican government, which expresses concern about its citizens’ well-­being. 1921, May

Congress passes an immigration law that establishes national-­origin quotas on the number of persons who can enter the United States based on the foreign-­born populations counted in the 1910 U.S. census. The law is meant to curb the number of Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean immigrants.

1924, May

The Johnson-­Reed Act restricts the number of immigrants who can enter the United States even further, basing national-­origin quotas on

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the 1890 census when Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean immigrants ­were fewer in number. Legislators exempt Mexicans and other ­people from the Western Hemi­sphere from ­these restrictions due to lobbying by agribusiness interests, which want a steady supply of Mexican l­ abor in the U.S. Southwest. Congress creates the Border Patrol to regulate immigration across the U.S.-­Mexican border. It does not institute any numerical restrictions, however. 1927

U.S. cotton exports fall more than 15 ­percent, greatly reducing the need for Mexican agricultural ­labor in that industry.

1928

Mexicans make up almost one-­fourth of the cannery workforce in the Southwest and 10 ­percent of the Los Angeles population. The American Federation of ­Labor, the country’s largest ­union at the time, encourages the federal government to restrict Mexican ­labor. ­Because of discriminatory policies and their status as recent immigrants, Mexicans usually work for far lower wages than whites, leading to resentment from the AFL.

1929

The Immigration Act of 1929 regulates and controls Mexican entry to the United States. Before 1929, immigration procedures across the southern border ­were lax in comparison to the pro­cess for ­those coming in via Ellis Island. ­After this act, crossing the border without proper permission becomes punishable as a misdemeanor. More than 58,000 Mexicans are estimated to be living in the Midwest.

1929, October

The stock market crashes on October 29. Though economic conditions in the United States had been precarious before the crash, many scholars identify this as the beginning of the ­Great Depression.

1930

By this year, the number of Mexican immigrants in the United States has tripled from 1910. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, more than 600,000 Mexicans live in the United States in 1930. The Bureau of the Census changes its earlier policy of counting Mexicans as “white.” Instead, Mexicans and Mexican Americans are recorded as a separate “Mexican” race on the 1930 census.

1930–1935 The United States government repatriates almost 350,000 p­ eople to Mexico. A drought in the West during ­these years further curtails the need for workers in the agricultural industry, thus producing a surplus ­labor force.

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1931

The first repatriation campaigns occur across the Southwest. In Los Angeles, some of the first deportation raids occur in the La Placita area downtown, the heart of the Mexican immigrant enclave. In the Midwest, 1,500 Mexicans are deported from Detroit by 1931.

1933

The Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vices forms ­after the consolidation of the Bureau of Immigration and the Bureau of Naturalization. California’s agricultural industry has a ­labor surplus of 2.36 ­people for e­ very available job. President Franklin D. Roo­se­velt enacts the first New Deal with the goal of helping the American economy recover.

1935

FDR introduces the second New Deal.

1941

The United States officially enters World War II. Work shortages occur in vari­ous industries as soldiers ship off for war and many Americans leave lower-­paying jobs for higher-­paying defense and industrial work.

1942–1944 In response to pressures from the agricultural and railroad industries, the U.S. government initiates a bilateral agreement with the Mexican government to send Mexican workers to relieve ­labor shortages during the war. Repatriation campaigns cease during war time. Many of ­those who ­were repatriated return to the communities from which they w ­ ere forcibly removed just a few years earlier; they are accompanied by thousands of other Mexican workers. 1944–1964 The Bracero Program continues despite the war’s ending. 1954

President Dwight  D. Eisenhower’s administration begins mass deportations of Mexican immigrants in what is known as “Operation Wetback.”

Narrative The period of the ­Great Depression in the 1930s was a difficult time for Americans and millions of other p­ eople around the world. Many found themselves without work, unable to support their families, and desperately searching for food and employment. In the United States, Mexican immigrants and Mexican Americans ­were particularly vulnerable. Many of them w ­ ere recent arrivals and they bore the brunt of widespread nativism (the policy of protecting Americans from immigrants) and xenophobia (the fear of and hatred for foreigners), especially in the Southwest and Midwest. In some industries, Mexicans and Mexican Americans had been “the

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Relatives and friends wave goodbye to a train carry­ing 1,500 undocumented Mexicans being expelled from Los Angeles back to Mexico, 1931. (NY Daily News Archive/Getty Images)

last hired and therefore the first fired.” In the industries in which they predominated, such as agriculture, ­there simply was no work to be had. Some Americans, including local and federal government officials and politicians, began blaming Mexican immigrants for the failing economy and called for their deportation: forced removal out of the country. They felt that the immigrant group forced wages down b­ ecause they w ­ ere willing to work for less pay than other workers. When Mexicans ­were fired or out of work, they looked to local charities for help. Many saw them as a burden on local resources and thought that any jobs available should go to “Americans” rather than foreigners. Still, this nativism and the proposals for deportation ­were not aimed at any other immigrant group, although ­there ­were certainly prejudices against others like Italians, Poles, and Jews. Although the federal government indeed deported some Mexican immigrants who w ­ ere in the country without authorization, other government agencies put pressure on ­people to repatriate—­that is, to return to Mexico on their own. Perhaps most surprising, many of ­those who ­were expelled to Mexico ­were in fact U.S. citizens. Scholars estimate that between 350,000 to 500,000 Mexican and Mexican American men, w ­ omen, and c­ hildren ­were forcibly removed from the United States during the G ­ reat Depression, in addition to ­others who left voluntarily ­under pressure from local and federal governments. Many of the families that remained w ­ ere considered mixed-­status families: some members of a f­ amily, usually ­children, ­were

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l­egal U.S. citizens and o­ thers ­were Mexican nationals (usually one or both of the ­children’s parents). Mexicans in major cities including New York, Boston, Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, New Orleans, Kansas City, Salt Lake City, and Los Angeles, and t­hose in smaller cities like Toledo, Ohio or Gary, Indiana w ­ ere the targets of anti-­Mexican racism and repatriation efforts. This exodus had dramatic effects. The loss of population destabilized many Mexican communities in the United States. In the 20th ­century, the first major wave of Mexican immigration to the United States occurred in the 1910s and 1920s. The Mexican Revolution (1910–1920) motivated hundreds of thousands of p­ eople to leave the po­liti­cal and economic instability of their homeland and seek refuge further north. At the same time, employers in varying industries throughout the United States sought Mexican l­abor during and ­after World War I. In agriculture, Mexicans worked in cotton, citrus, and other crops in the Southwest and sugar beets in the mountain West and Midwest, for example. They also built irrigation systems and did construction work in the rapidly expanding economy of the Southwest, and laid tracks and maintained railroads across the country. In the Midwest, Mexicans worked in steel mills, meatpacking, railroads, and automobile manufacturing. ­These employees formed some of the first Mexican communities outside of the Southwest. Despite their economic contributions, Mexicans became the target of campaigns to return them to Mexico by the 1930s as a result of the ­Great Depression. In the late 1920s and 1930s, the United States plunged into the greatest economic depression the country had ever experienced. The Roaring Twenties, a period of economic expansion and growth in consumer goods, gave way to an extremely unequal distribution of wealth. Bank failures, growing land speculation, l­ abor unrest, and the stock market crash of 1929 together initiated the ­Great Depression. Within a few short years, the official unemployment rate in the United States r­ ose from 3 ­percent to 25 ­percent, with about 15 million p­ eople out of work (Sanchez, 1993, p. 210). Presidents Herbert Hoover and Franklin D. Roo­se­velt attempted to implement vari­ous strategies to pull the country out of the economic slough. The 1930s proved one of the most trying de­cades for the American p­ eople. It would not be ­until the stimulus of World War II’s production demands that the country saw substantial economic improvement. In looking for solutions during t­hese hard times, some Americans insisted on preserving jobs for white American citizens. In par­tic­u­lar, ­labor leaders cast Mexicans as the reason for the economic depression. For example, the American Federation of ­Labor (AFL), one of two leading l­ abor ­unions in the country at the time, had staunchly supported a ban on Mexican workers in industrial jobs (Vargas, 1999, p. 158). Due to racial discrimination, Mexican workers often earned lower wages than white workers. In a period of limited job opportunities, ­union leaders accused

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Mexicans of taking ­those jobs and thereby undercutting ­unionized American workers. Though this may have been true in some areas, the larger prob­lems of economic decline and the shrinking l­ abor market could not be blamed on Mexican workers; some scholars believe a flawed economic model created ­these inequalities and thus the economic depression. Nonetheless, Mexicans and Mexican Americans became easy scapegoats for Americans trying to understand the c­ auses of the depression and cope with its effects. In Los Angeles, which had one of the largest concentrations of Mexicans in the United States, George Clement of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce wrote, “Employ no Mexican while a white man is unemployed” in a memo to his boss (Koch, 2006). In El Paso, Texas, city officials passed an ordinance that barred immigrants from working on city-­sponsored construction proj­ects in 1930. In 1931, the American Voters League pressured local employers to fire Mexican employees, regardless of where they w ­ ere born (Vargas, 2007, p. 44). An angry mob showed up at the rail yards where Mexicans worked in Terre Haute, Indiana, to intimidate the immigrant workers into leaving their positions (Balderrama and Rodriguez, 2006, p. 121). It became clear to Mexicans that they w ­ ere no longer welcome in the United States. Mexicans faced similar nativism and discrimination when trying to access welfare benefits. It was not u­ ntil a­ fter the second New Deal (1935) that the federal government suggested that states should create unemployment insurance. Before this, ­there was no state-­level safety net to help workers get by when they w ­ ere out of work. Instead, individual counties received some federal funds to be distributed to area residents in need. Local welfare officials claimed that Mexicans overwhelmed the relief rolls. Though some Los Angeles leaders suggested that depriving Mexicans of welfare assistance would save them more than $24 million, historian Camille Guerin-­Gonzalez found that in total, Mexicans only received $38,000 of the total $1,509,078 spent on relief in 1931 (Guerin-­Gonzalez, 1994, p. 83). Limited funds and prejudices interfered with equal distribution of relief funds. In Los Angeles, for example, most white residents received about $30 a month, while Mexican nationals, if they received anything, got an average of $20 (“Aliens Load Relief,” 1934, p. 26). Rex Thomson, director of the Department of Charities, argued that since Mexicans had a lower standard of living, they could survive with less money. Though county officials complained that Mexicans constituted 10 ­percent of all citizens who ­were on welfare in Los Angeles, only about 38 ­percent of ­those w ­ ere actually Mexican nationals—­that is, born in Mexico. Mexican Americans—­who ­were of Mexican descent but ­were born in the United States and who had the same ­legal rights to assistance as white Americans—­made up the remainder of ­those welfare cases. Among Mexican nationals receiving welfare in Los Angeles, more than 60 ­percent had lived in the country for more than 10 years,

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and 30 ­percent had been in the United States for most of their lives (Balderrama and Rodriguez, 2006, p. 95). Some New Deal programs w ­ ere often off-­limits for ­those who ­were not citizens or who had not declared the intention to become a citizen. In 1939, the Works Proj­ects Administration, a federal program that employed ­people on public proj­ects like roads and bridges, required employees to be citizens. As a result, many Mexican workers in Chicago lost their only source of income (Arredondo, 2008, p. 105). During the depression in New Mexico, state officials banned state aid to transient workers. This effectively penalized Mexican and Mexican American workers who migrated out of state for agricultural work for part of the year. The backlash against Mexicans existed at the federal level as well. President Herbert Hoover denounced Mexicans as the cause of the G ­ reat Depression (Vargas, 2007, p. 48). Though Mexicans had made economic contributions and had limited interaction with welfare agencies, many white Americans, including Hoover, blamed them for the country’s economic prob­lems. This resentment ­toward Mexicans occurred during a period of nativism nationwide. For example, in 1924, Congress passed the Johnson-Reed Act, which limited the number of immigrants who could enter the United States by placing quotas on their countries of origin. The law was aimed at restricting Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pe­ans. Mexicans and Canadians, however, w ­ ere not subject to t­hese restrictions, in large part due to the lobbying of agribusiness executives who depended on Mexican l­ abor, especially in the Southwest. By the 1930s, however, many l­ abor advocates thought unchecked Mexican ­labor migration had put a strain on the economy. Popu­lar publications like the Saturday Eve­ning Post advanced nativist ideas in articles that depicted Mexicans as inherently inferior to Americans and a threat to the nation (Betten and Mohl, 1973, p. 378). Nativism t­oward Mexicans in the United States was not strictly about nationality: The backlash extended to Mexican Americans, for example. When u­ nion leaders called for jobs for “real Americans,” they ­were referring to Americans of Eu­ro­pean descent, not Mexican Americans. ­These kinds of preferences suggested that ­people of Mexican descent, regardless of being born in the United States and U.S. citizens, ­were not considered American. ­These pressures led p­ eople to consider returning to Mexico. P ­ eople repatriated in two ways: ­either the federal government deported t­ hose who lacked proper documentation, or p­ eople left willingly (though some ­were actually coerced). U ­ nder the direction of William N. Doak, the Bureau of Immigration undertook dragnet deportation raids starting in 1931. At first, the federal agency looked for p­ eople who had entered the country illegally during the 1920s, when border procedures had been much more lax. Prior to the 1929 Immigration Act, which instituted greater border restrictions, it was common practice for ­people to travel back and forth across the southern border easily. In 1931, nearly half of the immigrants deported by the Bureau of Immigration w ­ ere Mexican, even though Mexicans made up less than 1 ­percent

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of the nation’s population (Balderrama and Rodriguez, 2006, p. 74). In 1933, the federal government merged the Bureau of Immigration and the Bureau of Naturalization to create a new agency, Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vices (INS), which was responsible for carry­ing out deportations. Authorities issued deportation o­ rders for Mexicans in New York, Boston, Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, New Orleans, Kansas City, Denver, Oklahoma City, and Salt Lake City (Balderrama and Rodriguez, 2006, p. 55). Many of the efforts, however, w ­ ere concentrated in Southern California. It was not uncommon for authorities to arrest ­people by the truckload and then question them afterward to ascertain their immigration status. ­These raids did not always yield large numbers of unauthorized immigrants. One of the most famous raids occurred in 1931 in Los Angeles’s La Placita area, a community with a high concentration of Mexican immigrants. Though the authorities questioned 400 ­people, only 35 persons, including Mexican, Chinese, and Japa­nese immigrants, lacked proper documentation. In a 1930s Denver raid, only a few Mexicans could not prove they had l­egal standing to be in the country, out of hundreds who ­were questioned. Likewise, the INS investigated a Michigan sugar com­pany with more than 200 Mexican workers and found that all of them w ­ ere in the country legally; in fact, more than 60 ­percent of them ­were actually Mexican Americans from Texas (Ngai, 2014, p. 72). In other deportation raids, some Mexicans likely had l­egal status but did not have their paperwork on hand. Thus, some Mexicans may have been deported without cause. A combination of deportation raids, incentives offered by the Mexican government to returning Mexican citizens, and pressure from local welfare offices motivated many other Mexicans to return to Mexico on their own. For example, in 1934, 69 men, ­women, and ­children, likely both Mexican Americans and Mexican nationals, boarded a train in Detroit and headed south a­ fter not being able to obtain employment. Without many options for financial assistance or employment, and likely fearing deportation raids in Detroit, t­hese Mexican nationals—­along with their Mexican American c­ hildren—­made the difficult decision to leave the country. ­Those interviewed in a news article describing their journey told reporters they ­were thankful for the assistance the welfare office gave them, but it was not enough to help them stay (Adler, 1931, p. 39). In fact, historian Mae Ngai found that the assistance Detroit offered Mexicans consisted of meal vouchers to cafeterias, not cash allowances, thus greatly limiting a ­family’s ability to meet all of its needs. In many cases like the ones discussed by Adler, people chose voluntary deportation only b­ ecause they did not have any other options for economic survival in the United States. In Gary and Lake County, Indiana, employers encouraged Mexican immigrants to return to Mexico. Bosses at Inland Steel and U.S. Steel, for example, believed

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repatriation was charitable and the most beneficial option for unemployed workers (Betten and Mohl, 1973, p. 379). Local newspapers and civic associations tended to agree. Initially some immigrants left voluntarily, but over time they received greater pressure to leave. Some local welfare officials contacted the Mexican government, in­de­pen­dent of U.S. federal officials, to arrange repatriation. For example, the Bureau of Welfare of Los Angeles directly arranged for trains and steamships to transport Mexicans back to their homeland. The Mexican government cooperated in arranging ­these departures. Historian Camille Guerin-­Gonzalez explained that large-­scale emigration to the United States embarrassed the Mexican government, which at the time was trying to rebuild ­after the Mexican Revolution. In many instances, the Mexican government, through its consulates, helped to identify individuals who might want to leave and paid for their travel from the U.S.-­Mexico border to the interior. Local welfare offices usually paid for the travel to the border. Though it was perceived as a costly endeavor, many welfare offices w ­ ere e­ ager to send ­people away. Despite the fact that local welfare offices did not have ­legal authority to deport ­people, they pressured and coerced many families to leave. Los Angeles county supervisor Frank Shaw estimated that deportation would save the county more than $2 million, freeing up more access to relief for white American citizens (Ngai, 2014, p. 73). In Los Angeles, some Mexicans received letters from their local welfare office informing them of a time and location to take a boat back to Mexico. The letters included phrases like “This is an opportunity for you to repatriate on your own government’s boat” (Dermody, 1933, p. 1). In Gary, Indiana, some welfare workers ­were so ­eager to send ­people back to Mexico that they tried to do so without consulting the Mexican government. In 1932, Mexican Consulate officials in Chicago repeatedly wrote to Miss Mary Grace Wells, a township trustee for Gary, Indiana, to tell her to stop sending Mexican families to the border near Laredo, Texas. Miss Wells had, on multiple occasions, attempted to repatriate 10 to 20 Mexican families whom she believed needed financial assistance—­and did so without consulting the federal government, which would have authority to deport ­people based on t­ hose claims (Balderrama and Rodriguez, 2006, p. 172). In a letter to Miss Wells, a consulate official pointed out that “some families [had been] in this country many years and [­were] entitled to support from the community to whose pro­gress they contributed when they ­were working” (Aveleyra, 1931, p. 1). The official also added that it was irresponsible to send ­people to the border without ensuring that they had resources to assist them in settling in Mexico. Returning to Mexico was a difficult decision for ­those who ­were not forcibly deported, like Mexican nationals and their Mexican American c­ hildren. Their arrival in Mexico often produced unintended results. Some Mexican American youth faced challenges if they chose to stay ­behind while f­ amily members who w ­ ere not citizens

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The Role of the Mexican Consulate in the United States By the 1930s, the Mexican government had consulates around the United States, including in Detroit, Chicago, New Orleans, and Los Angeles. The consuls in ­these cities w ­ ere responsible for promoting the Mexican government and protecting Mexican citizens in their ser­vice areas. Consuls also examined Mexican citizens’ claims of discrimination in vari­ous settings. While initially some consuls encouraged their citizens to return to Mexico, for many consuls, repatriation was a troubling phenomenon. As employees of the Mexican government, they ­were forbidden from speaking out against the practice. The Mexican government supported repatriation in hopes that returning Mexicans would help Mexico’s economy recover with the new skills they had learned in the United States. Moreover, the consuls did not represent the Mexican government’s diplomatic arm. Only the embassy and ambassadors w ­ ere allowed to express disapproval of the deportation/ repatriation campaign to the U.S. government via the appropriate channels. This did not mean, however, that Mexican consuls did not object to the forcible repatriation of their compatriots. In fact, consuls across the country thought of ways to help Mexicans deal with their harsh circumstances in the United States. In New Orleans, one consul wanted to help Mexicans who wished to return to Mexico; he considered purchasing a vehicle to drive Mexicans to the border himself. In Los Angeles, Consul Rafael de la Colina helped repatriates sell their property before leaving the United States. Consul Rafael Aveleyra of Chicago went against the consulate’s policy when he attempted to stop a local official in Gary, Indiana, from sending Mexicans to the border without the property authority to do so. ­These efforts helped Mexicans during a tumultuous period.

left for Mexico. ­Those youth who did return encountered challenges once they arrived in Mexico: They found an economy that was just as bad or worse than the one they had left ­behind in the United States. Moreover, the influx of ­people in Mexico strained the Mexican government’s ability to aid its citizens. Nonetheless, the government set up three agricultural repatriation colonies in hopes of allowing the repatriados (­those who had repatriated) to provide for themselves. To farm the land given to them, however, the repatriados often needed to invest larger sums of money to be successful. Many of them did not have the resources to do so. Also, many of the returned Mexicans had been working in industrial jobs and did not have agricultural experience (Guerin-­Gonzalez, 1994, p. 106). Moreover, many Mexican

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Americans—­about 60 ­percent of t­hose who had “repatriated”—­had never been to Mexico and experienced culture shock in that unfamiliar environment (Ngai, 2014, p. 73). A Los Angeles Times article on repatriation remarked that many of t­hose leaving Los Angeles spoke only En­glish or a mix of En­glish and Spanish (Park, 1932, p. 13). Some repatriates attempted to return to the United States a­ fter finding conditions difficult in Mexico. Many of them, however, no longer qualified for entry ­under the newly implemented immigration requirements. Some Mexican Americans who w ­ ere in fact U.S. citizens did not have time to gather their birth certificates before leaving for Mexico and thus found themselves barred from re-­entry into the United States. Repatriation did not resolve the ­Great Depression. Historians have concluded that World War II, in fact, brought the country out of the depression. The federal government’s spending in the war industry brought the country to full employment. ­After lamenting Mexican workers’ presence in the United States during the Depression, the nation found itself in need of Mexican l­abor once again. Thus, in 1942

Ignacio Piña: The Story of One Repatriado In an interview with the popu­lar magazine USA ­Today, Ignacio Piña remembered armed officials bursting into his home in Hamilton, Montana, in 1931. They demanded that the ­family vacate their home and did not let them gather their belongings. Piña’s ­family stayed in a jail for 10 days before leaving for Mexico. Though a U.S. citizen, he arrived in Mexico with his f­amily when he was only six years old, and was unable to speak Spanish fluently. His ­family was destitute, with very few resources in an unfamiliar environment. Shortly ­after arriving, many members of his f­ amily contracted typhoid fever. His f­ ather succumbed to the illness and died four years ­later. Piña completed six years of school in Mexico and worked as a shoe shiner to help his ­mother. He remarked that he felt out of place there and could not relate culturally to his peers. As he got older, he tried to obtain the appropriate documents he would need to return to the United States. He was unable to locate his birth certificate when officials had removed him from his home, thus making him ineligible to return to the United States. ­After 16 years of living in Mexico, in 1945, the U.S. embassy in Mexico issued him a birth certificate, thus allowing him to return to the United States. Once he returned, he worked for a railroad com­pany and sent his ­children to college—an opportunity repatriation had deprived him of. Piña’s story illustrates the impact that repatriation campaigns had on individuals, especially U.S.-­born citizens in mixed families.

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the United States and Mexico reached a bilateral ­labor agreement to import tens of thousands of temporary contract workers for American agricultural and railroad jobs. ­Under this “Bracero Program,” Mexican men ­were recruited to work in the United States ­under six-­month contracts to relieve the war­time ­labor shortages. Revealing the United States’ ongoing demand for Mexican ­labor, however, the program lasted well beyond the war into 1964. Repatriation had long-­lasting effects on local communities and individuals. ­These campaigns made it clear that even p­ eople of Mexican descent who w ­ ere born in the United States ­were not always considered Americans. It reinforced the idea that ­people of Mexican descent w ­ ere foreigners. The economic crisis of the ­Great Depression essentially deemed Mexicans and Mexican Americans undeserving of jobs or aid that w ­ ere reserved for Americans of Eu­ro­pean descent. For many multigenerational families, repatriation resulted in the removal of American-­born citizens of Mexican descent as well as Mexican nationals. Though U.S.-­born ­children had a l­egal right to stay in the United States and receive aid, their parents did not. Thus, removing a ­family affected American citizens, not only foreigners. This highlighted the fact that Mexican Americans did not have access to full citizenship in the United States. Forcibly removing Mexican nationals, w ­ hether in violation of immigration law or not, often resulted in devastating losses to Mexican communities across the country, with regard to both the capital families had accumulated in the country and the social and emotional ties they had developed.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT The Apology Act for the 1930s Mexican Repatriation Program In the mid 2000s, the State of California issued an official apology for its repatriation campaign during the ­Great Depression. Senator Joe Dunn proposed this bill a­ fter reading Francisco  E. Balderrama’s and Raymond Rodríguez’s book De­cade of Betrayal (2006). Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger vetoed a companion bill that would have given reparations to repatriated persons and a requirement that repatriation be taught in California public schools. The Apology Act is the only one of its kind. The federal government has never issued an apology for repatriation. The following text is the language used for the California act when it was Senate Bill no. 670. Senate Bill No. 670 CHAPTER 663 An act to add Chapter 8.5 (commencing with Section 8720) to Division 1 of Title 2 of the Government Code, relating to Mexican repatriation.

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[Approved by Governor October  07, 2005. Filed with Secretary of State October 07, 2005.] LEGISLATIVE COUNSEL’S DIGEST SB 670, Dunn. Mexican repatriation program of the 1930s. This bill would enact the “Apology Act for the 1930s Mexican Repatriation Program” and make findings and declarations regarding the unconstitutional removal and coerced emigration of United States citizens and ­legal residents of Mexican descent, between the years 1929 and 1944, to Mexico from the United States during the 1930s “Mexican Repatriation” Program. The bill would express the apology of the State of California to ­those individuals who w ­ ere illegally deported and coerced into emigrating to Mexico and would require that a plaque to commemorate t­hose individuals be installed and maintained by the Department of Parks and Recreation in an appropriate public place in Los Angeles. DIGEST KEY Vote: majority Appropriation: no Fiscal Committee: yes Local Program: no

BILL TEXT THE P ­ EOPLE OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA DO ENACT AS FOLLOWS: SECTION 1. Chapter 8.5 (commencing with Section 8720) is added to Division 1 of Title 2 of the Government Code, to read: CHAPTER 8.5. Mexican Repatriation 8720. This chapter may be cited as the “Apology Act for the 1930s Mexican Repatriation Program.” 8721.

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The Legislature finds and declares all of the following: (a) Beginning in 1929, government authorities and certain private sector entities in California and throughout the United States undertook an aggressive program to forcibly remove persons of Mexican ancestry from the United States. (b) In California alone, approximately 400,000 American citizens and l­egal residents of Mexican ancestry ­were forced to go to Mexico. (c) In total, it is estimated that two million p­ eople of Mexican ancestry ­were forcibly relocated to Mexico, approximately 1.2 million of whom had been born in the United States, including the State of California. (d) Throughout California, massive raids ­were conducted on Mexican-­American communities, resulting in the clandestine removal of thousands of p­ eople, many of whom w ­ ere never able to return to the United States, their country of birth. (e) These raids also had the effect of coercing thousands of p­ eople to leave the country in the face of threats and acts of vio­lence. (f) These raids targeted persons of Mexican ancestry, with authorities and ­others indiscriminately characterizing ­these persons as “illegal aliens” even when they ­were United States citizens or permanent ­legal residents. (g) Authorities in California and other states instituted programs to wrongfully remove persons of Mexican ancestry and secure transportation arrangements with railroads, automobiles, ships, and airlines to effectuate the ­wholesale removal of persons out of the United States to Mexico. (h) As a result of ­these illegal activities, families ­were forced to abandon, or ­were defrauded of, personal and real property, which often was sold by local authorities as “payment” for the transportation expenses incurred in their removal from the United States to Mexico. (i) As a further result of ­these illegal activities, United States citizens and ­legal residents ­were separated from their families and country and w ­ ere deprived of their livelihood and United States constitutional rights. (j) As a further result of t­hese illegal activities, United States citizens w ­ ere deprived of the right to participate in the po­liti­cal pro­cess guaranteed to all citizens, thereby resulting in the tragic denial of due pro­cess and equal protection of the laws. 8722. The State of California apologizes to t­hose individuals described in Section 8721 for the fundamental violations of their basic civil liberties and constitutional rights

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committed during the period of illegal deportation and coerced emigration. The State of California regrets the suffering and hardship ­those individuals and their families endured as a direct result of the government sponsored Repatriation Program of the 1930s. A plaque commemorating the individuals described in Section  8721 ­shall be installed and maintained by the Department of Parks and Recreation at an appropriate public place in Los Angeles. If the plaque is not located on state property, the department ­shall consult with the appropriate local jurisdiction to determine a site owned by the City or County of Los Angeles for location of the plaque. Source: “SB-670 Mexican Repatriation Program of the 1930s (2005–2006),” Senate Bill 670. California Legislative Information, State of California, January 10, 2017. Available at: http://­leginfo​.­legislature​.­ca​.­gov​/­faces​/­billTextClient​.­xhtml​?­bill​_­id​=­200520060SB670

See also: The Bracero Program; Operation Wetback; World War II

Further Reading Acuña, Rodolfo. 1972. Occupied Amer­i­ca: The Chicano’s Strug­gle ­toward Liberation. San Francisco: Canfield Press. Adler, Philip A. 1931. “69 Mexicans Say Adios.” Detroit News, October 19. Michigan State Archives, 1931 IV-355-5, Secretaria de Relaciones Exteriores (SRE) de México. “Aliens Load Relief Roll.” 1934. Los Angeles Times, March 4. Retrieved from https://­www​ .­newspapers​.­com​/­newspage​/­158511761/ Arredondo, Gabriela F. 2008. Mexican Chicago: Race, Identity, and Nation, 1916–39. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Aveleyra, Rafael, to Miss Mary Grace Wells (letter). 1931. Archivo Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores-354–12, May 13. Balderrama, Francisco E., and Raymond Rodriguez. 2006. De­cade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s (rev. ed.). Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Betten, Neil, and Raymond A. Mohl. 1973. “From Discrimination to Repatriation: Mexican Life in Gary, Indiana, During the ­Great Depression.” Pacific Historical Review 42 (3): 370–388. Dermody, A. D., to José Avila (letter). 1933. Bureau of County Welfare, Los Angeles County Charities, May 25. Guerin-­Gonzales, Camille. 1994. Mexican Workers and American Dreams: Immigration, Repatriation, and California Farm ­Labor, 1900–1939. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Gutiérrez, David. 1995. Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Innis-­Jiménez, Michael. 2013. Steel Barrio: The G ­ reat Mexican Migration to South Chicago, 1915–1940. New York: New York University Press.

344 | ­Great Depression and Repatriation, 1929–1941 Koch, Wendy. 2006. “U.S. Urged to Apologize for 1930s Deportations,” USA ­Today, April 5. Retrieved from http://­usatoday30​.­usatoday​.­com​/­news​/­nation​/­2006​-­04​-­04​-­1930s​-­deportees​ -­cover​_­x​.­htm Mapes, Kathleen. 2009. Sweet Tyranny: Mi­grant ­Labor, Industrial Agriculture, and Imperial Politics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Ngai, Mae M. 2014. Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern Amer­ i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Park, Joseph. 1932. “The Repatriados.” Los Angeles Times, April 24, 13. Ruíz, Vicki. 2008. From Out of the Shadows: Mexican ­Women in Twentieth-­Century Amer­ i­ca. New York: Oxford University Press. Sanchez, George J. 1993. Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945. New York: Oxford University Press. Valdés, Dennis Nodín. 1991. Al Norte: Agricultural Workers in the ­Great Lakes Region, 1917–1970 Austin: University of Texas Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 1999. Proletarians of the North: A History of Mexican Industrial Workers in Detroit and the Midwest, 1917–1933. Berkeley: University of California Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2007. ­Labor Rights Are Civil Rights: Mexican American Workers in Twentieth ­Century Amer­i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press.

Birth of Latin Jazz, 1930s–1940s Bobby Sanabria

Chronology 1908, “Machito” (Francisco Raúl Gutiérrez Grillo de Ayala) is born in December Havana, Cuba. 1911, April

Prudencio Mario Bauzá is born in Havana, Cuba.

1917

African American Lieutenant James ­Reese Eu­rope, leader of the all-­ black 369th Infantry band, travels to Puerto Rico to recruit Afro-­Puerto Rican musicians during World War I. Among the recruits are b­ rothers Rafael and Jesus Hernandez and 16 o­ thers.

1920

Juan Tizol arrives in Washington, D.C., from Puerto Rico; he becomes part of the ­house band at the famed Howard Theater, where he joins other fellow Puerto Ricans.

1925

­ fter his ser­vice in the war and five years working as a musician in A Cuba, Rafael Hernandez debuts his orchestra at the famed Palace Theater.

Birth of Latin Jazz, 1930s–1940s | 345

1926

Mario Bauzá arrives in New York City to play clarinet for Antonio Maria Romeu’s orchestra. He falls in love with Harlem and, although he has to return to Cuba, vows to come back.

1929

Juan Tizol joins Duke Ellington’s orchestra in New York City.

1930

Don Azpiazú and his Havana Casino Orchestra make their debut in New York City. Bauzá returns to New York City, now playing the alto saxophone but quickly learning how to play the trumpet.

1933

Mario Bauzá becomes lead trumpeter for Chick Webb (the “King of Swing” in Harlem) and Webb’s big band.

1936

Puerto Rican valve trombonist Juan Tizol composes the song “Caravan” and rec­ords it the following year.

1937

Mario Bauzá’s brother-­in-­law, Francisco “Machito” Grillo, arrives in New York City to play with “La Estrella de Habana” band. Dizzy Gillespie becomes lead trumpet in Teddy Hill’s big band.

1938

Bauzá joins the Cab Calloway Orchestra, the highest-­paying African American big band, and introduces a young Dizzy Gillespie to the band. Bauzá and the Chick Webb Orchestra participate in a “­Battle of the Bands” at Harlem’s Savoy Ballroom against clarinetist Benny Goodman (mainstream Amer­i­ca’s “King of Swing”) and his band. Webb’s orchestra easily wins.

1939

Dizzy Gillespie composes his first song influenced by Afro-­Cuban rhythms, which he initially calls “Interlude.” By 1943, it becomes known as “A Night in Tunisia.” Bauzá becomes the bandleader for the Machito Afro-­Cubans. They debut at Spanish Harlem’s Park Palace Ballroom to an enthusiastic audience. The Machito Afro-­Cubans rec­ord Chano Pozo’s composition, “Nague,” in New York City.

1943

The Machito Afro-­Cubans release their composition and theme song, “Tanga.”

1947

Chano Pozo arrives in New York City. Chano Pozo rec­ords “Manteca,” his most famous song, with Dizzy Gillespie.

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1948, On December 2, Chano Pozo is killed in New York City in a bar fight. December 1949

Tito Puente releases his first hit, a mambo called “Abaniquito.”

1950

Mongo Santamaria becomes the conguero for the Tito Puente Orchestra.

1969, August

On August 16, Carlos Santana and his band, which drew heavi­ly on Latin jazz, blues, and other musical influences, perform at the Woodstock ­Music Festival in upstate New York, launching them into national and international fame.

Narrative The rich mosaic of ­music that Latinos have introduced and produced in the United States has been one of their most significant contributions to American popu­lar culture. The range is enormous: From the funky cadences of the clave-­rooted rhythms of early New Orleans jazz, to the introduction of the Argentinean tango by ballroom exhibition dancers Vernon and Irene C ­ astle in the early teens of the 20th ­century. From the Cuban son (a folk song tradition of eastern Cuba) first hitting New York City with Don Azpiazú and his Havana Casino Orchestra in 1930 to Xavier Cugat’s big band becoming the rage at the Waldorf Astoria. From Carmen Miranda singing samba in Hollywood movies in the 1940s to Ritchie Valens adapting a Mexican folk song and making it a rock-­and-­roll hit in the 1950s. From Sergio Mendes & Brazil 66 having million-­selling pop hits in the mid-1960s to Carlos Santana exploding at Woodstock. Latin ­music’s influence on North American culture has been ubiquitous. Of all ­these forms, the musical style known as Latin jazz, which draws upon the rich Afro-­Latin-­based rhythmic vocabulary of all of Latin Amer­i­ca’s countries, is perhaps the most impor­tant. Latin jazz can best be described, as ethnomusicologist John Storm Roberts has stated, as the first true fusion m ­ usic (Roberts, 1999a). It is a hybrid born of the combination of the harmonic/melodic sophistication and virtuosic improvisational skills found in the jazz tradition, fused with the Afro-­ Latin rhythmic complexity found in musical forms from the Ca­rib­bean, Central Amer­i­ca, and South Amer­i­ca. Although the term Latin jazz encompasses a musical vocabulary rooted in all of the countries of Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean, it was born in New York City, what many consider the cultural capital of the United States. Thus, some make the claim that Latin jazz is as American as apple pie and baseball.

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Roots of an American-­Born Art Form Although the musical genre that became recognized as Latin jazz began to appear in the 1930s and 1940s, the intercultural exchanges that produced the creative, hybrid, and distinctive sound originated with the migration of Ca­rib­bean musicians during World War I. Latin jazz is popularly believed to have been born in Cuba, but in fact its development can be traced to a small neighborhood in New York City. East Harlem was an ethnically diverse neighborhood in the early 20th ­century, home to Germans, Italians, Irish, and Jews. Bernardo Vega, a cigar maker who wrote a memoir about the Puerto Rican community in New York, recalled about 50 Puerto Rican families in 1916 living in the area that became known as “El Barrio” (Vega, 1984). Between World War I and World War II, New York’s Puerto Rican population grew significantly. By 1926, 60 ­percent of them lived in East Harlem. This Puerto Rican enclave became the city’s largest and most impor­tant. Jewish merchants began to carry Ca­rib­bean products and foods to serve the growing community. H ­ ere the Latin jazz m ­ usic scene began to take off (Sanabria, 2012). Among t­ hose early Puerto Rican mi­grants during World War I w ­ ere Afro-­Puerto Rican musicians who had been recruited to play in military bands in Eu­rope. Classically trained in Puerto Rico, t­ hese musicians often played in municipal bands on the island that provided live entertainment for local residents. ­After serving in the war, some returned to the mainland and went to work for orchestras and big bands in New York and elsewhere. Among the most famous ­were Rafael “Moncho” Usera, Fernando Arbello, Ismael Morales, Rafael Duchesne, and Rafael Escudero, who played in African American jazz bands, theaters, and ­hotel orchestras (Glasser, 1995). ­Those who ­were light enough to cross the color line played for white audiences or in white-­only clubs, while the darker-­skinned played for mixed-­race or segregated black clubs in Harlem. The interactions and exchanges of ­these Puerto Rican musicians with black American jazz performers would lay the foundation for ­future collaborations. Moreover, they attracted audiences in their communities who came out to enjoy their ­music. In the 1920s, Puerto Rican residents would often rent a Jewish hall at the corner of 110th Street and Fifth Ave­nue for civic and po­liti­cal events. Another venue, the Park Palace, a large elegant hall that held up to 1,500 ­people, also featured Latin ­music entertainment in ­later years. The Park Palace was on the second floor of the building it occupied, while the Carlton Club, l­ ater renamed the Golden Casino, operated below on the first floor. During the 1930s, the Golden Casino often hosted Puerto Rican bandleader Augusto Coen’s orchestra, playing Cuban boleros, guarachas, and son (a genre popularly and erroneously called “rumba” by Americans), Puerto Rican plena and danza, Spanish paso dobles (two step), “and swing tunes (what e­ very Latin band at the time included in their repertoire)” (Sanabria, 2012).

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Located at the boundary between Black and Spanish Harlem, the hall became the focal point of the Latin m ­ usic scene, memorialized in a song called “110th St. and 5th Ave” composed by Puerto Rican pianist Noro Morales. Lenox Ave­nue marked the dividing line between Black and Spanish Harlem. This became the point of arrival for black Cuban immigrants. On Lenox Ave­nue between 115th and 116th stood a popu­lar bakery owned and operated by a white Cuban of Catalan descent, Simon Jou. Though it was officially named La Moderna (“the modern one”), locals called it simply Simon’s. At the time it was the only place in the city, and possibly the country, that sold au­then­tic Afro-­Cuban percussion instruments imported from Cuba. Jou swiftly made a good business out of selling the instruments to knowledgeable Cuban immigrant musicians. La Moderna also had a backyard patio and was a place where experienced Cuban and Puerto Rican musicians would come to play. They played congas, timbales, bongos, maracas, claves, guiros, and quijas, producing a genre of Cuban rumba known as guaguancó. Novices like New York-­born Puerto Rican Ernest Anthony “Tito” Puente frequented the place, ­eager to learn from the veterans. The building’s geography—on the border of Black and Spanish Harlem—­also reflected the community and the interaction between African Americans and Latinos. The locale of both Park Palace and La Moderna—­right between New York’s African American and Latino enclaves—­would prove significant as well for fostering intercultural exchange between the two populations (Martinez and Sanabria, 2011).

Early Attempts at Latin Fusion During t­hese early years, several Ca­rib­bean musicians in New York made initial forays into the musical blending of sounds and arrangement that would become Latin jazz. Cuban bandleader Xavier Cugat, and his orchestra, which performed at New York’s famed Waldorf Astoria h­ otel; and Puerto Rican trumpeter, composer, arranger, and bandleader Augosto Coen and his orchestra w ­ ere both big bands in New York that played popu­lar dance ­music. However, they did not stray from that form. When they did play Latin rhythms, they did so in a very subdued fashion. They only occasionally featured the musicians as soloists and did not take creative leaps harmonically as the ­great arrangers for jazz big bands would l­ater do. Puerto Rican valve trombonist Juan Tizol, a member of the Duke Ellington Orchestra, also hinted at this fusion. Born in Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, he came from a renowned musical f­ amily. His u­ ncle Manuel was the musical director of both the Banda Municipal of San Juan as well as the San Juan Symphony—­ensembles that Juan would eventually join. In 1920, he arrived in Washington, D.C., along with other fellow Puerto Ricans to become part of the ­house band at the famed Howard

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Theater. By 1929, he joined Ellington’s orchestra, becoming its “straw boss” helping to or­ga­nize the band’s (­music) book as both a copyist and an arranger. Tizol established himself as composer of note when in 1936 he composed “Caravan.” Recorded in 1937, it has since become a jazz standard, part of the repertoire of ­every jazz musician. Although it hinted at a Latin jazz fusion, the Ellington rhythm section, let alone the rest of the musicians in the band, simply did not know how to play any au­then­tic Latin rhythms. The tune was instead interpreted with a quasi-­ Middle Eastern rhythmic flair and became a novelty of sorts for its exotic sounds. Even Cab Calloway, Mario Bauzá’s employer, had tried to experiment with Latin m ­ usic by recording songs like “Congo Conga,” utilizing maracas and claves as part of the rhythm section. This early attempt at Latin fusion, in terms of au­then­ tic Latin rhythmic per­for­mance combined with jazz, would not become elaborated further ­until Mario Bauzá was able to realize his dream for his own band that would produce unpre­ce­dented and exciting new sounds.

The Influence of Prudencio Mario Bauzá (1911–­1993) Prudencio Mario Bauzá stands at the center of the creation of Latin jazz. He was born in Cuba on April 28, 1911, and raised in La Havana’s Pogolloti barrio. He grew up with his boyhood friend and f­uture brother-­ in-­ law  Francisco Raúl Gutiérrez Grillo  de Ayala (­ later known as  “Machito”), listening to the  rumba and son traditions of  Cuba as well as the Afro-­ religious based drumming and chanting of Santería, a religion with roots in the Yoruba p­ eople of Nigeria in West Africa. It was in this musically vibrant atmosphere that both Mario and  Machito developed a keen sense of clave—­the musical instrument that provides the five-­attack rhythmic foundation of Afro-­Cuban ­music.

Machito was a pioneer in the development of Afro-­Cuban jazz and played an impor­tant role during the mambo craze of the 1950s. (Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

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While Machito learned the maracas as well as the vocal traditions of the son and rumba, Bauzá became a child prodigy on the clarinet and bass clarinet. Bauzá was featured as a soloist with the budding Havana Philharmonic at the age of 12. He was subsequently offered a scholarship to study at the prestigious La Scala in Milan, Italy, which he turned down, l­ater explaining, “I knew t­here was no f­ uture for a Black man in classical m ­ usic.” Working with show and dance bands in his teenage years, he went to New York City in 1926, and played clarinet with the flute and string (charanga) orchestra of pianist Antonio Maria Romeu. Only 15 years old, Bauzá stayed in Harlem with a cousin, René Endreira, who played trumpet for the Santo Domingo Serenaders, a diverse band that included musicians of Cuban, Dominican, African-­American, and Puerto Rican descent. Bauzá fell in love with Harlem’s nightlife: “Harlem back then was incredible. I saw black ­people ­running their own businesses, dressed sharp, walking with pride and the ­music, incredible!” (Sanabria, 2012; Latin ­Music USA, 2009). He also saw and heard the early per­for­ mances of George Gersh­win’s renowned “Rhapsody in Blue” performed by the Paul Whitman Orchestra at New York’s Aeolian Hall. The per­for­mance featured saxophonist Frankie Trumbauer. This would become an inspirational moment for the young Mario, who deci­ded to add the alto saxophone to his musical arsenal. Although he had to return to Cuba, Bauzá vowed to go back to New York. When he returned to New York City in 1930, Bauzá made a remarkable switch to trumpet to fill in at the last minute in a recording session for Cuban vocalist Antonio Machin. Machin, who was part of the legendary Don Azpiazú Havana Casino Orchestra, had come to New York City the same year to expose U.S. audiences to au­then­tic Cuban ­music. ­After his band’s per­for­mances, he stayed in the city and was invited to participate in a short film and recording of his band’s hit song “El Manisero” (“The Peanut Vendor”) (Sanabria, 2012). Machin needed someone who knew how to play the trumpet in au­then­tic Cuban style, but he did not know anyone in New York and all of Azpiazú’s orchestra had already returned to Cuba. Mario Bauzá knew a bit about the trumpet but had never played. He offered to fill in if Machin would buy him a trumpet to practice on. They went to a pawn shop across the street from Car­ne­gie Hall and bought a cheap trumpet for eight dollars. Bauzá recalled, “We recorded and every­thing came out fine” (Martinez and Sanabria, 2011). ­After this experience, Bauzá began listening to and studying the work of New Orleans trumpeter Louis Armstrong and imitating Armstrong’s brilliant bravura tone. He soon entered Harlem’s jazz world by playing ­house parties with stride pianist Lucky Roberts. By 1933, he became the lead trumpet player for Harlem’s “King of Swing,” dynamic drummer Chick Webb and his big band. Bauzá ­later helped bring singer Ella Fitzgerald to the Webb band and astonishingly did both a clarinet and a trumpet solo on the recording of Webb’s hit, “Stompin’ at the Savoy.”

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While he performed as Webb’s lead trumpeter and musical director, Bauzá also began recording with other popu­lar big band leaders: Noble Sissle, Don Redman, and Jimmie Lunceford. In 1938 he joined what at the time was the highest paying African American big band, the Cab Calloway Orchestra. He soon brought a young Dizzy Gillespie to the band (Sanabria, 2012). John “Dizzy” Gillespie, who hailed from Cheraw, South Carolina, was a young genius on trumpet. Born to a musical f­ amily (his ­father was a bandleader), he showed promise first on piano and then trombone, fi­nally switching to trumpet by his teen years. Gillespie received a ­music scholarship to the Laurinburg Institute in North Carolina, where he studied for two years before moving to Philadelphia with his ­family. In 1937, he fi­nally became part of Teddy Hill’s big band, taking over the lead trumpet chair of his idol, Roy Eldridge. Upon first meeting at the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem, Bauzá and Gillespie quickly struck up a friendship. Bauzá eventually sent Gillespie to substitute for him in the Calloway band for a Sunday matinee per­for­mance. Gillespie and Bauzá shared that ­after asking Calloway how the young Gillespie did, Calloway simply responded with a perfunctory, “Not bad,” to which Mario gruffly replied, “Not bad? Within ten years that kid is ­going to change the way jazz is played, you’ll see.” Without dropping a beat, Calloway immediately responded, “­Great, I just hired him, you can be his baby sitter when we travel. He’s now your roommate!” (Sanabria, personal conversations, 1983–1993.) The relationship between Gillespie and Bauzá would prove fruitful, as they formed a lifelong friendship that began Gillespie’s love affair with Latin ­music and that changed American jazz forever.

Mario Bauzá’s Vision In 1937, Bauzá’s brother-­in-­law, vocalist Francisco “Machito” Grillo, came to New York City to work with La Estrella Habanera (The Cuban Star). Bauzá soon began telling Machito about his vision of forming an orchestra that would combine the harmonic sophistication of a jazz band, the virtuosity of the jazz soloist, and the intensity of au­then­tic Afro-­Cuban rhythms (Sanabria, 2012). His vision had been inspired by the insults he received from his fellow bandmates in the Calloway orchestra. Occasionally, Bauzá would play au­then­tic Cuban ­music for them while they worked in the recording studio. They would ridicule him, saying that his ­music “sounded like corny hillbilly, country ­music.” The insults infuriated him. He reportedly replied, “Yeah, it’s from my country, Cuba! You ­will see. One day ­there ­will be a band just like this one, but it ­will have the rhythms of my country as its foundation and it w ­ ill be better than this band!” (Latin M ­ usic USA, 2009). The insults that Bauzá’s bandmates hurled at him fueled his dream of creating his own orchestra.

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In 1939, Bauzá’s dream of creating a sophisticated “American big band with au­then­tic Afro-­Cuban rhythms” became a real­ity. He was more than poised and qualified to do it. He had performed and recorded over the last nine years with the greatest African American jazz musicians in the city in the most demanding chair—­ lead trumpet. He became the bandleader for The Machito Afro-­Cubans, named ­after his brother-­in-­law, Machito. The Afro-­Cubans debuted at Spanish Harlem’s Park Palace Ballroom that year and ­were an immediate sensation. They became the first Afro-­Cuban/Latin jazz orchestra, completing the fusion that had begun years earlier. As composer/arranger Maestro Chico O’Farrill explained, “You see, this was a new concept in interpreting Cuban ­music with as much (harmonic) richness as pos­si­ble. You have to understand how impor­tant this was. It made e­ very other band that came a­ fter, followers” (Notes from the Mambo Inn, 1992). Although t­ here ­were many other Latin musical groups performing in New York City at the time, none had the musical pedigree, sophistication, and hipness that The Machito Afro-­ Cubans exuded. The Afro-­Cubans ­were unique in their sound and introduced American audiences to several distinctive innovations. To begin with, they w ­ ere the first band to feature the congas, bongo, and timbales: the traditional percussion instruments of Afro-­Cuban dance ­music. In addition, they continuously experimented with arranging techniques, marrying jazz with traditional Afro-­Cuban rhythms. They w ­ ere the first to experiment with modal harmony, layering multiple waves of sound that would be explored further only in l­ater years by jazz artists such as Miles Davis. They ­were also a racially integrated band that explic­itly identified their African roots in the band’s name, something that no other band had done. Yet the Afro-­Cubans performed primarily for other Ca­rib­bean p­ eople, not white audiences: thus they communicated their racial pride to the Cuban and Puerto Rican audiences that they entertained in Harlem. Bauzá’s pivotal role in the diffusion of Latin jazz cannot be underestimated. Indeed, he was the musician who made pos­si­ble the collaboration between Cuban conga player Chano Pozo and trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie on their timeless hit, “Manteca.” Bauzá is also responsible for influencing the development of Tito Puente’s musical genius (Sanabria, 2008; Notes from the Mambo Inn, 1992).

The Collaboration of Dizzy Gillespie and Chano Pozo By the mid 1940s, the Machito Afro-­Cubans, u­ nder Bauzá’s musical direction, had not only become the pre-­eminent Latin orchestra in the country, but had revolutionized the jazz world as well. Many con­temporary jazz musicians heard the Machito Afro-­Cubans perform live and w ­ ere amazed by their distinctive sound. ­Every major jazz soloist of the time wanted to rec­ord or appear with the orchestra

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and many did, including Dizzy Gillespie, Buddy Rich, Flip Philips, Charlie Parker, Dexter Gordon, and many more. Perhaps none was more impor­tant, however, than Dizzy Gillespie (October 21, 1917-­January 6, 1993). Gillespie had begun to compose tunes and write big band charts for Cab Calloway’s band, but ­after he had played for a short time with the orchestra, Calloway fired him in 1941. Gillespie was known for being a jokester, although he was also known to have a deep intellect and was a master chess player. Gillespie was a revolutionary thinker when it came to modern harmony. Many times he could be found at the main branch of the New York Public Library near Manhattan’s Times Square, studying the musical scores of Bartok, Stravinsky, Mahler, Bach, and Beethoven. His previous musical training and his intense study of ­these masters would eventually come to fruition as he applied modern concepts to jazz harmony in his own compositions. The new musical movement in jazz that he established featured more complex harmonies, angular melodies, and at times blistering tempos. It was as hard for the musicians to play as it was for the audience to understand. Jazz writer Leonard Feather dubbed the new progressive movement “Bebop.” Gillespie developed an affinity and love for Afro-­Cuban rhythms through his presence at numerous rehearsals and per­for­mances of The Machito Afro-­Cubans, and his close association with their musical director, Bauzá. Gillespie began his own foray into big-­band Afro-­Cuban jazz. His first exploration in composing a song influenced by Afro-­Cuban rhythm happened in 1939 with a song that he initially called “Interlude,” but renamed “A Night in Tunisia” a few years l­ ater. The full integration of both ele­ments—­au­then­tic Afro-­Cuban rhythm, jazz harmony and arranging technique, along with virtuosic soloists—­was achieved first by The Machito Afro-­Cubans with their 1943 composition and theme song, “Tanga.” Gillespie first tried utilizing Cuban-­born bongo player, Lorenzo “Chiquitico” Gallan, a former member of the Afro-­Cubans. But Gallan felt uncomfortable in the big-­band jazz swing rhythm context and quit Gillespie’s band ­after one per­for­mance. Gillespie returned to Bauzá and asked him, “What about someone who plays one of ­those Cuban tom toms?” Mario’s response was immediate, “I got the guy you lookin’ for. He just got h­ ere from Cuba” (Latin ­Music USA, 2009). He was referring to Chano Pozo. Luciano “Chano” Pozo (January 7, 1915-­December 3, 1948) hailed from a neighborhood known as El Solar Africa in Havana. He grew up in an extremely impoverished and rough neighborhood and developed a reputation l­ater in life for having a violent temper. His musical talent, however, was phenomenal. He crossed paths with boyhood friends like Candido and Mongo Santamaria, and eventually played in groups with them. Like Mario Bauzá, he grew up listening to the street drumming and dancing traditions of the rumba, as well as the son that had been brought to Havana during the Spanish-­American War of 1898. Pozo became the

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leader, “Dandy” (drum major), of Havana’s most well-­known carnival conga de comparsa group, Los Dandy’s. Handsome, impeccably dressed, driving a pink Cadillac, Chano became a symbol of upward mobility and pride for blacks in Cuba. His composition “Nague” was recorded by The Machito Afro-­Cubans in New York City in 1939 and featured Tito Puente on timbales, Lorenzo “Chiquitico” Gallan on bongo, and Bilingue Ayala on conga. By 1947, Pozo was encouraged to go to New York City by his boyhood friend, legendary singer, entertainer, and actor Miguelito Valdés. Meeting Mario Bauzá in Havana, who also recommended him to Dizzy Gillespie, further encouraged him. The relationship between Gillespie and Pozo proved beneficial to both men. Gillespie learned that b­ ecause of the way slavery had existed in the United States, the hand-­drum culture of blacks had been taken away, forbidden outright. But in Cuba ­under Spanish rule, hand drumming was permitted and African-­based culture thrived. This missing ele­ment is what Dizzy hoped to reintroduce to jazz—­and hiring Chano would do that. For Chano Pozo, it was a chance to expose North American audiences to au­then­ tic Afro-­Cuban drumming and Yoruba-­based chanting from the Santería spiritual tradition, which was rooted in Nigeria. He could also get some of his compositions recorded and gain fame by performing live. Of his many original songs, the best known is “Manteca.” The composition was originally built on a series of interlocking riffs, one on top of the other (common to Cuban ­music song construction, particularly mambo). Gillespie identified one prob­lem, however: No one in jazz would accept a song with only one chord in it. He and arranger Walter Gil Fuller began to construct a bridge to the song with a series of chords that would eventually resolve ­after 16 bars. A return to the original melody ­after that 16-­bar bridge would make the tune conform to the standard song form used in popu­lar m ­ usic in ­those days: melody, bridge, reprise of the original melody. The result was not only a hit song, but also what became the unofficial anthem of Afro-­Cuban jazz. Unfortunately, Chano’s volatile nature ended his life at a young age. On tour in Georgia with Gillespie, his conga drum was stolen. He returned to New York City to replace it, but deci­ded ­after experiencing the severe racism of the U.S. South that he would not return to the Gillespie band. On December 2, 1948, 18 months ­after he had arrived and taken New York City by storm, he was shot and killed by fellow Cuban Eusebio “Cabito” (­Little Corporal) Muñoz at the Rio Bar on East 111th Street and Lexington Ave­nue in Spanish Harlem. To this day Chano Pozo is revered by t­hose who play Latin jazz. Dizzy Gillespie would continue employing a variety of congueros over the years, but the loss of Chano at the age of 33 still invites speculation on what might have been. Pozo had enormous musical talent and genius. ­There is no telling what other creative compositions and musical innovations he might have introduced to the world.

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The Next Wave ­ fter the creation stateside of the first form of Latin jazz with Afro-­Cuban roots, A the next development in the continuum came from the fusion of Brazilian rhythms with jazz harmony and arranging technique. By the 1940s, two ­things happened that made Brazilian m ­ usic part of the musical lexicon of North Amer­ic­ a. First ­there was actress and vocalist Carmen Miranda (February 9, 1909-­August 5, 1955), of Portuguese descent, who was already a star in Brazil. By 1940, U.S. audiences saw her starring on Broadway in The Streets of Paris and in the Technicolor movie Down Argentine Way, which had made actress Betty Grable a star. The second was the implementation of President Franklin  D. Roo­se­velt’s “Good Neighbor Policy” ­toward Latin Amer­i­ca to stop the growth of World War II Nazi influence ­there. Walt Disney Studios was hired to create a cartoon character, “Carioca Joe (José Carioca)”—­a talking, cigar-­smoking parrot with a Brazilian accent—­who traveled throughout Latin Amer­i­ca spreading good cheer. ­These cartoons, with their attention to musical authenticity, exposed mainstream Amer­i­ca to Brazilian and other Latino m ­ usic forms in a big way. Just as Brazilian ­music was beginning to influence American popu­lar culture, so too was jazz penetrating Brazilian culture. ­Because of the influence of American big bands, a new form of ballroom samba with a big-­band sound was taking hold in Brazil. It became known as Gafieira; songs like “Aqualera Do Brasil,” by Ary Barroso, w ­ ere exemplary of the style. Although composed in 1939, the song ­didn’t become popu­lar u­ ntil it was featured in the 1942 Disney animated film, Saludos Amigos, which featured the first appearance of Carioca Joe. It gave the song worldwide exposure and gave Xavier Cugat a hit with his recording of it the following year, 1943. This laid the groundwork for the next g­ reat movement in the Latin jazz continuum. By the end of the 1960s, jazz musicians had come to the realization that rock, rhythm and blues (R&B), funk, and pop m ­ usic had overtaken jazz in popularity. Jazz was still somewhat part of mainstream American culture, as variety shows like The Hollywood Palace and The Dean Martin Show; and talk shows like the To­night Show hosted by Johnny Carson, The Merv Griffin Show (created by Griffin, a former big band singer himself), Mike Douglas, The David Frost Show, Dick Cavett, and ­others would frequently showcase jazz artists. Popu­lar cartoons produced by the Hanna-­Barbera studios, like Jonny Quest, The Flintstones, The Jetsons, and many more, all featured jazz-­oriented theme songs. But the Beatles and the British invasion changed the musical landscape. One of the ways that musicians dealt with this was by creating new fusions, most notably with Latin rhythms.

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Bossa Nova Literally, “new ­thing” or “new style” in Brazilian Portuguese, as in its Spanish equivalent, “Cosa Nueva,” bossa nova’s sensual rhythms can be traced to Brazil’s carnival samba. In bossa nova, though, the tempos are much slower and performed in a softer setting, with nylon-­string guitar providing the hypnotic pulse through rhythmic strumming. Its lyricism is informed by what Brazilians call saudade, a feeling of longing and melancholy. This, combined with lush harmonies that come directly from jazz, is at the core of bossa nova. By 1955, guitarist/composer João Gilberto had begun to develop the style while living with his s­ ister Diamantina in the city of Minas Gerais, by solitary practice on the guitar and singing in her bathroom. He developed a nasal quality to his voice that blended beautifully with his guitar playing. That same year, he wrote “Bim Bom,” which is considered by historians to be the first song in the bossa nova style. By 1956, Gilberto had reconnected with an old friend, fellow composer Antonio Carlos Jobim, who was fascinated with what João was d­ oing on the guitar and championed him through Rio’s musical circles. By 1957, Gilberto was a hit with fellow guitarists in Rio who ­were quickly learning and adapting his “new thing/style.” It was fi­nally documented on the 1958 recording “Chega de Saudade” (“No More Blues”), a song written by Jobim and his frequent collaborator Vinicius De Moraes. Although Elizeth Cardozo recorded the song, she refused to sing it in the way Gilberto had developed the style to be interpreted—­softly and with no vibrato. Nevertheless, his own subsequent recording of it, and ­album of the same title the following year, became a hit and is considered ground zero for the start of the worldwide bossa nova craze that soon followed. By 1962, American jazz musicians, like tenor saxophonist Stan Getz, had embraced the style w ­ holeheartedly and invited Gilberto and Jobim to collaborate on the ­album Getz/Gilberto, which became a million seller. Their version of Jobim’s and Moraes’s “The Girl from Ipanema,” sung by Joã­o’s wife, Astrud, became a mega-­hit, making bossa nova a required style for all jazz musicians to learn and cementing the format as a permanent part of mainstream American ­music culture. Proof of its impact and influence on American popu­lar m ­ usic can be found in the 1967 recording by the rock group, The Doors, of “Break On Through (To the Other Side).” It is considered the first rock song with a bossa nova beat.

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Latin Jazz Influence in American Popu­lar M ­ usic On Saturday, August 16, 1969, at 2:00 pm in the upstate town of Bethel, New York, a band from San Francisco took the stage at the Woodstock Festival. The band was managed by Bill Graham. Born Wulf Wolodia “Wolfgang” Grajonca (January 8, 1931-­October 25, 1991) of Rus­sian, German, and Jewish descent, Graham was a child survivor of the World War II Nazi death camps. At the age of 10 he was sent to a foster home in the Bronx, New York. He eventually graduated from De Witt Clinton High School and earned a business degree from City College. However, growing up in New York and working summers in the Catskills as a busboy and waiter during the height of the big-­band mambo era of the 1950s had also made him a “mambonik.” He immersed himself completely in the dance, ­music, and culture of New York City’s Puerto Rican and Cuban entertainment scene. The influence of early Latin jazz eventually s­ haped the “mambo,” which became wildly popu­lar among New York’s Puerto Rican, Cuban, Italian, and Jewish audiences. Graham listed as his greatest achievement the winning of the mambo dance contest at the legendary Palladium Ballroom in Manhattan, where the orchestras of The Big Three—­Machito, Tito Puente, and Tito Rodriguez—­reigned supreme. As co-­producer of the Woodstock festival, Graham booked the San Francisco band as a last-­minute replacement. The band’s leader, Carlos Santana, and his bandmates took the stage earlier than expected, thinking they would appear much l­ater in the day. Their per­for­mance at the Woodstock Festival would become legendary. All the freeways ­were blocked, like a science fiction movie. ­People abandoned their cars on the freeway. 550,000, half ­a million or more strong. All I could see was an ocean of flesh, and hair, teeth . . . ​the biggest door I ever walked in through. (Carlos Santana commenting on Woodstock, in Latin M ­ usic USA, 2009) Born on July 20, 1947, in the city of Autlán de Navarro, Jalisco, Mexico, Santana first played the violin in the mariachi m ­ usic tradition, which he learned from his ­father. In his pre-­teen years, he was performing on the streets of Mexico “for 50 cents a song.” He played violin alongside his ­father in unsavory venues, and eventually moved with his ­family to Tijuana, where they continued performing in the same fashion. ­There, he was exposed to early rock and roll. He began playing guitar and was influenced by the g­ reat African American masters of the blues— T Bone Walker, Albert King, John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, and more—­and he developed a unique tone and style that became instantly identifiable. Another ­family move, this time to San Francisco, exposed him to the growing hippie movement of the Haight-­Ashbury district as well as to Afro-­Cuban ­music.

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Besides the native Mexican folk ­music and blues influences that he had absorbed, artists like jazz trumpeter Miles Davis, guitarists Gabor Szabo and Wes Montgomery ­were becoming influences on him. A chance opportunity to replace blues guitarist Paul Butterfield at an eve­ning show at Bill Graham’s Fillmore West club gave Santana a chance to get some audience exposure and for Graham to become interested in promoting Santana as a musician. Graham’s subsequent work with Santana cannot be overstated. In Graham, Santana had not only an advocate, but also an influential mentor who encouraged him to expand his musical vision from just the stylings of the original Santana Blues Band. His encouragement and joy in seeing Santana use Afro-­ Cuban percussion gave the band a unique sound that incorporated Santana’s growing interest in jazz. From then on, blues, rock, R&B, and Afro-­Cuban, as well as Brazilian rhythms, would be united in an unpre­ce­dented fusion that in many ways represented all cultures of the African diaspora coming together. The result can be seen and heard in their per­for­mance of “Soul Sacrifice” captured in the film Woodstock. In what can best be described, in Cuban musical terms, as a percussion-­laden “descarga” (jam session), it combined a one-­chord groove (à la The Machito Afro-­ Cubans “Tanga” from 1943) built on a quasi samba-­rumba-­rhythm overladen with Santana’s soaring guitar and organist Greg Rollie’s blues-­drenched Hammond B3 organ work, in conjunction with the explosive conga work by José “Chepito” Areas and Mike Carabello, along with Dave Brown’s pulsating bass and Michael Shrieve’s climactic drum solo. Their per­for­mance became the stuff of legend and the highlight of the subsequent Woodstock movie worldwide. It also became the band’s entree into a recording contract with CBS Rec­ords. In the context of Woodstock, it was also the crossing of a Rubicon in American ­music history. The more than half a million predominantly Anglo-­American Woodstock crowd of the hippie generation had never heard any au­then­tic Afro-­ Cuban percussion played in that context before: it was a revelation. And it was all due to Graham’s insistence to Woodstock producer Michael Lang that if Graham ­were to use his expertise to help Lang with the production of such a large event, he would do so only u­ nder one condition: “. . . you have to let my guys, Santana, play.” The stars ­were in alignment. Lang’s ­father had owned The Spotlight, a Latin ­music club in Manhattan. When Lang heard the Santana demo tape that Graham provided him, it reminded him of Machito, Tito Puente, and Tito Rodriguez, artists that his ­father had booked at the club.

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Sounds of ­Today and Beyond When I was at the Berklee College of M ­ usic as a freshman in 1975, I was the only student of Puerto Rican descent t­ here. ­There was a Costa Rican, my friend trumpeter David Carmona, who had turned me on to the school when we ­were in high school band, an Argentinean, and about four Brazilians. ­Today the largest population at the school is Latinos. They came from ­every single part of Latin Amer­i­ca, fervently studying jazz improvisation, composition, and arranging technique. This same trend is happening at many college-­level jazz programs across the country. What has been the result? An incredible explosion in the Latin jazz continuum over the past 40 years. Names like David Sanchez, Jerry Gonzalez, Hermeto Pascoal, Paquito D’Rivera, Arturo Sandoval, Miguel Zenon, Claudio Roditi, and yours truly have become charter members of the jazz world, making our own musical contributions over the years and utilizing our cultural roots in ­every imaginable format, from small group to big band, in making our contributions to the continuum. What is dif­fer­ent is that where the original paradigms of Latin jazz focused on Afro-­Cuban and Brazilian forms, we now have musicians exploring Venezuelan, Colombian, Peruvian, Puerto Rican, Dominican forms. In fact, ­every country in Latin Amer­i­ca is exploring fusions of jazz and its own native musical forms in a concerted effort, realizing the true definition of what the term Latin jazz means. I was asked, years ago, “What do you think the f­ uture of jazz holds?” I  have always responded, “The ­future of jazz is in Latin Amer­i­ca.” That ­future is already ­here. —­Musician Bobby Sanabria

Biographies of Notable Figures Tito Puente (1921–2000) “No one in the world has done more for Afro-­Cuban ­music than Tito Puente and he ­isn’t even Cuban!” So said Afro-­Cuban jazz’s creator, the legendary founder and musical director of The Machito Afro-­Cubans, Mario Bauzá. Puente was born in Harlem on April 20, 1920, to Puerto ­Rican born parents. His name at birth was Ernest Anthony Puente, Jr., although in some cases he has erroneously been identified as “Ernesto” or “Antonio.”

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Puente grew up in Spanish Harlem (El Barrio), an area that undoubtedly influenced his style and taste in percussion and jazz m ­ usic. As a youth, he was exposed to Cuban m ­ usic, Puerto Rican m ­ usic, big-­band jazz (such as Gene Krupa, a drummer whom Puente idolized), and many more. Puente’s ­career as a drummer started as many other musicians’ do: exposure to a wide variety of m ­ usic, a passion for jazz, and lessons. He learned to drum from a performer named Mr. Williams, took dance lessons (a new way of learning how to move to and feel the beat), and took piano lessons from Victoria Hernandez, s­ ister to Puerto Rico’s most famous composer at the time, Rafael Hernandez. “­Little Ernie,” as Puente was known by his boyhood friends, began to implement his musical and dance training into a wide variety of per­for­mance skills: piano, marimba, saxophone, clarinet, timbales, drums, composition, and band leading. Tito Puente grew from an e­ ager young student into a percussion performer and jazz arranger who came to dominate the Afro-­Cuban m ­ usic world. The first known recording of Puente was a 1939 session with The Machito Afro-­Cubans and Johnny Rodriguez’s Stork Club Orchestra. His experience with Machito proved invaluable: they ­were the first orchestra to wed jazz arranging technique with Afro-­Cuban rhythms. It was a path on which Tito would continue the rest of his life. Puente served with honors in the U.S. Navy during World War II on the escort aircraft carrier Santee CVC 29 as a machine-­gunner’s mate and musician. He was the bugler and played alto saxophone, occasionally drums in the ship’s big band, and piano during mess hall. ­After serving with honors, he returned to New York City. From 1945 through 1947, ­under the auspices of the GI Bill, Tito studied orchestration and conducting at the Juilliard School of ­Music. By 1948, he had quickly established himself as a band leader ­after working with the orchestras of pianist José Curbelo and vocalist Pupi Campos. Puente’s first hit was “Abaniquito,” a mambo tune released in 1949. A few years l­ater, he was signed with the RCA recording com­pany, where he continued to showcase his big-­band, Afro-­ Cuban style jazz m ­ usic. Puente’s prodigious talent on the timbales revolutionized the way the instrument was played. He combined au­then­tic Cuban-­style playing with the rhythmic ornamentation of a jazz drummer, thus inspiring ­every player who has come ­after. Tito’s talent in providing m ­ usic to inspire dancers the world over was second to none. At the famed Palladium Ballroom at West 53rd Street and Broadway in New York City, he ruled as the king of big band mambo and cha-­cha-­cha. ­There he thrilled audiences of all races and cultures—­Italian Americans, Puerto Ricans, African Americans, Jews—­fostering multicultural interactions on the dance floor. Puente, whose last name means “bridge” in Spanish, brought together a diverse group of New Yorkers around their love of the ­music he helped create.

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Ramón Mongo Santamaria (1917–2003) Conguero and bongocero Ramón “Mongo” Santamaria was a veteran of many well-­ known conjuntos (groups with two trumpets, piano, bass, conga, bongo, and vocalists who play the Cuban son) in his native Cuba. Santamaria was born and raised in La Habana’s Jesus Maria district, a hotbed of Afro-­religious, rumba, and son activity, on April 7, 1917. His boyhood friends included legendary percussionists Candido Camero (the first to play multiple congas), Armando Peraza, Julito Collazo, and Francisco Aguabella, all of whom l­ ater became well-­known drummers in their own right. ­After a brief stint in Mexico with pianist Damaso Perez Prado, and ­after surviving a bus accident in Texas, which almost cost him his leg, in 1950 Santamaria arrived in New York City and quickly replaced conguero Frankie Colón in the Tito Puente Orchestra. Santamaria recorded on Puente’s most heralded works—­albums like Cuban Carnaval, Puente Goes Jazz, Night Beat, Puente in Percussion, Top Percussion, and Tambo. In 1957, he and a Nuyorican bongocero, Willie Bobo (William Correa), left to perform and rec­ord with noted vibes player Cal Tjader’s small combo on the West Coast. It was ­there that both Santamaria on congas and bongo, and Bobo  on jazz drumset and timbales, revolutionized small-­group Afro-­Cuban jazz per­for­mance. Their virtuosic per­for­mances on ­albums with Tjader, such as Concert on the Campus, Live at the Blackhawk, Monterey Concerts, and more, became bibles of study for all percussionists and lovers  of the genre. Santamaria also  began making a reputation for himself as a composer, writing and recording “Afro-­Blue” in 1959 with Tjader. Based on a religious chant for the deity Obatala in the Afro-­Cuban, Yoruba-­based religion Santería, the tune has become a standard among jazz Although not Latino, American percussionist Cal ­ usic of Latin musicians and was eventually Tjader immersed himself in the m Amer­i­ca, becoming one of the most successful recorded by legendary tenor sax- musicians of the genre. (Michael Ochs Archives/ Getty Images) ophonist John Coltrane.

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By the early 1960s, Santamaria had left Tjader and formed his own small, jazz-­oriented, multi-­horn group with Chicago-­based Chicano bassist Victor ­Venegas, building on the hard bop combos of the day. In 1962, pianist Herbie Hancock was Santamaria’s regular pianist. While recording his first a­ lbum as a leader, Takin’ Off, for the Blue Note label that year, Hancock recorded a tune he wrote inspired by the watermelon vendors in his native Chicago. In keeping with the real­ity that jazz musicians had to feature at least one tune on their ­albums for juke box airplay, “Watermelon Man” with its funky 16-­bar blues form fit the bill nicely. Santamaria retired from performing ­after his successful ­career, and split his time between Florida and New York thereafter. He suffered a stroke and died at the age of 85. See also: Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City; L ­ abor Activism during the ­Great Depression; Latin Explosion in Popu­lar ­Music

Further Reading Abreu, Christina. 2015. Rhythms of Race: Cuban Musicians and the Making of Latino New York City and Miami, 1940–1960. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Acosta, Leonardo. 2003. Cubano Be, Cubano Bop: One Hundred Years of Jazz in Cuba. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institute. Beyond Salsa. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://­beyondsalsa​.­info Bloch, Peter. 2000. La-­le-­lo-­lai: The Story of Puerto Rican ­Music. New York: Association for Puerto Rican-­Hispanic Culture. Boggs, Vernon, ed. 1992. Salsiology: Afro-­Cuban ­Music and the Evolution of Salsa in New York City. New York: Excelsior M ­ usic Publishing. Fernandez, Raul A. 2006. From Afro-­Cuban Rhythms to Latin Jazz: M ­ usic of the African Diaspora. Berkeley: University of California Press. Latin ­Music USA. 2009. WGBH Tele­vi­sion documentary. PBS Distribution. Martinez, Elena, and Bobby Sanabria. 2011. Liner notes for “¡Que Viva Harlem!”, Manhattan School of M ­ usic Afro-­Cuban Jazz Orchestra (compact disc). Jazzheads Rec­ords. Morales, Ed. 2003. The Latin Beat: The Rhythms and Roots of Latin M ­ usic from Bossa Nova to Salsa and Beyond [ACLS Humanities E-­Book]. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press. Notes from the Mambo Inn: The Story of Mario Bauzá. 1992. WGBH Tele­vi­sion documentary. PBS Distribution. Peñalosa, David, and Peter Greenwood. 2009. The Clave Matrix: Afro-­Cuban Rhythm: Its Princi­ples and African Origins. Unlocking Clave. Redway, CA: Bembe Books. Roberts, John Storm. 1999a. Latin Jazz: The First of the Fusions, 1880s to ­Today. New York: Schirmer Books. Roberts, John Storm. 1999b. The Latin Tinge: The Impact of Latin American ­Music on the United States (2nd ed.). New York: Oxford University Press.

Birth of Latin Jazz, 1930s–1940s | 363 Salazar, Max. 1992. “Afro-­American Latinized Rhythms,” in Vernon Boggs, ed., Salsiology: Afro-­Cuban ­Music and the Evolution of Salsa in New York City, 237–248. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Salazar, Max. 2002. Mambo Kingdom: Latin ­Music in New York. New York: Schirmer Trade Books. Sanabria, Bobby. 2008. Posting to the Latin Jazz discussion board. Retrieved from https:// groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/latinjazz/info Sanabria, Bobby. 2012. “East Harlem: Birthplace of Afro-­Cuban Jazz.” New York City Jazz Rec­ord (128, December). Sublette, Ned. 2004. Cuba and Its ­Music: From the First Drums to the Mambo [electronic resource]. Chicago: Chicago Review Press. Tito Puente. (n.d.). Fania website. Retrieved from https://­www​.­fania​.­com​/­collections​/­tito​ -­puente Vega, Bernardo. 1984. Memoirs of Bernardo Vega: A Contribution to the History of the Puerto Rican Community in New York. New York: Monthly Review Press.

Suggested Listening 1. The Original Mambo Kings: An Afro-­ Cubop Anthology—­Vari­ous artists (Machito and the Afro-­Cubans, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and more) 2. Chano Pozo—­El Tambor de Cuba. Life and ­Music of the Legendary Cuban Conga Drummer (three-­CD boxed set) 3. “Tanga”—­Mario Bauzá and his Afro-­Cuban Jazz Orchestra 4. Latin Jazz, La Combinación Perfecta—­ Vari­ ous artists (Machito, Tito Puente, Irakere, Cal Tjader, Mongo Santamaria, Paquito D’Rivera, Jerry Gonzalez, and more) 5. Tito Puente, Quatro: The Definitive Collection (10-­CD boxed set) 6. The Warm World of Joao Gilberto, the Man Who In­ven­ted Bossa Nova: Complete Recordings 1958–1961 7. Edison Machado, E Samba Novo 8. Hermeto Pascoal, Slaves Mass 9. Santana (III) 10. Bobby Sanabria Big Band, Multiverse 11. Guiro, Bongo y Maracas: Cuban Dance Bands in New York City, 1931–1938 (this includes groups like Agosto Coen)

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­Labor Activism during the G ­ reat Depression, 1930–1939 Salvador Zárate

Chronology 1929, October

On October 29, known as “Black Tuesday,” the stock market crashes and ­causes a global economic depression that affects American workers throughout the 1930s.

1930–1936 Deportation and repatriation drives are carried out in states from California to New York. Tens of thousands of Mexican mi­grants and Mexican-­origin U.S. citizens are deported through legally sanctioned raids and coerced repatriations. 1930–1941 The ­Great Depression begins following the stock market crash of 1929. The fall in prices in the agricultural and industrial sectors causes significant unemployment and internal migration within the United States, as unemployed persons search for work. 1931, February

Targeting an estimated 400 hundred park-­goers in Los Angeles’s “La Placita” park, the Immigration Ser­vice detains 30 Mexican and 6 Asian immigrants for deportation.

1932

The Fair L ­ abor Standards Act is proposed by Senator Hugo Black (Alabama) to structure work days and overtime rules. However, it excludes domestic workers from overtime pay protection.

1932, November

Franklin D. Roo­se­velt is elected president. Roo­se­velt initiates New Deal legislation to ameliorate the economic depression.

1933

The Confederación de Uniones de Campesinos y Obreros Mexicanos del Estado de California (CUCOM), a radical l­ abor u­ nion representing local vegetable pickers, is formed in Orange County. It achieves vari­ous gains for Mexican and Asian vegetable workers in the county. The organ­ization is ­later restructured to fit the needs of citrus workers. The Cannery and Agricultural Workers’ Industrial Union (CAWIU) organizes 37 ­labor strikes across California, including the San Joaquin Valley cotton strike.

1935

President Roo­se­velt establishes the Works Pro­gress Administration (WPA) to help put Americans back to work through a variety of infrastructure, culture, and ser­vice l­abor proj­ects.

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1935

The National L ­ abor Relations Act is enacted, and considered to be a major victory for American l­abor u­ nions. It allows workers to form ­unions and participate in collective bargaining. However, u­ nder pressure from Southern politicians, the act excludes agricultural and domestic workers from coverage b­ ecause both jobs ­were overwhelmingly seen as the work of non-­whites.

1936, January

­ abor activist Luisa Moreno arrives in Florida and begins working L for the American Federation of ­Labor. Moreno successfully organizes 13,000 black and Latina cigar workers to attain better wages.

1936, June The Orange County Citrus Strikes begin in the summer, with thousands of Mexican citrus workers leading Orange County’s largest strike during the Depression Era. 1936, November

At the American Federation of ­Labor Convention in Florida, a del­e­ ga­tion of organizers, including Luisa Moreno, articulate a vision to or­ga­nize the country’s most disenfranchised workers. They call their ­union United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing and Allied Workers of Amer­i­ca (UCAPAWA).

1937, May

The Steel Workers Organ­izing Committee, representing steel workers from Republic Steel in Chicago, calls a strike to gain recognition of their right to join a ­union. The strikers are met by police vio­lence, with 10 strikers killed in what came to be known as the Memorial Day Massacre.

1937, July

UCAPAWA is formally founded in Denver, Colorado, and begins organ­izing black and Latino workers.

1938

The Fair L ­ abor Standards Act that was proposed in 1932 is amended and passed. It sets a national minimum wage and provides overtime protection for many occupations. The Congress of Industrial Organ­izations breaks away from the American Federation of L ­ abor. Similar to UCAPAWA, it seeks to or­ga­nize marginalized black and Latino workers. Emma Tenayuca leads thousands of workers as part of the San Antonio Pecan Shellers Strike in Texas. The strikers’ goal is to get their CIO ­union repre­sen­ta­tion recognized by management.

1939

Cannery workers, led by UCAPAWA, go on strike for higher wages and recognition of u­ nion repre­sen­ta­tion at the California Sanitary Canning Com­pany. Led by Mexican w ­ omen, the strike is one of the most successful of the 1930s.

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Mexican field laborers on strike during the cotton-­picking season, applying to the Farm Security Administration for relief. Photo­graph taken by Dorothea Lange when working for the FSA as part of Roo­se­velt’s New Deal. (SSPL/Getty Images)

Narrative On October 24, 1929, the U.S. stock market crashed. Banks and investors lost millions of dollars. The average American felt the impact almost immediately. Commonly known as Black Tuesday, this day in American history would come to define the entire de­cade that followed. The 1930s was a de­cade of deprivation and ­labor unrest with the onset of the ­Great Depression. Throughout the country, many ­people migrated in search of employment. Many black laborers attempted to move out of the South, while destitute whites from Oklahoma, known as Okies, left the state in search of work anywhere they might find it. Large industries w ­ ere also heavi­ly impacted. During this time, as the economy slowed, American steelwork, manufacturing, agriculture, and canning put into practice regressive l­abor policies, lowered wages, and forced already vulnerable workers into more dangerous conditions. As bleak as the 1930s w ­ ere for Mexicans, Asians, blacks, and poor whites, t­ hese groups participated in unmatched l­abor activism to improve their living and l­abor conditions. Though the historical routes Mexicans took to arrive in the large urban

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centers of Chicago and Los Angeles, as well as rural communities in the San Joaquin Valley, Orange County, and in the periphery of San Antonio, w ­ ere vastly dif­fer­ent, their experience of mass unemployment and ­legal exclusion often resulted in joining their region’s ­labor ­unions. Along with thousands of American workers, Latinos engaged in ­labor activism during the 1930s aimed at improving working conditions and wages for the most vulnerable and marginalized workers. Workers experienced exploitive conditions in vari­ous industries. In manufacturing, this meant low wages, dangerous work, and long hours. Agricultural workers lived in cramped quarters without indoor plumbing or electricity. They suffered back injuries from being forced to stoop low to the ground all day. And like their counter­parts in factories, they w ­ ere paid l­ittle and overworked. As noted by historian and ethnic studies scholar Natalia Molina, the living conditions of Mexican-­ Americans in the 1930s ­were a continuation of the “virulent policies and heightened racialization” of the 1920s. The passage of the Immigration Act of 1924 excluded Eu­ro­pean immigrants of certain nationalities from entering the United States. Asian immigrants continued to be excluded from citizenship and property owner­ship (Molina, 2006, p. 117). African Americans strug­gled as their social and l­ abor rights ­were restricted u­ nder the enforcement of Jim Crow segregation. That Mexicans could continue to migrate into the United States with l­ittle to no restriction, made it, as historian Mae M. Ngai notes, “ironic that Mexicans became so associated with illegal immigration” (Ngai, 2004, p. 71). The G ­ reat Depression brought significant difficulties for Mexican workers in Los Angeles, the largest Mexican enclave in the United States. Mexicans, regardless of citizenship status, ­were often first to be fired when industrial companies adjusted to leaner times by downsizing their workforce (Molina, 2006, p. 126). ­These companies, like the city’s governing body, prioritized a “hire American first” model. The city council, fueled by public outcry, created a county-­wide ban on immigration, and proposed a fingerprint registry to keep track of “aliens,” which by this time expressly meant Mexicans (p. 126). Nativist groups targeted Mexican ­women in par­tic­u­lar, as their capacity to bear ­children was seen as a threat to white society and a ­future drain on the county’s welfare and charity systems. Nativists’ calls for the deportation of fertile Mexican w ­ omen of child-­bearing age, to prevent ­future dependent families, ignoring the fact that ethnic Mexican ­women had high rates of ­labor participation. By 1930, Mexican and Mexican American w ­ omen across the Southwest made up 25 ­percent of the industrial workforce (Ruiz, 1997, p. 14). In some cases, w ­ omen did not merely supplement f­ amily incomes, but instead w ­ ere the primary breadwinners for their extended families (Ruiz, 1997, p. 16). Furthermore, Mexican w ­ omen not only worked industrial and agricultural jobs, they performed the “reproductive” or domestic ­labor needed to get their male counter­parts

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Making Mexican Workers “Illegal Immigrants” During the ­Great Depression, as unemployment grew nationally, Mexican immigrant workers w ­ ere increasingly depicted in the press and by government officials as “illegal aliens.” The making of Mexican mi­grants into “illegal aliens” grew out of pernicious narratives, created by white citizens, workers, and politicians, that depicted Mexicans as undesirable, a public health threat, and a drain on U.S. resources. ­These narratives ­were commonly known as nativism. White nativists argued that Mexicans w ­ ere taking jobs from “deserving” Americans, and more broadly, taking from the United States more than they contributed. This rationale served to bolster the enforcement of the Immigration Act of 1924 via deportation. Although the act was meant to limit Eu­ro­ pean immigration, deportations in the next de­cade targeted Mexican workers. Nativist discourses and restrictive legislation, along with the establishment of the Border Patrol in the mid-1920s, shifted undocumented migration from a civil issue to one of criminal apprehension, affecting Mexican Americans and Mexican mi­grants more than anyone ­else (Ngai, 2004, p. 69). In the 1930s, the depiction of Mexican mi­grants as “non-­desirable” and “illegal aliens” resulted in deportations and “­legal” Mexican repatriations. As historian Francisco Balderrama notes, from 1930 to 1939, 46.3 ­percent of all deportees ­were of Mexican origin, although Mexicans constituted less than 1 ­percent of the total United States population. Furthermore, a large number of ­these deportations occurred without warrants, and individuals ­were held in jails without bail, resulting in the “­wholesale violations of basic ­human rights” (Balderrama and Rodríguez, 2006, p. 67). Nevertheless, Mexican mi­grants had the option to leave voluntarily. Repatriation, as it was called, unlike forced deportation, left no ­legal rec­ord and allowed mi­grants to return to the United States legally in the ­future. However, repatriation entailed uprooting entire families, regardless of the l­egal status of each f­ amily member. Ironically, during this era of repatriations the majority of t­ hose expelled ­were U.S. citizens of Mexican descent (Molina, 2006, p. 137). The most drastic of all the deportation efforts by the Immigration Ser­ vice took place on February 26, 1931, at La Placita in Los Angeles. Walter E. Carr, superintendent of the Immigration Ser­vice for the Los Angeles area, requested assistance with the deportation from agents ranging from San Diego to San Francisco. ­After deliberating for 10 days on how best to make a public display of deportation efforts, agents descended on La Placita, a central hub for the Mexican community in Los Angeles. On the day of the raid,

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some 400 park-­goers w ­ ere blocked from leaving (Balderrama and Rodríguez, 2006, p.  73). Immigration officers demanded that t­hose at the park pres­ent documentation; ­those who could not ­were detained and questioned. In all, 30 Mexican, 5 Chinese, and 1 Japa­nese national w ­ ere detained (Balderrama and Rodríguez, 2006, p.  73). The impact of the raid on the population of Los Angeles was profound. Many became frightened that they would be deported without warning.

and ­children ready for their next day of work—­without relying on public resources. In fact, in Los Angeles, Mexican immigrants accounted for 20 ­percent of the city’s population but less than 10 ­percent of its welfare recipients (Molina, 2006, p. 127). Calls to protect American jobs persisted throughout the 1930s, even when ­those occupations—­ranging from railroad maintenance in the Midwest, to cotton picking across the South, to citrus packing in Southern California—­were seen as the work of marginalized racial groups. Sharecropping (a system of farming on the land of ­others, which kept blacks tied to slavery-­era plantation ­labor), also kept Mexican workers in a condition of bondage in regions such as Texas. In many cases, farmers in the Lone Star state used vio­lence—­what David Montejano calls “debt and shotguns”—to ensure that Mexicans could not leave their land, thus retaining a readily available workforce of exploitable workers. In cases like t­ hese, ­labor activism was nearly impossible (Montejano, 1994).

Organ­izing Workers Even though the small Mexican mi­grant communities that dotted the American Southwest w ­ ere isolated and sometimes at the whim of white supremacist vio­lence, the communities “displayed a fighting spirit, manifested in spontaneous strikes and grass-­roots ­labor groups” (Ruiz, 1997, p. 49). For example, in 1933, the Cannery and Agricultural Workers Industrial Union (CAWIU), a ­labor organ­ization that identified with the Communist Party, was responsible for organ­izing 37 strikes throughout California, with 29 resulting in wage increases for workers (Weber, 1994, p. 80). The most significant was their effort to or­ga­nize Mexican laborers in the San Joaquin Valley Cotton Strike. In that strike, CAWIU mobilized between 12,000 to 20,000 workers across a 120-­mile area to strike for an increase in pay from 60 cents to 1 dollar per hundred pounds of cotton picked (Ruiz, 1997, pp. 49–50). The strikers targeted the region’s large-­scale farmers, with the largest walkouts

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taking place at ranches over 300 acres (Weber, 1994, pp.  88–89). The Mexican strike force was largely made up of families that worked the Valley’s fields together. When growers began evicting striking families from their farms, such as in the case of the ranches near Corcoran, some 3,500 families w ­ ere left without work and homes (p. 89). With the help of the CAWIU, Mexican worker families fought back by organ­izing along lines of kinship and picking crews. ­Women w ­ ere particularly impor­tant to strike efforts, though often not formally included in orga­nizational efforts. They prevented strikebreakers—­workers who ­were recruited by farmers to replace strikers—­from entering the fields. ­Women also “politicize[d] everyday social networks” in ways that allowed the strike to continue (Weber, 1994, p. 95). Unfortunately, during the CAWIU strike, complicity among farm ­owners, local law enforcement, and the press resulted in vio­lence. Farm ­owners throughout the area threatened merchants with vio­lence if they sold basic goods

Mi­grant Lit­er­a­ture: Zoo Island In Tomás Rivera’s Zoo Island, a short story about growing up in a 1930s mi­grant camp, a boy named Jose dreams that a heavy rain cancelled the next day’s work. Instead of having to travel more than 50 miles throughout the day to chase down farm ­labor with his ­family, he could stay home and satisfy his sudden and overwhelming desire to take a census of the Mexican mi­grant camp in which he lived. When Jose fi­nally awoke from his dream, it was not raining, but “he still had the desire.” So, Jose set out to rec­ord a census. The last person Jose had left to ask was Don Simon, who Jose was afraid of ­because he had eyes that “made ­people jump.” Though Don Simon found Jose to be a nuisance, he agreed to participate ­because it was only “by counting yourself [that] you know y­ ou’re not only h­ ere, but that y­ ou’re alive” (Rivera, 2008, p. 149). Don Simon even encouraged Jose to put their l­abor camp on the map by giving it a proper name: “Zoo Island.” Tomás Rivera, who became a professor at the University of California, Riverside, was born in the 1930s and grew up picking cotton with his f­ amily throughout the United States. The short stories he wrote as an adult heavi­ly reflected his childhood ­labor. Stories like Rivera’s Zoo Island (1992) shed light on how mi­grant ­children, w ­ omen, and men created a sense of belonging even though their presence in agricultural communities was temporary and dependent on ­whether or not farmers would fire them. The short story provides a fictionalized win­dow into the day-­to-­day re­sis­tance and community formation of mi­grant farm workers.

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and food to strikers. In the town of Pixley, farm ­owners opened fire on strikers from ­behind the cover of their automobiles, killing three strikers. The press threatened the region’s strikers with deportation; and, ­after denial of federal aid for strikers, a Mexican infant died of malnutrition. ­After 24 days, the strikers w ­ ere forced to end the strike and accept a 15-­cent pay increase (Weber, 1994, pp. 98–101; Ruiz, 1997, pp. 49–50). On a national level, Mexicans and other racial minorities represented the overwhelming majority of workers in agriculture and domestic ser­vice, industries that had few ­labor protections. For example, u­ nder the proposed Fair L ­ abor Standards Act of 1932, domestic workers who lived in their employers’ homes ­were barred from receiving overtime pay, which meant they could be overworked and underpaid (Burnham and Theodore, 2012, p. 44). In addition, the National ­Labor Relations Act (NLRA) of 1935, considered one of the most impor­tant l­abor victories of the de­cade ­because it allowed workers to ­unionize and bargain collectively, proved prohibitive for agricultural and domestic workers. The act stated that “any individual employed as an agricultural laborer or in the domestic ser­vice of any ­family or person at his home” was to be excluded from the guarantees of the NLRA (Burnham and Theodore, 2012, p. 8). As the National Domestic Workers Alliance notes, the acts ­were largely a concession to Southern politicians who sought to keep black domestic and agricultural workers in conditions that closely resembled the system of slavery. Thus, the NLRA “reinforced a racial regime of white domination” upon the nation’s workers (Burnham and Theodore, 2012, p. 8). By denying worker protections to t­hose in agriculture and domestic ser­vice, the NRLA perpetuated the historical legacy of slavery for African-­Americans. It also kept many Mexican-­ Americans subordinate as a vulnerable l­abor force. In 1930s Florida, Latina and Ca­rib­bean w ­ omen cigar workers, who endured long hours that demanded precise hand-­work, won concessions in an effort led by Guatemalan-­born l­abor or­ga­nizer, Luisa Moreno. The campaign resulted in better working conditions and higher wages from the region’s cigar industry in 1936 (Ruiz, 2007, p. 10). Their success built in many ways on the history of ­labor organ­izing by Italian and Cuban w ­ omen who had long or­ga­nized, both formally and informally, for better working conditions in the region’s cigar industry throughout the late 19th  and early 20th  centuries (Hewitt, 2001). In fact, the history of Eu­ro­pean immigrants’ organ­izing was vital to efforts by communities of color throughout the United States, particularly on the East Coast. In El Paso, Texas, mining and smelting copper industries maintained a strong grip over their workers, keeping them in exploitative l­ abor conditions. In 1937, the Mine-­Mill ­union, which spread across five dif­fer­ent states, set out to or­ga­nize Mexican workers in Texas. Part of the ­union’s strategy was to reach out to the Confederacíon de Trabajadores Mexicanos, a ­union comprised entirely of Mexican workers,

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in hopes that the two u­ nions could improve the conditions of Mexican mining workers throughout the state (Vargas, 2005, pp. 164–165). In the end, the joint ­unionizing efforts ­were labeled the “­little Red Scare,” with u­ nion members being arrested and accused of communism (Schmidt-­Camacho, 2008, p. 125). The ­Great Depression also affected Mexican mi­grants in the Midwest’s auto industry. By 1931, Detroit, the heart of the American auto worker economy, had an unemployment rate of 32.4 ­percent (Vargas, 1993, p. 172). Many of the newly unemployed w ­ ere Mexican workers from the region’s auto and steel industries. Conditions ­were so bad that many deci­ded to leave the Midwest to search for work in other states. ­Those who deci­ded to stay w ­ ere scapegoated by Detroit’s unemployed white auto and steel workers as the cause of the economic crisis. As in other parts of the nation during the early 1930s, some Detroiters called for the repatriation of Mexicans to Mexico (Vargas, 1993, p.  169). City officials, too, placed the blame on foreign-­born workers and blamed the auto industry “for bringing to the city a surplus of workers who ­were now without work” (Vargas, 1993, p. 173). By the end of that year, and with the help of the Mexican consul, 1,500 Mexican mi­grants ­were repatriated from Michigan (Vargas, 1993, p. 177). By 1933, production in the state’s factories recovered slightly. The Mexican mi­grants who had deci­ded to remain in Detroit began to find limited work in foundries, which unemployed whites refused to take b­ ecause of the dangerous conditions (Vargas, 1993, p. 195). Around this time, Mexicans, often alongside Eu­ro­pean immigrants and African Americans, joined ­unions and participated in strikes to improve their l­abor conditions (Vargas, 1993, pp. 196–197). For example, some 14,000 workers participated in the Briggs Manufacturing strike in 1933, which “had a dramatic impact on the hundreds of Mexicans who worked for the com­pany” (Vargas, 1993, p. 197). In addition, b­ ecause of the strike, the auto industry, which relied on Briggs’s parts manufacturing, was brought to a standstill, further reducing the region’s available jobs. In the end, the multiracial strike was defeated through the use of “strikebreakers and widespread police interference” (Vargas, 1993, p. 197). The results proved particularly dire for Mexican workers, who ­were left with few options; hence, many workers sought work elsewhere. Although Mexican workers’ efforts to u­ nionize in Michigan w ­ ere not always successful in the early 1930s, Mexican mi­grants displayed ­great resilience in the face of economic hardship and racial animosity. Mexican workers continued to or­ga­nize across the Midwest throughout the 1930s and joined steel and auto worker ­unions well into the latter part of the de­cade. In Orange County, California, also known as the citrus b­ elt of the United States, the Depression had not affected the citrus industry as much as it did other agricultural sectors. In 1928, for example, Orange County had 183,000 acres of citrus; by 1938, its acreage had increased to 281,626, with 90 ­percent of its citrus production

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consumed nationally (Gonzalez, 1994, p. 20). Making citrus productive was a daunting task that necessitated thousands of workers in the groves and packing ­houses. In addition to citrus, the county had de­cades of vegetable production that in prior years had depended on Chinese, Japa­nese, and Filipino l­ abor. With its inception in 1933, the u­ nion Confederación de Uniones de Campesinos y Obreros Mexicanos del Estado de California (CUCOM) or­ga­nized a spontaneous strike of more than a hundred vegetable workers in Laguna Beach. The young ­union cut its teeth by organ­ izing vegetable worker villages in Orange County. ­After a spontaneous strike, this time of citrus workers in the town of Villa Park, the old vegetable CUCOM organizers joined ranks with the newly formed CUCOM members made up of citrus workers (Gonzalez, 1994, p. 141). A year ­later, on June 15, 1936, 200 Mexican ­women strikers who lived in the small Mexican colonias (hamlets) throughout Orange County’s citrus region occupied the intersections of the city of Anaheim. As trucks loaded with scabs (strikebreakers) from neighboring cities rolled into the heart of citrus production in the United States, the ­women yelled warnings that “if they insisted on working their homes would be burned and they would be beaten up” (Gonzalez, 1994, p. 150). Led by CUCOM, strikers demanded a pay increase from 27 cents to 40 cents per hour, the firing of 23 abusive foremen, and ­union recognition. With their ranks numbering about 3,000, they challenged the Associated Farmers of California and the Orange County Protective Association (OCPA), which in turn, accused strikers of undermining “the American way of life [and] private property” (Gonzalez, 1994, pp. 146–150). Not long into the strike, Sheriff Jackson divided the county into three semi-­ militarized zones. A citrus rancher, Jackson had g­ reat interest in breaking the strike. It ­wasn’t long before he was in control of a specialized armed taskforce that numbered nearly 200 men. As the strike continued, 50 families from the colonia of Campo Colorado w ­ ere forcefully evicted. In addition, immigration authorities, in collusion with the Associated Farmers of California and the OCPA, stated “that any found to be illegally residing in the United States would be deported.” The strike ended in July, and though the most exploitative conditions did not improve much, concessions resulted in a slight pay increase and families from Campo Colorado ­were allowed to return home (Gonzalez, 1997, pp. 149–150). Mexican ­women ­were integral to the daily operation and success of the strike. They ­were the primary l­ abor force of citrus packing: a highly skilled piece-­rate ­labor pro­cess that paid by the number of boxes filled. ­Women’s l­ abor culture was vibrant and their absence from packing ­houses crippled citrus distribution. The strike, as Gonzalez notes, was a community affair, and in order for the colonia residents to survive, local Mexican store ­owners gave families credit, and private homes in the colonias ­were used to raise funds for the strikers. ­Women participated in the strike

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and sustained community life. ­Women also took to the front lines of the strike and faced severe punishment. Epifania Marques and ­Virginia Torres, for example, w ­ ere put in jail for 30 and 60 days, respectively (Gonzalez, 1994, p. 152). ­Women’s efforts ­were central to the vari­ous challenges made to the Orange County sheriff and the region’s citrus growers. Their conviction s­ haped the outcome of the Orange County citrus strike. In 1939, female Mexican workers in Orange County’s neighbor to the north, Los Angeles, also made a stand. The ­women demanded that their employer, California Sanitary Canning Com­pany (Cal San), recognize their ­union, Local 75 of the United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing, and Allied Workers of Amer­i­ca (UCAPAWA). ­After recognition was refused, the workers went on strike. The cannery workforce was made up primarily of Mexican ­women. It was not uncommon to have three generations of w ­ omen from the same ­family working side-­ by-­side. They performed what was considered “­women’s work” in the cannery: washing, grading, canning, and packing. ­Women’s shared ­family and ­labor experiences at Cal San catalyzed a “cannery culture” that significantly helped Dorothy Healey, the 24-­year-­old international vice president of UCAPAWA, or­ga­nize strike efforts. Mexican ­women workers’ “us against them” approach to dealing with exploitative management, as well as their practices of holding community meetings in their homes to politicize fellow workers, resulted in recruiting 400 out of 430 Cal San workers into UCAPAWA. As a result, on August 31, 1939, a­ fter management denied their request for u­ nion recognition, their strike brought the plant’s peach canning season to a halt (Ruiz, 1997, pp. 70–75). In addition to the walkout, w ­ omen staged a successful boycott at local grocers. They urged stores to remove Cal San products from shelves. If a store refused, the ­women picketed. ­After two months of concerted and creative efforts by Mexican ­women workers, the long stalemate between the ­union and management came to an end when strikers deci­ded to take their efforts to the affluent Los Angeles neighborhoods of Cal San o­ wners, ­brothers George and Joseph Shapiro. “I’m underfed ­because my mama is underpaid,” read a sign carried by the child of one of the Cal San workers on the lawn of one of the homes of the Shapiro ­brothers (Ruiz, 1997, p. 77). The unexpected attention from the Shapiro’s neighbors convinced the ­brothers to agree to the strikers’ demands. In the end, Cal San workers received a five cent raise, exploitative supervisors ­were fired, and Cal San became a closed shop (meaning that all workers had to become u­ nion members)—­a significant victory. In multiple workplaces and through vari­ous means, Mexican and Latino laborers contested their exclusion from citizenship, and demanded fairer wages, improved working conditions, and the right to be represented by a ­union during the 1930s. Despite the systemic targeting of Mexican and Latina immigrant ­women by nativist groups and xenophobic legislation, the most significant l­ abor strug­gles emerged

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from their fight for better working and living conditions for themselves, their families, and their fellow marginalized workers. Their resolve was a testament to the strength of mi­grant communities during one of the most challenging de­cades for all American workers.

Biographies of Notable Figures Luisa Moreno (1907–1992) Rosa Blanca Rodríguez de León (­later known as Luisa Moreno) was born to affluence and privilege in Guatemala. Her ­family was able to afford an elite boarding school education for her in Oakland, California. By 1920, Moreno had returned to Guatemala; she could speak En­glish, Spanish, and French; and she had a g­ reat interest in lit­er­at­ ure and the arts. Her dream was to attend university, but in Guatemala, ­women ­were not allowed to enroll. So, the teenage Rodríguez deci­ded to lead a group of affluent young w ­ omen to petition the university. U ­ nder pressure from the young ­women and the recent passage of w ­ omen’s suffrage, the university opened its doors. As historian Vicki Ruiz notes, this was a case of the young ­women using “their class status to effect concrete (and radical) institutional change” (Ruiz, 2007, p. 30). The university even offered Rodríguez entrance as part of its inaugural cohort of ­women, but in one of many radical decisions throughout her life, the young Rodríguez deci­ded to move to Mexico City and pursue her love of poetry and lit­er­a­ture. In mid-1928, while she was expecting her first child, she left Mexico by boat and disembarked in New York with her husband Miguel Angel de León. In November of the same year, on the precipice of the G ­ reat Depression, Rodríguez and her husband welcomed their newborn ­daughter, Mytyl, in Spanish Harlem. For the next ­couple of years, Rodríguez strug­gled to make ends meet at a garment sweatshop. Spurred to action by the extreme poverty she experienced alongside her neighbors and co-­workers in Spanish Harlem, Rodríguez or­ga­nized her fellow garment workers into a grassroots u­ nion, La Liga de Costureras. At this time, she also joined a leftist community group, Centro Obrero de Habla Española (Spanish-­Speaking Worker Center), as well as the Communist Party. Though Rodríguez’s interest in ­labor organ­izing grew from her experiences working and living alongside Latina and black community members in Spanish Harlem, her involvement in w ­ omen’s rights can be traced as far back as her teenage years in her native Guatemala (Ruiz, 2007, p. 32). In late 1935, Rodríguez found herself with her ­daughter in a New York bus depot. ­After organ­izing workers in Spanish Harlem and writing a corpus of beautiful poetry inspired by her time in Mexico City, she and her ­daughter ­were on the

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cusp of another radical decision. Rodríguez had deci­ded to “[leave] her husband, New York City, and the Communist Party,” and also leave the person she knew herself to be, Rosa Blanca Rodríguez de León (Ruiz, 2007, p. 32). She chose to move to Florida and work for the American Federation of L ­ abor (AFL), during which time she changed her name as a way to show affinity with the racialized ­women workers she was to or­ga­nize (Schmidt-­Camacho, 2008, p. 113). The choice to be named Luisa was a deliberate invocation of the Puerto Rican ­labor activist and feminist Luisa Capetillo. Moreno, which means “dark,” signified a contrast to “Blanca Rosa” (white Rose) and her fair-­skinned complexion. The decision to change her name to Moreno paid off; through tireless and swift work, she successfully or­ga­ nized a contract that covered 13,000 cigar workers, primarily Latina and black ­women, in central and northern Florida. Moreno’s immediate success with the AFL was due in large part to her ability to connect with minority ­women workers—­a segment of the ­labor force facing unique obstacles that American ­unions failed to acknowledge. However, Moreno’s commitment to t­hese workers also precipitated her radical break with the traditional labor-­unionizing methods of the AFL. When Moreno learned that the AFL had backtracked on the hard-­fought concessions the workers had won, she advised workers to reject the contract (Ruiz, 2007, p. 34). ­After just over a year of experience with the AFL, a frustrated Moreno learned that the AFL could not, and perhaps would not, help the most vulnerable of populations, ­those she was most interested in serving. Though Moreno found early and significant success in Florida with the AFL, the serendipitous convening of the AFL’s annual conference in Tampa provided her with a new foothold from which to advocate for the most disenfranchised. The AFL’s annual convention came to Tampa, Florida, in 1936. At this conference Moreno, along with a growing network of multiracial activists, challenged traditional white Marxist ­labor ­unions, deciding to take ­matters into their own hands and advocate for marginalized workers by speaking out on the convention floor. Comprised of representatives for black sharecroppers and cannery workers, the del­ e­ga­tion outlined the ­union’s inability to fully serve racialized laborers and demanded the creation of an international food pro­cessing and agricultural ­union as well as a restructuring of members’ dues (Ruiz, 1997, p. 42). Although the AFL disavowed the del­e­ga­tion, the group went ahead and named their envisioned u­ nion the United Cannery, Agriculture, Packing, and Allied Workers of Amer­ic­ a (UCAPAWA). Though it was not much more than a dream at the convention, UCAPAWA became a real­ity the following year in Denver and would come to represent swathes of workers throughout the United States in the years to come. Following the convention, Moreno’s own relationship with the AFL came to a head when the u­ nion, displeased by Moreno’s advice to cigar workers to turn down

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their contract, relocated her to Pennsylvania on grounds of insubordination. Though forced to leave Florida, Moreno’s formative experiences organ­izing in the state during the 1930s had a significant impact on her life. She remained a vociferous advocate for the disenfranchised throughout the 1940s, holding impor­tant national and international positions for vari­ous ­labor organ­izations, including the Congress of Industrial Organ­izations (CIO). In 1948, the U.S. government began deportation proceedings against Luisa Moreno, accusing her of being a communist. As Ruiz notes, in preparation for her Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice hearing, Moreno stated, “They can talk about deporting me . . . ​but they can never deport the ­people that I’ve worked with and with whom t­ hings ­were accomplished for the benefit of hundreds of thousands of workers—­things that can never be destroyed” (Ruiz, 2007, pp. 39–40). Moreno was forced to take a “voluntary departure” from the United States. On November 30, 1950, Moreno crossed from El Paso into Ciudad Juárez and began the next chapter of her life. Luisa Moreno was a l­ abor activist who changed the course of American history for the countless marginalized ­women, men, and ­children she encountered across Amer­ic­ a’s fields and factories.

Emma Tenayuca (1917–1999) Emma Tenayuca was born in San Antonio, Texas, in 1917. She grew up in a poor working-­class ­family in a barrio (Spanish-­speaking neighborhood) that suffered from the early 20th-­century hallmarks of poverty: high infant mortality, malnutrition, and disease. One of eleven c­ hildren, Tenayuca was raised by her maternal grandparents, “who taught her the violent histories of Klan terror and of armed Mexican re­sis­tance to Anglo dominance in Texas” (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 49). Though her ­family had resided in Texas since before the U.S.-­Mexico war, Tenayuca’s youth was ­shaped by the significant migration of Mexicans during the Mexican Revolution and the eventual onset of the ­Great Depression. Like her con­temporary, Luisa Moreno, Tenayuca began her c­ areer organ­izing Mexican and black ­women garment workers. By the age of 16, Tenayuca was arrested for participating in the Finck Cigar Com­pany strike of 1934, which, according to Alicia Schmidt Camacho, was formative for her ability to challenge exploitative ­labor conditions in Texas (2008, p. 50). In 1938, 10,000 workers of the San Antonio Southern Pecan Com­pany staged a walkout. The majority of the factory’s workers ­were Mexican w ­ omen, and many ­were part of San Antonio’s newly migrated Mexican families. Like most canning and factory workers of the time, workers ­were paid a piece wage, according to the quantity of food they produced. As a result, pecan shellers earned an average of two dollars per week (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 51).

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Emma Tenayuca was nicknamed “La Pasionaria” (passiflora or passion flower) by ­unionists for her efforts in organ­izing the striking shellers. The nickname was a reference to Dolores Ibárruri Gómez, a Spanish Civil War re­sis­tance leader. The comparison highlighted Tenayuca’s fortitude in standing up to police brutality and intimidation during the strike (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 52). Workers had picked Tenayuca to be the chair of the strike committee b­ ecause she ardently advocated for improving the conditions of San Antonio’s west-­side working class residents, as part of the Workers’ Alliance (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 51). The workers’ primary demand during the strike was to have their repre­sen­ta­ tion by the CIO recognized. As the strike progressed, however, the press excoriated Tenayuca and the strikers, and the sheriff targeted Tenayuca as a communist leader. The Spanish-­language press attempted damage control by distancing strikers’ efforts from “Tenayuca and the ‘red’ u­ nion UCAPAWA” (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 51). The strike made clear a “social discomfort with ­women’s visibility in the ­labor movement, as the predominantly female workforce occupied center stage in the strike” (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, pp. 51–52). As the strike drew to an end, the accusations of communist subversion against Tenayuca prompted UCAPAWA leadership to remove her from the strike negotiating committee. For Tenayuca, this was a “betrayal” reflecting that “CIO directors privileged national leadership over developing local organ­izing capacity.” Though the strikers’ concession in return for a small pay increase was a victory, it was sadly short-­lived. The pecan industry fired 10,000 workers (about the same as the strike numbered) as the industry was mechanized not long a­ fter the strike (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, p. 57). Emma Tenayuca was forced to leave San Antonio in 1940 due to death threats. She deci­ded to attend San Francisco State University to pursue a bachelor’s degree, and returned to earn a master’s degree in San Antonio, where she worked as a school teacher ­until the early 1980s. In her l­ater years, Tenayuca was active with the National Association of Chicana and Chicano Studies and Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social, leaving ­behind a history of advocating for Mexican and Latina/o mi­grants and workers (Schmidt Camacho, 2008, pp. 57–58).

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Letter Opposing the Repatriation Drives, 1930 The following excerpt of a letter from Consul Richard F. Boyce to the Secretary of State attests to the severity of the repatriation drives. Its description of the quotidian markers of Mexican life is power­ful. Above all, the letter conveys the vitriol against Mexican mi­grants in the United States and the scope of repatriation campaigns to document their efforts.

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Movement of Mexican Residents of United States to Mexico. Sir: I have the honor to report that thousands of Mexican residents of the United States have been returning to Mexico during the past two months through Laredo, Texas. In crossing the international bridge each day one can see a line of cars with licenses from nearly half the states of the United States filled with ­house­hold effects of Mexicans returning and waiting to make the necessary registrations with the Mexican authorities. Most of the cars are dilapidated in appearance and show the effects of the long journey from northern sections of the country. *** While no figures, or even estimates, are obtainable of t­ hese Mexicans who have lived over five years in the United States it is believed quite a number have lived in the United States more than five years. Some claim eight, ten, fifteen, even thirty years American residence. Number of Mexicans returning to Mexico from the United States through Laredo, Texas: October, 1930 November 1–24, 1930

4, 255 3, 995

Source: Nuevo Laredo Consul Richard F. Boyce to Secretary of State, November 26, 1930. Department of State, Washington, DC, National Archives RG 59, 311.1215.17.

Newspaper Articles About the Citrus Strikes, 1936 The following two primary documents are from the Santa Ana Register. This first piece, published on June 16, 1936, gives a clear picture of the efforts of w ­ omen on the front line of the citrus strike. The newspaper article begins with a report of “a hundred or more Filipino and Japa­nese pickers already on the job,” who w ­ ere meant to keep the county producing citrus and stymie the strikers. In addition, it notes the county’s strikebreaking tactics of having school-­aged youth sign up to help the embattled citrus industry by picking and packing.

“COUNTY CITRUS STRIKE NEARS END IS CLAIM,” June 16, 1936 A total of 200 or more w ­ omen who patrolled the county yesterday w ­ ere greatly reduced in number ­today. However, four or five ­were questioned at the sheriff’s office this morning and released. They told officers they “wanted to help their men.”

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Scattered groups of men and ­women riding about in cars, ­were still urging pickers to quit, reports from several sectors revealed. ­Virginia Torres, 29, [of] Placentia, and Epifania Marquez, 30, [of] La Jolla camp, ­were given county jail sentences of 60 and 30 days, respectively, yesterday on disturbing the piece [sic] complaints[. . . . ​] The Torres w ­ oman is accused of joining the strike activities with some 200 other w ­ omen yesterday and of biting the arm of Anaheim Officer Roger Sherman during a melee[. . . . ​] Officers testified Mrs. Marquez attempted to pull a picker from a truck by grabbing his suspenders. Source: Santa Ana Register, June 16, 1936. Reprinted with permission from the Orange County Register.

This second article, also from the Santa Ana Register, reports on the efforts by Sheriff Jackson to arm a militia to keep the citrus industry productive. Displaying loyalties to area farmers over workers, Jackson seemed to value the property of farmers over the lives of Mexican mi­grants and Mexican American citizens. Days ­later, the headline of the Santa Ana Register would read: “ ‘Shoot to kill,’ says Sheriff!”

“PICKERS ARE AMBUSHED ON WAY TO WORK,” July 3, 1936 LIKE THE BANDITS they may have seen in some movie “western”, 60 Mexican strikers crouched ­behind a hill along a highway cut at Idaho street and Ocean ave­ nue, La Habra, this morning and ambushed a truck load of Mexican orange pickers who passed that way, injuring two men severely and badly damaging the truck with heavy rocks[.] Prepared for such outbreaks, Sheriff Logan Jackson last night completed deputizing of 150 men of a group of 170 which w ­ ill give complete protection to all picking crews at the groves and to all packing ­house workers at the 41 packing ­houses in the county. Source: Santa Ana Register, July 3, 1936. Reprinted with permission from the Orange County Register.

See also: Delano Grape Strike and the United Farm Workers Movement; Mexican Repatriation; World War II

Further Reading Balderrama, Francisco E., and Raymond Rodríguez. 2006. De­cade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Burnham, Linda, and Nik Theodore. 2012. Home Economics: The Invisible and Un­regu­la­ ted World of Domestic Work. New York: National Domestic Workers Alliance.

­Labor Activism during the ­Great Depression, 1930–193 | 381 Gonzalez, Gilbert G. 1994. ­Labor and Community: Mexican Citrus Worker Villages in a Southern California County, 1900–1950. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Hewitt, Nancy. 2001. Southern Discomfort: ­ Women’s Activism in Tampa, Florida, 1880s-1920s. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Molina, Natalia M. 2006. Fit to Be Citizens? Public Health and Race in Los Angeles, 1879– 1939. Berkeley: University of California Press. Montejano, David. 1994. Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986. Austin: University of Texas Press. Ngai, Mae M. 2004. Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern Amer­ i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Rivera, Tomás. 1992. “Zoo Island,” in Julián Olivares, ed., Tomás Rivera: The Complete Works, 145–149. Houston: Arte Público Press. Ruiz, Vicki L. 1997. Cannery ­Women, Cannery Lives: Mexican ­Women, Unionization, and the California Food Pro­cessing Industry, 1930–1950. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Ruiz, Vicki L. 2007. “Of Poetics and Politics: The Border Journeys of Luisa Moreno,” in Sharon Harley, ed., ­Women’s ­Labor in the Global Economy, 28–45. Prince­ton, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Schmidt Camacho, Alicia. 2008. Mi­grant Imaginaries: Latino Cultural Politics in the U.S.-­ Mexico Borderlands. New York: New York University Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 1993. Proletarians of the North: A History of Mexican Industrial Workers in Detroit and the Midwest, 1917–1933. Berkeley: University of California Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2005. ­Labor Rights Are Civil Rights: Mexican American Workers in Twentieth-­Century Amer­i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Weber, Devra. 1994. Dark Sweat, White Gold: California Farm Workers, Cotton, and the New Deal. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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6 World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959

World War II, 1939–1945 Jesus “Jesse” Esparza and Laura Lee Oviedo

Chronology 1941

A U.S. oil blockade of Japan cuts off oil and freezes its assets, resulting in hostilities.

1941, June

Franklin D. Roo­se­velt signs Executive Order 8802, eliminating discrimination in employment.

1941, On December 7, Japan attacks the United States at Pearl Harbor, to December force it to lift the oil embargo. The attack c­ auses the United States to declare war on Japan and enter officially into World War II. 1942

The U.S. government enters an agreement with Mexico, known as the Bracero Program, to import guest workers temporarily to fill a void in the agricultural sector workforce. President Roo­se­velt issues Executive Order 9066, ­under which 120,000 Japa­nese Americans, who are considered enemies of the nation, are forcibly interned. The attack on Pearl Harbor fosters anti-­Japanese sentiment, which results in discriminatory experiences, loss of livelihoods, and forced quartering of Japa­nese Americans. The death of José Díaz during the Sleepy Lagoon Incident results in the trial and prosecution of 22 Mexican American zoot suiters and the criminalization of pachuca/os.

383

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The ­Battle of Sta­lin­grad, a major five-­month ­battle between the Soviets and Germans over control of the city in the southwestern Soviet Union, takes place. It marks a turning point of the war in Eu­rope and is the longest and bloodiest b­ attle, with an estimated 1.7 to 2 million casualties. The ­Battle of Midway is a decisive American victory and Japan’s first naval defeat; 307 Americans and 3,057 Japa­nese perish during this ­battle. The ­Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps is created u­ nder the directorship of Oveta Culp Hobby. It is a division of the U.S. Army staffed by ­women, who perform a variety of duties in the war effort. In 1943 it is reor­ga­nized as the ­Women’s Army Corps. 1943

Macario Garcia becomes the first Mexican national to receive a U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor. Upon returning stateside, he is refused ser­vice at the Oasis Café near his home in Richmond, Texas. “Zoot Suit Riots” erupt on the streets of Los Angeles between Latino youth and U.S. ser­vicemen.

1944

Operation D-­Day is launched on June 6, on the beachhead at Normandy, France, as the Allied Forces attempt to liberate mainland Eu­rope from Nazi occupation. The Ser­vicemen’s Readjustment Act is passed by Congress, authorizing benefits for veterans. Latino veterans, however, find it difficult to obtain ­these benefits. The ­Battle of the Bulge, a major German offensive campaign, is launched through the dense Western Front in Eu­rope. The surprise attack catches the Allied forces off guard. U.S. Forces bear the brunt of the attack and incur the highest casualties for any operation during the war.

1945

With exhausted resources and crumbling defenses, Germany surrenders. The prosecution of German officers for war crimes through the International Military Tribunal takes place in Nuremberg. The United States fights Japan in the B ­ attle of Okinawa, the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific; it lasts 82 days. U.S. forces plan to use Okinawa, an island only 340 miles away from Japan, as a base for air operations for a full-­scale invasion of the Japa­nese mainland. U.S. forces drop atomic bombs on Japan’s industrial cities to eliminate its war machine. On August 6, 80,000 are killed and 70,000 wounded in Hiroshima. Three days ­later in Nagasaki, 75,000 are killed and 75,000 wounded. Japan surrenders.

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1947

In Orange County, California, a class-­action lawsuit that Mexican American parents had filed against several school districts, Mendez v. Westminster, is deci­ded in ­favor of the Latino plaintiffs. Their l­awyers successfully argue that segregating Mexican American c­hildren ­violated the equal protection clause of the F ­ ourteenth Amendment.

1948

Private Felix Longoria’s remains are sent home to his ­family in Three Rivers, Texas; he is denied burial ser­vices by the local funeral home ­because of Longoria’s Mexican heritage. This c­ auses outrage among Mexican Americans, who fight to get him buried in Arlington National Cemetery, where he is interred on February 16, 1949.

1948

Dr. Hector P. Garcia creates the American G.I. Forum, an organ­ization focused on Mexican American veterans’ issues including education, voting, and civil rights.

1948

In Delgado v. Bastrop In­de­pen­dent School District, Mexican Americans launch a case to end educational segregation in Texas. They charge the Bastrop ISD with violating the constitutional rights of Mexican American ­children. Courts rule in ­favor of the plaintiffs and designate segregation as unconstitutional.

1949

The U.S. Armed Forces are desegregated. The military sends a clear message that it is willing to challenge segregation within its own ranks.

Narrative An estimated 16 million Americans served in World War II; among them nearly half a million Latinos. Though most ­were Mexican Americans, many other Latinos also served, including 53,000 Puerto Ricans and 35,000 Central and South Americans (Flores, 2016, p. 64). On the eve of war, most Latinos had incomes below the poverty level, lived with entrenched segregation, suffered from housing and work discrimination, had l­ittle access to health care, and w ­ ere offered few educational opportunities. Yet, despite ­these conditions, Latinos served in ­every branch of the U.S. Armed Forces. From the beach invasions in North Africa to the storming of Normandy, France, Latinos ­were t­here. From the island-­hopping campaigns in the Pacific, to serving in war­time defense industries stateside or in the ­Women’s Army Auxiliary Corp, Latinos ­were ­there. On the home front, Latinos joined the war effort by purchasing liberty bonds, collecting war­time supplies, providing unwavering moral support to soldiers, participating in Red Cross campaigns, forming their own United Ser­vice Organ­izations, or working in defense-­related industries (De Leon and Griswold del Castillo, 2006, pp. 134–135).

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In spite of numerous social issues and racial injustice, approximately half a million Latino/­a Americans served in or supported American efforts during World War II, as seen in this image of Army troops at Fort Benning, Georgia, 1943. (Bettman/Getty)

Latinas worked by the thousands filling in for t­hose who had gone off to war: writing letters of moral support, driving heavy machinery, working on assembly lines, serving as medical personnel, and working in food-­processing plants. ­After the war, this generation led the fight against discrimination as the conflict for democracy overseas created a new awareness of racism and urged Latinos to begin questioning the inequalities they suffered at home (De Leon and Griswold del Castillo, 2006, pp. 127–134).

Latinos in the Armed Forces Although most Latino troops volunteered, many ­were required to enlist through draft notices, or joined ­because military ser­vice offered steady pay (De Leon and Griswold del Castillo, 2006, p. 133). In the Pacific, Latinos participated in the ­Battle of Okinawa, an 82-­day ­battle and the largest amphibious landing of the Pacific front (National WWII Museum, n.d.). ­Others, like Raymond Vega of East Chicago, Indiana, served with the Navy in the Pacific and helped treat wounded troops throughout the duration of the war (Rivas-­Rodriguez, 2005, p. 306). Peter Casarez, of Port

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Huron, Michigan, served as a Seabee, in the Navy’s construction unit, and helped build the American Naval base in Guam (Rivas-­Rodriguez, 2005, p. 292). Latinos also found themselves fighting in India, as was the case for Marcos Barelas, of the famed Merrill’s Marauders, who contributed to the liberation of Burma (Houston Metropolitan Research Center [HMRC], 2015). Accompanying him was Vincent Moreno, who volunteered for one of the most dangerous combat missions in India. ­After landing in Bombay, India, Moreno’s troop was re-­designated “Special,” and became part of the MARS Task Force, whose mission was to cut Japa­nese supply lines (HMRC, 2015). Latinos also fought in the Philippine Islands. David Loredo led his men to several victories in the Philippines, and eventually to its complete liberation from Japa­nese occupation (HMRC, 2015). At times, Latinos ­were assigned some of the deadliest missions: Cirilio Artega of Wichita, Kansas, served as a scout in Okinawa, where his objective was to draw fire from e­ nemy snipers to locate their position (Santillan, 2001, p. 21). In Eu­rope, the earliest American unit to put boots on the ground was Com­pany E, the only all-­Mexican American unit of WWII (Gutierrez, 2014, p. 30). Men like Ernest Eguia of the Coastal Defense Units and Augustine Rocha from Kansas City, Missouri, w ­ ere also a part of D-­Day, one of the largest assaults of the entire war (HMRC, 2015; Santillan, 2001, p. 21). This invasion, which took place on the beaches of Normandy, France, on June 6, 1944, marked a turning point for the American Forces in their fight against the Nazis (National WWII Museum, n.d.). As the Allied Forces continued to push deeper into Nazi-­occupied territories, Latinos such as Squad Leader Jesse Reyes found themselves fighting in the heart of Germany. Reyes’s job was to make sure his men secured the line in multiple b­ attles, including the Ardennes, the Rhineland, and Central Eu­rope (HMRC, 2015). Mexican nationals also served with the U.S. Armed Forces. Known as the Aztec Ea­gles, las Aguilas Aztecas Escuadrón 201 (201st squadron) was an elite Mexican fighter-­pilot squadron and the only all-­Mexican unit to serve ­under the American flag. The pi­lots ­were trained in Florida with the help of the ­Women’s Army Corps units, which included Mexican American ­women such as Anna Torres Vazquez, of Indiana, who translated for the pi­lots (Rivas-­Rodriguez, 2005, p. 189). During the war, Escuadrón 201 flew ground cover missions in the Philippines and contributed to the liberation of Luzon in 1945. Roughly 14,943 undocumented Latino immigrants in the United States also enlisted in the Armed Forces. Many enlisted b­ ecause Mexico encouraged them to do so or b­ ecause ser­vice could potentially put them on a path t­oward citizenship (Foley, 2014, pp. 96–105). While combat was typically seen by men, ­women also played significant roles in the military: roles that not only challenged traditional military practices, but also defied traditional gender norms. The ­Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC),

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65th Infantry Regiment “Borinqueneers” The 65th Infantry Regiment, or the “Borinqueneers,” ­were the largest and only active-­duty (segregated) Latino unit in American history, with 65,000 serving in combat. Originally created in Puerto Rico in 1920, the 65th was reor­ga­nized and brought to war strength in 1941. The island also underwent a heavy militarization pro­cess that required development of infrastructure and military bases to ­house, train, and strategically position the U.S. military. Throughout the war, the Borinqueneers ­were stationed at Fort Clayton in Panama to provide security for the Panama Canal, and ­later ­were deployed to North Africa and Naples, Italy, where they served as guards. The 65th engaged in combat by the end of 1944 on the Maritime Alps at Peira Cava, where 47 men w ­ ere killed in action. By 1945, the regiment was used for several security missions throughout Germany. Once the war ended, the 65th Infantry Regiment was returned to Puerto Rico to await further ­orders. In 2014, the Borinqueneers ­were awarded the Congressional Gold Medal by President Barack Obama. Among the recipients was Victor Vargas, who served in the U.S. Army from 1940 to 1963, fighting in both World War II and ­Korea. Borinqueneers and other Puerto Rican combatants, both ­women and men, collectively make up the second largest Latino group to participate in World War II.

created in 1942 u­ nder the directorship of Oveta Culp Hobby (Meyer, 1996), was formed to relieve male soldiers for ­battle. WAACs w ­ ere assigned to traditionally feminine duties that included clerical tasks, kitchen duties, and postal office work (Rosado, 2006). As the war raged on, WAAC personnel such as Carmen Contreras Bozak from Cayey, Puerto Rico, w ­ ere given more diversified assignments, including interpreting and coding (Rivas-­Rodriguez, 2005, p. 185). Other high-­security tasks included developing photo­graphs used to construct maps as part of reconnaissance missions, like ­those created by Elsie Schaffer Martinez of Laredo, Texas (Rivas-­Rodriguez, 2005, p. 188). Despite their critical contributions, their position as an auxiliary corps denied them full military status, health benefits, and equal pay. This changed in 1943 when the WAAC was recommissioned as the ­Women’s Army Corps (WAC), which ultimately gave its members access to full military status and benefits (Meyer, 1996). The next year, in 1944, the WAC created two all-­Latina regiments, which included a Mexican unit known as Escuadrón Benito Juarez del Cuerpo Militar Femenino and the Puerto Rican WAC Unit-­Company 6, 2nd Battalion, 21st Regiment of the ­Women’s Army Corps (Meyer, 1996). Although 1,500 w ­ omen from

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Puerto Rico applied for spots in the Puerto Rican WAC unit, the Army allowed only 200 ­women to be assigned to each of the two squadrons (Puerto Rico Report, 2014). ­Women trained in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, where they w ­ ere kept in segregated quarters. The most recognized member of the Puerto Rican WAC unit was Private First Class (PFC) Carmen García Rosado, who served as a postal clerk for the military in New York. ­After the war, she became a renowned educator and activist for ­women veterans and eventually published the only existing account of the Puerto Rican WAC unit in an autobiographical book, titled Las WACS (Rosado, 2006). Exact numbers of Latinas who served are unavailable, as ­women ­were not identified by ethnicity, but in total, approximately 350,000 w ­ omen served in WAC and in other branches of the military during the war. By war’s end, Latinos had received more decorations for bravery, in proportion to their stateside population, than any other ethnic group (Escobedo, 2013, p. 150). In Hershey, Nebraska, 40 Latino veterans collectively earned 9 Purple Hearts, 2 Bronze Stars, and 1 Silver Star (Santillan, 2001, p. 26). In all, Latinos achieved 13 Congressional Medals of Honor.

Latinos and WWII at Home At home, Latinos showed their commitment to the war effort by purchasing liberty bonds, utilizing war ration books, collecting scrap metal, participating in Red Cross campaigns, and joining and forming USO groups (De Leon and Griswold del Castillo, 2006, p. 134). The war also provided new employment opportunities. Latinas became a major part of the new l­abor force during the war. In the Midwest alone, Latina workers numbered approximately 5,000 (Santillan, 1989, p. 25). Like other ­women, they found work in defense-­related industries, including several factories and plants used to assem­ble weapons, vehicles, and aircraft, and package food, medicine, and other supplies needed for the war front. Latina riveters of military aircraft became known as Rosita the Riveters, like Margarita Salazar of Boyle Heights, a plane assembler at Lockheed Aircraft (Quiñonez, 2005, pp. 252–253). ­Because of their ­labor participation, Latinas redefined gender norms regarding ­women’s work and broke through sociocultural bound­aries as they intermingled with coworkers across ethnic and racial lines, earned their own income, and became a targeted consumer market. Still, many Latinas faced vari­ous forms of work discrimination, including being singled out to perform undesirable tasks, receiving unequal pay, experiencing segregation, and encountering re­sis­tance from male coworkers (Escobedo, 2013, pp. 85–86). As the war ended, Latinas found themselves laid off to open up jobs for returning veterans (Santillan, 1989, p. 139). During the war, the United States witnessed a ­great deal of migration as families left the fields for the front lines and defense factories in urban centers. This resulted

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in agricultural l­abor shortages, forcing the U.S. government to negotiate a ­labor agreement with Mexico. Known as the Bracero Program, this agreement was designed to recruit Mexican workers for short-­term agricultural and railroad l­abor contracts. Starting in 1942 and lasting through the rest of the war, the United States received a total of 200,000 workers annually from Mexico who entered the country as temporary guest workers (Flores, 2016, p. 42). Braceros harvested the foods that fed Americans and Amer­i­ca’s military abroad. Thus, braceros became “soldiers on the farm front” (Foley, 2014, p. 145). They also maintained and repaired railroads essential to wartime transport in some parts of the country. Despite the contributions of Latinos to the war effort, many continued to face inequalities. In places like Texas, they lived with entrenched segregation, w ­ ere denied full po­liti­cal participation, had limited access to higher education, and ­were subjected to police abuse and brutality. Latinos, like African Americans, encountered racism in some social practices and institutions.

Latinos and the Fight against Discrimination Despite the American government’s promotion of unity and democracy during the war, minorities on the home front faced issues of discrimination and second-­class citizenship. B ­ ecause war­time industries necessitated a larger workforce, the movement of workers into new social settings sometimes allowed for increased social interactions across racial/ethnic bound­aries. ­These interactions resulted in in­ter­est­ ing, and at times challenging and hostile, experiences. Latinos had varying experiences depending on the region where they lived. Sergio, a Cuban immigrant in Flint, Michigan, gained a heightened awareness of race relations in the United States during the war. ­After witnessing discrimination against an African American co-­worker in Atlanta and Puerto Ricans in the North East, Sergio used his light skin, English-­speaking abilities, and education as an advantage to “Americanize” and pass as “white” (Poyo, 2014, p. 230). He also made a concerted effort to keep from being labeled a Puerto Rican, another Latino population regarded as outsiders. He used other strategies to distinguish himself from other Afro-­Latinos, such as speaking En­glish only and changing his name to “Serge” instead of Sergio. In contrast, Private Evelio Grillo’s experience as an Afro-­Cuban in Tampa, Florida, during the war was rife with experiences of discrimination, particularly in the military. The 83d Engineer Aviation “Colored” Battalion was segregated, faced unequal treatment, and received the least desirable ­labor assignments; Grillo compared his engineering squadron to a “slave l­abor battalion” (Guridy, 2014, p. 49). For Sergeant Norberto Gonzalez, his experiences as an Afro-­Latino in the military, coupled with social interactions in Washington, D.C., and Florida ultimately s­ haped

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The Zoot Suit Riots One of the most infamous events of the 1940s took aim at Latino youth who ­were avid fans of the “zoot suit” culture, defined by a noticeable fashion style that made a po­liti­cal and cultural statement. A male “zoot suiter,” also known as a “pachuco,” could be identified by a long suit coat, baggy pleated pants with tapered ankles, fancy shoes, a long ­belt chain, and a hair style often referred to as the ducktail; a female zoot suiter, or “pachuca,” wore a tailored gabardine skirt, long suit coat, huarache sandals, teased hair styled into high bouffants or coifs, and dark-­colored makeup. Pachuquismo or zootsuiterism was a cultural phenomenon that thrived in Latino neighborhoods from the West Coast to the East Coast. It created anxiety among whites, and even among some older-­generation Latinos; many Mexican ­mothers, for example, saw the pachuca as a threat to Mexican culture and customs and believed they would corrupt proper female be­hav­ior. This phenomenon also reflected young ­people’s dissatisfaction with the old-­fashioned ways of their parents (Escobedo, 2013, pp. 29–33). Zoot suiters became notorious for rebelling against mainstream social norms and reclaiming dignity as racially marginalized youth (Alvarez, 2008, pp. 15–75). In 1942, a deadly fight between Mexican American zoot suiters in the Sleepy Lagoon reservoir of East Los Angeles resulted in the death of 21-­year-­old José Díaz. In what became known as the Sleepy Lagoon Trial, hundreds of pachucos and pachucas ­were rounded up for questioning. During the trial, prosecutors depicted the accused Mexican American youth as expert killers, suggesting they had a biological predisposition for murder due to their Mexican Indian ancestry—­specifically, from the Aztecs who practiced h­ uman sacrifice (PBS, 2002). The courts found most of the accused guilty. In all, 17 persons ­were arrested and sentenced to prison at San Quentin (Escobedo, 2013, p. 25). As for the girls involved, they w ­ ere sentenced to the Ventura School for Girls, a w ­ omen’s correctional fa­cil­it­ y with an infamous reputation for its harsh disciplinary practices (Escobedo, 2013, p. 23). The murder trial represented a larger societal viewpoint that characterized zoot suiters, and by extension all Latino youth, as a criminal culture. In sensationalized media coverage that influenced the American public’s perceptions, Mexican Americans w ­ ere depicted as criminal, violent, and dangerous. Fortunately for the accused, in 1944 the innocent ­were exonerated by the Sleepy Lagoon Defense Committee, a diverse cadre of citizen committees, ­legal groups, ­labor organ­izations, and activists (Escobedo, 2013, p. 22).

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­ fter the Sleepy Lagoon case, U.S. ser­vicemen and law enforcement A closely surveilled Latino youth, on the pretense that they ­were foreigners, unpatriotic, and draft dodgers. Amidst the heightened racial tensions, numerous violent clashes ensued between pachucos and ser­vicemen, where ser­ vicemen armed with bats and clubs targeted anyone wearing zoot suits—at times stripping them of their clothing and humiliating them in public (Alvarez, 2008, pp. 15–75). This sparked a series of riots (known as the Zoot Suit Riots) between white ser­vicemen and Mexican-­American youth, which lasted for 10 days and covered the streets of Los Angeles (Escobedo, 2013, p. 8). Society at large, it seemed, tolerated the attacks on Latino youth, as most viewed zoot suiters as unpatriotic and deserving of this punishment (PBS, 2002). They marked the largest race riots in history up ­until that point. The riots fi­nally ended when ser­vicemen ­were prohibited from entering Los Angeles (Escobedo, 2013, p. 43).

his identity and led him to embrace his “blackness.” ­These soldiers’ experiences in the military made them hyperaware of the entrenched racism in Amer­i­ca’s institutions. The discrimination they faced as Afro-­Latinos in the military extended to African Americans as well. Latino experiences during the war fueled the effort to dismantle discriminatory laws and practices in the United States. Latino veterans who returned home ­after defeating the Nazis felt emboldened to ensure that the ideals of democracy that they had helped to secure abroad ­were extended to their communities back home. In 1948, Dr. Hector P. Garcia founded the American G.I. Forum (AGIF) in Corpus Christi, Texas. The AGIF served as a Latino veterans’ organ­ization that secured equal rights for Latino veterans, who w ­ ere often denied the benefits to which they ­were entitled. That year, the body of Felix Longoria, a Mexican American soldier killed in action in the Pacific, was refused burial ser­vice in the only funeral parlor in his hometown of Three Rivers, Texas, in an incident which became known as the Longoria Affair. Dr. Garcia, also a WWII veteran, came to the aid of the Longoria ­family and quickly garnered nationwide outrage for the mistreatment that the Longorias had endured, elevating the event to a civil rights issue. Working with Texas Senator Lyndon Johnson, Garcia and the AGIF w ­ ere able to get Longoria’s body interred at Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia (PBS, 2010). Following this incident, the AGIF launched a campaign to expose the segregated practices of mortuaries and cemeteries across the state of Texas. Next, it initiated anti-­discrimination lawsuits as well as voter registration campaigns across the country (PBS, 2010). It also participated in the sustained ­legal attack

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on educational segregation that had been ongoing since before the turn of the 20th ­century. In 1947, Latinos won a court case, Mendez v. Westminster Schools, which declared the segregation of Latino ­children in schools or classes to be unconstitutional.

End of the Second World War The war had created newfound employment opportunities for Latinos. Like most other Americans, Latinos proved their loyalty by participating fully in the war effort, ­either by enlisting or by working in defense-­related industries. Latinas became major stakeholders in American society as they found work in high numbers and contributed significantly to the Allied victory. On the home front, war had amplified the Latino civil rights movement, which demanded equal employment opportunities, access to higher education, decent housing, and an end to police mistreatment. This was crucial for Latinos ­because on top of the continued segregation, disenfranchisement, poverty, and overt racism, they now also had to deal with the Second Red Scare. This phenomenon was a crusade against the presumed communist influence within the United States ­after the war, and the panic it stirred ultimately ­violated the civil liberties of Americans who ­were unfairly labeled as communist spies. The communist-­hating politicians ­were convinced that the nation was ­under attack from within its own borders, and moved to purge all communists from the country. Caught in the web of this effort ­were Latinos, especially activists, whose protests and dissent ­were dismissed as nonconforming and therefore communist. Despite this, Latinos bravely used the postwar years to lay the groundwork for renewed activism.

Biographies of Notable Figures Maria “Sally” Salazar (1923–2014) Maria Salazar was one of many Latinas who enlisted in the ­Women’s Army Corps during World War II, serving between 1943 and 1945. Salazar’s daring and ambitious personality epitomized the generation of Latinas who took advantage of the war­time climate to challenge and renegotiate cultural and patriarchal expectations. Salazar was born in Laredo, Texas, on September 23, 1923, to working-­class parents who ­were very focused on their ­daughter’s education. During her school years, Salazar was an avid participant in extracurricular activities that included basketball, volleyball, baseball, and tennis. She excelled in school but then had a life-­changing experience. When she was 16, Salazar became pregnant. Despite her wish to marry her partner, Salazar’s ­father forbade the ­union for fear that it would prevent her from

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finishing her education. Salazar ­later suffered the loss of her ­daughter, who died of pneumonia at the age of six months. As a result, Salazar eventually withdrew from her studies. Like many other men and ­women who joined the ser­vice, the advertisements promoting the countless benefits of joining the military attracted Salazar. At just 19 years old, she did not give her parents a chance to weigh in on her decision to join the ser­vice. In an interview h­ oused in the Voces Oral History Proj­ect at the Nettie Lee Benson Latin American Collection Library (Salazar, 2002), Salazar stated: “[T]he war in ’41 woke us up, and every­body was talking about it, and we all wanted to go . . . ​[O]ur parents w ­ ere against it, but I went anyway.” Motivated by the opportunity to travel if she joined the ser­vice, Salazar left for San Antonio with her friends. Her parents believed that Salazar was visiting her ­sister, Amelia, but she was t­here to apply at the ­Women’s Army Corps (WAC) recruiting station. She was two years shy of the required enlistment age, so she used her older s­ ister’s birth certificate. In the interview, Salazar chuckled at the recollection of the officers examining her identification card, but finding nothing wrong with it. Although she successfully returned home without raising her parents’ suspicion, the mailman delivered her WAC ac­cep­tance letter when she was out of the h­ ouse. Upon her arrival, Salazar’s ­father confronted her, and she was forced to explain her trip to the recruiting station in San Antonio. Her dishonesty did not sit well with her ­father, who reacted negatively to his ­daughter’s choice to join the military ser­vice. Her ­father’s reaction echoed the larger American public’s perception of w ­ omen in the military. Although they contributed to the war effort in critical ways, ­women who joined the military ­were sometimes viewed as sexual deviants, immoral, and unfeminine despite the WAC’s attempt to create an image of an elite WAC ser­ vicewoman. Salazar’s ­father threatened to report her to authorities for false identification and illegal enlistment, but her ­mother explained: “Look, she went with Emilia’s birth certificate and she might get in trou­ble. ­Don’t report her” (Salazar, 2002). ­Because of her ­mother’s pleas, Salazar’s ­father did not report her, but she remembered him angrily leaving the home for the rest of the night. Despite her ­father’s initial disapproval, he accompanied her to the train station to show his support as she departed for basic training. ­After basic training, Salazar volunteered to serve overseas and was stationed in New Guinea. She assisted in the medical field, specifically in the Office of the General Surgeon. She criticized some men from her hometown who crossed the U.S.-­Mexico border to avoid military ser­vice: “Well, I just feel that I did something caus’ a lot of them ­wouldn’t go, even the men jumped the river!” Salazar was l­ ater relocated to the Philippines. As a WAC in the medical field, Salazar witnessed the gruesome sickness and death caused by war. “I had no intentions of ­going to the Pacific, but I ended up ­there.” When looking back at the recruitment advertisements

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that painted a pretty picture of travel opportunities with the WACs, she exclaimed: “[I]t ­didn’t happen that way. . . . ​We w ­ ere stuck in the jungle for a year and a half!” The stress of the numerous atrocities and physical traumas she witnessed in the hospitals took a toll. “We had no choice, we ­couldn’t get out. . . . ​I ­don’t remember that I was trying to get out of it . . . ​­others did. I just took it as it came.” On top of work-­related stress, Salazar dealt with depression and malnutrition which only exacerbated her declining personal health. She was hospitalized in Manila with dysentery, malaria, and hepatitis. When her conditions showed no signs of improvement, she was shipped to Washington, where she spent six months recovering from five war-­related illnesses. “When we went overseas we ­were stuck in the hospital and when we came back we ­were still in the hospital.” The psychological and medical complications she endured from the war continued to affect Salazar ­until her death. “I was strong enough to live with it; ­until this day I am still suffering.” ­After the war, Salazar hired a ­lawyer to correct her military rec­ords using her own identification. She eventually completed her high school education and enrolled in Laredo College. Using her military benefits, Salazar ­later assisted her stepchildren in their educational endeavors, an impor­tant pathway for social mobility highly stressed by her ­father. Salazar’s ser­vice and daring attitude did not go unrecognized. Several veteran’s organ­izations have recognized her contribution to the war effort as a Latina ser­vicewoman. Maria Salazar passed away on April 9, 2014, in Laredo, Texas, at the age of 90.

Johnnie Meza Marino (1922–2015) Johnnie Marino was a Mexican American ser­viceman in the United States Army from 1941 ­until 1945 in the 3rd Battalion, 38th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division. As a private first class, he was involved in two of the Allied Forces’ most significant ­battles in Eu­rope: Operation D-­Day on Omaha Beach in Normandy, France, on June 6, 1944; and the ­Battle of the Bulge in Germany, from December 1944 to January 1945. He was a heavi­ly decorated U.S. Army liberator of the Eu­ro­pean Jewish population during World War II. Although Marino was born in Colorado City, Texas, on June 24, 1922, his earliest childhood memories ­were formed in Crosby, Texas. His ­mother, Juanita Mesa Moreno, passed away when he was only six years old, leaving his f­ ather to provide for his four ­children through odd jobs in the railroad, farming, and landscaping industries between the cities of Crosby and Houston, Texas. Marino’s f­ ather remarried and eventually settled his ­family in Houston, Texas. ­After Marino lost his stepmother to a brutal murder, his ­father promised his c­ hildren that he would never remarry, instead focusing his love and attention on his ­children. This promise was broken when his ­father’s engagement to his third wife was unexpectedly announced

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during a Sunday church ser­vice. In an interview h­ oused at the Houston Metropolitan Research Center, Marino recalled that this disappointing moment, coupled with the war­time anx­i­eties plaguing Eu­rope, sparked his motivation to join the military. When Marino first approached his f­ather about his interest in the ser­vice, his ­father turned him down. At only 17 years of age, Marino was still too young to enlist, with or without his f­ ather’s consent. The age requirements did not deter Marino and his group of friends, who deci­ded to enlist using false birth dates. On January 13, 1941, Marino volunteered to serve in the United States Army and enlisted in Houston using 1919 as his birth year instead of 1922. Marino and his friends did not arouse any suspicion and successfully enlisted. His ­father begrudgingly accepted his decision. Marino took the train to his training base, Fort Sam Houston, only a few hours from his home in San Antonio, Texas. Among t­ hose who enlisted with him was his stepbrother from his ­father’s third wife, who trained with him for the entire first year before he was medically discharged. At Fort Sam Houston, Marino underwent the standard rigorous military training that often consisted of cardiovascular exercise, weapons training, and even hand-­to-­hand combat. ­After three or four months, he joined the 2nd Infantry Division in Fort Polk, Louisiana, b­ ecause the military felt it best to train their soldiers in dif­fer­ent climates and environmental terrain. Marino remembered the humid and musty air, snakes, and mosquitoes that became a unique training experience compared to his ­later training in the dry deserts of West Texas. For winter training in 1942, Marino was sent to Wisconsin, where he continued to train with the 2nd Division. He was instructed on how to drive several U.S. Army vehicles and earned a sharpshooter badge as well. In October 1943, Marino was sent to Belfast, Northern Ireland, where he was assigned to be a motor vehicle operator and ammunition carrier. Within a few months, he was transferred to Cardiff, Wales, where his division continued intense training. Marino l­ater learned that ­these brutal trainings w ­ ere preparing his division for another landing at Normandy, France, but he did not find out ­until he was aboard the small boat. Marino recalled that his job was to rush ammunition to the artillery, but when they fi­nally landed on Omaha Beach in Normandy, t­ hings did not turn out as planned. Due to the combination of strong w ­ ater currents, heavy fire, explosions, and heightened anxiety, landing crafts ­were ordered to stop several feet from the beach shore. Marino recalled numerous soldiers who drowned because their supplies weighed them down as they got off the landing crafts and attempted to reach the beach. Many ­others suffocated once they landed on the beach ­because they forgot to remove the sealing caps from their gas masks. Marino’s weapon carrier made it to coverage b­ ehind a 10-­foot sand dune, which he believed was protection from God.

World War II, 1939–1945 | 397

Marino’s other military expeditions included a trek through Paris before making his way to Belgium. Marino first heard about the Nazi atrocities against Jews and ­others when he was fighting the B ­ attle of the Bulge, the infamous standoff between the Allied troops and German troops in which Patton’s army fi­nally defeated the Germans in December 1944. It was not ­until ­later that Marino encountered the gruesome evidence of genocide at first hand. His expedition through Germany led him to discover the concentration camps of Hadamar and Belsen, where he witnessed the bodies of Jewish prisoners stacked in ravines, and the ashes of burned bodies, which fell on soldiers’ military gear and uniforms. In an interview with the Houston Metropolitan Research Center, Marino recalled his astonishment: “We ­couldn’t believe what we had seen . . . ​they looked like walking skeletons.” The horrific scenes did not end ­there; he ­later uncovered murdered bodies in freight cars, gas chambers, and crematoria. Marino stayed in Eu­rope u­ ntil September 1945 and was honorably discharged from the U.S. Army in 1946. For his valiant ser­vice, Marino was awarded two Bronze Stars, two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Indian Arrowhead, a B ­ attle of the Bulge Commemorative Medal, a D-­Day Commemorative Medal, a WWII Victory Medal, an American Campaign Medal, a European-­African-­Middle East Campaign Medal, an Army of Occupation Medal, an American Defense Ser­vice Medal, and a Holocaust Liberator Medal. PFC Johnnie Marino passed away on September 3, 2015, in Houston, Texas. He was 96 years old.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS War Ration Book, 1942 The following excerpt was found in the war ration books belonging to Rosalio Gonzalez. Due to war­time shortages of food, supplies, and other materials needed for military operations, civilians on the home front abided by the rationing system regulated by the Office of Price Administration. Warning: 1. Punishments ranging as high as Ten Years’ Imprisonment or $10,000 Fine, or Both, may be imposed u­ nder United States Statutes for violations thereof arising out of infractions of Rationing ­Orders and Regulations. 2. This book must not be transferred. It must be held and used only by or on behalf of the person to whom it has been issued, and anyone presenting it thereby represents to the Office of Price Administration, and Agency of the United States Government, that it is being so held and so used. For any

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misuse of this book it may be taken from the holder by the Office of Price Administration. 3. In the event of ­either the departure from the United States of the person to whom this book is issued, or his or her death, the book must be surrendered in accordance with the Regulations. 4. Any person finding a lost book must deliver it promptly to the nearest Ration Board. Source: War Ration Book One. U.S. Office of Price Administration, May 4, 1942.

Sergeant Macario Garcia Awarded Medal of Honor, 1945 The following excerpt is a copy of the citation conferred on Sgt. Macario Garcia by President Harry Truman in August 1945. Sgt. Garcia served in the U.S. Army Infantry Division Com­pany B, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division, from 1942 to 1945. His conduct during campaigns in France and Germany earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Mérito Militar (Mexico’s Medal of Honor), American Campaign Medal, European-­African-­Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, and the World War II Victory Medal. “Private Garcia, while an acting Squad Leader of Com­pany B, 22nd Infantry, on 27 Nov. 1944 near Grosshau, Germany, singlehandedly assaulted two ­enemy machine gun emplacements. Attacking prepared positions on a wooded hill, which could be approached only through meager cover, his com­pany was pinned down by intense machine gun fire and subjected to a concentrated artillery and mortar barrage. Although painfully wounded, he refused to be evacuated and on his own initiative crawled forward alone u­ ntil he reached a position near an e­ nemy emplacement. Hurling grenades, he boldly assaulted the position, destroyed the gun, and with his ­rifle, killed three of the ­enemy who attempted to escape. When he rejoined his com­ pany, a second machine gun opened fire, and again the intrepid soldier went forward, utterly disregarding his own safety. He stormed the position and destroyed the gun, killed three more Germans, and captured four prisoners. He fought on with his unit ­until the objective was taken, and only then did he permit himself to be removed for medical care. Private Garcia’s con­spic­u­ous heroism, his inspiring courageous conduct and his complete disregard for his personal safety wiped out two ­enemy emplacements, and enabled his com­pany to advance and secure its objective.” (signed) Harry Truman Source: Citation conferred on Sgt. Macario Garcia by President Truman in ceremonies at the White House at Washington, D.C., August, 1945.

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See also: The Bracero Program; L ­ abor Activism during the G ­ reat Depression; Mendez v. Westminster

Further Reading Alvarez, Luis. 2008. The Power of the Zoot: Youth Culture and Re­sis­tance During World War II. Berkeley: University of California Press. Biography of Sergeant Cleto Rodriguez. The Portal to Texas History. Retrieved from https://­ texashistory​.­unt​.­edu. De Leon, Arnoldo, and Richard Griswold del Castillo. 2006. North to Aztlan: A History of Mexican Americans in the United States. Wheeling, IL: Harlan Davidson. Escobedo, Elizabeth. 2013. From Coveralls to Zoot Suits: The Lives of Mexican American ­Women on the World War II Home Front. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Flores, Lori. 2016. Grounds for Dreaming: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the California Farmworker Movement. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Foley, Neil. 2014. Mexicans in the Making of Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press. Guridy, Frank Andre. 2014. “Pvt. Evelio Grillo and Sgt. Norberto Gonzalez: Afro-­Latino Experiences of War and Segregation,” in Maggie Rivas-­Rodriguez and B. V. Olguin, eds., Latina/os and World War II: Mobility, Agency, and Ideology. Austin: University of Texas Press. Gutierrez, Dave. 2014. Patriots from the Barrio: The True WWII Story of the Men Who Served in the U.S. Army’s All Mexican American Combat Unit. n.p.: Self-­published, Xlibris. Houston Metropolitan Research Center, Houston Public Library. 2015. “Latino WWII Veteran Oral History Proj­ect.” Available at http://­digital​.­houstonlibrary​.­org Loza, Mireya. 2016. Defiant Braceros: How Mi­grant Workers Fought for Racial, Sexual, and Po­liti­cal Freedom. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Marino, Johnnie. 2015, April 22. Interview by Jesse Esparza (video recording). Latino WWII Veteran Oral History Proj­ect, Houston Metropolitan Research Center, Houston Public Library, Houston, Texas. Available at http://­digital​.­houstonlibrary​.­org Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County, 64 F. Supp. 544 (S.D. Cal. 1946), aff’d, 161 F.2d 774 (9th Cir. 1947). Meyer, Leisa D. 1996. Creating GI Jane: Sexuality and Power in the ­Women’s Army Corps During World War II. New York: Columbia University Press. Olguín, B. V., and Maggie Rivas-­Rodriguez, eds. 2014. Latina/os and World War II: Mobility, Agency, and Ideology. Austin: University of Texas Press. PBS. 2002. “The Zoot Suit Riots.” American Experience series. Directed by Joseph Tovares. PBS. 2010. “The Longoria Affair.” In­de­pen­dent Lens series. Poyo, Gerald E. 2014. Exile and Revolution: José D. Poyo, Key West, and Cuban In­de­pen­ dence. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Puerto Rico Report. 2014. “Carmen Garcia Rosado: Soldier and Activist.” Puerto Rico Report. Retrieved from https://­www​.­puertoricoreport​.­com​/­carmen​-­garcia​-­rosado​-­soldier​ -­and​-­activist​/­#​.­WeOw2kuGPEY

400 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959 Quiñonez, Naomi. 2005. “Rosita the Riveter: Welding Traditions with War­time Transformations,” in Maggie Rivas-­Rodriguez, ed., Mexican Americans and World War II. Austin: University of Texas Press. Rivas-­Rodríguez, Maggie, ed. 2005. Mexican Americans and World War II. Austin: University of Texas Press. Rivas-­Rodríguez, Maggie, Juliana Torres, Melissa Dipiero-­D’sa, and Lindsay Fitzpatrick, eds. 2006. A Legacy Greater than Words: Stories of U.S. Latinos and Latinas of the WWII Generation. Austin, TX: U.S. Latino & Latina WWII Oral History Proj­ect. Rosado, Carmen Garcia. 2006. Las WACs: Participacion de la Mujer Boricua en la Segunda Guerra Mundial. San Juan, PR: Government of Puerto Rico. Salazar, Maria. 2002, September 28. Interview by Nicole Cruz. Folder 411, Voces Oral History Proj­ect, Nettie Lee Benson Latin American Collection, University of Texas Libraries, The University of Texas at Austin. Santillan, Richard. 1989. “Rosita the Riveter: Midwest Mexican American ­Women During World War II, 1941–1945.” Perspectives in Mexican American Studies 2: 115–142. Santillan, Richard. 2001. “Saving Private Jose: Midwestern Mexican American Men During World War II” (unpublished). Retrieved from https://­ mrgschicanoworld​ .­ files​ .­wordpress​.­com​/­2015​/­04​/­8​-­saving​-­private​-­jose​.­pdf

The Bracero Program, 1942–1964 Maria L. Quintana

Chronology 1942, May

Growers alert the U.S. federal government that they face harvest-­ time disasters if replacement workers are not brought in. Millions of U.S. rural workers have been drafted for World War II or have moved to major U.S. cities to work in military and factory jobs.

1942, August

The United States and Mexico sign an executive agreement to recruit Mexican temporary workers for U.S. farms.

1942, September

The first group of Mexican braceros reports for work in Stockton, California.

1943, January

The  U.S. War Manpower Commission finds that the U.S. railroad industry ­faces a severe l­ abor shortage, and expands the Bracero Program to include railroad workers.

1943, February

Mexico suspends bracero recruiting, citing poor treatment of the 4,200 workers who had migrated north in the fall of 1942. The U.S.

The Bracero Program, 1942–1964 | 401

government promises to improve conditions for braceros, and a new agreement is signed. 1943, April The Mexican ­Labor Agreement is sanctioned by Congress through Public Law No. 45. A ­labor importation program with the British West Indies is initiated by the Anglo-­American Ca­rib­bean Commission, a joint U.S.-­ British organ­ization designed to improve living conditions on the Ca­rib­bean islands. 1943, May

The railroad portion of the Bracero Program begins; Mexican laborers work on vari­ous U.S. railways.

1943, June

The U.S. Office of ­Labor is established within the War Food Administration to manage the bracero program and other l­ abor importation agreements a­ fter the elimination of the Farm Security Administration (FSA) by Public Law No. 45.

1945, August

The railroad portion of the Bracero Program is suspended at the end of World War II, as the war­time necessity of the braceros’ l­ abor is no longer a governmental concern. However, most railroad braceros remain in the camps, working without a contract, for months.

1946, March

U.S. growers pressure the federal government to continue the agricultural Bracero Program, despite the end of the war.

1946, April The last of the railroad braceros are fi­nally repatriated. 1947, February

Mexico’s Banco Nacional de Credito Agrícola (Mexican Agricultural Credit Bank), one of two principal holders of bracero savings, files an internal audit. The audit shows that 12 million pesos (about $4 million in 1947 U.S. dollars) in savings funds belonging to braceros have instead been used for the bank’s other funds.

1947, August

Ernesto Galarza joins the National Farm L ­ abor Union to or­ga­nize braceros and U.S. agricultural workers in the Central Valley of California.

1948

The  U.S. government initiates a l­abor importation program with Puerto Rico.

1951, June

The National Farm ­Labor Union begins to or­ga­nize strikes in the Imperial Valley of California, with the assistance of ­labor ­unions in Mexico.

1951, July

President Truman signs Public Law No. 78, which extends the Bracero Program in­def­initely and increases the number of workers recruited.

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1954, May

The Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice announces “Operation Wetback.” Many U.S.-­born ­children of Mexican braceros are wrongfully repatriated, along with their parents.

1956

Ernesto Galarza finishes Strangers in Our Fields, a blistering account of how the safeguards in bracero contracts a­ re constantly v­ iolated over the course of the program.

1958

African American l­abor leader A. Philip Randolph launches the National Advisory Committee on Farm ­Labor (NACFL), a fact-­ finding committee that worked to end the Bracero Program.

1959

César Chávez begins advocacy work in California bracero camps to expose poor living and working conditions.

1960

The CBS documentary “Harvest of Shame,” documenting the abuses of the Bracero Program, is released.

1963

­ fter a rise in media attention and public recognition of the abuses of A the Bracero Program, the Kennedy Administration allows just one more year of bracero recruitment.

1964

The Bracero Program is terminated.

1965

The United Farm Workers Movement, led by César Chávez, is able to achieve success in ­unionizing farm workers in California.

1986

The Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 creates the H2A and H2B l­ abor programs to contract foreign workers, thus renewing a temporary agricultural l­abor importation program.

1998

The Bracero Proa organ­ization forms to recoup back wages owed to braceros by the Mexican government and el Banco Agrícola.

2009

Ex-­braceros residing in the United States receive their first and only compensation for the back wages owed them by el Banco Agrícola.

Narrative The Bracero Program was initiated by a joint agreement between the United States and Mexican governments signed on August 4, 1942. The purpose of the program, which ran, from 1942 to 1964, was to import male agricultural laborers, referred to as “braceros,” from Mexico to the United States. Created to ease a perceived ­labor shortage during World War II, the agreement also included a railroad worker program, which ended in August 1945. When growers realized the desirability of braceros as a low-­cost and flexible agricultural ­labor supply, they lobbied the federal

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government to continue the ­labor importation for years ­after the war, leading to several new agreements that extended the Bracero Program. The program had three unofficial phases, each with dif­fer­ent conditions: 1942–1947 (World War II), 1948–1951 (interim), and 1951–1964 (Korean War and beyond). During the first phase, men ­were recruited ­under a bilateral agreement that operated ­under the auspices of the 1917 Immigration Law and then Public Law No. 45. The second phase operated u­ nder a series of U.S. executive ­orders rather than an international agreement, as Mexican officials refused to sign an agreement u­ ntil certain changes ­were made. The third phase began with the Korean War, when a war­time pre­ce­dent once again established a need to import Mexican agricultural laborers (García y Griego, 1996). The Bracero Program helped to establish what became a common migration pattern to the United States: Mexican citizens enter the United States temporarily to earn wages, go home to Mexico for varying periods of time, and return to the United States to work again when needed. ­Today, the Bracero Program serves as a functional model for guestworker programs across the globe.

Braceros receiving registration packets for work contracts in the United States. The workers applied in droves and underwent an elaborate screening process to be selected. (Howard R. Rosenberg, “Snapshots in a Farm ­Labor Tradition,” ­Labor Management Decisions, Winter-­Spring 1993)

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Appeals for a Mexican l­ abor importation program originated from both liberal New Deal po­liti­cal leaders and conservative growers alike in 1940 and 1941. U.S. officials ­were initially skeptical about creating such a program and refused to relax immigration restrictions. In 1940, the executive cabinet asked the United States Employment Ser­vice (USES) to complete an investigation on ­whether a farm ­labor shortage even existed. ­After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, however, many federal officials changed their minds and began to perceive farm l­abor as a national security ­matter, especially given the perceived agricultural ­labor shortage and the United States’ Lend-­Lease policy with its war­time allies, in which the United States promised to send food and supplies to Eu­rope. ­These, in tandem with liberal support for a ­labor importation program, convinced many U.S. government officials that an agreement with Mexico would be mutually beneficial for both Mexico and the United States. Notably, liberal New Deal farm ­labor advocates Carey McWilliams, author of Factories in the Fields (1939) and Ernesto Galarza, then a member of the Pan-­American Union, optimistically believed that a Mexican l­ abor importation program could reform California agriculture and equalize ­labor standards for both domestic and Mexican mi­grant farm workers (Mitchell, 2010). The Mexican government, optimistic about U.S. influence in Mexico during the 1940s ­under the Good Neighbor Policy, also supported rural l­abor mobility through the U.S.-­proposed Bracero Program. President Manuel Ávila Camacho (1940–1946) believed that unskilled rural Mexican men, racialized as primitive

Who ­Were the Braceros? Braceros who came to the United States on temporary work contracts w ­ ere a diverse set of men from the Mexican countryside and cities: some w ­ ere experienced and some ­were inexperienced farm workers; some ­were working class and some ­were ­middle class; some ­were indigenous and some ­were mestizo. Originally, braceros ­were supposed to be rural men who did not own land; urban ­workers ­were discouraged from applying. ­Those who joined the Bracero Program w ­ ere attracted by the Mexican and United States official rhe­toric of modernization, education, new skills, and patriotism. They w ­ ere drawn to the program b­ ecause of the wages they could earn that would allow them to care for their families. In spite of exploitative work conditions, many renewed their ­labor contracts or rushed to acquire a new contract ­because opportunities for employment w ­ ere slim at home. Some w ­ ere able to use their earnings in the United States to send their c­ hildren to school or create small businesses.

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dark-­skinned indios, could acquire the qualities, skills, and wages necessary for Mexico to advance socially and technologically. Through exposure to ele­ments of more developed countries like the United States, Camacho and other Mexican officials hoped that the Bracero Program would imbue the men with agricultural skills that they could bring back with them to Mexico. He thought that rural Mexican men’s mastery of skills “improved the character of the Mexican ­people,” advancing Mexico’s social, economic, and technological development while modernizing the countryside (Cohen, 2011, pp. 6, 33–34; Loza, 2015, pp. 9, 31, 42, 98). Although w ­ omen did not often participate in the l­abor pro­cess, they did not wait idly at home. They became the sole l­abor force in their hometowns or moved their w ­ hole families from inland Mexico to the borderlands to be closer to their husbands. ­Others engaged in the informal and illicit economies of the Bracero Program (Loza, 2015, p. 69; Rosas, 2014). The Bracero Program recruitment system involved several contracts, including the binational government agreement, the contracts that individual Mexican workers made with the federal Farm Security Administration (FSA), and the contracts for groups of workers made by the individual farmers and growers associations with the FSA. Consent, binationalism, and collective agency lay at the heart of each of ­these contracts. The United States and Mexican governments agreed on specific terms for Mexican mi­grant workers that would provide certain guarantees via an

The Good Neighbor Policy (1933–1940s) The Good Neighbor Policy was established by President Hoover and upheld by President Roo­se­velt. The policy was a response to popu­lar movements against U.S. imperialism across Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean, as an example of Pan-­Americanism or po­liti­cal alliances among all “American” nations of the western hemi­sphere. With this policy, U.S. officials promised Latin American leaders a new society, one in which neighboring countries would engage in reciprocal exchanges characterized by equality of law and mutual re­spect to aid in the common economic development of the hemi­sphere. Above all, the Good Neighbor Policy was a disavowal of U.S. imperialism in Latin Amer­i­ca, as well as a promise to adhere to peaceful and cooperative hemispheric relations. Together, U.S. and Mexican officials attempted to reimagine Mexico via the Bracero Program using the Good Neighbor Policy, characterizing Mexico as an equal of the United States, capable of industrial modernization, liberal democracy, and scientific development with U.S. aid and tutelage.

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individual l­abor contract. ­These guarantees included a prevailing wage rate comparable to that of domestic wage laborers, sanitary housing facilities, quality meals, occupational insurance, f­ ree transportation back to Mexico, and an anti-­ discrimination clause. ­There was also a contract stipulation that a certain percentage of the bracero’s income would go to Mexico’s Banco Nacional de Credito Agrícola to be paid back upon the worker’s return to Mexico, as a form of economic aid through remittances. Couched as a means to bring freedom to Mexican workers, ­these individual l­abor contracts guaranteed specific rights that would putatively protect workers from exploitation and provide them ­legal authorization to work in the United States. For the first several years of the program, the U.S. mainstream press celebrated Mexican workers as “allies in the war effort,” “ambassadors in overalls,” and “soldiers in the fields.” This celebratory rhe­toric, alongside their ­labor contracts, legitimized the Bracero Program as a testimony to the United States’ good intentions with its Latin American neighbors during the 1940s. The workers, however, ­were hardly treated as allies or good neighbors. Even the name “bracero,” which meant

Children, most likely from Mexican American farmworker families, at a Farm Security Administration camp, 1944. Braceros were accused of posing competition to domestic farmworkers and their families. (Library of Congress)

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“strong arm,” reduced the men to the function of their body parts. With few enforcement mea­sures existing to ensure that l­abor contract specifications w ­ ere honored, growers ­were able to ignore many of the terms of the Bracero agreement. They often ­housed braceros in barracks that lacked insulation and sanitary facilities, failed to pay some workers, paid braceros dif­fer­ent rates than domestic U.S. workers, and did not provide medical attention when it was needed. Abuses and violations ­were the norm. The prohibition against discrimination by employers was all but impossible to enforce. If braceros chose to leave their contracts and find another employer, they became “wetbacks,” a pejorative term or racial epithet for undocumented workers (­those without ­legal authorization to work in the United States). Before workers even left Mexico, they faced medical inspections at worker recruitment centers, where men ­were forced to strip naked, shower, be deloused, and get sprayed with DDT, a harmful chemical commonly used as a farm pesticide in the 1940s and 1950s. Once in the United States, they suffered from exclusion, segregation, vio­lence, and racism in many of the communities where they ­were assigned (Galarza, 1956). U.S. growers balked at the state regulation of farm l­ abor from the inception of the program, even though they had originally petitioned the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vices (INS) and other federal agencies to waive l­abor importation restrictions in 1940. They made several attempts to alter the binational foundations of the program, fearing excessive government regulation and the socialization of U.S. agriculture. With the enactment of Public Law No. 45, the United States government transferred authority over the Bracero Program from the Farm Security Administration (FSA) to the Office of L ­ abor within the War Food Administration (WFA), an organ­ization that was more friendly to grower interests (Mitchell, 2012, pp. 39–40). Growers formed associations that succeeded in dismantling the FSA, ­because it implemented government protections for farm workers. Even as growers in the U.S. West worked on reducing the effectiveness of the FSA and ensuring greater access to Mexican ­labor, growers on the East Coast and in Florida pressured the U.S. government to create their own sort of “Bracero Program” by importing agricultural laborers from the British Ca­rib­bean in 1943. In 1947, when the Mexican government vacillated on ­whether it would sign another Bracero Program agreement, growers pressured Congress to import laborers from Puerto Rico, resulting in the inception of a Puerto Rican l­abor importation program in 1948. Within the context of World War II, the ­labor importation program with Mexico became just one part of the l­abor mobilization campaign that government officials entitled the “Emergency Farm L ­ abor Supply Programs.” ­These programs included the l­abor management of German and Italian prisoners of war, school ­children, and a ­Women’s Land Army, as well as a series of Ca­rib­bean l­ abor importation program agreements with the British colonies of Jamaica, Barbados, Belize, and the Bahamas. Although the Bracero Program emerged alongside ­these other

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The Ca­rib­bean ­Labor Importation Programs In 1943, the United States and the British colonial government set out to improve ­labor conditions, lift the Ca­rib­bean population out of poverty, and reduce unemployment in the British West Indies. To resolve the unemployment prob­lem on the islands, ease the perceived manpower shortage in the United States, and ensure that the Ca­rib­bean would participate in the “war effort,” the U.S. War Food Administration (WFA) signed an agreement with the British colonial government to import workers from Jamaica, the Bahamas, and Barbados to the United States. The agreement between the United States and the British colonial government was modeled on the Mexican ­labor agreement, and required growers to pay a prevailing minimum wage; provide food, housing, and transportation; and honor a 75  ­percent work guarantee. Like braceros, Ca­rib­bean workers faced exploitation and mistreatment. However, unlike the Bracero Program, the Ca­rib­bean l­abor importation programs never ended; they continue to this day, along with other guest worker programs that import temporary agricultural workers.

U.S. ­labor programs, it was the largest of them all, and it served as the basis for the formation of ­future farm l­abor importation programs. At the end of World War II, the Department of ­Labor took over the administration of the program and negotiated its continuation. In ­doing so, the U.S. government acted as a ­labor contractor for the growers, and Mexican workers continued entering into the United States without the rights guaranteed to other immigrants and citizens. Growers often used braceros and undocumented mi­grants to break strikes, depress wages, and to prevent l­abor organ­izing to protect braceros’ contract stipulations (Galarza, 1964). The United States government was criticized by some for supporting the interests of growers, not the interests of the workers (Calavita, 1992). The Mexican government did not resist this, as remittances became very impor­tant to the Mexican economy, and the “transnational family”—­with some ­family members living across international borders—­became normalized in Mexico. Throughout the course of the Bracero Program, modernization and development w ­ ere the central motives the Mexican government used to justify its participation in the Bracero Program. This served the state’s purpose of incorporating multilingual indigenous Mexicans, including Mixtec, Zapotec, Nahua, Purépecha, and Mayan communities, into its vision of modern society. Many braceros wanted to transform themselves into modern men to preserve their patriarchal power at home and to claim their place in the nation-­state. Even the economic

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remittances they sent back home took on material and symbolic significance within bracero families, as a form of long-­distance fathering, as securing a wife’s marital fidelity, and as proof of t­ hese men’s strong moral character (Loza, 2015). Many men relied on the logic of paternal obligation and the belief in ­family duty to explain why they accepted highly exploitative work abroad. Braceros strug­gled for validation as “modern men” within the program (Cohen, 2011, p. 114). However, some braceros challenged the heroic nationalist vision of masculinity, f­ amily, and ­labor in Mexico by engaging in a world of vice, sexual experimentation, gambling, prostitution, and queer sex while in the United States. They participated in acts of leisure, plea­sure, defiance, and adventure in spite of the exploitation they suffered as well as their social alienation in the United States (Loza, 2015). Braceros also found ways to revolt against ­labor contract violations by performing work stoppages, creating mutual aid socie­ties, and participating in l­abor ­unionization campaigns. In 1947, farm workers and braceros working for one of the largest growers in California, DiGiorgio Corporation, picketed for better wages, grievance procedures, se­niority rights, and the recognition of their u­ nion Local 218, a branch of the National Farm ­Labor Union (NFLU). Ernesto Galarza, as a lead or­ga­nizer in the NFLU, encouraged domestic farm workers to invite braceros to join them in their u­ nionization campaigns. Central to Galarza’s mission was getting the federal government to enforce the bracero ­labor contract, thus protecting the civil rights of both the U.S. workers and the braceros. ­After all, he argued, “the protection of the civil rights of the bracero is an aim that is implicit in the Agreement and the work contract” (Galarza, 1956). In response, Joseph DiGiorgio, the com­pany’s founder, refused the striking workers’ requests and launched a crusade to ruin the ­union. He sent the police to attack the picketers, hired strikebreakers, and spread rumors about the ­union. When ­these tactics failed, DiGiorgio found another way to attack the u­ nion and its supporters by producing a report denouncing the ­union. He also hired new braceros and undocumented workers as strikebreakers. DiGiorgio was so successful at using Mexican contract workers and undocumented laborers as strikebreakers that the strike failed in 1950, 30 months a­ fter the NFLU began its efforts to u­ nionize DiGiorgio workers (Calavita, 1992; Galarza, 1964; Mitchell, 2012). In late 1949 and early 1950, Galarza sought a new target and a new transnational strategy for the NFLU, this time focusing on a cluster of farms in the Imperial Valley of Southern California. On February 7, 1951, the NFLU signed a formal agreement for mutual assistance and cooperation with the Alianza Nacional de Braceros en Los Estados Unidos (Alliance of Mexican Workers in the United States). The basic point of their agreement was the organ­ization of contract workers into bona fide trade ­unions for the purpose of enforcing the contracts. However, when Galarza began working with Alianza, instead of organ­izing braceros, Alianza sought

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to prevent recruiters from hiring braceros while the NFLU engaged in strikes. Meanwhile, locals of the NFLU refused to or­ga­nize with braceros. Galarza began to lose hope in the possibility of u­ nionizing braceros, as the divide between United States and Mexican ­labor became too g­ reat to overcome. During the 1940s and 1950s, he also found his efforts to create a lasting California farm worker’s u­ nion thwarted again and again by the growers’ manipulation of braceros and undocumented workers. The U.S. government was complicit in the demise of t­hese l­abor ­unionization campaigns, as law enforcement and the courts routinely took the side of growers in ­labor disputes to limit strike activity. The federal government guaranteed the workers certain ­things even as they fulfilled agribusiness leaders’ interest in importing a foreign source of cheap agricultural ­labor. ­These power­ful growers formed associations that worked to lobby the federal government to ensure a l­abor force that was essentially passive, powerless, tractable, and unor­ga­nized and that would resist agricultural u­ nionization attempts. With workers having l­ ittle recourse against contract violations but to “jump” their ­labor contracts (skip out on them), the Bracero Program did not solve undocumented immigration, but rather increased it. The Bracero Program also resulted in an increased state capacity to repatriate mi­grant workers. In fact, the U.S. Border Patrol r­ ose in size and power during the years of the Bracero Program, and re­imagined the U.S.-­Mexico border as a site of crime control, with Mexican undocumented workers configured as “illegal” criminals (Hernández, 2010). This led to new possibilities for the cross-­border deportation of undocumented Mexican laborers, which eventually resulted in the launching of Operation Wetback in May 1954. However, when the U.S. government began to clamp down on the number of Mexicans migrating to the United States, growers successfully lobbied to have farm workers imported from Japan in 1956, as well as Filipino agricultural workers imported from Hawai’i in 1957. In 1956, Galarza published his exposé of the Bracero Program, Strangers in Our Fields; Based on a Report Regarding Compliance with the Contractual, L ­ egal, and Civil Rights of Mexican Agricultural Contract ­Labor in the United States. In 1958, A. Philip Randolph launched the National Advisory Committee on Farm ­Labor (NACFL), a fact-­finding lobbying force with the goal of building public awareness of the substandard living conditions of farm laborers in the United States. Between 1959 and 1964, with Randolph serving as co-­chair, the NACFL held multiple hearings on farm ­labor and rural poverty. It also sent information letters to its members in a campaign to obtain collective bargaining rights for farm workers. Like the National Farm ­Labor Union (NFLU), the NACFL worked with the American Federation of L ­ abor (AFL) to abolish the Bracero Program. Meanwhile, the U.S. Catholic Church and the organ­izing efforts of Dolores Huerta and César Chávez in the agricultural fields brought even more public attention to the plight of braceros.

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Operation Wetback With the Bracero Program, the line between documented and undocumented became very fluid for Mexican mi­grant workers. Although the Bracero Program had been designed to “legalize” undocumented Mexican mi­grant ­labor, it resulted in large-­scale “illegal” migration to the United States. Many Mexican workers elected to migrate without a contract simply b­ ecause such migration was tolerated. The number of undocumented laborers from Mexico increased in the 1950s, prompting the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vices to launch “Operation Wetback” in June 1954. With this program, the INS removed nearly 1 million Mexicans and Mexican Americans from the United States from 1954 to 1958. If they w ­ ere apprehended inside the United States, they could be legalized in a pro­cess that official publications called “drying out the wetbacks”: they w ­ ere taken to the U.S.-­Mexico border, issued bracero permits, and returned to the U.S. farms on which they w ­ ere found. Operation Wetback was never entirely successful in preventing profit-­seeking growers and contractors from recruiting illegal ­labor. Rather, it was a vis­i­ble display of immigration enforcement meant to alleviate the American public’s concerns, and resulted in a more permanent and strategic Border Patrol presence. It fed U.S. racial arrogance and Red Scare politics that attacked undocumented workers as a potential national security risk to the United States.

Bracero admissions began to fall in the early 1960s, when President Kennedy ordered the Department of L ­ abor to enforce Bracero Program regulations more stringently. The November 1960 CBS documentary “Harvest of Shame” convinced Kennedy that braceros ­were negatively affecting domestic agricultural workers. During a 1963 debate over an extension of the program, the House of Representatives ultimately voted against renewing it. However, the Senate approved an extension that required U.S. workers to receive the same nonwage benefits as braceros. The House responded with a final one-­year extension of the program without the nonwage benefits, and the Bracero Program fi­nally came to an end in 1964. Growers fought to preserve the program in Congress against opposition from liberals, but lost, and the program officially ended as of December 31, 1964. In the fall of 1965, the National Farm Workers Association, headed by César Chávez, joined a strike called by the Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee, which included mostly Filipino grape pickers. In the spring of 1966, the combined groups, renamed the United Farm Workers Union (UFW), won a 40 ­percent wage increase for grape pickers, largely ­because no braceros ­were available as

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replacement ­labor. U.S. farm ­labor ­unionization efforts in California ­were fi­nally able to achieve some success b­ ecause of the demise of the Bracero Program. L ­ ater, braceros or­ga­nized to recoup the lost paycheck deductions they w ­ ere supposed to receive from el Banco Agrícola once they returned to Mexico. In the 1990s, the Bracero Justice Movement formed to recover t­hose lost wages by creating an organ­ ization called the Bracero Proa. In December  2009, ex-­braceros residing in the United States received the first and only compensation for their back wages. To this day, former bracero field workers are fighting to get back the 10 ­percent mandatory deductions from their wages that ­were supposed to be held in a savings account for them when they returned to Mexico (Loza, 2015). Over the course of its lifetime, the Bracero Program became the largest and most significant U.S. l­abor guest worker program of the 20th ­century. In all, more than 4.5 million contracts w ­ ere awarded throughout the 22 years of the program. The importation of Mexican guest workers into the United States did not end in 1964, however. A new program, created with the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986, established a special visa for temporary foreign agricultural workers. H2A seasonal guest workers from dif­fer­ent parts of Latin American and the Ca­rib­ bean currently provide about 3 ­percent of the agricultural workforce of the United States t­oday. ­These workers are just as vulnerable to abuse and exploitation as the bracero workers of the 1940s-1960s. The strug­gle for the rights of ­these guest workers continues; many guest workers and their advocates look to the Bracero Program for inspiration and as a source for critiques.

Biographies of Notable Figures Ernesto Galarza (1905–1984) Ernesto Galarza was a ­union l­ abor leader and civil rights activist scholar who spent more than a de­cade combating the abuses of the Bracero Program in California. Born on August 15, 1905, in the Mexican state of Nayarit, he came to the United States with his f­ amily during the Mexican Revolution as a mi­grant farm worker in the Central Valley of California. B ­ ecause of this, farm l­ abor was central to his po­liti­ cal and c­ areer interests. He obtained his MA from Stanford University (1929) and a PhD from Columbia University (1947) while working in the Division of L ­ abor and Social Information of the Pan American Union (PAU). He then left the PAU to work as the Director of Research and Education for the National Farm ­Labor Union in California in 1947. As a leader of the u­ nion, he began an extensive farm ­labor u­ nionization campaign at DiGiorgio Farms (San Joaquin Valley, California) as well as a series of farms near the California-­Mexico border (Imperial Valley,

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California). During ­these organ­izing campaigns, Galarza began collecting evidence of the bracero experience. L ­ ater, he wrote several books documenting farm l­abor injustices and the many contract violations of the Bracero Program, including Strangers in Our Fields (1956). Galarza retired from farm l­abor organ­izing in 1960, but continued his scholarly pursuits, writing several books on the mi­grant farm worker experience. His last major work, Farm Workers and Agribusiness in California (1977), captures in dramatic fashion the rise of agricultural corporate power in California. Galarza’s life and work have left scholars with a vibrant intellectual legacy, bridging the divide between scholarship and activism through social justice action-­oriented research. His most cherished dream was that someday mi­grant farm workers would indeed experience democracy, freedom, and justice.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Exchange of Notes between the United States and Mexico, 1943 The following is an amendment to the original agreement between the United States and Mexico of August 4, 1942, which took place by exchange of notes between the United States and Mexico on April 26, 1943. In this par­tic­u­lar note, the Mexican Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ezequiel Padilla, provides the text for the contract ­under which Mexican agricultural workers should be recruited and employed in agricultural work in the United States. The note mentions a health admission requirement, transportation for Mexican agricultural workers, hygienic lodgings, a wage guarantee, and a subsistence allowance if the worker is not employed at least 75 ­percent of the time. The letter also mentions a Rural Savings Fund for the safekeeping of a percentage of the money earned by the workers. Exchange of Notes at México, April 26, 1943 57 Stat. 1152, Executive Agreement Series 351 The Minister of Foreign Affairs to the American Ambassador Department of Foreign Relations, Mexico City In order to effect a satisfactory arrangement whereby Mexican agricultural ­labor may be made available for use in the United States and at the same time provide means whereby this ­labor w ­ ill be adequately protected while out of Mexico, the following general provisions are suggested: General Provisions 1. It is understood that Mexicans contracting to work in the United States ­shall not be engaged in any military ser­vice.

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2. Mexicans entering the United States as a result of this understanding ­shall not suffer discriminatory acts of any kind in accordance with Executive Order No. 8802 issued at the White House June 25, 1941. 3. Mexicans entering the United States ­under this understanding ­shall enjoy the guarantees of transportation, living expenses, and repatriation established in Article 29 of Mexican Federal Law. . . . 4. Mexicans entering the United States u­ nder this understanding s­ hall not be employed to displace other workers, or for the purpose of reducing rates of pay previously established. Wages and Employment a) Wages to be paid to the worker s­ hall be the same as t­hose paid for similar work to other agricultural laborers ­under the same conditions within the same area, in the respective regions of destination. Piece rates s­ hall be so set as to enable the worker of average ability to earn the prevailing wage. . . . b) On the basis of prior authorization from the Mexican Government salaries lower than t­hose established in the previous clause may be paid t­hose emigrants admitted into the United States as members of the f­ amily of the worker ­under contract and who, when they are in the field, are able also to become agricultural laborers but who, by their condition of age or sex cannot carry out the average amount of ordinary work. c) The worker s­ hall be exclusively employed as an agricultural laborer for which he has been engaged; any change from such type of employment or any change of locality ­shall be made with the express approval of the worker and with the authority of the Mexican Government. d) ­There s­ hall be considered illegal any collection by reason of commission or any other concept demanded of the worker. e) Work of minors u­ nder 14 years s­ hall be strictly prohibited and they s­ hall have the same schooling opportunities as t­ hose enjoyed by c­ hildren of other agricultural laborers. f) Workers domiciled in the migratory l­ abor camps or at any other place of employment u­ nder this understanding s­ hall be f­ ree to obtain articles for their personal consumption, or that of their families, wherever it is most con­ve­nient for them. g) The Mexican workers w ­ ill be furnished without cost to them with hygienic lodgings, adequate to the physical conditions of the region of a type used by a common laborer of the region and the medical and sanitary ser­vices enjoyed also without cost to them ­will be identical with ­those furnished to the other agricultural workers in the regions where they may lend their ser­vices.

The Bracero Program, 1942–1964 | 415 Source: Exchange of Notes at México, April 26, 1943, 57 Stat. 1152, Executive Agreement Series 351, The Minister of Foreign Affairs to the American Ambassador, Department of Foreign Relations, Mexico City. Published in Charles Irving Bevans, Treaties and Other International Agreements of the United States of Amer­i­ca, 1776–1949, vol. 9 (U.S. Department of State, 1968), pp. 1129–1135.

Memorandum Regarding Minister Counselor of the Mexican Embassy, 1945 The following document excerpt is a memorandum of a conversation between U.S. and Mexican officials following a meeting in Washington, D.C. with Mr. Luis Padilla Nervo, senior official of the Mexican Ministry of ­Labor. The memo refers to the continuation of the l­abor program in 1945, as well as a series of worker complaints which had arisen in sugar beet agriculture as a product of unsatisfactory working conditions. General Philip G. Bruton, Chief of the War Food Administration, promised that the United States was taking steps to improve the situation. Memorandum of Conversation, by Mr. William G. MacLean of the Division of Mexican Affairs [WASHINGTON,] January 3, 1945. Participants: Mr.  Rafael de la Colina, Minister Counselor of the Mexican Embassy; Mr. Luis Padilla Nervo, Official Mayor of the Mexican Ministry of ­Labor; Mr. Wilson Cowan, Assistant Administrator of the War Food Administration; Brigadier General Philip  G. Bruton, Chief, Office of ­Labor, War Food Administration; Messrs. John W. Carrigan and William G. MacLean, Division of Mexican Affairs. “Mr. Padilla Nervo said that he would be very interested to have any available information regarding this Government’s plans for the use of Mexican agricultural workers in 1945. General Bruton stated that recent war developments might cause change in plans already agreed upon which provided for the bringing in of 60,000 workers in 1945, as compared with approximately 68,000 ­here at the peak season of 1944. (The Mexican Government has set 75,000 as the number it can make available at any given time.) . . . ​Mr. Padilla Nervo brought up the subject of unsatisfactory working conditions which caused many complaints by workers in the states of Michigan, Wyoming, Nebraska, and North Dakota, principally in the production of sugar beets. He said that the complaints of the workers had caused much embarrassment for

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the Government of Mexico and that the workers had passed the word from one to another that the states mentioned ­were very undesirable places for them to work. The discontent of t­ hese workers, he pointed out, made it necessary for the Mexican Government to consider some special arrangements to prevent a repetition of the situation. General Bruton recognized the difficulties and said that steps ­were being taken to insist on improvement in the areas and industry mentioned as a condition to the assignment of workers in 1945. Mr. Padilla suggested that his Government might find it necessary to insist that workers be told before their departure from Mexico what was to be their destination. In that way, he thought that ­those who accepted work in areas from which complaints had previously arisen would have less reason to embarrass his Government by complaints if they ­were not satisfied. General Bruton stated that the first workers would prob­ably be recruited in the month of February, and they would no doubt go to California, where the need for them came early in the year. He said that that would give more time to work out the prob­lems in connection with the states mentioned, which badly needed workers in any event. General Bruton said he would have certain studies made for Mr. Padilla to pres­ ent to him early in the week of January 8, when a further meeting on this subject would be held. Both General Bruton and Mr. Cowan expressed, during the meeting, appropriate thanks for Mexico’s cooperation in this vital program.” Source: Memorandum of Conversation, by Mr. William G. MacLean of the Division of Mexican Affairs [WASHINGTON,] January 3, 1945. Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers, 1945. Printed in U.S. Department of State, The American Republics, vol. IX, 811.504 Mexico/1-345, pp. 1138–1139. Available online at https://­history​.­state​.g­ ov​ /­historicaldocuments​/­frus1945v09​/­d919Something

See also: Operation Wetback; World War II

Further Reading Bracero History Archive. (n.d.). Available at http://­braceroarchive​.­org Calavita, Kitty. 1992. Inside the State: The Bracero Program, Immigration, and the I.N.S. New York: Routledge. Cohen, Deborah. 2011. Braceros: Mi­grant Citizens and Transnational Subjects in the Postwar United States and Mexico. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Driscoll de Alvarado, Barbara. 1999. The Tracks North: The Railroad Bracero Program of World War II. Austin: University of Texas Press. Fernández, Lilia. 2010. “Of Immigrants and Mi­grants: Mexican and Puerto Rican L ­ abor Migration in Comparative Perspective, 1942–1964.” Journal of American Ethnic History 29 (Spring): 6–39.

Mendez v. Westminster, 1945–1947 | 417 Galarza, Ernesto. 1956. Strangers in Our Fields: Based on a Report Regarding Compliance with the Contractual, ­Legal and Civil Rights of Mexican Agricultural Contract ­Labor in the United States Made Pos­si­ble through a Grant-­in-­Aid from the Fund for the Republic (2d ed.). Washington, DC: Fund for the Republic. Galarza, Ernesto. 1964. Merchants of ­Labor: The Mexican Bracero Story: An Account of the Managed Migration of Mexican Farm Workers in California, 1942–1960. Santa Barbara, CA: McNally & Loftin. Galarza, Ernesto. 1977. Farm Workers and Agribusiness in California, 1947–1960. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Gamboa, Erasmo. 1987. “Braceros in the Pacific Northwest: Laborers on the Domestic Front, 1942–1947.” Pacific Historical Review 56 (3): 378–398. García y Griego, Manuel. 1996. “The Importation of Mexican Contract Laborers to the United States, 1942–1964,” in David G. Gutiérrez, ed., Between Two Worlds: Mexican Immigrants in the United States, 45–85. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources. Hernández, Kelly Lytle. 2010. Migra! A History of the U.S. Border Patrol. Berkeley: University of California Press. Ibarra, Armando, and Rodolfo  D. Torres.2013. Man of Fire: Selected Writings, Ernesto Galarza. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Loza, Mireya. 2015. Defiant Braceros: How Mi­grant Workers Fought for Racial, Sexual, and Po­liti­cal Freedom. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Mitchell, Don. 2012. They Saved the Crops: ­Labor, Landscape, and the Strug­gle over Industrial Farming in Bracero-­Era California. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Mize, Jr., Ronald L. 2006. “Mexican Contract Workers and the U.S. Cap­i­tal­ist Agricultural ­Labor Pro­cess: The Formative Era, 1942–1964.” Rural Sociology 71 (1): 85–108. Ngai, Mae. 2004. Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern Amer­i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Rosas, Ana Elizabeth. 2014. Abrazando el Espíritu: Bracero Families Confront the US-­ Mexico Border. Berkeley: University of California Press. Scruggs, Otey M. 1963. “Texas and the Bracero Program, 1942–1947.” Pacific Historical Review 32 (3): 251–264.

Mendez v. Westminster, 1945–1947 David-­James Gonzales

Chronology 1869–1893

The state of California enacts laws that permit the segregation of ­children of Native American and Asian descent.

1889

Orange County is formed out of the southern section of Los Angeles County. Santa Ana is selected as the county seat.

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1896

The  U.S. Supreme Court decision in Plessy v. Ferguson upholds state laws permitting racial segregation in public facilities u­ nder the doctrine of “separate but equal.”

1910–1920

The Mexican Revolution spurs a massive northward migration to the United States from Mexico.

1910–1930

An estimated 700,000 to 1.5 million Mexican nationals migrate to the United States.

1912

The Santa Ana Unified School District begins segregating c­ hildren of Mexican descent into separate classrooms based on language. The district is among the first to do so in California.

1913–1919

The Santa Ana Unified School District expands segregation by building separate facilities for c­ hildren of Mexican descent. By 1919, Santa Ana has four permanent Mexican schools. Other school districts in Orange County follow suit.

1919

A group of ethnic Mexican parents and community members appear before the Santa Ana Unified School Board to protest the segregation of their ­children. The school board ignores their complaints.

1927

David C. Marcus (­later the lead attorney in Mendez) gradu­ates from USC Law School and begins working with the Mexican Consulate in Los Angeles.

1929–1933

Up to 500,000 ethnic Mexicans (including U.S. citizens) are repatriated to Mexico during the early years of the ­Great Depression. Estimates from Orange County alone range from 1,500 to 2,500 repatriated Mexicans.

1930

Approximately 17,000 ethnic Mexicans reside in Orange County, comprising 14 ­percent of the general population. LULAC brings the first class-­action lawsuit, Salvatierra v. Del Rio In­de­pen­dent School District, regarding segregation of ­ children of Mexican descent in Texas. The case is won by LULAC, ending the designation of “Mexican schools” in Texas, but permits separation of Mexican ­children with “language deficiencies” in grades one through three.

1931

Ethnic Mexican parents and community members successfully sue the Lemon Grove School District in San Diego County in Alvarez v. Lemon Grove, which ends the segregation of their ­children.

1933

Fifteen to sixteen segregated Mexican schools are in operation throughout Orange County.

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1939–1943

Ethnic Mexican parents protest the segregation of their c­ hildren (individually) to school officials and at school board meetings in Santa Ana, Westminster, El Modeno, and Garden Grove. The districts take no action to end segregation.

1943

Orange County Superior Court Judge Albert F. Ross rules in f­avor of defendants Alex and Esther Bernal in Doss v. Bernal, striking down the use of racially restrictive housing covenants against ethnic Mexicans in Fullerton, California. David C. Marcus represents the Bernals. Hector Tarango, Cruz Barrios, and Manuel Veiga form the Latin American Voters League (also Latin American Organ­ization, or LAVL) to or­ga­nize parents and community members in Santa Ana, Orange, and El Modeno to end segregation.

1944

Gonzalo Mendez forms the Westminster ­Father’s Association to or­ga­nize community support against segregation in Westminster and Garden Grove. The Lopez v. Seccombe case is brought to trial. Ignacio Lopez and the Mexican American Defense Committee win a class-­action lawsuit against the City of San Bernardino to desegregate the city’s swimming pool. David C. Marcus represents the Mexican American plaintiffs.

1944–1945

From September 1944 to February 1945, ethnic Mexican parents and other community members appear before the Westminster, Santa Ana, Garden Grove, and El Modeno school boards to demand an end to segregation. They pres­ent petitions and threaten ­legal action to no avail.

1945, January

David C. Marcus is hired by LAVL, as well as the Mendez, Guzman, and Ramirez families. The Palomino and Estrada families are l­ater added as plaintiffs.

1945, March

David  C. Marcus files Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County in the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California, Los Angeles, on March 2.

1945, June

A pretrial hearing in Mendez takes place on June 26.

1945, July

The trial for Mendez takes place from July 5 to 11.

1946, February

Judge Paul J. McCormick rules in f­avor of the plaintiffs in Mendez on February 18. His decision enjoins the Westminster, Garden Grove, Santa Ana, and El Modeno districts to integrate Anglo/white and ethnic Mexican students in their schools.

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1946, March

The defendant districts in Mendez file an appeal with the Ninth Cir­ cuit Court of Appeals on March 30.

1946, May

LULAC chapter #147 is or­ga­nized in Santa Ana by Hector Tarango, Manuel Veiga, Cruz Barrios, and o­ thers. Westminster integrates its elementary schools, but Santa Ana, El Modeno, and Garden Grove refuse to integrate their schools.

1946, Summer/ Fall

Amicus curiae (friend of the court) briefs are filed by the NAACP, ACLU, JACL, AJC, and California Attorney General Robert W. Kenny in support of the Mendez plaintiffs and McCormick’s decision.

1946, December

Mendez is argued before the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals on December 9.

1947, January

The California legislature introduces a bill to repeal segregationist sections 8003 and 8004 of the State Education Code.

1947, April

The Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals delivers a decision on April 14 affirming McCormick’s injunction in Mendez. The defendant districts decide not to appeal further.

1947, June

California Governor Earl Warren signs a bill ending school segregation on June 14.

1947, The Santa Ana, El Modeno, and Garden Grove districts integrate September Anglo/white and ethnic Mexican ­children in their schools. 1948

The Delgado v. Bastrop In­de­pen­dent School District case is tried. Citing Mendez the U.S. District Court of Texas enjoins Texas school districts from segregating ­children of Mexican descent into separate schools. Separate classes for language-­ deficient or non-­ English speaking c­ hildren are only allowed for first graders.

1951

In Gonzales v. Sheely, the U.S. District Court of Arizona enjoins Arizona school districts from segregating persons of Latin American or Mexican descent into separate schools.

1954, May

On May 3, the U.S. Supreme Court rules, in Hernandez v. Texas, that Mexican Americans are protected (like other racial/national minorities) ­under the equal protection clause of the F ­ ourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

1954, May

On May 17, in its decision in Brown v. Board of Education, the U.S. Supreme Court overturns the Plessy v. Ferguson doctrine of “separate but equal,” thus outlawing school segregation throughout the United States.

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Narrative Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County was a class-­action lawsuit filed in the U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, Central Division, on March 2, 1945. It dealt with the segregation of ­children of Mexican descent in four school districts located in Orange County, California. The case represented “some 5000” school-­aged ­children and included five f­ athers as plaintiffs: Gonzalo Mendez, William Guzman, Frank Palomino, Thomas Estrada, and Lorenzo Ramirez. Represented by David C. Marcus, the plaintiffs alleged that their c­ hildren, who ­were U.S. citizens, w ­ ere segregated into separate schools based solely on their Mexican/ Latin American heritage, and that the districts of Westminster, Garden Grove, Santa Ana, and El Modeno had thereby ­violated the ­children’s rights of due pro­cess and equal protection as guaranteed by the Fifth and ­Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution. The decision delivered by Judge Paul J. McCormick on February 18, 1946—­and l­ ater upheld by the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals on April 14, 1947— is among the most significant civil rights victories for Latinas/os in U.S. history. In his decision, McCormick ruled that the defendant districts discriminated against Mexican American ­children in an arbitrary manner that was not permitted by ­either state or federal law. Subsequently, McCormick enjoined the districts to put an immediate end to the practice of segregation. Moreover, citing the equal protection clause of the ­Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, McCormick suggested that the practice of segregation was itself unconstitutional (Mendez, 1946). The question at the center of Mendez was w ­ hether the defendant school districts had statutory authority to segregate ­children of Mexican and Latino ancestry, and w ­ hether by so ­doing, ­those ­children ­were denied equal protection of state and federal laws. At the time, the state of California permitted the segregation of Native American and Asian c­ hildren u­ nder sections 8003 and 8004 of its Education Code. As determined in the pretrial hearing, however, the question of race was not an issue, as both sides agreed that persons of Mexican and Latin American descent w ­ ere included in the “white” race. Citing prevailing educational theories, as well as a lack of space in existing schools, the defendant districts claimed that they legally segregated Mexican ­children due to a presumed “language handicap.” The districts argued that Mexican immigrant parents ­were to blame for speaking Spanish to their ­children at home and then sending them to school unable to compete with English-­ speaking Anglo/white peers (Mendez, 1946). Though not permitted by e­ ither state or federal law, the de facto (according to custom as opposed to law) segregation of Mexican ­children had been practiced throughout the U.S. Southwest, particularly in the state of Texas, since the 1890s (San Miguel, 1987). In Orange County, school districts began segregating Mexican American c­ hildren in 1912. The Santa Ana School District was among the first

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Significant Latino Civil Rights Court Victories Preceding and Following Mendez 1897—­The In re Rodriguez decision upheld the right of Mexican nationals to naturalize u­ nder the terms of the Texas State Constitution and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The decision is widely credited as affirming that Mexicans ­were considered white u­ nder U.S. naturalization law, and could thereby apply for U.S. citizenship and obtain the right to vote. 1930—­The Del Rio In­de­pen­dent School District v. Salvatierra decision was the first case in which the segregation of c­ hildren of Mexican descent was challenged in the state of Texas (and likely the nation). Although the decision held that Mexican American ­children could not be segregated due to their ethnic ancestry alone, the court permitted segregation on the basis of language. 1931—­The Alvarez v. Lemon Grove decision prevented the segregation of ­children of Mexican descent in the San Diego County school district of Lemon Grove. Although not widely known, it is heralded as the nation’s first successful desegregation case. 1946—­The Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County decision enjoined four Orange County school districts from segregating children of Mexican descent on the basis of their ethnic heritage. The court found that d­ oing so ­violated state and federal laws guaranteeing due pro­cess and equal protection rights to Mexican Americans, who w ­ ere legally considered white. ­After Mendez was upheld by the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals in 1947, California legislators ended de jure segregation in all public schools regardless of race. 1948—­The Delgado v. Bastrop In­de­pen­dent School District decision followed the ­legal pre­ce­dent established by Mendez and ordered an end to the segregation of Mexican American c­ hildren on the basis of ethnic ancestry in the state of Texas. Departing from Mendez, U.S. District Court Judge Ben H. Rice permitted the separation of “language deficient” students, but only in the first grade. 1954—­The Hernandez v. State of Texas decision found that ethnic Mexicans had been “systematically excluded” from participation in jury ser­vice in Jackson County, Texas. It reversed the conviction of Pete Hernandez, who was tried and sentenced by an all-­Anglo/white jury, which the court found did not reflect a group of his peers. The case was the first Mexican American civil rights case to be argued before the U.S. Supreme Court and established

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an early ­legal pre­ce­dent for viewing ethnic Mexicans as “a class apart” from other whites. 1970—­The Cisneros v. Corpus Christi In­de­pen­dent School District decision recognized Mexican Americans as an identifiable minority group that had been discriminated against through vari­ous forms of segregation in the state of Texas. It replaced the “other white” classification established by Hernandez v. Texas, and relied on Brown v. Board of Education (1954) to outlaw all forms of de jure segregation against Mexican Americans in the state of Texas.

districts to do so in the state of California. Initially, Mexican American ­children ­were segregated into separate classes, where the curriculum was altered to focus primarily on English-­language instruction and the manual arts (Gonzalez, 1990). As the Mexican immigrant population increased exponentially between 1910 and 1930, the district expanded the practice by building separate facilities for the ­children of ­these immigrants. This occurred rather quickly, and by 1919 Santa Ana had four permanent Mexican schools located within or near the city’s three Mexican working-­ class neighborhoods, known as barrios (Haas, 1995). Experiencing similar levels of Mexican immigration, and reflecting a like-­minded contempt for the education of Mexican c­ hildren, districts throughout the county followed Santa Ana’s lead (Gonzalez, 1990). By 1933, t­here w ­ ere at least 16 segregated Mexican schools in operation throughout the county. Further, although students of Mexican descent comprised 25 ­percent of Orange County’s student population, almost three-­quarters of t­ hese students attended schools that w ­ ere 100 ­percent Mexican (Brilliant, 2010). Although the Mendez lawsuit was filed in February of 1945, the pro­cess for overturning segregation in Orange County began much earlier. In 1919, for example, a group of Mexican-­origin parents and other community members appeared before the Santa Ana School Board to protest plans to increase the number of segregated schools in the district. ­After listening to their objections, the district chose to move forward with the proposed expansion (Haas, 1995). Although unsuccessful in their attempt to change district policy, parents found a number of novel ways to avoid segregation. In some cases, parents claimed that their ­family had Spanish lineage, or some other form of Eu­ro­pean ancestry, to prevent their ­children from being labeled as Mexicans. O ­ thers chose e­ ither to move or to send their c­ hildren to school in nearby areas like Anaheim, where segregation was not enforced a­ fter 1925. For t­ hose with the financial means, private schooling offered by local Catholic and Protestant churches was also a common alternative. Although several

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families kept their c­ hildren at home or sent them to work rather than subject them to discrimination, most realized that some form of education was preferable to none, so they sent their ­children to school regardless of segregation. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, ethnic Mexican parents persisted in vocalizing their opposition to segregation in front of attendance clerks, administrators, and school boards. By the early 1940s, t­hese forms of individual protests began to form into a concerted movement through the combined efforts of parents, activists, and community members. In 1943, for example, a group of local businessmen, parents, and veterans formed the Latin American Voters League (LAVL) in Santa Ana, California (Gonzales, 2017). Led by photographer and insurance salesman Hector Tarango, the LAVL was the first community organ­ization to form in Orange County that had the explicit purpose of ending segregation. Initially, the LAVL traveled the county, visiting with parents and community members to raise awareness about the injustice of segregation, and to stir up support to end it. Due to the power held by local growers over both municipal and school authorities, many families ­were concerned that challenging segregation would carry repercussions such as the loss of employment, harassment by law enforcement, and even vio­lence. Undeterred, the LAVL persisted by circulating petitions, registering voters, and accompanying and representing parents in meetings with school board officials in Santa Ana, El Modeno, and the city of Orange. By the fall of 1944, the LAVL joined another group, the Westminster ­Father’s Association, formed by Gonzalo Méndez and parents in the communities of Westminster and Garden Grove. Méndez was among several parents and other community members who had protested before school officials individually before banding together. Eventually, Méndez was named lead plaintiff in the lawsuit. According to court testimony, between 1941 and 1944, ­future co-­plaintiffs William and ­Virginia Guzman, Frank and Irene Palomino, and Lorenzo and Josefina Ramirez had previously met with school and district officials on their own. During t­ hese meetings, they voiced complaints about segregation and requested transfers for their ­children to attend English-­speaking schools. In par­tic­u­lar, Mexican American w ­ omen like Felicitas Fuentes, ­Virginia Guzman, and Soledad Vidaurri ­were often the first in their families and communities to confront school and district officials over the policy of segregation (Bermudez, 2015). During ­these early and recurring interactions with school administrators, the protests of Mexican American parents, followed by ­those of community groups like the LAVL, anticipated the arguments made by David C. Marcus years prior to the filing of Mendez in March 1945. ­These complaints rested primarily on four claims: (1) that school zones and district bound­ aries ­were enforced arbitrarily; (2) that the system of segregating Mexican ­children was discriminatory and racially motivated; (3) that Mexican school facilities, materials, and instruction ­were unequal to t­ hose provided to white/Anglo ­children; and

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(4) that segregation prevented social interaction between Mexican American and Anglo/white ­children, which produced animosity between the groups and made it more difficult for Mexican American ­children to master the En­glish language. With the u­ nion of Tarango’s LAVL and Méndez’s ­Father’s Association, Orange County’s desegregation movement was fully formed at least six months prior to the formal filing of the Mendez case. On the eve­ning of September 19, 1944, representatives from both groups appeared before a regularly scheduled meeting of the Westminster School Board (Gonzales, 2017). Listed among ­those representing the Mexican American parents whose c­ hildren ­were forced to attend the Hoover Mexican School w ­ ere Hector Tarango and his LAVL co-­founders Cruz Barrios and Manuel Veiga. The LAVL leaders presented the board with a petition signed by 26 parents that charged the district with racial discrimination against their American-­born ­children and demanded an end to the practice of segregation. Between September 1944 and January 1945, Mexican Americans persisted in taking their collective protests before the school boards of Westminster, Santa Ana, El Modeno, and Garden Grove. Yet, despite increasing calls to end segregation, the school boards continued to stall (or outright ignore) Mexican American parents. ­After six months of seeking to resolve the ­matter of segregation with the school boards directly, in January 1945, the co­ali­tion of parents, activists, and community members represented by the LAVL and Méndez’s ­Father’s Association hired Los Angeles-­based attorney David C. Marcus. Due to his work with the Mexican Consulate, Marcus was well known by several members of Orange County’s ethnic Mexican community. Prior to his involvement with the school desegregation effort, Marcus had represented hundreds of ethnic Mexicans in immigration hearings and court proceedings throughout Southern California (Carpio, 2012). In 1943, he successfully defended Fullerton resident Alex Bernal in Doss v. Bernal, a case before the Orange County Superior Court that overturned the use of racially restrictive housing covenants (Romero and Fernandez, 2012). Additionally, Lorenzo Ramirez, one of the plaintiffs in Mendez, had worked with Marcus at the Mexican Consulate as the two w ­ ere involved in preparing contracts for the Mexican agricultural laborers known as braceros (Gonzales, 2017). Ramirez likely kept Marcus abreast of the budding desegregation movement and suggested his ser­vices when the families deci­ ded to file suit. ­After hiring Marcus, the attorney accompanied parents and activists in ­future meetings with school board officials. ­After experiencing the boards’ belligerence firsthand, Marcus suggested that Mexican American parents file a class-­action lawsuit as he had done in Lopez v. Seccombe (1943), a San Bernardino case that desegregated a public swimming pool in the nearby city of Perris, California. In his opening brief, presented in a pretrial hearing before Federal District Judge Paul McCormick on March 2, 1945, Marcus repeated the claims of parents and community members,

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charging that the defendant districts ­were discriminating against Mexican American ­children on account of their ancestry. Counsel for the districts countered that segregation was rooted in a pedagogical basis that considered the most efficient form of instruction for both Spanish-­speaking and English-­speaking pupils. Deputy Counsel George  F. Holden argued that Spanish-­speaking Mexican American students w ­ ere segregated b­ ecause of their inability to compete with English-­speaking Anglo/white peers. According to district officials, this segregation served the best interests of all students. In the pretrial hearing, Judge McCormick agreed with Orange County Counsel that segregation on the basis of language was lawful, so long as it was not conducted in a discriminatory manner. Thus, the challenge for Marcus centered on proving that the districts’ claims that students ­were only segregated for language learning ­were false, and that the districts did not adhere to a uniform and established set of criteria to determine the ability of Mexican American c­ hildren to speak En­glish (Brilliant, 2010). During trial proceedings held from July 5 to 11, 1945, Marcus called on parents and students to challenge the districts’ claim that Mexican American pupils ­were segregated due to a lack of English-­language proficiency. In all, 13 Mexican American parents and 2 Mexican American students testified regarding their experiences with district and school officials. Contradicting the districts’ claims, witness ­after witness affirmed that Mexican American ­children entered school speaking En­glish, had never been issued an examination to determine English-­language proficiency, and had been segregated ­because of their Mexican ancestry (Mendez, 1946). Though effective, testimony on behalf of the plaintiffs did not prove that the entire system of segregation was discriminatory. However, for Marcus and his plaintiffs, the testimony of district officials reinforced their case by exposing the arbitrary manner in which segregation was being practiced, as well as the discriminatory and racist beliefs that undergirded it. In par­tic­u­lar, the testimony of Garden Grove Superintendent James L. Kent proved most damaging to the districts’ claims. Departing from the county counsel’s pedagogical defense, Kent defended his district’s practice of segregation on the grounds that Mexicans ­were socially, culturally, and intellectually inferior to Anglo/white students. Kent asserted that Mexicans required special instruction beyond that in the En­glish language—­and cited his belief that Mexican ­people had poor personal hygiene and immoral social habits—­that justified their segregation from Anglo/white pupils. Kent also claimed that being raised in a bilingual h­ ouse­hold “handicapped” Mexican American students permanently throughout their studies (Brilliant, 2010). The testimonies of El Modeno Superintendent Harold Hammerstein, Westminster Superintendent Richard F. Harris, and Santa Ana Superintendent Frank A. Henderson confirmed that none of the districts employed a standardized examination for English-­language proficiency, and that each was predisposed to

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think of Mexicans as inferior to Anglos/whites. In short, the testimony of ­these superintendents corroborated the claims made by Mexican American parents and students. In a brilliant move that foreshadowed the litigation strategy used by the NAACP in Brown v. Board of Education (1954), Marcus closed the trial by calling on the expert testimony of Ralph Beals and Marie Hughes. Beals, an anthropologist and department chair at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Hughes, a doctoral student at Stanford University, both “testified that segregation did not serve the student’s best educational interest,” and that it was, in effect, counterproductive to the stated goals of promoting English-­language proficiency and social acculturation to American customs and practices (Brilliant, 2010, p. 74). On February 18, 1946, Judge McCormick handed down his decision. In siding with the plaintiffs, McCormick based his reasoning on the following grounds: (1) the defendant districts indeed practiced segregation in a manner that was both “discriminatory and illegal” and (2) neither state nor federal law permitted the segregation of ­children of Mexican descent. Although the decision viewed “En­glish language deficiencies” as the “only tenable ground” for the segregation of Mexican American ­children, McCormick asserted that this did not “justify [their] general and continuous segregation in separate schools” as practiced by the defendant districts. Then, in a surprising move that went a step beyond the statutory limits placed on segregation, McCormick questioned the very foundation of the practice as laid out in the Plessy v. Ferguson (1896) doctrine of “separate but equal.” Prefiguring Brown v. Board of Education (1954), McCormick asserted: “The equal protection of the laws pertaining to the public school system in California is not provided by furnishing in separate schools the same technical facilities, textbooks and courses of instruction to ­children of Mexican ancestry that are available to other public school ­children regardless of their ancestry. A paramount requisite in the American system of public education is social equality. It must be open to all ­children by unified school association regardless of lineage” (Mendez, 1946). Often referred to as the “Mexican version of Brown v. Board of Education (1954),” Mendez v. Westminster (1946), along with its subsequent appeal and affirmation by the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals (Westminster v. Mendez, 1947) ­shaped the trajectory of civil rights actions for all communities of color in California and the nation. In Orange County, the case represented the culmination of a grassroots strug­gle led by ethnic Mexicans to overturn the segregation in housing, schools, and other public facilities that began to take shape during the early 1930s. Activists and communities that cut their teeth organ­izing prior to and during the Mendez case also established the foundation for the development of Latina/o po­liti­cal power in the region over the ensuing de­cades. For California, Mendez provided the impetus to repeal sections 8003 and 8004 of the State Education Code, which allowed for the segregation of Native Americans and Asians. Within two months of the Ninth

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Cir­cuit Court of Appeals decision to uphold Mendez, de jure segregation was outlawed throughout the entire state (Strum, 2010). For the nation as a w ­ hole, Mendez provided an essential test case for the budding school desegregation movement that culminated in Brown. Though not cited as ­legal pre­ce­dent, Mendez challenged segregation on the basis that the practice v­ iolated rights of due pro­cess and equal protection guaranteed to U.S. citizens ­under the Fifth and ­Fourteenth Amendments of the U.S. Constitution. Additionally, Mendez introduced the novel strategy of using expert witness testimony from social scientists to point out the contradictory and detrimental effects of segregation to all parties involved. Fi­nally, Mendez brought together key players critical to the outcome in Brown, primarily ­future Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court Earl Warren, who as Governor of California supported Mendez and signed the state’s desegregation order; and the lead attorneys for the NAACP in Brown, Thurgood Marshall and Robert Car­ter, who submitted an amicus curiae brief in support of Mendez during its appeal to the Ninth Cir­cuit and referred to the case as “a trial run” for Brown (Strum, 2010). Mendez was an impor­tant event in the strug­gle for educational equity for Mexican American and Latino/a ­children. Although other court cases would follow in other school districts, particularly in Texas, Mendez represented the commitment of Mexican American and Latino parents to securing equitable schooling for their sons and ­daughters. It marks a milestone l­egal victory in the b­ attle against educational segregation.

Biographies of Notable Figures Gonzalo Méndez (1913–1964) and Felícita Méndez (1916–1998) Gonzalo Méndez was listed as the lead plaintiff in Mendez v. Westminster. Both he and his spouse, Felícita Méndez, ­were among the key figures who helped or­ga­nize Mexican and Mexican American parents in Orange County to end the segregation of their ­children in local schools. Gonzalo was born in the Mexican state of Chihuahua in 1913. Like so many other Mexican immigrants during the initial de­cades of the 20th ­century, his ­family migrated to the United States due to the social, economic, and po­liti­cal turmoil caused by the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920). Following f­ amily that had arrived a c­ ouple years prior, the Méndezes settled in Westminster, California, in 1919. At the time of their arrival, Westminster was a small, unincorporated agricultural town located in the northwest section of Orange County. Between the ages of six and seven, Gonzalo’s ­mother enrolled him in the Westminster Main School, where he attended alongside Anglo/white students ­until the fifth grade, when district officials introduced the policy of segregating c­ hildren of Mexican descent into separate schools. Although he was permitted to return to

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Westminster Main due to his exceptional ability to speak En­glish, Gonzalo left school prior to completing the fifth grade, so that he could go to work to help support his m ­ other and younger siblings. Gonzalo’s situation was not unlike that of so many other ethnic Mexican youth in the region, who w ­ ere also driven to cut their education short ­either out of economic necessity, the expectations of parents and friends, or discouragement due to the lack of equal opportunity within Orange County’s educational system. As a young adolescent between the ages of 10 and 12 years old, Gonzalo traded his school books for a pair of citrus clippers and a canvas sack as he began to work as an orange picker, one of the few employment options available for Mexicans and Mexican Americans in the region. Within a short time, he became known as a “champion orange picker” (Strum, 2010, p. 35). It was through his work as a citrus picker that Gonzalo met his f­ uture wife, Felícita Gómez. Felícita was born in Juncos, Puerto Rico, in 1916 and moved to the U.S. mainland in 1926 with her f­ amily. Recruited to pick cotton along with “hundreds of other Puerto Ricans,” Felícita’s ­father, Felipe Gómez, moved the ­family to Arizona in search of a more secure livelihood (McCormick and Ayala, 2007). Finding living and working conditions unbearable in Arizona, the Gómez f­ amily migrated to California and eventually found their way to one of Westminster’s two Mexican barrios (neighborhoods). Felipe and Gonzalo met while working on a nearby eggplant farm. ­After some time, Felipe invited Gonzalo to his home for dinner, which led to the courtship and eventual marriage of Gonzalo and Felícita in 1935. ­After marrying, Gonzalo and Felícita worked and saved for three years ­until they had enough money to leave the fields and open their own business, the Arizona Café, in one of Santa Ana’s three barrios. Yet, while their business was successful, Gonzalo had always dreamed of ­running his own farm. In 1944, Gonzalo’s dream became real­ity when he was informed by his banker that a Japa­nese American ­family was seeking to lease their asparagus farm in Westminster. Due to the internment of Japa­nese citizens and their American-­born ­children during World War II, Seiko L. Munemitsu and his ­family ­were forced to leave their farm and ­were moved to the Colorado River Relocation Center in Arizona. Realizing that he would likely lose his farm during internment, Seiko agreed to lease the property to Gonzalo Méndez ­until his return. Prior to formalizing the lease in December of 1944, the Méndezes w ­ ere already living and working on the Munemitsu farm. The move put the Méndez ­family in the Westminster School District. ­After their unsuccessful attempts to enroll c­ hildren Gonzalo Jr., Jerome, and Sylvia in the Westminster Main School, Gonzalo and Felícita joined with other Mexican American parents, whose c­ hildren w ­ ere also forced to attend the segregated Hoover Mexican School, to form the Westminster ­Father’s Association. This group ­later combined with Mexican American parents,

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residents, and activists throughout Orange County to secure the ser­vices of Los Angeles attorney David C. Marcus and file a class-­action lawsuit in federal district court on March 2, 1945. Throughout the trial, Gonzalo and Felícita ­were pillars in the community. They, along with ­others, or­ga­nized community support for the plaintiff families, testified in court, assisted in paying ­legal fees, and drove members of the community to Los Angeles for trial hearings. Prior to the Ninth Cir­cuit Court’s decision to uphold McCormick’s ruling in April of 1947, the Méndezes moved back to Santa Ana a­ fter the Munemitsus returned to Westminster in 1946. Although Gonzalo died suddenly of heart disease in 1964, Felícita lived long enough to witness the groundbreaking of the Gonzalo and Felícita Mendez Fundamental Intermediate School in Santa Ana, which opened in the year 2000.

Hector R. Tarango (1919–2007) Hector Ruben Tarango was a photographer, small business owner, and community activist who played a central role in forming the Latin American Voters League (LAVL, also known as the Latin American Organ­ization or LAO), a community organ­ization that was essential to building the grassroots movement that fought and ended school segregation in Orange County. Born in a Mexican mining camp near Clifton, Arizona, in 1919, Hector was the son of Mexican parents who had migrated to the United States in 1911. At the age of six, Hector developed a serious hip infection that prompted his ­family to move to Los Angeles in order to seek specialized medical treatment. While Hector went through a long and arduous recovery, his ­family settled in the ethnically diverse East Los Angeles community of Boyle Heights. Although he eventually recovered, the infection left Hector disabled for the remainder of his life. In 1932, the Tarangos moved to the city of Orange, California, to take over the management of a small grocery store located in the Cypress Street Mexican barrio. Contrasting sharply with the diverse community of Jewish, Japa­nese, and Mexican immigrants they had left ­behind in Boyle Heights, the Tarangos found that the city of Orange was segregated, with Mexicans forced to attend separate schools, and not permitted to swim in public pools or watch movies in local theaters alongside Anglos/whites. Due to his age and physical handicap, Hector did not attend segregated schools in ­either Los Angeles or Orange County. In fact, he was among the few Mexican Americans permitted to attend the virtually all Anglo/white Orange High School, from which he ­later graduated. Yet, Hector was not shielded from the humiliation associated with segregation. Shortly a­ fter moving to Orange County, Hector was attending church ser­vices with his ­family in the nearby town of El Modeno when he noticed the unusual sight of two schools, built on the same lot, albeit separated by an open field and a wire fence. He was devastated to learn that

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the newer Roo­se­velt School was for Anglos/whites, while the older Lincoln School was for Mexicans. This event stayed with Hector into adulthood and became the impetus for his work as a community activist. By 1943, Hector had married and was living in the Mexican Logan barrio located on the east side of the city of Santa Ana, California, where he also owned and operated a photography studio. ­After speaking with other Mexican American business ­owners about the per­sis­tent segregation of Mexican American ­children in Santa Ana, Orange, and El Modeno, Hector deci­ded to form an organ­ization comprised of local businessmen, parents, residents, and World War II veterans to fight school segregation in Orange County. Subsequently, Hector Tarango, Manuel Veiga, Cruz Barrios, and o­ thers, founded the Latin American Voters League (LAVL) in 1943 (Gonzales, 2017). While ending school segregation provided the impetus for forming the organ­ization, the vision of Tarango and his associates was much more expansive, and included building Latina/o po­liti­cal power and repre­sen­ta­tion throughout Orange County. Although based in Santa Ana, the LAVL was a countywide organ­ization. ­After forming their group, Tarango and other LAVL leaders ­were responsible for building the grassroots movement that worked alongside Gonzalo Méndez and the Westminster F ­ ather’s Association to circulate petitions, attend school board meetings, obtain ­legal counsel, and identify the five plaintiff families named in the class-­action lawsuit. In 1946, during the Mendez appeal to the Ninth Cir­cuit, the LAVL formed the first chapter of the League of United Latin American Citizens in Orange County (Santa Ana LULAC Council #147). Led by Tarango, the Santa Ana LULAC worked with barrio residents throughout the county to ensure that school districts (both ­those named and unnamed in Mendez) abided by the desegregation order handed down by Judge Paul McCormick in February 1946. Tarango was also responsible for leading the largest voter registration drive among Mexican Americans in Orange County prior to the 1960 election of John F. Kennedy. ­After the Mendez victory, Tarango remained committed to c­ auses that advanced Mexican American civil rights in housing, education, and the workplace. Prior to his death in June 2007, Hector Tarango was recognized by the LULAC Heritage Committee, California State Senate, and the U.S. House of Representatives as a leader in the strug­gle to end segregation in Orange County schools.

David C. Marcus (1905–1982) David Clarence Marcus was the lead attorney for the Mexican American plaintiffs in Mendez v. Westminster and was also successful in litigating several civil rights cases on behalf of ethnic Mexicans and African Americans in Southern California during the 1940s and 1950s. He was born in Iowa in 1905, to Jewish immigrant

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parents from Poland and Rus­sia, and attended elementary school in Des Moines, Iowa, followed by high school in Albuquerque, New Mexico. ­After graduation, Marcus initially pursued an engineering degree at the University of New Mexico, but finished his bachelor’s degree at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) ­after his f­amily relocated to the area in the 1920s. Although his f­ather and older ­brothers w ­ ere successful businessmen, Marcus departed from f­amily tradition by pursuing a law degree at the University of Southern California (USC). While at USC, he was influenced by the law school’s emphasis on public interest law, as well as his associations with ­future activists and civil rights attorneys, like You Chung Hong, Carey McWilliams, and Manuel Ruiz, Jr. (Carpio, 2012). ­After passing the California Bar, Marcus opened a private practice in Los Angeles and began h­ andling cases for the Mexican Consulate. Following a brief first marriage that ended in divorce, Marcus met his second wife, Yrma Maria Davila, at a consulate-­sponsored dance. Along with his experiences dealing with anti-­Semitism during college and as a young professional, Marcus’s bicultural h­ ouse­hold personalized the trajectory of his ­career as a civil rights attorney (Brilliant, 2010). Prior to Mendez, Marcus served as the lead attorney on two discrimination cases involving Mexican Americans. The first, Doss v. Bernal, was filed in Orange County Superior Court in the spring of 1943 when the Sunnyside neighborhood association, comprised of 48 Anglo/white residents, filed suit to oust Alex and Esther Bernal from their newly purchased home in Fullerton, California. Unbeknownst to the Bernals, all property deeds in the Sunnyside tract contained a clause (a racially restrictive housing covenant) intended to prevent Mexicans from purchasing, leasing, or renting homes in the neighborhood. Rather than leave their newly acquired home, the Bernals chose to hire David Marcus to defend them in court. Strategically, Marcus argued that since persons of Mexican nationality w ­ ere considered racially white according to the law, the restriction ­violated rights of due pro­cess and equal protection guaranteed by Article 1, Section 13 of the California Constitution as well as the Fifth and ­Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution (Carpio, 2012). In a shocking decision, Judge Albert F. Ross ruled in f­ avor of the Bernals, striking down residential restrictions against ethnic Mexicans. Handed down in August 1943, Ross’s decision was among the first to rule against racially restrictive housing covenants, ­doing so five years prior to the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling in Shelley v. Kraemer (1948). Lopez v. Seccombe (1943) served as the second case that prepared Marcus for Mendez . In Lopez, Marcus was selected by the Mexican Defense Committee, a co­ali­tion of ethnic Mexican organ­izations in San Bernardino County that had formed to challenge the de facto policy of a segregated public swimming pool in Perris, California. As in Doss v. Bernal, Marcus charged that the civil rights of Mexican Americans w ­ ere being v­ iolated according to due pro­cess and equal protection

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provisions in the Fifth and F ­ ourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution. However, unlike in Doss v. Bernal, the racial status of Mexicans and Latinas/os was not ­under question, just the practice of unlawful segregation. Further, as in Mendez, the buildup to Lopez involved a grassroots movement that was essential in organ­izing community support, raising funds, identifying plaintiffs, and locating the attorney who would file and litigate the class-­action suit. In a move that would be repeated in Mendez, Marcus strategically filed the case in federal district court and based his claims on the rights of U.S. citizens. In February 1944, Judge Leon Yankwich ruled in f­ avor of the Lopez plaintiffs and issued an injunction against the practice of segregation. Drawing from experiences, networks, and strategies acquired by litigating Doss and Lopez, Marcus filed Mendez in federal district court on March 2, 1945. Over the course of a prolific 50-­year l­egal ­career, Marcus represented hundreds of cases involving Mexican nationals, Mexican Americans, and Latinas/os (Carpio, 2012). In ­doing so, his work not only advanced the rights of Latinas/os in the United States, but also foreshadowed major civil rights victories, such as Shelley v. Kraemer (1948) and Brown v. Board of Education (1954), for all communities of color. See also: Founding of LULAC; Hernandez v. Texas; Lau v. Nichols.

Further Reading Alvarez, Jr., Robert R. 1986. “The Lemon Grove Incident.” Journal of San Diego History 32 (2, Spring), n.p. Arriola, Christopher. 1995. “Knocking on the School­house Door: Mendez v. Westminster, Equal Protection, Public Education, and Mexican Americans in the 1940’s.” Berkeley La Raza Law Journal 8 (2): 166–207. Bermudez, Nadine. 2015. “Mendez et al. v. Westminster School District et al: Mexican American Female Activism in the Age of De Jure Segregation” (doctoral dissertation). University of California, Los Angeles. Brilliant, Mark. 2010. The Color of Amer­i­ca Has Changed: How Racial Diversity ­Shaped Civil Rights Reform in California 1941–1978. New York: Oxford University Press. Carpio, Genevieve. 2012. “Unexpected Allies: David C. Marcus, Civil Rights, and the Mexican American ­Legal Landscape of Southern California.” Annual Review of the Casden Institute for the Study of the Jewish Role in American Life 9. Gonzales, David-­James. 2017. “Placing the et al. Back in Mendez v. Westminster: The Mexican American Movement to End Segregation in Orange County, CA.” American Studies 56 (2): 31–52. Gonzalez, Gilbert G. 1990. Chicano Education in the Era of Segregation. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses. Haas, Lisbeth. 1995. Conquests and Historical Identities in California, 1769-­1936. Berkeley: University of California Press. McCormick, Jennifer, and César Ayala. 2007. “Felícita ‘La Prieta’ Méndez (1916–1998) and the End of Latino School Segregation in California.” Centro Journal 19 (2, Fall): 12–35.

434 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959 Mendez v. Westminster School District of Orange County, 64 F. Supp. 544 (S.D. Cal. 1946). Mendez et al. v. Westminster et al. website. Last modified 2016. Retrieved from http://­ mendezetalvwestminster​.­com Powers, Jeanne M., and Lirio Patton. 2008. “Between Mendez and Brown: Gonzales v. Sheely (1951) and the L ­ egal Campaign Against Segregation.” Law and Social Inquiry 33 (1, Winter): 127–171. Robbie, Sandra. 2002. Mendez vs. Westminster: For All the ­Children / Para Todos los Niños [video recording]. Huntington Beach, CA: KOCE-­TV Foundation. Romero, Robert Chao, and Luis Fernando Fernandez. 2012. “Doss v. Bernal: Ending Mexican Apartheid in Orange County.” CSRC Research Report 14 (February), n.p. Ruiz, Vicki. 2003. “We Always Tell Our C ­ hildren They Are Americans: Mendez v. Westminster and the California Road to Brown v. Board of Education.” College Board Review (200, Fall): 20–27. San Miguel, Jr., Guadalupe. 1987. “Let All of Them Take Heed”: Mexican Americans and the Campaign for Educational Equality in Texas, 1910–1981. College Station: Texas A&M University Press. Strum, Philippa. 2010. Mendez v. Westminster: School Desegregation and Mexican-­American Rights. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas. Valencia, Richard R. 2005. “The Mexican American Strug­gle for Equal Educational Opportunity in Mendez v. Westminster: Helping to Pave the Way for Brown v. Board of Education.” Teachers College Rec­ord 107 (3, March): 389–423. Wilson, Steven H. 2003. “Brown over ‘Other White’: Mexican Americans’ L ­ egal Arguments and Litigation Strategy in School Desegregation Lawsuits.” Law and History Review 21 (1, Spring): 145–194. Wollenberg, Charles. 1976. All Deliberate Speed: Segregation and Exclusion in California Schools, 1855–1975. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Operation Bootstrap and Puerto Rican Migration, 1948–1964 Delia Fernández

Chronology 1898

At the end of the Spanish-­American War, also known as the War of 1898, Puerto Rico and several other islands become U.S. territories. The U.S. government institutes military rule over Puerto Rico, and appoints a military governor.

1899

A hurricane hits the island, devastating the local agricultural economy.

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1900

The Foraker Act establishes a civil government on the island. It also implements exclusive trade agreements between the mainland and Puerto Rico.

1900–1901 More than 5,000 Puerto Ricans leave the island to work in sugar fields in Hawai’i. 1901–1905 A set of court cases determines the l­egal status of Puerto Ricans and owner­ship of the island. In Downes v. Bidwell (1901), the U.S. Supreme Court rules that Puerto Rico belongs to the United States, but is not a part of the United States. 1902

U.S. military rule ends and a civilian government is instituted.

1917

Congress passes the Jones-­Shafroth Act, making Puerto Rico an official territory of the United States and granting citizenship to Puerto Ricans. 20,000 Puerto Ricans are drafted to serve in the military for World War I. The first Puerto Rican Nationalist organ­ization forms in Ponce, using the name Asociacíon Nacionalista de Ponce. This organ­ization advocates for Puerto Rico’s po­liti­cal in­de­pen­dence from the United States.

1932

Hurricane San Ciprian lands on the island, causing more than $30 million worth of damage.

1941

The United States enters into World War II a­ fter the Japa­nese attack Pearl Harbor.

1942

­ nder the direction of Teodoro Moscoso, a Puerto Rican government U official, Operation Bootstrap launches in Puerto Rico. Operating ­under the umbrella agency known as the Puerto Rican Economic Development Administration, also known as Fomento, Operation Bootstrap seeks to industrialize the island. The Puerto Rican Industrial Development Com­pany (PRIDCO) is formed to entice industrial manufacturers to relocate to the island.

1944

The War Manpower Commission places more than 2,000 workers from the island in jobs across the mainland United States, including at the B&O rail lines on the East Coast, Anaconda Copper Com­pany in Utah, and Campbell Soups in New Jersey, among ­others.

1946

­ astle, Baron, and Associates starts recruiting Puerto Rican ­women to C serve as domestic workers in Chicago, Illinois.

1946, July

On July  7, Pan American Airlines starts operating flights to New York, facilitating travel between the island and the mainland.

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1947

Fomento invests $7 million in the h­ otel industry in San Juan, hoping to attract tourism.

1948

The Farm L ­ abor Placement program begins. Over the next five years, it sends tens of thousands of Puerto Rican workers to do farm work on the mainland. The United States allows Puerto Rico to elect its own governor for the first time. Puerto Ricans elect Luís Muñoz Marín of the Popu­lar Demo­cratic Party as governor. He serves in that position ­until 1965.

1948, January

The Migration Division of Puerto Rico opens in New York City to help islanders transition to life on the mainland.

1948, May

On May 13, the Puerto Rican legislature approves Act No. 184, granting tax-­exempt status to new industries, in hopes of attracting companies to the island.

1949

The Migration Division opens an office in Chicago. The Hilton Caribe opens in San Juan, Puerto Rico, marking the beginning of the growth of Puerto Rico’s tourism industry.

1950

The largest movement of workers by plane from Puerto Rico occurs in the summer of 1950. More than 5,000 Puerto Rican men land in Michigan to help with the sugar beet harvest.

1950, June A plane of Puerto Rican workers crashes over the Atlantic en route to Michigan. 1952

Puerto Rico’s status changes from that of a territory to a commonwealth: a freely associated state, or estado libre asociado.

1953

Two hundred and twenty-­nine firms now operate in Puerto Rico, though only 25 of them are locally owned.

1958

The Migration Division opens offices in Cleveland.

1959

Since the beginning of Operation Bootstrap, more than 500 manufacturing plants have opened in Puerto Rico.

Narrative Operation Bootstrap or Manos a la Obra was an economic and social plan for Puerto Rico that was pursued between 1948 and 1964, though its effects continued into the 1990s. Literally meaning “putting hands to work,” this program sought ways for Puerto Ricans to help themselves out of economic despair. To alleviate the devastating conditions on the island during and ­after the ­Great Depression, Puerto Rican

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administrators worked to bring industrial jobs to what was previously an agricultural economy. Officials also wanted to control what they deemed to be an overpopulation prob­lem. One of the ways they achieved this was through encouraging migration off the island. Operation Bootstrap brought more than 500 manufacturing facilities to the island. More than 64,000 ­people left for the mainland United States between 1945 and 1964. Some of them w ­ ere part of formal l­abor migration programs that ­were created in this era. Operation Bootstrap thus contributed to the diaspora of Puerto Rican p­ eople across the United States. Puerto Rico’s economic situation in the 1940s was tied to its history as a colonial possession. As a colony of the Spanish empire from the 1500s ­until 1898, Puerto Rico never experienced significant economic development. At the conclusion of the Spanish-­American War, Spain transferred its control over the island to the United States, which ruled the island through a military government for two years. The United States then instituted a civilian government on the island, staffed with mainland administrators. Government officials capitalized on the island’s sugar-­based economy. The first governor, Charles Allen, also owned the American Sugar Refining Com­pany in Puerto Rico. To grow the sugar industry, the island government devalued the Spanish peso and replaced it with the American dollar, making it easier for sugar companies to purchase large land holdings in Puerto Rico. In 1917, the Foraker Act prohibited Puerto Rico from negotiating commercial treaties with other nations besides the United States (Dietz, 1986, p. 89). Though Puerto Rico also exported coffee and tobacco, from the 1900s to the 1930s, Puerto Rican sugar did not incur an import tax when trading with the United States. This led to the ascendancy of sugar as the island’s main crop and ultimately its only major crop. As a sugar monoculture, the island economy thus depended entirely on sugar. By the 1930s, though, the United States, Puerto Rico’s only purchaser, had also located other sources of cheap sugar, thus diverting income away from the island (Whalen, 2001, p. 23). By the ­Great Depression, the island was in economic ruins. The economic devastation was worse than most places on the mainland. For example, the dire conditions are evident in wages: Workers made on, average, $3.34 a week and about 94 ­percent of that was spent on food in 1935 (Dietz, 1986, p. 111). In addition to low wages, high and increasing unemployment, absentee landowners who still reaped high profits, impoverished workers, and a sugar monoculture caused severe ­labor unrest led by the Partido Nacionalista (PN), a po­liti­cal party that advocated in­de­pen­dence. During the depression, the PN pointed to the island’s economic instability to argue for po­liti­cal and economic autonomy for Puerto Rico. In attempts to wrangle more control for themselves, sugar workers went on strike in the 1930s. They achieved some improvements in working conditions and work hours, but in fact their situation hardly changed. For example, per capita income in 1941 was

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The industrialization of Puerto Rico was a significant element of Operation Bootstrap, an economic plan set in motion to improve the island’s economy and address widespread poverty. (Gordon Parks/Time Life Pictures/Getty Images)

$122—­the same as it was in 1930 (Dietz, 1986, p. 184). Although administrators tried some small-­scale solutions, larger structural issues remained to be addressed. Administrative changes on the island ushered in new economic reforms. In 1946, for the first time ever, the mainland government appointed a Puerto Rican, Jesus Pinero (1897–1952), to be governor of the island a­ fter Rexford Tugwell (1891–1979) resigned from the post. In 1948, in the first gubernatorial election on the island, Luís Muñoz Marín (1898–1980) won handily. Before becoming governor, he was the president of the Puerto Rican senate and regarded as one of the most power­ful Puerto Rican politicians. His gubernatorial campaign paid special attention to the plight of the island’s rural farmers and he stressed economic reform. By the mid-1940s, social scientists and policy analysts concluded that Puerto Rico’s economic prob­lems ­were due primarily to “overpopulation,” or a surplus of ­people; and “underdevelopment,” or a lack of industrialization and modernization. New plans for economic reform came in the 1940s. Island administrators, including Muñoz Marín, pointed to the sugar industry as the main prob­lem with the economy.

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They blamed absentee landowners who took their profits off the island and paid their workers low wages. Muñoz Marín wished to dissolve large land holdings and redistribute land to poor farmers. Through the Land Authority, a government entity that purchased land from sugar companies that held more than 500 acres, about 36 ­percent of “corporate holdings over 500 acres had been purchased” and redistributed by 1947 (Dietz, 197). This plan, however, did not gain widespread support. The Land Authority did not have enough money to continue to purchase lands from corporations. In addition, in his transition to governor, Muñoz Marín inherited a government administrator, Teodoro Moscoso (1910–1992), who touted industrialization as the key to Puerto Rico’s revitalization. With government attention shifting ­toward industrialization, land re­distribution was no longer a priority. Moscoso recommended a plan that appealed to the United States’ postwar cap­i­tal­ ist efforts. Moscoso saw the most pressing economic issue as a job shortage. To address this, the answer seemed ­simple to him: add more jobs. Moscoso attempted to create government-­owned industries like glass and cardboard factories to augment Puerto Rico’s growing rum industry (Maldonado, 1997, p. 48). ­These businesses, however, faced competition from other smaller companies that had begun to form, and they failed to make any considerable gains or have much economic impact. Moscoso deci­ded that industrialization had to happen through the f­ ree market. He created the Economic Development Agency (EDA), also known as Fomento, which means “to promote” in Spanish. The EDA would help recruit mainland companies to relocate to the island. The most attractive way to promote business migration to the island was to offer tax-­exempt status to new companies, Moscoso proposed. This meant that the corporations could still produce the same goods they did on the mainland United States, but without paying property, excise, or municipal taxes. Muñoz Marín and members of his staff resisted this proposal at first, worrying about what it would do to the economy in the long run. Moscoso, however, countered that ­there would be no need to worry about the long term if they could not stop the economic blight occurring in Puerto Rico presently. Reluctantly, the island went forward with offering tax exemptions to new companies. Fomento officials also touted the island’s low minimum wage and offered to help mainland businesses in any way they could. ­These strategies ­were collectively known as Operation Bootstrap. The program succeeded in bringing more jobs to the island. By 1950, local newspaper articles touted the emergence of new industries. Puerto Ricans made every­thing from pearl buttons to artificial flowers, phar­ma­ceu­ti­cals, handbags, radios, and tele­vi­sions, for example. ­These new businesses had a dramatic effect on the social organ­ization on the island. Factories ­were often located in coastal cities, which then caused rural mi­grants in the island’s center to leave their agricultural jobs for industrial ones. In 1940, agricultural employment made up 44.9 ­percent of the

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total employment, but by the 1970s it was only 9.9 ­percent (Duany, 2011, p. 89). Many of the industries also preferred to hire ­women, whom they could pay less ­under the assumption that t­hese wages supplemented t­hose of a male relative (a ­father or a husband, for example), and that therefore ­women did not need to earn as much as men. When companies did hire men, they ­were often underemployed. The tourism industry also blossomed in this era, and still continues to draw ­people to the island’s major cities. Teodoro Moscoso worked very hard to bring the Hilton Caribe h­ otel to the island in 1949. ­After Cuba was closed off to American tourists in 1959 due to the Cuban Revolution, Puerto Rico’s tourism industry continued to grow. ­These jobs also attracted former agricultural workers, but hospitality jobs often paid low wages. Though Operation Bootstrap succeeded in achieving some of its goals, many economic challenges remained. Though industrializing the island was a main goal of Operation Bootstrap, moving p­ eople off the island was equally impor­tant. In the early 1940s, Moscoso lamented that the birth rate on the island continued to rise while job creation stalled. He and other administrators began unofficially promoting emigration as a v­ iable economic strategy for Puerto Ricans. This was not a new method for addressing unemployment, however. In the early 1900s, Puerto Rican sugar cane cutters left the island in droves for Hawai’i ­after a hurricane devastated local sugar crops. Po­liti­ cal exiles and laborers left the island for New York City throughout the first half of the 20th ­century. In the 1940s, emigration occurred through both formal and informal channels. The War Manpower Commission, for instance, recruited workers to railroads in the Northeast and Midwest, to the Campbell Soup factory in New Jersey, and to other war-­related industries around the country (Lapp, 1990, p. 37). As he had done with industrialization, Moscoso drew inspiration for planned migration from earlier proposals. In the 1940s, the island government suggested that Puerto Ricans relocate to other countries that w ­ ere similar to Puerto Rico in climate and racial composition, including the Dominican Republic, Brazil, or Venezuela, among o­ thers (Lapp, 1990, p. 40). Planners found, however, that these countries showed l­ ittle interest in resettling Puerto Ricans. By the mid-1940s, Puerto Ricans began leaving the island on their own for the United States, without the help of the government. Their U.S. citizenship and affordable air travel from Puerto Rico to New York encouraged what became the largest mass migration by air at the time (Lapp, 1990, p. 31). To keep pace with the number of p­ eople regularly leaving the island, in 1947, Governor Piñero formed the Emigration Advisory Committee. This group monitored the thousands of Puerto Ricans settling in the United States’ largest metropolis. They worried that the influx of poor Puerto Ricans would upset U.S. officials, whom Puerto Ricans desperately needed to advance the island’s industrialization plan. The Emigration Advisory Committee (EAC) also learned that despite the end of

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the war, American companies continued to contract Puerto Rican workers without regulation. Moreover, the EAC found egregious ­labor abuses (Whalen, 2001, p. 58). In response, in May 1947 the Puerto Rican legislature required all ­labor contractors to register with the Puerto Rican Department of ­Labor so that contracts could be regulated (Lapp, 1990, p. 63). ­These concerns led the EAC to form the Bureau of Employment and Migration (­later renamed the Migration Division) and the Farm ­Labor Placement program, both of which ­were intended to help mi­grants who sought to relocate off the island. The first Migration Division office opened in January  1948  in New York City. In its first months, the small staff could only give referrals for jobs and social ser­vices. Before long, however, it served as “a clearing­house for employment, housing, welfare, health, and educational needs” (Sánchez-­Korrol, 1994, p. 35; Thomas, 2014). The Migration Division worked with the United States Employment Ser­vices and the Puerto Rican government to match workers with jobs. Less than a year l­ ater, the Migration Division opened a second office in Chicago. ­There the Migration Division was able to find jobs for more than 14,000 p­ eople in 1953 (Fernández, 2012, p. 49), and it continued this work well into the succeeding de­cades. During the 1950s, the Migration Division opened offices in Cleveland, Ohio; Hartford, Connecticut; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and Rochester, New York—­reflecting the many places Puerto Ricans settled. Still, the influx of Puerto Ricans in communities across the country did cause some backlash, as predicted. In New York, in par­tic­u­lar, which received the largest number of mi­grants, officials worried about Puerto Ricans using social ser­vices. Though the Migration Division helped mi­grants find jobs, they also spent time and money working on public relations. They promoted an image of hardworking Puerto Ricans and a modernized Puerto Rico through English-­language films, pamphlets, press releases, and articles (Lapp, 1990, p. 207; Thomas, 2014, p. 72). In the 1950s, many Puerto Ricans found agricultural employment through the Farm ­Labor Placement program. Historian Carmen Whalen succinctly described this program: American “farmers requested Puerto Rican workers through the local offices of the United States Employment Ser­vices. The requests ­were forwarded to the regional office of the Bureau of Employment security, which certified the need for laborers and contacted Puerto Rico’s Bureau of Employment and Migration for recruitment” (Whalen, 2001, p. 48). By 1951, Puerto Rico’s bureau became a branch of the United States Unemployment Ser­vices (USES), an agency designed to connect unemployed workers with industries that experienced ­labor shortages around the country. This made the Farm L ­ abor Placement program eligible for federal funding, and thus eased the recruitment pro­cess (Whalen, 2001, p. 68). This l­ abor migration was a temporary solution to overpopulation on the island, and it offered an alternative way for Puerto Rican laborers to earn wages. The

Women during Operation Bootstrap Government officials also targeted young w ­ omen for migration programs. Some planners hoped that moving w ­ omen of childbearing age off the island would temper ­future population growth. On the mainland, many American ­women had begun performing industrial work during and ­after World War II, thereby creating a shortage of w ­ omen looking to perform domestic ser­vice. ­Women left the island to work as maids in New York, Philadelphia, and Chicago, for example. In 1946 in Chicago, C ­ astle, Barton, and Associates contracted w ­ omen to work in the homes of wealthy families. Though excited at the possibility of earning wages and moving off the island, many Puerto Rican w ­ omen encountered poor working conditions. ­These positions advertised $15 a week for eight hours of work per day, with one and a half days off, but many ­women worked up to 15 hours a day, and ­were not permitted to take a day off during the week (Fernández, 2012, p. 47). ­After deductions for transportation from Puerto Rico to Chicago ($10 a month) and a fee to ­Castle, Barton, and Associates ($8.33), ­women ­were easily the lowest paid domestics in the city. White domestic workers earned around $35 to $40 per week, while African American ­women usually secured around $25 a week. The local Young ­Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) began holding weekly gatherings for ­these mi­grant ­women to meet one another. ­There they discussed the poor treatment they received and how to alleviate their plight. With help, ­these domestic workers challenged their employers and the com­pany that had contracted them. Two Puerto Rican students, Muna Muñoz Lee (­daughter of then-senator in Puerto Rico Luís Muñoz Marín) and Elena Padilla, lived in Chicago as roommates that summer at the University of Chicago. Padilla would ­later earn her doctorate in anthropology and become a leading scholar in the field of Puerto Rican studies. During the summer of 1946, Padilla carried out research on Puerto Rican mi­grants t­ here in the city. Her work took her to the YWCA, where she met the domestic workers. Padilla and Muñoz Lee recounted the maids’ circumstances to the governor and other island officials, calling national attention to the situation. Moreover, with the help of social workers and agencies such as the L ­ egal Aid Bureau, the domestic workers took their employers to court, abandoned their jobs, and disputed their wages (Rúa, 2012, pp. 18–24). That year alone, 142 workers out of 362 left their employers. As the situation was an embarrassment to the Departments of L ­ abor of both Illinois and Puerto Rico, the island government launched a full investigation into the complaints. By the following year, Puerto Rico had fully reor­ga­nized its domestic worker program and ­Castle, Baron, and Associates stopped hiring ­women for domestic work. Nevertheless, although t­hese ­women in Chicago successfully fought back against the exploitation they faced, other Puerto Rican domestic workers continued to receive low wages and long hours elsewhere.

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program was not intended to be permanent. Fearing that Puerto Ricans would s­ ettle permanently on the mainland, employers in the Farm L ­ abor Placement program contracted single men for temporary periods so that they would not bring their families and plan to ­settle permanently. This was not the only example of such ­labor contracting. In 1942, the Mexican and United States governments agreed to allow Mexican men to sign renewable six-­month contracts to work in the United States during and a­ fter World War II, in what was called the Bracero Program (1942–1964). Just some eight years a­ fter the Bracero Program started, employers in the Farm ­Labor Placement program offered Puerto Rican workers similar contracts that promised adequate housing, wages, food, and working conditions. The contracts also stipulated that the workers would be given a guaranteed minimum hours of work per week, a savings fund, transportation to the mainland, and repatriation back to the island, if necessary (Duany, 2011, p. 88). With so many agricultural workers facing unemployment on the island, many Puerto Rican men took advantage of the program. The Puerto Rican Farm ­Labor Placement Program sent workers across the United States. Puerto Ricans planted tobacco in the Connecticut River Valley; corn, blueberries, asparagus, broccoli, and onions in the Delaware River Valley; strawberries, cabbage, and carrots in rural New York; apples in the state of Washington; potatoes in Maine; peaches in South Carolina; avocadoes and lettuce in South Florida; and onions, cherries, and sugar beets in Michigan, for example. In the 1950s, many Puerto Ricans, however, encountered poor working conditions, low wages, and discrimination in accommodations. Aggravating m ­ atters, many of the workers did not speak fluent En­glish and their employers did not speak Spanish. The Migration Division and members of the Puerto Rico Department of L ­ abor often helped to mediate the issues the workers faced or helped them relocate to other areas if they desired. Despite the trou­ble many farm workers suffered, the Farm ­Labor Placement program proved to be a ­viable alternative to remaining unemployed on the island. In total, between 1948 and 1990, the program recruited more than 400,000 Puerto Ricans to work on the U.S. mainland (Duany, 2011, p. 52). Although Operation Bootstrap succeeded in bringing industrialization to the island and moving p­ eople off the island, it did not solve Puerto Rico’s economic issues. Through the Migration Division and the Farm ­Labor Placement Program, however, Operation Bootstrap established migration as an economic strategy for islanders and contributed to the distribution of Puerto Ricans across the country. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, more companies continued to bring their business to Puerto Rico. Despite the fact that U.S. factories created 37,300 jobs, Puerto Rican-­owned companies lost 16,000 jobs (González, 2011, p. 232). Scholars agree that the addition of jobs did not meet the island’s employment needs, due to the rapid mechanization of the agricultural industry. In the 1960s and 1970s, ­labor

Puerto Rican Migration to Michigan In the summer of 1950, as a part of the Farm L ­ abor Placement program, more than 5,000 Puerto Ricans w ­ ere sent to Michigan to harvest sugar beets in Saginaw and Bay City. The Puerto Rican Migration Division and the United States Employment Ser­vices arranged unofficial cooperation that allowed mainland companies to solicit workers on the island. Lured by advertisements, the laborers went to Michigan with expectations that they would make between $7 and $15 a day from June to September and then would return to Puerto Rico. By most calculations, workers with ­those wages would be able to sustain themselves while on the mainland and send money back to their families. Unbeknownst to the workers, their ­future employers did not pay hourly wages, or even pay their workers regularly. Instead, the farmers calculated their pay on a per-­acre rate and paid the workers at the end of the season. Many mi­grants described working 10-­to 11-­hour days in the fields and calculated their total earnings based on the assumption that they would be paid by the hour. When they fi­nally received payment at the end of the season, they ­were shocked to see that they had barely made enough money to survive in Michigan, and had nothing to send back to f­amily. The com­pany also took large deductions for travel from the island to Michigan and for food that it supplied the workers. Many laborers felt that the food was overpriced. This ill treatment was not confined to paychecks and deductions, nor ­were ­these duplicitous practices limited to Saginaw. During the summer of 1950, workers from across the state of Michigan experienced poor housing, discrimination in public accommodations, and disputes with employers. The contracted workers responded to the fiasco in several ways. First, some wrote to the Puerto Rican government asking for help. In response, the governor sent the supervisor of the Farm ­Labor Placement program to Saginaw to assist workers and farmers in amending the work agreements. Other workers often sought allies, such as Mexican American ­labor organizers, priests at local Catholic churches, and other Puerto Ricans in surrounding communities in nearby Detroit, to help them address their l­ abor grievances. Lastly, some of the farmhands simply walked away from their jobs. Their U.S. citizenship gave them the freedom to seek out other employment wherever they desired. Many of them sought industrial jobs around the state of Michigan in Detroit and in smaller cities like Lansing, Kalamazoo, and ­Grand Rapids. ­Others ventured elsewhere in the Midwest, to Chicago; Gary, Indiana; and Cleveland, Ohio. Still other workers likely went to the East Coast where they had ­family and friends to help them resettle. The summer’s catastrophic results led many sugar growers to invest more money in mechanization practices so as not to have to depend so heavi­ly on farm workers.

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activists in Puerto Rico demanded better working conditions and higher pay, prompting some companies that had arrived in the 1950s to abandon the island for other locations that offered lower wages. ­These economic conditions led Puerto Ricans to continually seek ways off the island: a prob­lem that still exists at pres­ent.

Biographies of Notable Figures Teodoro Moscoso (1910–1992) Teodoro Moscoso was the mastermind ­behind Operation Bootstrap. ­After Puerto Rico’s long dependence on an agricultural economy, Moscoso saw industrialization as the only way to fix the island’s economic challenges. To address the immediate issues that Puerto Rico faced, Moscoso worked diligently to make it an attractive place for American investment. Moscoso, a trained pharmacist, was an unlikely person to direct the island’s economic recovery. Born in Barcelona, Spain, in 1910 to a Spanish ­mother and a Puerto Rican f­ather, José Teodoro Moscoso lived in Spain, Puerto Rico, and the United States throughout his lifetime. He came from a wealthy and educated ­family. ­After attending school in New York, he graduated from Ponce High School in Ponce, Puerto Rico. He then went to the Philadelphia School of Pharmacy (following in the footsteps of his ­father, who was also a pharmacist), but soon transferred to the University of Michigan. The liberal arts classes offered t­here suited Moscoso’s larger ambitions. Upon finishing his studies in 1932, he returned to Ponce to run Farmacia Moscoso, the family-­owned w ­ holesale drugstore. Shortly afterward, he married Gloria Sanchez Villa. The two had a d­ aughter, Margarita, in 1938, and a son, Jose, in 1941 (Maldonado, 1997, pp. 6–7). Moscoso received a reprieve from his job at the pharmacy when the U.S. Housing Authority needed someone to work on a grant to address Ponce’s housing crisis. Moscoso’s command of En­glish and his college education gave him the skills necessary to navigate the bureaucratic paperwork. Within a few weeks of accepting this position, Moscoso traveled to Washington and began his ­career as a public servant. When Rexford Tugwell was appointed governor of Puerto Rico in 1941, Moscoso was one of his choices for an assistant. Moscoso quickly utilized his position in the Tugwell administration to advocate for desperately needed economic reforms. With industrialization in mind, he worked closely with Washington politicians to bring some of the World War II industries to Puerto Rico. He succeeded in convincing the War L ­ abor Board to build a glass production plant on the island. Though t­hese factories w ­ ere useful during war­time, they w ­ ere not profitable beyond fulfilling war­time needs. Instead, Moscoso pushed for private investment to help the island. He successfully persuaded

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Governor Muñoz Marín to agree to give new industries tax exemptions. Moscoso also tried to bolster Puerto Rico’s tourism industry. He attempted to attract ­hotel chains to the island. He successfully built a relationship with Conrad Hilton, founder of the Hilton h­ otel chains, who eventually established the glamorous Caribe Hilton in San Juan. Many of Moscoso’s colleagues did not think that his plan would work, but a­ fter the Caribe Hilton opened, more h­ otels opened up locations in Puerto Rico, transforming Puerto Rico’s tourism sector into a ­viable industry. ­After working for at least a de­cade in Puerto Rico on Operation Bootstrap, Moscoso began to branch out. By the end of the 1950s, so much of his work for Fomento occurred on the mainland that he relocated to New York City. He did not stay long, however. Through his work with Operation Bootstrap, Moscoso had built a reputation in Washington, D.C. When John F. Kennedy (1917–1963) assumed the presidency, he appointed Moscoso to the post of ambassador to Venezuela. Though he stayed in that position for only a few months, Moscoso then worked as the coordinator for the Alliance for Pro­gress. With representatives from each country, this organ­ization promoted economic development in Latin Amer­i­ca with the help of the United States. His responsibilities in this role ­were similar to ­those he had had with Operation Bootstrap. He served in this position ­until 1964 and briefly served as the American representative for the Alliance. He then worked as the chairman of the executive committee for the Banco de Ponce, and ­later as the chairman of the board of the Ca­rib­bean Oil Refinery Com­pany. He worked with his successor at Fomento, Rafael Durand, to create more petrochemical jobs for Latin Amer­i­ca and specifically Puerto Rico. By 1973, he had returned to his old position as director of Fomento. He worked ­there for three years ­until he fi­nally retired (Maldonado, 1997). A year ­after his retirement, in 1977, Moscoso was diagnosed with liver cancer. He fought his illness u­ ntil his death in 1992, leaving b­ ehind his wife, son, ­daughter, and two grandchildren. In 1994, in memorial to his ser­vice to Puerto Rico, the island government named a San Juan bridge ­after him. Though Puerto Rico’s many economic prob­lems have persisted, Moscoso considered his efforts at bringing more jobs to the island a success.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Clarence Se­nior: Letter Regarding Regulations for Recruiting Workers The following memo is from Clarence Se­nior, director of the Migration Division, to all of the division staff regarding Law No. 89, which specified that U.S. companies needed to go through U.S. Employment Ser­vices to recruit Puerto Rican workers. In years prior, U.S. companies went to the island to recruit workers directly

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without any government oversight. The Migration Division saw many potential prob­lems with allowing this un­regu­la­ted recruitment. For example, some seven years earlier, a plane that a com­pany had rented to export transport workers to the mainland had crashed over the Atlantic. As seen in the following memo, the Migration Division insisted that companies follow the recruitment rules. Commonwealth of Puerto Rico Department of L ­ abor—­Migration Division 88 Columbus Ave­nue, New York Telephone, Susquehannah, 7–2900 September 17, 1957 TO: All Employees, Migration Division FROM: Clarence Se­nior RE: Regulations for recruiting workers in Puerto Rico whose ser­vices are to be used in any state of the ­union It is of g­ reat importance that e­ very employee of the Migration Division know the regulations for recruiting personnel in Puerto Rico to come to work in the states. On May 9, 1947 Law No. 89 was passed by the Legislature of Puerto Rico to regulate recruitment of workers of any type coming to the states. Copies of this law are being sent to ­every one of the offices and sections of the Migration Division so that it ­will be available for study and discussion by all employees. Supervisors should make certain that ­every employee ­under his supervision fully understand the provisions of Law No. 89. It should become part of the in-­service training of ­every employee coming to work for our Division. We have had unfortunate experiences with employers ­going to Puerto Rico to recruit workers. Recently one such employer explained that someone in the Migration Division gave him information to the effect that he could go to the island and recruit workers. ­After investigation, it was found out that this employer called our office to obtain some other information. The employee involved states the subject of recruiting workers in the island was not even discussed. To avoid any difficulties, when anyone asks about recruitment in Puerto Rico, the following information should be given: Any firm or person needing workers and wishing to recruit them in Puerto Rico, must place a job order with his local Employment Ser­vice. The office receiving the order w ­ ill route it through [what] the Employment Ser­vice refers to as “clearance channels,”

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to Region I of the U.S.E.S., which consists of New York, New Jersey, and Puerto Rico. It ­will thus reach the Puerto Rico Employment Ser­vice, eventually. Each of the employees of the Migration Division should be alerted to the fact it is illegal to recruit workers in Puerto Rico, for the states, without clearance from the Puerto Rico Employment Ser­vice. Source: Correspondence, Office of the Government of Puerto Rico in the United States, Center for Puerto Rican Studies, Box 2776, Folder 5.

See also: Caribbean Migration to New York City

Further Reading Dietz, James. 1986. Economic History of Puerto Rico: Institutional Change and Cap­i­tal­ist Development. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Duany, Jorge. 2002. The Puerto Rican Nation on the Move: Identities on the Island and in the United States. Durham: University of North Carolina Press. Duany, Jorge. 2010. “A Transnational Colonial Migration: Puerto Rico’s Farm L ­ abor Program.” New West Indian Guide 84 (3–4): 225–251. Duany, Jorge. 2011. Blurred Borders: Transnational Migration between the Hispanic Ca­rib­ bean and the United States. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Post War Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Findlay, Eileen. 2014. We Are Left Without a ­Father ­Here: Masculinity, Domesticity, and Migration in Postwar Puerto Rico (American Encounters/Global Interactions). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. González, Juan. 2011. Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in Amer­i­ca. New York: Penguin Books. Hernández-­Alvarez, J. 1995. “The Movement and Settlement of Puerto Rican Mi­grants Within the United States, 1950–1960,” in Antoinette Sedillo-­López, ed., Latinos in the United States: Historical Themes and Identity, 372–384. New York: Garland. History Task Force, Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños. 1979. ­Labor Migration u­ nder Capitalism: The Puerto Rican Experience. New York: Research Foundation of The City University of New York. Lapp, Michael. 1990. Managing Migration: The Government of Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans in New York City, 1948–1968. (Doctoral dissertation). Johns Hopkins University. Maldonado, A. W. 1997. Teodoro Moscoso and Puerto Rico’s Operation Bootstrap. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Maldonado, Edwin. 1979. “Contract ­Labor and the Origins of Puerto Rican Communities in the United States.” International Migration Review 13 (1, Spring): 103–121. Rúa, Mérida M., ed. 2010. Latino Urban Ethnography and the Work of Elena Padilla (Latinos in Chicago and the Midwest). Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Rúa, Mérida. 2012. A Grounded Identidad: Making New Lives in Chicago’s Puerto Rican Neighborhoods. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.

The Cuban Revolution, 1953–1959 | 449 Sánchez-­Korrol, ­Virginia. 1994. From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City. Berkeley: University of California Press. Thomas, Lorrin. 2014. Puerto Rican Citizen: History and Po­liti­cal Identity in Twentieth-­ Century New York City. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Toro-­Morn, Maura. 2001. “Yo Era Muy Arriesgada: A Historical Overview of the Work Experiences of Puerto Rican ­Women in Chicago.” Centro Journal 13 (2, Fall): 25–43. Whalen, Carmen Teresa. 2001. From Puerto Rico to Philadelphia: Puerto Rican Workers and Postwar Economies. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Whalen, Carmen Teresa, and Víctor Vázquez-­Hernández, eds. 2005. The Puerto Rican Diaspora: Historical Perspectives. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press.

The Cuban Revolution, 1953–1959 Mauricio Castro

Chronology 1868–1878

The Ten Years’ War—an uprising led by wealthy planters and landowners against the Spanish—­takes place.

1879–1880

Cuba experiences more turmoil with the ­Little War, a continuation of hostilities deriving from the Ten Years’ War.

1895–1898

A third and final insurrection against the Spanish begins. This War of In­de­pen­dence leads to the United States declaring war against Spain.

1898

The Treaty of Paris is signed a­ fter Spain is defeated by the United States and forced to cede multiple colonial holdings.

1898–1902

The United States occupies Cuba.

1903, May

On May 20, the Republic of Cuba gains formal in­de­pen­dence from the United States. The Platt Amendment is signed on May  22, signifying a treaty between the United States and Cuba that allows American involvement in Cuban internal and foreign affairs.

1933

A military coup referred to as the Revolt of the Sergeants puts Fulgencio Batista in charge of Cuba’s armed forces.

1934–1940

A series of governments nominally headed by dif­fer­ent presidents are backed and controlled by Batista’s military.

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1934

Growing Cuban nationalism leads to a repeal of the Platt Amendment as part of Franklin Delano Roo­se­velt’s Good Neighbor Policy.

1934, January

On January 15, Batista and U.S. envoy Sumner Welles force the resignation of provisional president Ramón Grau San Martín.

1940

Cuba adopts a new progressive constitution with the intent of creating a social welfare state and introduces the notion of social rights.

1944

Ramón Grau San Martín is elected president. Batista steps down from power and moves to Daytona Beach, Florida.

1952

Batista leads a military coup that overthrows president Carlos Prío Socarrás three months before the next scheduled presidential election.

1953, July

Fidel and Raúl Castro form part of a revolutionary force that attacks the Moncada Army Barracks in Santiago on July  26, intending to secure the weapons within. Their attempt fails.

1953, October

On October  16, Fidel Castro makes an impassioned speech in his own defense at trial, claiming “History ­will absolve me.” The speech is subsequently reworked and published as a social justice manifesto.

1955, May

Believing Castro to be more of an annoyance than a threat, on May 15 Batista releases Moncada prisoners in an attempt to foster good w ­ ill with the Cuban public.

1955

Castro and other revolutionaries move to Mexico and formally establish the revolutionary 26th of July Movement, named for the date of the Moncada Barracks attack.

1956, September

Castro and José Antonio Echeverría of the Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil (DRE) agree to combine forces to overthrow Batista. This agreement is called the Mexico City Pact.

1956, December

On December  2, Castro and other revolutionaries, including Ernesto “Che” Guevara, arrive in Cuba on the yacht the Granma and travel to the Sierra Maestra Mountains.

1957, February

On February 27, Castro is interviewed by New York Times correspondent Herbert L. Matthews, and is featured on the front page as the undisputed leader of the Cuban Revolution.

1957, March

On March 13, DRE (anti-­communist) students storm the presidential palace in a failed assassination attempt on Batista.

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1958, March

On March 10, Batista bows to U.S. pressure to allow ­free elections in June. He does not run for office, but backs Andres Rivero Aguëro as a candidate. On March 18, U.S. president Dwight D. Eisenhower announces an arms embargo against the Batista regime.

1958, November

The election of 1958 is marked by mass fraud, leading to the landslide victory of Rivero Aguëro. This is deemed Batista’s “last big ­mistake” by U.S. ambassador E. T. Smith.

1958, December

On December 22, Batista learns that Cuban military leaders have been negotiating with Castro and the members of the 26th of July Movement.

1959, January

On January  1, Batista and his inner circle flee the country; Batista goes to the Dominican Republic. On January 2, Castro’s forces take Santiago without a fight a­ fter negotiating with the city’s military commander. Manuel Urrutia Lleó becomes president of a transitional government on January 3. He appoints José Miró Cardona as Prime Minister.

1959, February

Miró Cardona abruptly resigns due to conflicts with Castro, who replaces him as Prime Minister.

1959, March

The first exile newspaper with an anti-­Castro perspective, Tribuna, is founded in Miami.

1959, May

Castro signs the first Agrarian Reform Act, expropriating farmland from large landholders and providing land deeds to 200,000 peasants.

1959, July

Facing calls for resignation from workers’ groups and denunciation from Castro, President Urrutia Lleó resigns.

1959, October

Castro’s former revolutionary ally, Huber Matos, resigns from his post in the Instituto de Reforma Agraria (Institute of Agrarian Reform), is arrested for counterrevolutionary activities, and sentenced to 20 years in prison.

1960, April–­August

Wealthy Cubans living in exile lobby members of Congress for special dispensations that would normalize their immigration status in the United States.

1960, October

Civic and religious leaders in Miami form the “Cuban Refugee Committee” and petition President Dwight  D. Eisenhower for federal aid.

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1960, November

The Eisenhower White House appoints a special envoy, Tracy Voorhees, to investigate the Cuban refugee crisis in South Florida.

1960, December

Tracy Voorhees files his report to the president on the effects of the Cuban refugee influx. President Eisenhower brands Cuba “communist controlled” and allots $1 million in aid for Cuban refugees in Miami.

1961, February

The administration of John  F. Kennedy establishes the Cuban Refugee Program u­ nder the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare to assist Cuban exiles in the United States.

1961, April

American-­trained Cuban exiles carry out the Bay of Pigs Invasion, which fails, dampening hopes for a quick end to their exile.

1962

Federal authorities establish the Cuban Refugee Center in the Miami News building—­thereafter known as the Freedom Tower— in downtown Miami.

1962, September

The Cuban Refugee Program releases figures indicating that more than 44,000 of the 150,544 refugees who had registered for assistance at the Refugee Center had elected to resettle in other parts of the United States.

1965, ­December–​ 1973, April

“Freedom Flights” bring approximately 340,000 refugees from Cuba to the United States.

1980, The Mariel Boatlift brings 124,000 new refugees from Cuba in April–­October the span of a few months. 2001

Data from the 2000 U.S. Census reveal that some 828,577 Cubans have come to the United States since the Cuban Revolution.

Narrative The Cuban Revolution was a strug­gle that brought about an end to the dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista on the island of Cuba. This conflict, culminating in early 1959, brought about the rise of Fidel Castro, first as prime minister and then as president of Cuba. Castro and the revolutionary regime that ­rose a­ fter Batista’s fall, however, would be charged with the same dictatorial tendencies by a significant section of the Cuban population. The disaffection of several segments of Cuban society would bring an estimated 828,577 Cuban exiles to the United States by the year 2000 (Pedraza, 2007, p. 5). The Cuban-­American community had a fundamental impact on South Florida and on American politics throughout the latter half of the 20th ­century.

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The history of in­de­pen­dence and revolution in Cuba is also a history of exile. In the words of one prominent scholar, “the experience of exile (destierro) was decisive to the ways Cubans arrived at nationality and identity” (Pérez, 1999, p. 37). The late 19th ­century saw multiple uprisings against Spanish colonial rule in Cuba. Following the Ten Years’ War of 1868–1878, t­here ­were rebellions in the name of Cuba Libre in 1879, 1883, 1885, 1892, 1893, and 1895 (Pérez, 2006, p. 120). It was during one of ­these uprisings, the Guerra Chiquita (­Little War) of 1879– 1880, that a young Cuban by the name of José Martí came to prominence. Martí worked for the Cuban Revolutionary Committee in New York City during the early Followers of Fidel Castro pose with r­ ifles on a monument in Matanzas, Cuba, in 1959. The months of 1880, and ­shaped the sculptures are of freedom-­fighter Jose Marti and a separatist movement among female allegorical figure of “Liberty” brandishing Cuban exiles in the United States. broken chains. (Library of Congress) The young exile became a leading voice advocating for a prepared, cohesive effort to eliminate Spanish rule on the island. Martí’s po­liti­cal thought influenced ­future Cuban revolutionaries, as he envisioned a Cuba ­free of any influence from Spain or the United States, and strove for equality and an elimination of racism and oppression (Pérez, 2006, pp. 109–110). The strug­gle for in­de­pen­dence led thousands of Cubans to seek exile in the United States in an effort to escape the increasingly hostile actions of the Spanish military. In 1896, during the month of February alone, an estimated 1,300 Cubans left for the United States following the appointment of General Valeriano Weyler as the commander of Spain’s military forces on the island (Pérez, 2006, p. 128). Exile communities in the United States, Eu­rope, and throughout Latin Amer­i­ca advocated for the notion of a f­ ree Cuban homeland and for an end to Spanish rule ­there. ­These exiles worked diligently not only to foster patriotism, but also to gain influence with foreign governments and communities as potential allies for Cuban

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Cuban ­Music in Pop Culture The lyr­ics to the well-­known Cuban song “Guantanamera,” composed by José (Joseíto) Fernández Díaz, w ­ ere originally written by José Martí. Martí’s poem “Yo soy un hombre sincero” served as the basis for Fernández Díaz’s arrangement of the song. The song was made popu­lar in the United States in 1966 by the Sandpipers, working off an arrangement by Pete Seeger (Chomsky et al., 2003, pp. 128–129). The name, which was also the name of the ­album, is the term used for a w ­ oman from Guantánamo. The Sandpipers’ recording of “Guantanamera” became a smash hit, and the song has gone on to be covered and parodied by numerous artists in the years since.

in­de­pen­dence. Ultimately, the Cubans fighting for in­de­pen­dence from Spain would gain an ally in the United States, which entered a war with Spain in 1898 and helped remove imperial forces from the island. Martí warned that such assistance would not come without a cost or without an assertion by American forces that they had served as liberators. As American troops occupied Cuba following the war against Spain, many Cubans who had long fought for in­de­pen­dence became disillusioned. Former insurgent and author Enrique Collazo wrote to Leonard Wood, the military governor of Cuba, to say that Cubans saw themselves “relegated to an inferior condition, our banner lowered, our trea­ sury occupied, our men ostracized as useless, our p­ eople despised, our army condemned to misery and to live on the charity which the new and victorious master throws to the gutter” (Pérez, 1998, p. 108). The American occupation of the island would come to an end, but much to the dismay of t­ hose who had sought to make Cuba an in­de­pen­dent nation, the ultimate price for the end of the occupation was the forced adoption of the Platt Amendment by the Cuban government. That Amendment limited the ability of the new Cuban republic to govern itself, through restrictions on its foreign entanglements and its ability to manage public funds. As scholar Louis Pérez, Jr., has posited, the Platt Amendment was rooted in the fear by some Americans that the greatest threat to American interests in Cuba was rule by ­those who had sought complete in­de­pen­dence for the island and its p­ eople. Ultimately, despite protests and opposition, the Amendment was ­adopted as an appendix to the new constitution in 1901, and as a provision of the permanent treaty between Cuba and the United States in 1903 (Pérez, 2006, pp. 143–144). In addition to the continued involvement of the U.S. government in the affairs of the new Cuban republic, American investment in the island increased heavi­ly.

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Individuals and corporations from the United States became the ­owners of close to 60  ­percent of all rural property on the island, with 13,000 North Americans acquiring a title to Cuban land by 1905. In addition to controlling agriculture, foreign capital, overwhelmingly American in origin, also dominated most major industries (Pérez, 2006, p. 151). This new environment—­rife with intervention by the U.S. government and increasing foreign control over Cuba’s economy—­caused many Cubans to become increasingly frustrated with the country’s ruling elites and their American backers. By the 1920s, the Platt Amendment had become a major source of discontent and a point of contention for many Cubans. This discontent was so significant that in 1924, the Liberal Party platform in the Cuban presidential election stated the need to revise the Permanent Treaty of 1903 in order to win Cuba “an in­de­pen­dent place in the world” by eliminating the appendix to the constitution (Pérez, 2006, p. 184). This sentiment helped bring about a victory for the Liberal candidate Gerardo Machado in that election. Machado seemed to be the reform candidate that many had hoped for, but the Cuban economy began to falter in the mid-­to late 1920s. Fearing the loss of the presidency, Machado manipulated the country’s traditional parties so they would jointly make him the single candidate for the 1928 election. This secured Machado a six-­year term, but the impact of the worldwide depression brought greater economic challenges, including the adoption of the Hawley-­ Smoot Tariff Act in the United States, which significantly reduced the share of Cuban sugar in the U.S. market (Pérez, 2006, pp. 190–191). As the Cuban economy continued to deteriorate, Machado’s government was unable to resolve the crisis, and discontent increased among the Cuban population. A series of worker strikes led the Machado government to become increasingly authoritative and dictatorial, resulting in armed and sometimes fatal suppression of civilians. Eventually, Machado’s regime was met with armed re­sis­tance, causing his dictatorial tactics to increase u­ ntil constitutional guarantees w ­ ere suspended and a state of siege was declared. War had come to Cuba once again (Pérez, 2006, pp. 192–193). Following increasing international pressure, including mediation by the United States government and its special envoy, Sumner Welles, Machado lost the support of his armed forces. A new government, headed by Carlos Manuel de Céspedes, lasted less than a month. It was overthrown by a revolt among the enlisted men in the Cuban military. Led by Sergeant Fulgencio Batista, the “Sergeants’ Revolt” of September 1933 resulted in the creation of a new government which sought to purge any remaining Machado supporters still in office. The new government was run by President Ramón Grau San Martín, who announced the abrogation (repeal) of the Platt Amendment and engaged in a reformist agenda (Pérez, 2006, pp. 196–204). ­These reforms included the establishment of a minimum wage, an eight-­hour work day, and new openness to trade u­ nionism in the sugar industry (Pedraza, 2007,

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p. 39). Batista was given the rank of col­o­nel for his role in the insurgency that brought about the new government and was ratified as the new head of the Cuban armed forces. Continued pressure from Welles and the United States, however, ultimately led Batista to create a new co­ali­tion that ousted Grau San Martín and established a new government in January 1934 (Pérez, 2006, pp. 207–209). Grau San Martín was succeeded by a series of figurehead presidents while Batista retained power ­behind the scenes. Ultimately, Batista’s American backers allowed the abolition of the Platt Amendment in 1934, and the repression the regime had exercised largely gave way to populist reform throughout the rest of the de­cade. By 1940, calls for a new constitution by many segments of Cuban society resulted in the adoption of a progressive new charter. The Constitution of 1940 was a hopeful document that, in the words of one Havana superior judge, “fundamentally guaranteed both individual rights and social rights, which should remain for Cuba in the f­ uture” (Pedraza, 2007, p. 41). This new constitution led to new presidential elections in 1940, in which a now civilian Batista defeated Grau San Martín, the man he had ousted in 1934. Four years l­ ater, however, Grau San Martín defeated Batista’s Prime Minister Carlos Saladrigas and became president once again. Batista moved on peacefully, but Cuba strug­gled to achieve prosperity immediately a­ fter his presidency. During World War II and immediately thereafter, Cuba saw an increase in its valuable sugar exports, but the economic opportunities of t­hese exports ­were squandered due to government corruption.

Batista’s Rise to Power Fulgencio Batista achieved power through armed force in Cuba, but he was repudiated by the Cuban upper classes. This was not ­because of any form of anti-­dictatorial streak in the Cuban upper class, as many of them benefited eco­nom­ically from authoritarian rule, but rather ­because Batista did not have the class and racial pedigree that this segment of society respected. Batista was seen as an “adventurer, an upstart and a despicable mulatto” (Argote-­ Freyre, 2006, p. 124). Batista’s illegitimate rise to power through the 1952 coup is still reviled on the island. Although Batista was given a place in the Museum of the Revolution in Havana, his exhibit was placed in el rincón de los cretinos (the cretins’ corner) along with t­hose of several U.S. presidents, including Ronald Reagan (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, p. xiv). However, not all Cubans viewed Batista’s regime with hostility. Some, in fact, recalled the Batista years as satisfactory when interviewed in exile de­cades ­later (Pedraza, 2007, p. 43).

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The campaign for the presidency in 1952 saw Batista once again ­running for president as the candidate of the Partido de Acción Unitaria (United Action Party; PAU). A poll published in February of that year had the former president trailing Roberto Agramonte of the Partido del Pueblo Cubano Ortodoxo (Orthodox Po­liti­ cal Party) by 10 points. One month ­later, Batista instigated what came to be known as el madrugonazo, an early-­morning, surprise attack that overthrew the existing government and brought Batista back to power. As president, Batista engaged in a series of public works and populist mea­sures supporting or­ga­nized ­labor, but he failed to gain the general support of the Cuban p­ eople. Though general prosperity was on the rise in Cuba, the distribution of wealth remained uneven. Batista was focused on boosting the tourism and gambling industries, which brought about an increase in corruption and prostitution (Pedraza, 2007, pp. 41–43). Opposition against Batista started soon a­ fter he r­ ose to power once again in 1952, but criticism of him was often in­effec­tive and went unnoticed. One of the first high-­profile attacks on the regime came on July 26, 1953, when a young rebel named Fidel Castro attacked the Moncada Army Barracks in Santiago de Cuba (Pérez, 2006, p. 221). Out of the 165 rebels who attacked the Moncada Barracks, about 80 died during the operation. Castro escaped with his life b­ ecause of the intervention of Santiago’s bishop, Enrique Pérez-­Serantes. Castro was imprisoned and became a rallying figure for the opposition against Batista. He was allowed to conduct his own defense in court while he was a prisoner at the Isle of Pines. Castro gave an impassioned defense of his actions and ­those of his compatriots in what came to be known as the “History ­Will Absolve Me” speech. Castro denied that the attack against Batista’s government was an illegitimate power grab, arguing that rebellion against a dictatorship was absolutely legitimate. Ultimately, he argued, he might be convicted, but history would absolve him. The speech was reprinted as a pamphlet and widely disseminated throughout Cuba (Pedraza, 2007, pp. 48–49). Castro and other revolutionaries ­were ultimately granted amnesty and fled to Mexico for a brief period of exile. Other revolutionary groups took up the fight against Batista’s government as clashes between students and government forces drove the creation of the Directorio Revolucionario (Revolutionary Directorate). By 1957, the Directorio Revolucionario had turned its energies to rural guerilla tactics and formed the II Frente Nacional del Escambray in Las Villas province (Pérez, 2006, p. 222). Even as the fight against Batista continued in Cuba, Castro represented his faction, called the 26th of July Movement ­after the date of the Moncada Barracks attack, in a meeting with José Antonio Echeverría, who represented the Federacion Estudiantil Universitaria and the Directorio Revolucionario. The meeting resulted in the Mexico City Pact, a document formalizing the agreement that their organ­izations would join forces to overthrow Batista’s regime. No

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common strategy was established, but each organ­ization agreed to separate plans by which to weaken Batista’s regime. As part of this campaign, Castro and 82 other revolutionaries planned to arrive in Santiago on November 30, 1956, to aid in an uprising led by university student Frank País. However, bad weather created delays for Castro’s ship, the yacht Granma, and ultimately led them to land on December 2 at Las Coloradas beach rather than at their original destination in Santiago. This delay proved fortuitous for Castro: government forces had been informed about his original plans, but they w ­ ere thwarted by the revolutionaries’ escape into the nearby Sierra Maestra mountains, where they began guerilla operations. This narrow escape provided Castro with a near-­legendary status (Pedraza, 2007, p. 50). Just three months ­later, in February of 1957, Castro was interviewed by New York Times correspondent Herbert L. Matthews in the Sierra Maestra. The interview and the picture of Castro that ran with it established him as the face of the Cuban revolution on the international stage (Pedraza, 2007, pp. 45–46). As re­sis­tance to Batista continued to increase in Cuba, so did government corruption. Growing in­equality was paired with news stories about the off-­shore bank accounts of Batista government officials. Batista lavished cash gifts from the national lottery on sources of potential opposition, such as the Catholic Church and ­labor ­unions. Batista’s government paid editors and journalists in an effort to silence critical news stories. At their height, t­hese bribes totaled $1 million a month (Pérez, 2006, p. 230). Batista’s power continued to weaken despite his twin systems of bribery and po­liti­cal repression, particularly as the United States government enacted an arms embargo against the Cuban government in early 1958. This was a clear sign that the unwavering support the regime had received from Washington throughout the de­cade was no longer assured. The American government already had plans to quietly remove Batista from power, but the growing revolutionary fervor accelerated the pace of the regime’s decline. On New Year’s Eve, 1958, Batista fled the country. His generals took control of the government, but the prospect of continued opposition from the guerilla groups led this junta (ruling cabal) to acknowledge the “Army of Liberation” and to surrender key military facilities to them, leading to Fidel Castro’s arrival in Havana in early 1959 (Pérez, 2006, pp. 235–236). ­Because a multitude of groups had strug­gled against Batista and contributed to deposing his government, Castro moved quickly to consolidate his own power ­under the 26th of July Movement. Individuals who had worked with Batista w ­ ere quickly purged from the government and Castro promoted members of the Cuban Socialist Party through the ranks of government. The promotion of members of the left-­wing Socialists surprised some, but it would not be the last radical move on Castro’s part. Soon Castro’s government was bypassing existing po­liti­cal structures. The Instituto de Reforma Agraria (Institute of Agrarian Reform) was established as one of the main power structures for Castro’s government. Originally intended to break

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up large land holdings and redistribute them, the Instituto soon broke up medium-­ sized land holdings and continued to expand its power. As this pro­cess continued in the early months following the revolution, some of Castro’s former allies in the fight against Batista began to break ties with him. Castro did not tolerate such dissension, as when a former 26th of July Movement commander named Huber Matos attempted to resign from the Instituto. Matos was subsequently arrested for counterrevolutionary activities and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Soon, high-­level resignations became all too common, and many of t­hose individuals sought exile off the island (Torres, 1999, pp. 47–48). As many of Castro’s former allies took up arms against him, o­ thers sought the safety of foreign shores. Miami became the primary U.S. destination for Cuban exiles ­because of its proximity, similarity in weather, and the ties many wealthy Cubans had to the city. The flow of exiles was slow to build: in the early months ­after the revolution, most of the exiles ­were loyal Batistianos, but this trickle soon grew to a flood as Castro’s revolution alienated greater numbers of Cubans. By August 1960, ­there ­were approximately 4,000 Cubans in Miami who had sought official exile status. By the end of that year, however, the number of Cubans who had come to the city as tourists and simply overstayed their visas—­a simpler and less po­liti­cally dangerous form of escape—­was estimated at 33,000 (Castro, 2015, p. 30). The following year, Castro’s government became increasingly repressive as rumors of an invasion by U.S.-­backed exiles surfaced. This military action, known as the Bay of Pigs Invasion of April 1961, was a failure, but the increased repression in the lead-up to it and in its aftermath drove even greater numbers of Cubans into exile. Cuban parents also started to panic as Castro’s government closed all private schools, and rumors ran rampant that the revolutionary authorities would seize parents’ patria potestad, their ­legal authority over their ­children (Torres, 1999, pp. 49–50). The United States government, having grown increasingly hostile t­oward Castro’s government, and officially calling it “communist controlled” in late 1960, soon established a federal entity to assist Cuban refugees in the United States (Castro, 2015, p. 52). The Cuban Refugee Program, established in February 1961 by the administration of John F. Kennedy, provided a welcome to Cuban exiles that was unpre­ce­dented in American immigration and refugee history (Bon Tempo, 2008, p. 107). Cubans received such extensive support from the U.S. government in their relocation and integration in American society that observers have referred to this early wave of refugees as the “Golden Exiles.” The impact of Cuban Americans on South Florida and other communities has been significant on both the cultural and economic levels. B ­ ecause many early refugees ­were professionals, highly educated, and skilled, they brought significant ­human capital with them to help build a Cuban enclave in Miami. Large sections

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Operation Pedro Pan The rumors about the threats to patria potestad ­were exacerbated by the experience of priests in the Cuban Catholic Church who had witnessed ­children being separated from their parents in the Spanish Civil War, with some of the ­children being sent to the Soviet Union. The fear of separation and a government takeover of parental rights led thousands of Cuban parents to send their ­children to the United States as part of what came to be known as Operation Pedro Pan. Between December 1960 and October 1962, 14,124 unaccompanied Cuban c­ hildren came to the United States, many of whom had to wait for years to be re­united with their parents (Castro, 2015, pp. 66–67).

of downtown Miami that ­were decaying in the late 1950s w ­ ere revitalized by the arrival of the Cuban exiles. By the early 1970s, Cuban entrepreneurs had created some 6,000 new businesses in the greater Miami area (Castro, 2015, p. 108). A significant section of Miami is now internationally known as ­Little Havana, and serves as a cultural hub for many Cubans in the United States. As the pressure on the state of Florida increased, the federal government began distributing Cuban refugees to all 50 states. B ­ ecause of this, Cubans have also made significant contributions to other areas in the United States. The Cuban presence in Union City, New Jersey, for example, paved the way for other Hispanic groups to move to the area. Each year, Bergenline Ave­nue is the site of a Cuban Day Parade. Cubans also left their mark outside of large metropolitan areas in the United States, where Cuban professionals ­were often resettled to serve as Spanish teachers in smaller communities. The prolonged presence of the growing Cuban American population ultimately had an impact on the politics of the United States, as well. As they had since the 19th ­century, po­liti­cally active Cuban exiles in the United States sought to bring about the end of a regime that they saw as dictatorial. Exile organ­izations ranged from ­those seeking to inform the American public about the Castro government’s transgressions to ­those that actively took up arms against his regime. Groups like Alpha 66, the Truth About Cuba Committee, and the Frente Demo­cratico Revolucionario (Demo­cratic Revolutionary Front) all opposed the revolutionary regime in one way or another. Some groups had direct ties to the United States government and the Central Intelligence Agency, but many acted with in­de­pen­dence that frustrated American officials. As Cubans became more established in the United States, they began to gain more influence over American politics and foreign policy ­toward Cuba through power­ful lobbying organ­izations like the Cuban American

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Cuban Americans in Politics ­ fter becoming American citizens, many exiles, now Cuban Americans, quickly A involved themselves in local and national politics. In 1972, Manolo Reboso, a veteran of the Bay of Pigs invasion, became the first Cuban-­born member of Miami’s city commission. Miami elected its first Cuban-­born mayor, Xavier Suarez, in 1985. The first Cuban American member of the U.S. Congress, Ileana Ros-­Lehtinen, was elected in 1989. The American-­born c­ hildren of exiles also became active in politics. The primary election season for the 2016 presidential contest saw not one, but two Cuban Americans bidding for the presidency of the United States: Edward “Ted” Cruz and Marco Antonio Rubio. Since 2013, three Hispanics of Cuban descent serve as U.S. senators: Ted Cruz (R-­TX), Marco Rubio (R-­FL), and Bob Menendez (D-­NJ).

National Foundation. By continuing the century-­long tradition of active po­liti­cal exiles, Cuban activists ultimately gave the Cuban American community a dif­fer­ent character from that of many other Latino/a groups in the United States. What originally began as a temporary struggle-­in-­exile against a repressive regime ultimately became a permanent migration to the United States.

Biographies of Notable Figures Fulgencio Batista Zaldívar (1901–1973) Born on January 16, 1901, in the rural community of Banes in Oriente Province, Rubén Fulgencio Batista Zaldívar was the eldest son of Belisario Batista Palermo and Carmela Zaldívar González. Batista’s origins ­were extremely ­humble and poverty left its mark on Batista. His younger b­ rother Juan died of tuberculosis at a young age, likely fueling the elder ­brother’s ­future campaign to eradicate the disease from Cuba (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, p. 3). Batista’s origins would l­ ater fuel his ­enemy’s fodder against him. In a very racially segregated Cuban society, Batista’s mixed racial background, which included Spanish and African descent, was the subject of discussion when he came to power. Cuban society expected p­ eople in power to be white and members of the upper class, so Batista’s racial origins ­were consistently questioned. The press in the United States often described Batista as a “mulatto” (a term used at the time to describe a person of mixed ancestry). His friends called him el indio, the Indian, while his enemies called him el negro, the black man (Argote-­ Freyre, 2006, p. 4).

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Batista’s ­father, Belisario, worked as a sugar cane cutter for the United Fruit Com­pany, which dominated the Banes area throughout young Batista’s life. The ­family’s economic situation was dire enough that, by age eight, Batista was forced to leave school and join his f­ ather as a cane cutter. Years l­ater, Batista’s parents allowed him to attend a Quaker night school, where he studied for almost two years. Batista spent several years wandering the Cuban countryside and working for the Northern Rail Line u­ ntil he joined the army in April 1921 (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, pp. 6–14). Once in the army, Batista proved to be a skilled typist and stenographer. He slowly ­rose through the ranks of the army, attempting to use his stenography skills to enter the officer corps and move beyond the rank of first sergeant, which he had attained by the early 1930s (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, pp. 32–33). During this time, Batista became increasingly dissatisfied with the rule of Gerardo Machado. Although he did not participate in active re­sis­tance against the Machado government, he passed along information that he gathered for the opposition (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, p. 55). Machado’s government ultimately collapsed when Machado fled the country in 1933 and was succeeded by a caretaker government headed by Carlos Manuel de Céspedes. At this point, Batista participated in more overt action against the government. Deep divisions along class lines and unstable conditions for enlisted men led Batista and other noncommissioned officers to engage in what came to be known as the “Sergeants’ Revolt.” The sergeants sought to protest problematic conditions in the army, including poor pay, inadequate housing facilities, and rumored cuts in the ranks of enlisted men. Their goal was not to overthrow the Céspedes government, but their rebellion ultimately led to a new government headed by Ramón Grau San Martín. For his part in helping remove Céspedes, Batista was promoted to the rank of col­o­nel and made head of the army by the new government (Pérez, 2006, pp. 200–207). With significant encouragement from the American diplomatic mission, Batista ousted Grau San Martín. Although Batista was not officially the head of state, he maintained power over Cuba for the remainder of the 1930s, and was elected president in 1940, defeating Grau San Martín who was r­unning for president years ­after being ousted from power. Batista left office in 1944, but sought another term as president in 1952. When an electoral defeat seemed certain during that election period, however, Batista initiated a military coup against the Auténtico government in power. On March 10, 1952, a well-­planned and executed plot enabled Batista’s supporters to seize all principal army posts in Havana. Members of the armed forces who ­were loyal to the former president fanned out and took strategic positions. Batista’s forces soon eliminated all military opposition, seized the government, suspended constitutional rights, and dissolved the congress (Pérez, 2006, pp. 219–220).

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Batista’s dictatorship faced opposition from the outset of the 1952 seizure of power. Though his government received significant support from the U.S. government, his regime was unpop­u­lar on the island for its repressiveness and corruption. Batista courted the support of the American government and sought to silence critics by holding elections in 1958. ­These elections, however, ­were rigged and ­were recognized as a sham both in Cuba and abroad (Pérez, 2006, p. 235). In late December, he received word that one of his most trusted generals had met with rebel leader Fidel Castro on Christmas Eve, 1958. The two men planned to hand Batista over to the rebels, to try him as a war criminal, and to have him executed. Batista made the decision to flee the country (Argote-­Freyre, 2006, p. 1). On December 31, 1958, Batista, mindful of the importance of the appearance of normalcy before his troops and the nation, gathered his closest advisors and his ­family at Camp Columbia ­under the pretense of a quiet New Year’s Eve cele­bration. However, in the early hours of the morning on New Year’s Day, Batista and his inner circle boarded three airplanes and left Cuba. Batista lived out the rest of his life in exile, first in the Dominican Republic, then in Portugal, and fi­nally in Spain (Argote-­ Freyre, 2006, pp.1–2). He died on August 6, 1973, his name having become synonymous with the dictatorship that was overthrown by the Cuban Revolution.

Fidel Alejandro Castro Ruz (1926–2016) Fidel Castro Ruz was born near the village of Birán, in Oriente province, on August 13, 1926. His parents ­were a Spanish mi­grant, Ángel Castro y Argiz, and his mistress, Lina Ruz González. Castro y Argiz was a successful sugar cane planter, and, although Fidel was born outside of wedlock, which still carried significant cultural stigma, he grew up in relative comfort among the poverty of the Cuban peasantry due to his ­father’s wealth. In time, Castro y Argiz would marry Fidel’s ­mother and legitimize his son. Castro was educated in Jesuit private schools and showed both intellectual ability and an aptitude for baseball. ­After graduation, he attended the University of Havana law school, from which he graduated in 1950. Castro grew interested in social justice, and sought to participate in the overthrow of right-­wing governments in the Dominican Republic and Colombia during his years studying law. He first came to prominence in Cuba in 1953 a­ fter his attack on the Moncada Army Barracks. Castro, then a member of the Ortodoxo party, led the attack on this army installation in Santiago de Cuba on July 26th of that year (Pérez, 2006, p. 221). He spoke in his own defense at trial and delivered an impassioned speech that would be reprinted and disseminated as a pamphlet throughout Cuba and remembered by the title “History ­Will Absolve Me” (Pedraza, 2007, pp. 48–49). ­After his trial, Castro went into a brief period of exile in Mexico before his return to Cuba in December 1956, whereupon he and a band of revolutionaries

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took to the Sierra Maestra Mountains to engage in guerilla warfare against Batista’s government (Pérez, 2006, p. 222). The revolutionary strug­gle against Batista’s government would ultimately be successful, and Castro and his allies came to power in Cuba in early 1959. On January 9 of that year, Castro entered the city of Havana and made an impassioned speech in which he assured the ­people that the laws would be respected ­because “­there is no egoism or partisanship ­here.” He warned, however, that he would take up arms again on behalf of the p­ eople “to guarantee their law, their peace and their right” if need be. Castro informed the ­people of Cuba that while the fighting had ended, the revolution against the prob­lems facing their society continued. “If we do not resolve all ­these prob­lems, it means an incomplete revolution,” Castro told the crowds in Havana, “­because I believe that the basic prob­lem of the Republic, following the triumph, is work, and this is the way to resolve the prob­lems” (Chomsky, 2003, pp. 342–343). Despite Castro’s promises of nonpartisanship in the revolution, his government soon faced a series of high-­level resignations and an increased flow of disaffected Cubans opting for exile in the United States and elsewhere due to the perception that Castro was turning the Revolution from a nationalist proj­ect to one based on Marxism. Castro relied on the support of the Partido Socialista Popu­lar (Popu­lar Socialist Party), Cuba’s communist party, in securing the f­ uture of his revolutionary proj­ects, particularly land reform. Castro’s closeness to the Popu­lar Socialist Party, his adherence to land re­distribution, and his reopening of relations with the Soviet Union concerned many members of the U.S. government, who worked with anti-­Castro exiles to oppose him. Despite his initial claims that the revolution would be nonpartisan, Castro came to view anti-­communism and opposition to the revolutionary regime, including the act of fleeing the country, as treason. “To be a traitor to the Revolution is to be a traitor to the country,” he declared in 1960 (Pérez, 2006, p. 246). Many exiles hoped that his tenure as leader of the Cuban government would be brief, but Castro remained in power for de­cades and proved to be quite a­ dept at surviving changing circumstances. His revolutionary government survived an attempted invasion by American-­backed exile forces in April 1961, as well as a major clash between Cold War superpowers during the October missile crisis of 1962; increasing economic trou­bles in the late 1970s and early 1980s; and the collapse of his allies in the Soviet Union at the end of the Cold War. Castro’s continued presence made him a thorn in the side of the United States government, a role he seemed to enjoy, and which earned him significant legitimacy at home and among leftist revolutionary circles around the world, due to his ability to ­humble a superpower. His relationship to the Cuban exile community continued to be largely antagonistic, with a brief period of détente during the dialogo, a pro­cess undertaken in the late 1970s in which Castro and members of the exile community sought, for

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varying reasons, some common ground. Castro welcomed the possibility of rapprochement with some members of the Cuban exile community for largely economic reasons. While this also served as a back-­channel overture to the U.S. state department, the objection to the dialogo from some exiles led to significant divisions within the Cuban community in the United States (Torres, 1999, pp. 94–102). Castro’s rhe­toric became vitriolic once again. Soon he initiated a ­human rights crisis when he allowed the mass migration of nearly 125,000 Cubans to the United States in the course of a few months during the Mariel Boatlift of 1980. ­After the end of the Cold War, Castro outlasted his Soviet allies and formed new alliances with other socialist leaders in the Amer­i­cas, such as Hugo Chávez. In time, Castro stepped down as president of Cuba. This change did not come with the violent overthrow that many in the exile community and their anti-­communist allies had long hoped for. Instead, he quietly transferred his responsibilities to his vice president and ­brother, Raúl Castro, in 2006 before the latter formally ­adopted the presidency of Cuba in 2008. Fidel Castro remained active in national and international politics in retirement ­until his death on November 25, 2016.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT “Cuba en Guerra”—­El Avance Criollo, cover date April 28, 1961 El Avance Criollo was a weekly, anti-­Castro exile periodical based in Miami, Florida. Upon news that an exile force sought to overthrow the revolutionary regime, the weekly ran a headline declaring “Cuba at War.” In the following text, El Avance likens the exile forces to t­ hose Cubans who had fought for in­de­pen­dence in the previous ­century and calls for help from other nations in the Amer­i­cas. In real­ity, we are witnessing a reenactment of our wars of in­de­pen­dence, when an exiguous number of Cubans threw themselves, without any military training, or weapons, or support of any kind, against a Eu­ro­pean army sent to Cuba and equipped with the latest weapons and assigned to do fight to the last man and the last cent of a power­ful nation. . . . We call also on the other American nations to do away, in this pivotal moment, with their selfish interests and that they comprehend the enormous tragedy of Cuba, and that they take note that the Cubans currently facing the Castro-­communists on their home soil do so also for the security of the w ­ hole continent, given that the ­battle t­here is for the survival of every­one’s democracy. Source: “Cuba en Guerra,” El Avance Criollo, April 28, 1961. Translation by author.

See also: Cuban Wars of In­de­pen­dence; Mariel Boatlift; Spanish American War

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Further Reading Argote-­Freyre, Frank. 2006. Fulgencio Batista: From Revolutionary to Strongman. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Bon Tempo, Carl J. 2008. Americans at the Gate: The United States and Refugees During the Cold War. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Casavantes Bradford, Anita. 2014. The Revolution Is for the ­Children: The Politics of Childhood in Havana and Miami, 1959–1962. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Castro, Mauricio. 2015. Casablanca of the Ca­rib­be­an: Cuban Refugees, Local Power, and Cold War Policy in Miami, 1959–1995 (doctoral dissertation). Purdue University. Chomsky, Aviva, et al., eds. 2003. The Cuba Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. De La Torre, Miguel A. 2003. La Lucha for Cuba: Religion and Politics on the Streets of Miami. Berkeley: University of California Press. Farber, Samuel. 2006. The Origins of the Cuban Revolution Reconsidered. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Ferrer, Ada. 1999. Insurgent Cuba: Race, Nation, and Revolution, 1868–1898. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Garcia, Maria Cristina. 1996. Havana USA: Cuban Exiles and Cuban Americans in South Florida, 1959–1994. Berkeley: University of California Press. Grenier, Guillermo J., and Lisandro Pérez. 2003. The Legacy of Exile: Cubans in the United States. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Masud-­Piloto, Félix. 1996. From Welcomed Exiles to Illegal Immigrants: Cuban Migration to the U.S., 1959–1995. Oxford, UK: Rowan & Littlefield. Pedraza, Sylvia. 2007. Po­liti­cal Disaffection in Cuba’s Revolution and Exodus. New York: Cambridge University Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 1998. The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 1999. On Becoming Cuban: Identity, Nationality, and Culture. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2006. Cuba: Between Reform and Revolution (3d ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2008. Cuba in the American Imagination: Meta­phor and the Imperial Ethos. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Portes, Alejandro, and Alex Stepick. 1998. City on the Edge: The Transformation of Miami. Berkeley: University of California Press. Quirk, Robert E. 1993. Fidel Castro. New York: Norton. Stepick, Alex, et al. 2003. This Land Is Our Land: Immigrants and Power in Miami. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sweig, Julia E. 2004. Inside the Cuban Revolution: Fidel Castro and the Urban Underground. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Torres, Maria de los Angeles. 1999. In the Land of Mirrors: Cuban Exile Politics in the United States. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Destruction of Chavez Ravine, 1953–1959 | 467 Torres, Maria de los Angeles. 2003. The Lost Apple: Operation Pedro Pan, Cuban C ­ hildren in the U.S. and the Promise of a Better ­Future. Boston: Beacon Press. Whitney, Robert. 2001. State and Revolution in Cuba: Mass Mobilization and Po­liti­cal Change, 1920–1940. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Destruction of Chavez Ravine, 1953–1959 Ronald W. Lopez

Chronology 1911

Chavez Ravine, previously called the Stone Quarry Hills, is subdivided into the neighborhoods of Palo Verde, La Loma, and Bishop by developer Marshall Stimpson. Lots are sold at a low monthly price to Mexicans and Mexican Americans.

1937

The Housing Act of 1937 is passed; it is the first national public housing act in the United States.

1939

The 1939 Housing Survey takes place in Los Angeles; Chavez Ravine is among the areas surveyed. This housing survey is used as the basis for designating blight in areas like Chavez Ravine.

1941, December

The United States enters World War II.

1942

The Sleepy Lagoon Murder takes place; 17 young zoot suiters or pachucos are convicted in a mass trial, which is ­later overturned by higher courts. This case was the basis of the play and film Zoot Suit by Luis Valdez.

1943, June

The last five days of the Zoot Suit Riots take place. Ser­vicemen stationed at the Army and Naval Reserve in Chavez Ravine instigate an assault on zoot suiters downtown and in the surrounding areas.

1945, May

World War II ends.

1949

The Taft-­Ellender-­Wagner Bill (S. 866), known as the Housing Act of 1948, is passed. Los Angeles applies for a federal grant to build public housing to rebuild Los Angeles’s aging housing stock, to construct new public housing, to fund urban renewal, and to infuse the City of Los Angeles with federal monies.

1950

The communities of Chavez Ravine receive notice of the renewal plan and impending evictions.

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1951–1953

Most Chavez Ravine residents are pushed out through threats and exercise of eminent domain.

1951

Planning Commission and City Council hearings confirm the renewal program.

1952

In the first “Proposition B,” voters agree that public housing is a communist practice.

1953

Elysian Park Heights (Chavez Ravine’s public housing proj­ect) is cancelled.

1956

Brooklyn Dodgers baseball team owner Walter O’Malley begins looking for a city to relocate his team. He tours and considers Los Angeles.

1957

The Dodgers National League Baseball team moves from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

1959

The Aréchiga ­family and ­others who resisted displacement are fi­nally evicted from Chavez Ravine by the sheriff’s office.

1962, April Dodger Stadium opens on the site cleared at Chavez Ravine. 1969

Residents of the Barrio Logan neighborhood in San Diego, California, call for a public park for their community.

Narrative In the 1950s and 1960s, American Latino communities throughout the United States felt the effects of widespread federal and local policies of slum clearance and urban renewal. ­These policies called for the removal of the existing population and the clearing of buildings so that a community could be rebuilt—or (more likely), that a new community could be built in the same place. This resulted in the displacement of thousands of Latinos and African Americans, along with other working-­ class ­people, from their homes and communities across the country: Los Angeles, San Diego, Chicago, and New York City, among other places. ­These policies ­were intended to clear dilapidated housing and improve the physical environment of many urban areas. New structures ­were built, such as public housing, schools, arts centers, and the federally funded highway system. Urban renewal displacement, however, had a devastating impact on the populations that w ­ ere forced to abandon their communities, move elsewhere, and start their lives anew. The most famous example of this pro­cess was the removal of Mexican American residents from Chavez Ravine, a community in the hills of Los Angeles that was originally slated for public housing but then was sold as the site for a baseball

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stadium. Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, and other Latinos across the country faced similar dislocations in cities that pursued urban renewal programs or deci­ ded to raze neighborhoods for other proj­ects.

Land Loss and Displacement Displacement and land loss ­were not new phenomena in the mid-20th ­century, nor ­were they limited to this era. Latinos have experienced land loss and dislocation in other historical eras. Indeed, one might argue that displacement from land, property, and other assets is a key characteristic of the Mexican American and Puerto Rican experience in the United States. The history of the Mexican (and, l­ ater, the Mexican American) p­ eople in what is now the United States has been characterized by a per­sis­tent pro­cess of displacement from both individual-­ owned and community-­ owned property. During the eras of discovery and colonialism, Spanish and mestizo elites dispossessed Native American communities as part of the pro­cess of colonization and settlement. Likewise, in Puerto Rico and other Spanish colonies, the wealthy divested the poor and indigenous populations of their lands easily and legally. During the American period, this pro­ cess continued. The Mexican-­American War was a premeditated invasion for the purpose of expanding territory. The war resulted in Mexican ­people being divested of their land, their cultural patrimony, and their self-­ government, and being forced into second-­class status. During the Chavez Ravine was an area in Los Angeles that grew period from 1850 to the 1880s, into a Mexican-­American enclave. In the early ­ ere offered cash buyouts ­those Mexican Americans who 1950s many homeowners w as the city prepared to redevelop the area. Residents remained in the formerly Mexican who refused to give up their homes w ­ ere offered less “Southwestern United States” money and eventually evicted. (Miller/USC fought to retain what remained Libraries/Corbis via Getty Images)

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of their dignity and their rights, despite having become U.S. citizens u­ nder provisions of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The new “Mexican Americans” in Texas, New Mexico, and California ­were pushed off their land by new Anglo settlers by force of numbers, at gunpoint, or by new and unfamiliar ­legal pro­cesses. Mexican Americans experienced a steady depletion of land, lost other forms of wealth, and ­were demoted to second-­class status due to their ethnicity (Vargas, 2016). ­After the Spanish-­American War of 1898, a similar pro­cess took place in Puerto Rico, with the American takeover precipitating an era of colonial dominance that persists to this day. Puerto Rico became a colony of the United States just as it was enjoying the very brief period of self-­governance it had gained from Spain. In both instances, the previous system was abruptly replaced by American dollars and jurisprudence, with the local elite losing their status, wealth, and much of their land. Historically, strategies for restricting the mobility and settlement of Latinos have included residential segregation. From the late 19th ­century through the early 20th ­century, Mexicans and Mexican Americans ­were consigned to residentially segregated areas in the U.S. Southwest. ­These districts ­were often known as “Mexicantown” or “Spanishtown,” or sometimes named a­ fter the state or region in Mexico from which many of their families originated (e.g., “Sonoratown” and “Chihuahuatown”). Even in l­ater de­cades, Mexican Americans ­were segregated by state and local laws and by regional customs, consigned to a status just above that of Native Americans and African Americans in the Southwest, and subject to the same indignities and vio­lence as the latter, including lynching (Carrigan and Webb, 2016). Puerto Ricans, a multiracial group, experienced a range of segregation by race on the mainland of the United States. Dark-­complected Puerto Ricans have often been labeled as black, and fair-­skinned Puerto Ricans have been considered as low-­caste white ethnics by other Americans. In cities like New York, Philadelphia, and Chicago, Puerto Ricans w ­ ere often segregated, physically excluded from “white” areas (González, 2011). In the years ­after World War II, urban renewal programs (and more recently, predatory mortgage lending) have resulted in the displacement of Latinos/as throughout the United States. Despite increases in the size and influence of the Latino population, policies that contribute to Latino displacement continue.

The Story of Chavez Ravine “Chavez Ravine,” as it became known to outsiders, consisted of three separate barrios (Spanish-­speaking neighborhoods): Palo Verde, Bishop, and La Loma (López, 1999). Named for Julián Chávez, a Los Angeles city leader during the 19th ­century

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who owned land and a home nearby, it included Chavez Ravine, Sulphur Ravine, Cemetery Ravine, Solano Ravine, and Reservoir Ravine. The area had been home to a Jewish cemetery, the Barlow Sanitarium, a reservoir, and most recently the Naval and Marine Armory and a police acad­emy. During the Second World War, conflicts between neighborhood youth and soldiers stationed at the armory grew into the famed Zoot Suit Riots. A poor area, it had long been neglected by the city, which had consistently refused to maintain the area’s infrastructure and basic ser­ vices (López, 1999). ­After the end of the Second World War, the city of Los Angeles was quick to select Chavez Ravine for one of 11 housing proj­ects being planned for vari­ous areas within the city. The passage of the Taft-­Ellender-­Wagner “Housing Act of 1948” promised a massive infusion of federal dollars into American cities, including Los Angeles, which had not fully recovered from the ­Great Depression of the 1930s. Los Angeles leaders ­were among the first to apply for the federal funding for slum clearance, urban redevelopment, and private and public housing. In Los Angeles, the largest public housing proj­ect planned was Elysian Park Heights, which would require the entire population of Chavez Ravine (mostly Mexican American homeowners) to be displaced. This proj­ect also required that the existing homes be razed to allow the construction of a massive public housing development, including 24 13-­story public housing towers (López, 2009). In October 1950, the ­people of Chavez Ravine received a formal letter from the Los Angeles City Housing Agency, notifying them that their community was “blighted,” the first step in designating an area as suitable for condemnation and clearance. Residents learned that they would have to move to make way for the planned housing proj­ect. To compensate them for having to sell their homes to the Housing Authority for a minimal price and move out of the area, they w ­ ere offered first choice of units in the new Elysian Park Heights public housing development. The ­people of Chavez Ravine ­were outraged, and or­ga­nized to save their community. The Housing Authority’s Officer of Information, Frank Wilkinson, walked ­house to h­ ouse in Chavez Ravine, often with an interpreter. He spoke to as many residents as pos­si­ble to explain the planned public housing and its benefits to the ­people who lived t­here. To Wilkinson, who was born and raised in Beverly Hills, Chavez Ravine was a slum that needed to be torn down and built anew. Wilkinson’s view of the new community was a massive, planned, and racially integrated public housing proj­ect, and a major improvement to the material conditions of residents in the barrio. To city planners, Elysian Park Heights also posed a solution for housing p­ eople displaced from other “redevelopment zones.” To the residents of Palo Verde, Bishop, and La Loma, however, Chavez Ravine was their home, as it had been to many for 30 years or more.

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As Wilkinson and other agents of the Housing Authority scoured the community, some homeowners ­were persuaded, o­ thers intimidated by threats, and some tempted by the modest buyout of their homes; ­these ­owners agreed to the terms and moved away. ­Others vowed to stay and fight. Community members or­ga­nized the City Center Improvement Association. P ­ eople from the community, mostly ­women, attended planning and city council hearings, picketed vari­ous city offices, and wrote letters to public officials pleading their cause. First, the Planning Commission held a hearing to get community input about all 11 proposed public housing proj­ects, including the one planned for Chavez Ravine. On April 26, 1951, the Planning Commission held hearings that ­were dominated by Chavez Ravine residents. The speakers ­were mostly ­women from the community who spoke of their long-­term efforts to pay off their homes, discussed their poverty, and said that they ­were patriotic citizens whose f­ athers, ­brothers, sons, and husbands had fought and died in Amer­i­ca’s wars. To lose their homes in this way might make them less patriotic, even radicalize them, they warned. The hearings ­were so impassioned that the City Council scheduled additional hearings on June 21, 22, 25, and 26, fi­nally approving all of the proposed housing proj­ects (López, 1999). Once the plans for the public housing proj­ect had been finalized, the Los Angeles Housing Authority began to condemn the homes of t­ hose who refused to leave. This pro­cess of ­legal land seizure involves the use of eminent domain, a ­legal strategy that allows the government to seize private property. Frank Wilkinson was a frequent witness in the court, attesting to substandard construction of area homes, the absence of indoor plumbing, rat infestation, and the high risk of infectious disease. Wilkinson easily defended the l­egal designation of blight, and the properties ­were condemned. Homeowners w ­ ere awarded small payments, much less than the replacement value of their homes. Not all Los Angelenos supported the idea of public housing; during the United States’ Cold War with the Soviet Union, some saw public housing as a sign of communism. During one condemnation hearing, Wilkinson was testifying on rat infestation in a Chavez Ravine home when the homeowner’s ­lawyer asked him to name his po­liti­cal affiliations. The ­lawyer’s intention was to determine if Wilkinson was a communist. Wilkinson refused to answer, invoking his Fifth Amendment right against self-­incrimination. The l­awyer had successfully “red-­baited” Wilkinson (accused him of being a member of the American Communist Party). His refusal to answer was considered an admission of guilt, and was used to bring disrepute upon the Los Angeles Housing Authority in general. Wilkinson was fired in October 1952. In his ­later years, Wilkinson would reveal that he was, in fact, a communist (Sherrill, 2005). Opponents of public housing had started calling public housing “creeping socialism” in 1951. To deflect responsibility, the L.A. City Council placed a

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Chicano Park and Barrio Logan Chicano Park in the Barrio Logan neighborhood of San Diego, California, is known for a collection of dozens of colorful murals on the pylons (beams) at the base of the Coronado Street Bridge. E ­ very year, thousands of tourists visit the site, and each spring, ­there is a cele­bration commemorating the role of the Mexican American community in establishing the park. The murals have been photographed and discussed by scholars, and are ­today seen as part of the patrimony of the local Chicano community. Barrio Logan, on the southeast side of San Diego, had once been one of the largest Mexican barrios (neighborhoods), on the West Coast. At its height, it had a population of 20,000 residents, reaching all the way to the beach. With World War II, San Diego was chosen as a key war production location. With the industrialization and militarization of the waterfront, the community lost access to the beach; roads and railroads ­were expanded, and secondary industry proliferated. ­After the war, the area was rezoned to industrial uses; the construction of a new freeway disrupted the community and cut it in half, and the ramp to the Coronado St. Bridge was built. As a result, the population of Barrio Logan declined to around 5,000 p­ eople. In 1967, with the influence of the Chicano Movement and its ideals of  empowerment and self-­determination, Barrio Logan residents began to demand a public park ­under the pylons of the Coronado Street Bridge, to combat the proliferation of junkyards that w ­ ere creeping into the ever-­ shrinking barrio. The community began asking for the land for a community park. In 1969, Barrio residents ­were told that the land was being made available, but upon seeing bulldozers and fencing ­going up they learned that the land was ­going to be used for a California Highway Patrol substation. Activists went door to door to let residents know what was happening. Angry at the perceived deception, members of the community, including Chicano Studies students, made a h­ uman chain around the equipment and forced the work to stop. Members of the community began to work the land, planting grass and flowering plants. Upon meeting with both state and local officials, members of the community expressed their determination to have the land as a park. With community pressure, state-­owned land was exchanged with the city for an alternative site for the CHP substation, and the city worked with the community in the development of the park. In 1973, the artist and activist Salvador Torres obtained formal permission to produce murals for the park. ­Today, dozens of artists and artist collectives

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are represented in the Chicano Park murals. Additionally, the community hired a Mexican architect to build a pyramid-­like kiosk in the center of the park. The park and its murals have been controversial, but even so, t­here is a cele­bration of Chicano Park each year around April 22. Chicano Park in Barrio Logan is an excellent example of a community strug­gle that was successful in confronting the downside of development and displacement with a solution that, at least symbolically, met the needs of the community.

nonbinding referendum on the ballot in which Los Angeles voters overwhelmingly supported the cancellation of the massive L.A. public housing program. Additionally, long-­time L.A. mayor Fletcher Bowron was replaced by Norris Poulson, who was recruited to represent the interests of private property in opposition to public housing. Poulson negotiated the cancellation of the Chavez Ravine proj­ect, while leaving the rest of the Los Angeles public housing program intact. The city attorney, knowing that proj­ect cancellation was imminent, rushed through eminent domain condemnations of remaining Chavez Ravine homes u­ ntil he received a call that the “Chavez Ravine proj­ect” had fi­nally been cancelled. ­After Poulson took office, the city negotiated the transfer of the Chavez Ravine land from the Housing Authority to the City of Los Angeles at a bargain rate. Poulson also worked with L.A. Councilwoman Rosalyn (Roz) Wyman to attract a national baseball team to the city; that team became the Los Angeles Dodgers (López, 1999). Some residents of Chavez Ravine, especially holdouts like the Aréchiga ­family, refused to leave, hoping they might regain title to their land since the original cause for the condemnations—­the construction of public housing—­was no longer in effect. However, by the end of 1953, most of the ­people in the Ravine had sold their properties, and the homes had been razed or lifted onto trucks to be taken to other areas. A few families (including the Aréchigas) remained, stubbornly refusing to leave long a­ fter the sales of their homes to the Housing Authority had been legally finalized. In 1956, Brooklyn Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley was looking for a new location for his baseball team and was shown Chavez Ravine during a he­li­cop­ter r­ ide. Mayor Poulson and Councilman Roz Wyman both ­were baseball fans, and both wanted a national team in Los Angeles. The City of Los Angeles negotiated a deal in which the Dodgers bought the aging 9-­acre Pacific League Wrigley Field in South Los Angeles, then swapped it for the 298-­acre Chavez Ravine, plus a consideration of one dollar—an outright grant of land would have been illegal. The city agreed

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to cover the costs of grading the land and building access roads. Although the deal was clearly a corrupt bargain, it was backed by yet another referendum of voters, who wanted National League Baseball more than they wanted justice for the remaining holdouts in Chavez Ravine, now being called “squatters” by backers of the deal (López, 1999). Before construction began, the final evictions of ­people whose properties had been seized through eminent domain took place in May 1959. A number of such evictions took place, but only one ­family received significant press attention. On May 8, 1959, Abrana and Manuel Aréchiga ­were forcibly evicted from their home of 36 years. The local press published photos of Mrs. Aréchiga being physically carried out of her h­ ouse. The images circulated around the country and caught national attention. Once the f­amily had been removed from the property, a bulldozer demolished their home and an adjacent property, rented by two el­derly ­women. The Aréchigas pitched a tent on the site where their home had been and demanded a fair price for their land. They argued that the $10,500 offered by the city was a paltry sum for two homes and three lots of land. Six years before, the land had been legally obtained through a pro­cess of eminent domain—­with a “public use only” stipulation—­for the building of the public housing proj­ect called Elysian Park Heights, long since cancelled. By 1959, however, the “public use only” requirement had been dropped by the courts and the land was to be turned over to the Los Angeles Dodgers for the building of their new stadium. They broke soil soon a­ fter, and Dodger Stadium opened for business in 1962. The eviction of the Aréchiga ­family was the end of a 10-­year-­long strug­gle to preserve their home and their community from the bulldozer. Although they w ­ ere not successful in their re­sis­tance, the well-­publicized eviction and the sight of Mexican American homeowners being forcibly ejected from their homes was ingrained in public memory, especially in the memories of Los Angeles Mexican Americans. Displacements continued through the 1950s and beyond for other proj­ects: “slum clearance” for business developments, freeway construction, and large-­scale private housing tracts.

Urban Renewal beyond Los Angeles Los Angeles was not the only place where this happened; cities throughout the country saw their “slum districts” demolished in the name of renewal or improvement. Latinos, African Americans, and, in some cases, poor whites, Native Americans, and Asian Americans ­were pushed out of the lowest-­cost housing of older neighborhoods so that municipalities could rid themselves of “eyesores” and tenements. City leaders sometimes promised relocation and rehousing assistance, but usually simply displaced existing residents who had to find housing on their own.

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In Chicago, Illinois, Mexican Americans and Puerto Ricans faced such dislocations in the 1950s and 1960s. Mexican Americans who had settled in the Taylor Street neighborhood of the Near West Side since the 1920s saw their community displaced in the late 1950s. Originally, community residents had initiated their own grassroots revitalization program aimed at improving their neighborhood and building new affordable housing. The community group, called the Near West Side Planning Board (NWSPB), reflected the diversity of the neighborhood, including Italian American, Mexican American, Greek, Polish, and other white residents, as well as African Americans. The NWSPB received support from a staff person at the Hull House Settlement that Jane Addams and other Progressive ­women reformers had established in the neighborhood in the late 1800s (Fernández, 2012). Initially, the NWSPB had planned to temporarily remove the residents of an area known as the Harrison-­Halsted district. The area had some of the oldest and most dilapidated housing in the city, some of which still did not have full indoor plumbing in the 1950s. The area also included a vibrant commercial strip, filled with stores, shops, and businesses owned by local immigrant residents. For the Mexican American community of Chicago, this was indeed the heart of their shopping district. Mexicans would come from the far suburbs and satellite cities like Joliet and Aurora, Illinois, to buy items like tortillas, pan dulce (Mexican pastries), and other hard-­to-­find ethnic products and goods. The NWSPB’s plan included a newly redeveloped shopping district, which would be intentionally “international,” reflecting the multiethnic diversity of the neighborhood. For the most part, community residents agreed to the plan. Unlike in Chavez Ravine, many residents ­were tenants rather than property o­ wners, so they had ­little choice but to vacate their apartment buildings. Still, many ­were optimistic about the improved housing to which they would return (Fernández, 2012). Like Chavez Ravine, however, the initial plan for the razed area changed dramatically once city officials saw a more lucrative use for the vacated land. While the Harrison-­Halsted area was being redeveloped, the University of Illinois began searching for a location for a new four-­year campus. U ­ ntil the late 1950s, students at the Chicago campus ­were located at the deteriorated and overcrowded Navy Pier campus (a pier that had actually been in operation during World War II). ­After the war, many veterans ­were ­eager to take advantage of the G.I. Bill, which included grants for college tuition, among other benefits. Due to the number of veterans returning to school, the Navy Pier campus proved inadequate to serve so many students. Parts of the campus w ­ ere also still functioning as an active pier for ships. Thus, university leaders felt a sense of urgency to find a better location, and developed plans for a full-­scale university. Many Chicagoans supported the plan (Fernández, 2012).

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The question of where to locate the campus proved to be challenging, however. The university board of trustees, planners, and con­sul­tants considered several dozen dif­fer­ent options, ultimately narrowing the decision down to four potential locations. One was a forest preserve in a suburban location, away from the congestion and crowding of the city. Another option was Garfield Park, a public park in a white neighborhood of the same name. Many residents ­there welcomed the idea ­because it would stem the influx of African Americans from the south and east who w ­ ere entering a previously racially segregated, all-­white community. The third option was an old railroad yard just east of the Harrison-­Halsted district. Fi­nally, the mayor suggested repurposing Harrison-­Halsted and making it the site of the new campus (Fernández, 2012). ­There ­were many reasons that Mayor Richard M. Daley preferred the Harrison-­ Halsted site for the university campus. He thought that a campus located downtown would relieve fears of “white flight” and economic decline in the downtown business district. Many department store o­ wners, insurance and real estate executives, and other business magnates had expressed concern about downtown Chicago’s shrinking commercial activity. Not surprisingly, newly built suburban malls in the past two de­cades had begun siphoning off much of downtown’s commercial activity and transplanting it to the suburbs. According to Daley, a university just a mile away from downtown could potentially attract students, professors, and staff who might shop, do business, and other­wise frequent downtown Chicago and keep it from declining further (Fernández, 2012). Mayor Daley had another key consideration in mind as well: the creeping racial change of the Near West Side and surrounding neighborhoods. African Americans had migrated by the tens of thousands from the South to northern cities like Chicago during the 1940s and 1950s in what was known as the second ­Great Migration. Seeking the economic opportunity of industrial jobs, less rigid racial segregation, and more social freedoms in the North, African Americans flocked to cities like Detroit, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Chicago. In the Windy City, many found themselves restricted to the South Side enclave known as the Black ­Belt. As population pressures strained the aged and overcrowded housing stock, some African Americans began moving northward, southward, and westward to neighboring all-­white communities. White residents (many of whom ­were working-­class, lower-­middle class, immigrants, or c­ hildren of immigrants) objected violently to the racial integration of their neighborhoods. Some used vio­lence—­firebombing cars and homes—or intimidation to keep African Americans out. Still, the sheer force of the dramatic population increase in t­ hose de­cades meant that black residents eventually spilled out of the Black B ­ elt and began settling in other neighborhoods (Fernández, 2012).

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The Near West Side was one such neighborhood. It had a small black population in the early 20th ­century, but it had grown dramatically by the 1940s and 1950s. Some white residents, city officials, and the downtown business elites feared the influx of black residents and the negative economic impact they thought it would have on the area. In the opinion of the mayor and his advisers, building a large public institution like a university campus would prevent further African American settlement (­people could not move in if ­there was no housing), and serve as a physical buffer between the existing black population and downtown (Fernández, 2012). As with Chavez Ravine, community residents protested the construction of the university campus, claiming the right to retain their property, to preserve their neighborhood and their way of life. They ­were concerned that the construction would require more acreage and displace even more local residents than it had from the section that had already been cleared for affordable housing. Still, the largely working-­class residents w ­ ere powerless in comparison to the mayor, city and state officials, the university board of trustees, and downtown business leaders. Although they protested at City Hall, attended public hearings, and marched down the city’s streets, in the end they lost their fight. Officials cited eminent domain to argue that local residents had to make a sacrifice for the “greater good” of public interest. Near West Side residents ­were devastated. They had already made significant sacrifices over the past de­cade, making way for highway construction, public housing, and other proj­ects. In fact, the neighborhood’s population had been declining for several years ­because of t­hese other large-­scale initiatives. The h­ umble but vibrant neighborhood had been dealt a serious blow (Fernández, 2012). Other neighborhoods in Chicago also experienced urban renewal and displacement in the 1960s. The Near North Side, home to many working-­class Puerto Rican, white, African American, Native American, Asian American, and el­derly residents, witnessed slum clearance and the destruction of dilapidated buildings in the early part of that de­cade. Their kitchenette apartments and residential ­hotel buildings ­were demolished and replaced with upscale, luxury housing that attracted upper-­ income residents and businesses. In subsequent years, the Lincoln Park neighborhood witnessed a similar pro­cess of older buildings being ­either demolished or rehabilitated to the grandeur of earlier de­cades. Such housing was similarly aimed at attracting middle-­to upper-­income white residents. In fact, the issue of urban renewal displacement was what politicized the local street gang, the Young Lords, and turned them into a po­liti­cal organ­ization (Fernández, 2012). Other cities also experienced similar dynamics. Even in smaller cities like St. Paul-­Minneapolis, in Minnesota, Mexican Americans felt the force of de­mo­li­ tion. In Philadelphia, the Art Museum area of the city, which had been home to working-­class Puerto Rican residents, underwent the same style of renewal. The Upper West Side of Manhattan also witnessed displacement of Puerto Ricans and

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other residents. A neighborhood just south of Manhattan also saw area housing demolished to make room for the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. The neighborhood that had been home to diverse residents, including many Puerto Ricans, sacrificed its housing in the interest of a major institution for the arts. Latinos in the United States, in par­tic­ul­ar Mexican Americans and Puerto Ricans, have a shared history of displacement and land loss. The “­Battle of Chavez Ravine” became emblematic of the experience of displacement for a number of reasons. First, it was a long, drawn-­out, David-­vs.-­Goliath type of conflict that spanned several years. Second, it included the involvement of Major League Baseball, which has an enduring hold on the American public consciousness. Third, the community resisted displacement and argued persuasively that their status as veterans or w ­ idows and ­family of veterans gave them a special claim on their American homes. And fi­nally, the well-­publicized eviction of the Aréchiga f­ amily—­complete with newsreel and newspaper coverage—­brought nationwide attention to the issue. All ­these ­things, along with the continued awareness of t­hese events in Los Angeles, have given Chavez Ravine (also the name of the Los Angeles Dodgers’ stadium) a complicated, mixed significance. Both Puerto Ricans and Mexican Americans share this historical experience of displacement, land loss, eviction, being pushed out of their homes, having their communities destroyed and being forced to move in the name of “pro­gress.” From New York to Los Angeles, eviction and displacement are an enduring ele­ment in the history of Latinos in the United States. Urban renewal and the displacement of working-­class communities w ­ ere not limited to the 1960s, however. In the Mission District of San Francisco; the Mexican American communities of San Diego and Chicago; and the Puerto Rican and Dominican barrios of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and other East Coast cities, residents continue to feel the pressures of gentrification, and the redevelopment of housing and commercial districts for higher-­income residents into the 21st ­century. Urban redevelopment (particularly the construction of upscale housing for professionals) continues to threaten Latino populations in inner cities nationwide.

Biographies of Notable Figures Abrana Aréchiga (1887–­?) Abrana (sometimes spelled “Avrana”) Aréchiga was a resident of Palo Verde, a barrio in the area commonly called Chavez Ravine. Along with her husband, Manuel Aréchiga, Abrana became a leader in the re­sis­tance to displacement from Chavez Ravine. Manuel, who was born in 1887, and Abrana, born in 1893, owned three lots and constructed two ­houses in the Palo Verde barrio. Abrana had a reputation as a

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tough and fearless w ­ oman who was said to have once shot the cigar out of the mouth of someone who insulted her. Abrana Aréchiga, Agnes Cerda, and Angie Villa, leaders of the City Center Improvement Association, which opposed displacement by public housing, ­were interviewed by the Los Angeles Times. The Aréchigas ­were among t­hose who felt that the paltry sum offered by the city—­$10,500—­was insufficient for their property. The ­couple lost an appeal to keep their homes, and w ­ ere among the families who refused to move ­until physically evicted. They also challenged the city’s claim that the homes ­were “blighted,” or substandard, and appealed the city’s designation of blight, or a “slum”, that needed to be redeveloped. The ­house ­behind the Aréchiga home was also owned by the Aréchiga ­family and rented to two older ­women, and Abrana also owned at least one other ­house in East Los Angeles that she rented out. ­After their eviction from Palo Verde, Manuel and Abrana moved into an East Los Angeles home which was ­later, ironically, also seized through eminent domain, this time for freeway expansion. On May 8, 1959, Abrana and Manuel ­were evicted from their Chavez Ravine home in front of reporters’ and other witnesses’ cameras. Abrana and her d­ aughters, Victoria Angustain and Aurora Vargas, w ­ ere physically removed by sheriff’s deputies moments before the ­house was destroyed by a waiting bulldozer. The ­family camped out on the ruins of their home for several weeks, receiving popu­lar support ­until the Los Angeles Times reported that they w ­ ere not “poor Mexicans” but rather ­owners of several properties throughout the city. In fact, vari­ous ­family members owned homes and rental properties around the Los Angeles area. See also: The Chicano Movement; Urban Uprisings

Further Reading Acuña, Rodolfo F. 1984. Community U ­ nder Siege: A Chronicle of East Los Angeles 1945– 1975. Los Angeles: Chicano Studies Research Center Publications, University of California Los Angeles. Arreola, Daniel D. 2004. Hispanic Spaces, Latinos Places, Community and Cultural Diversity in Con­temporary Amer­i­ca. Austin: University of Texas Press. Avila, Eric. 2004. Popu­lar Culture in the Age of White Flight: Fear and Fantasy in Suburban Los Angeles. Oakland: University of California Press. Carrigan, William D., and Clive Webb. 2016. Forgotten Dead: Mob Vio­lence against Mexicans in the United States, 1848–1928 (1st ed.). London: Oxford University Press. Delgado, Kevin. 1998. “A Turning Point.” Journal of San Diego History 44 (Winter): 1. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Germeck, Karl. 2001. “Speaking With” the Ravine: Repre­sen­ta­tion and Memory in Five Cultural Productions of Chavez Ravine, Los Angeles (master’s thesis). Utah State University.

Hernandez v. Texas, 1954 | 481 González, Juan. 2011. Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in Amer­i­ca. New York: Penguin. López, Ronald W. 1999. The ­Battle for Chavez Ravine: Public Policy and Chicano Community Re­sis­tance in Post War Los Angeles 1945–1962 (doctoral dissertation). University of California, Berkeley. López, Ronald W. 2009. “Community Re­sis­tance and Conditional Patriotism in Cold War Los Angeles: The B ­ attle for Chavez Ravine.” Latino Studies 7: 457. Parsons, Don. 2005. Making a Better World: Public Housing, the Red Scare, and the Direction of Modern Los Angeles. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Robles, Kathleen L. n.d. Chicano Park, Barrio Logan, San Diego: The Takeover of Chicano Park. Chicano Park Historical Documentation Proj­ect. Retrieved from www​ .­chicanoparksandiego​.­com Sherrill, Robert. 2005. First Amendment Felon: The Story of Frank Wilkinson, His 132,000-­ Page FBI File and His Epic Fight for Civil Rights and Liberties. New York: Nation Books. ­Sullivan, Neil. 1989. The Dodgers Move West. London: Oxford University Press. Valdés, Dionicio Nodin. 2000. Barrios Norteños: St. Paul and Midwestern Mexican Communities in the Twentieth ­Century. Austin: University of Texas Press. Vargas, Zaragoza. 2016. Crucible of Strug­gle: A History of Mexican Americans from Colonial Times to the Pres­ent Era. London: Oxford University Press. Yosso, T. J,. and D. G. García. 2007. “ ‘This is No Slum!’ A Critical Race Theory Analy­sis of Community Cultural Wealth in Culture Clash’s Chavez Ravine.” Aztlán: A Journal of Chicano Studies 32 (Spring): 145–179.

Hernandez v. Texas, 1954 Lisa Y. Ramos

Chronology 1901

The Gregorio Cortez incident occurs, in which Cortez, a Mexican American cowboy, shoots two U.S. sheriffs in the aftermath of an argument in which his ­brother was shot and killed. Cortez flees to the border of Mexico, but he is caught and arrested.

1902–1904 Cortez’s trial takes place. This case is one of the earliest on rec­ord in which a Mexican American questions why ­there are no persons of his ethnic background on his jury. 1913

Cortez’s convictions are overturned, and he is eventually released.

1917–early Manuel C. Gonzales, f­ uture League of United Latin American Citizens 1920s (LULAC) founder, forms the Liga Protectora Mexicana (Mexican

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Protective League) in Austin, Texas, with the backing of two Euro-­ American (Anglo) attorneys. The league offers ­legal advice to the ethnic Mexican population. 1920s

Founding of the organ­izations The Order Sons of Texas (OST), Club Protector Mexico-­Texano (Mexico Texano Protective Club), and The Order Knights of Amer­i­ca (OKA). Like the OSA, t­hese latter organ­ izations promote integration and protection of ethnic Mexicans from discrimination.

1921

Founding of the Order Sons of Amer­i­ca (OSA), the first broad-­based, civic-­minded organ­ization to assist the Mexican American population in Texas in combating discrimination. It also includes bettering educational, social, po­liti­cal, and economic circumstances among ethnic Mexicans as part of its efforts.

1927

Founding of the League of Latin American Citizens (LLAC) occurs in the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas a­ fter the failed merger of the OSA, the OST, and the OKA. This new organ­ization was very similar in goals and demographics to the OSA, OST, and OKA.

1929

League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) is formed in Corpus Christi, Texas. It successfully merges the OSA, OKA, and LLAC, and emphasizes assimilation into the United States, pride in Mexican heritage, and protection of Mexican Americans’ civil rights. This organ­ization became the most successful of the Mexican American groups that emerged in the 1920s; it survives to this day.

1945

Several Mexican American ­children, including t­ hose of Gonzalo and Felicita Mendez, are not allowed to enroll in unlawfully segregated schools in Westminster, California. In response, the Mendez ­family and other parents hire attorney David C. Marcus. Marcus files a case (Mendez et al. v. Westminster School District of Orange County) in the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California in Los Angeles on March 2. The trial takes place from July 5–11.

1946

On February  18, Judge Paul  J. McCormick rules in f­avor of the plaintiffs in Mendez. The school district files an appeal with the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals on March 30, but Judge McCormick’s ruling is ­later upheld.

1948

The American G.I. Forum (AGIF) is formed by Dr. Hector P. Garcia. The group expands its mission from defending veterans to defending all Mexican Americans and other Latinos. The AGIF also raises money to send the Hernandez ­lawyers to Washington, D.C. It also takes ­great

Hernandez v. Texas, 1954 | 483

pride in the Hernandez victory before the Supreme Court and spreads the news of the outcome across Texas. 1951, August

Pete Hernandez shoots Joe Espinosa in Edna, Texas, and is formally charged with murder.

1951, October

Hernandez is convicted of murder with malice and sentenced to life in prison.

1952, June The Texas Court of Criminal Appeals upholds Hernandez’s conviction. 1952, December

Brown v. Board of Education ­lawyers pres­ent their arguments against Jim Crow segregation in education before the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS).

1953, October

Earl Warren is appointed Interim Chief Justice of the SCOTUS. The SCOTUS agrees to hear the Hernandez case.

1953, December

Brown v. Board of Education ­lawyers pres­ent their arguments against Jim Crow in education for the second time before the SCOTUS.

1954, January

The Hernandez ­lawyers pres­ent their arguments before the SCOTUS.

1954, March

Warren is confirmed as Chief Justice of the SCOTUS.

1954, May

The SCOTUS declares that Hernandez’s ­Fourteenth Amendment rights ­were v­ iolated and that the equal protection clause protects any group that has consistently been treated unfairly, not just ­those who are treated unjustly ­because they are of a dif­fer­ent race or color. The SCOTUS rules that separate institutions for black and white schoolchildren are unconstitutional and deny black schoolchildren the equal protection of the laws as guaranteed by the ­Fourteenth Amendment.

Narrative In the U.S. Supreme Court case Hernandez v. Texas, 347 U.S. 475 (1954), the Court declared that the ­Fourteenth Amendment’s equal protection clause prohibited discrimination based on national origin or ancestry. As a result of this finding, the court ordered that the murder conviction of Mexican American petitioner Pete Hernandez be overturned. Hernandez’s lawsuit was based on the argument that officials in Jackson County, Texas, excluded all persons of Mexican descent from the possibility of serving on the ­grand jury that indicted him and the petit jury that convicted

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him. Hernandez’s ­lawyers, John J. Herrera, James DeAnda, Gus Garcia, and Carlos Cadena, further showed that Jackson County officials had systematically excluded persons of Mexican descent from jury ser­vice for 25 years and generally treated Mexican-­descent persons as second-­class citizens. This case gave federal recognition to Mexican American discrimination. Specifically, the Hernandez case marked the first time that the Supreme Court recognized Americans of Mexican descent as a group protected by the U.S. Constitution. It would have lasting implications for ­future suits brought by Mexican Americans. Hernandez v. Texas also represented the first civil rights decision announced by the Earl Warren-­led U.S. Supreme Court (1953–1969). The Supreme Court’s May 3, 1954, decision in Hernandez was actually announced two weeks before the more famous Brown v. Board of Education (1954) decision, announced on May 17. Before joining the Supreme Court, Warren had been California governor and a recent Republican candidate for President (1952). He became interim Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court in October 1953. In the Brown v. Board of Education (1954) case, the most famous case deci­ded by the Warren court, Warren convinced the other justices to unanimously rule against the “separate but equal” princi­ple that had legally allowed separate black and white institutions since the late 19th ­century. As he did for African American civil rights history, Warren played a crucial role in Mexican American civil right history. While governor of California, Warren had helped end de jure school segregation in the late 1940s. He signed a law barring school segregation of American Indians and Asian American c­ hildren. This prevented Mexican Americans from being segregated u­ nder the pretext that they ­were descendants of American Indians. Warren had been moved to do so by the Mendez v. Westminster (1946–1947) case, in which Mexican American plaintiffs sued several school districts for discriminating against Mexican Americans. The plaintiffs won their case, and the judge who ruled in their f­ avor declared separate Mexican and white schools unconstitutional. The l­ awyers for Brown studied the Mendez case and ­later used some of the same arguments in Brown, linking the Mexican American and African American civil rights movements. Warren’s knowledge of anti-­ Mexican discrimination in California undoubtedly made him willing to accept that such discrimination could exist in other parts of the United States such as Texas. In the de­cades since its issuance, the Hernandez decision has been both praised and denounced. It has been celebrated for being the first major case involving Mexican American civil rights to be presented before the U.S. Supreme Court. It has also been noted for its brilliant attorneys and other supporters who worked for years to dismantle the de facto, but still menacing, discrimination of Mexican Americans. However, it has also garnered some negative attention due to Hernandez’s l­ awyers’ other argument that Mexican Americans ­were legally members of the white race in

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Texas. Socially and in day-­to-­day life, many Euro-­Americans (Anglos) in Texas treated Mexican Americans as nonwhites and second-­class citizens. Hernandez’s ­lawyers cited this practice as incompatible with Mexican Americans’ ­legal whiteness. For some scholars, Mexican Americans’ reliance on ­legal whiteness upheld Jim Crow segregation of blacks and therefore is not to be celebrated. Initially, the Hernandez case did not seem like a civil rights case. It began in August 1951 as a verbal fight that turned murderous in the southeast Texas community of Edna. Pete Hernandez was a young Mexican American man who walked with a limp and worked in menial jobs. According to several witnesses, while drinking with a friend at a local tavern one after­noon, Hernandez became abrasive, leading to a confrontation with other tavern patrons. His drinking companion, J. B. Arroyos, and another patron, Joe Espinosa, took Hernandez outside and told him to leave. Hernandez claimed he was insulted and forcibly removed by Joe Espinosa; Hernandez was so angry he went home and returned to the tavern with a gun. According to Hernandez, a­ fter his return, another patron at Sánchez’s place, Henry Cruz, started to approach Hernandez. B ­ ecause of Cruz’s size and reputation for being somewhat of a tough guy, Hernandez thought Cruz might inflict serious physical injury upon him. Si­mul­ta­neously, Espinosa, with whom Hernandez had already scuffled earlier that day, also began walking ­toward him. Hernandez, who ­later claimed that he feared for his safety, fired a fatal shot to Espinosa’s chest. While ­there was no dispute that Hernandez shot Espinosa, Hernandez’s motive for shooting him was in question. Hernandez claimed that he shot Espinosa in self-­defense, while witnesses claimed that he shot Espinosa in cold blood. Hernandez was immediately arrested. At first, the case seemed similar to other incidents involving too much alcohol, inflamed tempers, and deadly vio­lence, but it would turn into something more. Hernandez was tried and convicted within two months. He and his ­family refused to accept his conviction for murder with malicious intent, and his life imprisonment sentence. Hernandez and his ­family argued that he had not murdered Espinosa intentionally, but rather had defended himself. Gus Garcia and John Herrera, two of Hernandez’s l­awyers, realized that they had an opportune case in hand. Their client was willing to appeal his conviction, risking a retrial that might lead not only to his reconviction, but also to a death penalty sentence. Hernandez’s willingness to risk his own life boded well for Garcia’s and Herrera’s efforts to dismantle discriminatory policies against persons of Mexican descent. Both ­were members of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), a civic-­patriotic group that promoted assimilation of Americans of Mexican descent into U.S. culture, and challenged discrimination against Mexican Americans. Herrera was especially active in this organ­ization. The Mexican American community had recently won a key victory—­legally forbidding anti-­Mexican discrimination in schools as a result of the 1948 Delgado v. Bastrop In­de­pen­dent

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School District case—in which Garcia had participated. Garcia and Herrera hoped the response from the jury would replicate what had just been achieved in public schools: l­egal acknowledgement of Mexican Americans’ existence, and Mexican Americans’ right to have full access to public institutions. For t­hese primary reasons, Hernandez’s ­lawyers focused on arguing Hernandez from a civil rights a­ ngle. They showed that although Espinosa and Hernandez may have been foes that Saturday after­noon in early August 1951, the two men shared a common e­ nemy: a de facto (by custom) segregation system. In Texas, to be of “Mexican” descent in the early 20th ­century was to face stigma and numerous discriminatory obstacles. Employment discrimination limited p­ eople of Mexican descent to unskilled or semiskilled work. Euro-­Americans justified this job discrimination by claiming that most Mexican Americans, especially ­those of mixed-­race heritage, ­were racially inferior and incapable of higher-­level work. This exploitation of Mexican ­labor became the basis for excluding ethnic Mexicans from vari­ous social institutions across the U.S. Southwest and led to the establishment of “Mexican” schools and the denial of equal access to swimming pools, cafes, barber shops, movie theaters, and public parks. When it came to the law, Mexican Americans fared no better. In the early 20th ­century, they faced law enforcement officers who ­were quick to arrest or beat them and courts that typically did not give Mexican Americans a chance to serve on juries. One of the earliest cases on rec­ord in which a Mexican American questioned why t­ here w ­ ere no persons of his ethnic background on the juries that charged or convicted him was that of Gregorio Cortez, which took place in the first de­cade of the 1900s. He was eventually released ­after his convictions ­were overturned in 1913. In response to recurrent anti-­Mexican discrimination, Mexican American groups like the OSA formed by the 1920s. The OSA raised money to defend two Mexican Americans charged with the murder of an Euro-­American man and also sought a ­pardon for another Mexican American man convicted of a crime. A few years l­ ater, Mexican Americans founded the OKA, OST, and LLAC, primarily to defend ethnic Mexicans from per­sis­tent discrimination but also to promote cultural assimilation into the United States. All of ­these groups drew members from the small but growing ­middle class of ethnic Mexicans in Texas and turned to U.S. and Mexican officials for assistance in preventing further anti-­Mexican discrimination. Most of ­these organ­izations would merge into the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) by 1929. LULAC led the attack against anti-­Mexican discrimination in the schools. It also raised some of the funds used to send the Hernandez ­lawyers to Washington, D.C. A LULAC representative accompanied the ­lawyers to D.C. and took notes on behalf of the organ­ization. L ­ ater, LULAC organ­ izations across Texas helped publicize the victory in the Hernandez case throughout the state. The other crucial group that supported the Hernandez case financially

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and with publicity was the AGIF (a group that still exists ­today). It had been or­ga­ nized in the late 1940s b­ ecause of the refusal of the Naval Air Station hospital in Corpus Christi, Texas, to accept Mexican American World War II veterans who needed medical care, and b­ ecause of the failure of the Veterans Administration to deliver financial benefits from the G.I. Bill of Rights to Latino Americans. The American G.I. Forum soon focused on wider issues and contributed to lawsuits that protested the segregation of Mexican American ­children as well as the exclusion of Mexican Americans from juries. ­Because of such per­sis­tent exclusionary practices, persons of Mexican descent remained on the bottom rungs of society. This extralegal form of Jim Crow discrimination directed at ethnic Mexicans was just as oppressive as if it had been ­legal. A 1950 census of housing conditions revealed that the Mexican-­descent population of Texas lived in areas with widespread poor sanitation and health care conditions. The odds of discrimination in the case of Joe Espinosa’s murder w ­ ere relatively high: roughly 57 out of Texas’s 254 counties w ­ ere known to systematically exclude Mexican Americans from juries, according to attorney John J. Herrera in a letter he wrote to the Houston Post. Thus, the Hernandez case grew from a murder case into a civil rights case to attack the de facto Jim Crow discrimination against Mexican Americans. East Texas, where the Hernandez case originated, was notorious for virulent anti-­African American and anti-­Mexican practices. Along the Texas Gulf Coast, communities that supplied local oil companies with workers vigilantly excluded Mexican-­descent persons. Conditions ­were so inhospitable for Mexican Americans in Texas in the first de­cades of the 20th ­century that the state government or­ga­ nized a Good Neighbor Commission in 1943. The primary function of this organ­ ization was identifying and ridding Texas of such discriminatory practices and institutions. This ongoing anti-­Mexican mistreatment was connected to a rise in Mexican immigration to the United States (Gutierrez, 1995, pp. 155–172). In the 1950s, when Hernandez was tried, anti-­Mexican feelings ­were very high. The undocumented Mexican immigrant population in the United States had grown im­mensely, a byproduct of the Bracero Program (1942–1964), a binational agreement to bring Mexican workers into the United States to relieve the supposed l­ abor shortage in the agricultural fields and other job sectors. Some Mexicans crossed into the United States without authorization once they heard of the huge demand for workers. This phenomenon contributed not only to a worsening economic position, but also to a worsening social status for ethnic Mexican workers. Although immigrants from many countries had gained social ac­cep­tance in the United States by the mid-20th ­century, ­people of Mexican descent still strug­gled to gain ac­cep­tance as anything but second-­class citizens. It was difficult for persons of Mexican descent to find full ac­cep­tance, ­because continuous immigration from

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Mexico led many native-­born Americans to conclude that most Mexicans had recently arrived and ­were thus foreigners to U.S. society. The greatest task at hand for Mexican American activists by the 1950s was to demonstrate that Mexican Americans often faced exclusion, discrimination, and segregation rather than inclusion, ac­cep­tance, and equal rights and privileges. The task of establishing a l­egal rec­ord of systematic, per­sis­tent discrimination against Mexican Americans fell to James DeAnda, the youn­gest ­lawyer of the group defending Pete Hernandez. DeAnda had collected similar data for a previous case on Mexican American jury discrimination: Aniceto Sanchez v. State of Texas (1951). In that case, the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals ruled against Sanchez’s claim that ethnic Mexicans had been purposefully left off the juries in his case, violating his right to equal protection. The Sanchez case did not move beyond the appellate phase, however, unlike the Hernandez case. As the Sanchez case ended, the Hernandez case began, and DeAnda once again gathered evidence of anti-­Mexican discrimination. In Hernandez, DeAnda conducted a thorough investigation of Jackson County institutional practices. He discovered that schools and juries treated persons of Mexican descent as unworthy of the same protections that Anglos received. Throughout Jackson County, he found, Anglo officials treated persons of Mexican descent as a distinct and subordinate population. The 1950 census showed that 12,916 ­people lived in Jackson County, of which 1,805 ­were U.S. citizens of Mexican descent: approximately 14 ­percent of the county’s population. Not one of t­hese Mexican

Aniceto Sanchez v. State of Texas, 243 S.W.2d 700 (1951) James DeAnda and John  J. Herrera, Pete Hernandez’s first l­awyers, confronted the ambiguous status and unfair treatment of ethnic Mexicans in the Texas court system in this direct pre­ce­dent to Hernandez v. Texas, 347 U.S. 475 (1954). As in Hernandez, the two attorneys brought forth evidence of systematic discrimination against persons of Mexican descent. They emphasized that persons of Mexican descent w ­ ere essentially treated as a separate “Mexican” race. In fact, DeAnda obtained the briefs from A. L. Carlton, who had defended another Mexican-­American man, Serapio Sanchez, in a criminal case in west Texas in 1944. The argument that Mexican Americans had long been treated as a “Mexican” race argued by DeAnda and Herrera in the Aniceto Sanchez case, therefore, was similar to that which had been made in Mexican American jury discrimination cases since 1931, like the Ramirez case and the ­later Serapio Sanchez case.

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Americans had served as a juror or jury commissioner in Jackson County in the last 25 years. In Texas, in order to serve as a juror during that era, one had to be of voting age (21 years of age or older), a U.S. male citizen, head of a h­ ouse­hold, literate, f­ree of a felony conviction, and morally sound. Of the Mexican American male population over the age of 25 in Jackson County, 205 had completed between five years of elementary school to four years of college, and thus seemed to meet the reading/writing qualification. This evidence contradicted the frequent excuse of Anglo officials that most Mexican Americans ­were not educated enough to serve on local juries. According to the Hernandez ­lawyers, the fact that Mexican Americans had not served as jurors or jury commissioners for 25 years, despite the fact that hundreds of them met the qualifications to be jurors, proved that Mexican Americans’ constitutional rights ­were being ­violated. Hernandez’s ­lawyers knew that the sitting district court judge, Frank Martin, would likely reject the notion that Mexican Americans ­were systematically excluded from juries. Legally, courts declared Mexicans to be racially “white.” Since white Americans w ­ ere well represented on juries in southeast Texas, ­there was no discrimination, according to Texas officials. If Martin accepted the motion to quash the indictment, or the evidence that Mexican Americans formed a separate and unprotected class in Jackson County, he would be perceived as giving persons of Mexican descent special privileges He also would be acknowledging the idea that persons of Mexican descent represented a separate race from whites, a fact not accepted in any courts in Texas. Through l­egal strategies that highlighted anti-­Mexican discrimination, Hernandez’s l­awyers expanded the case from a s­ imple murder case into an impor­tant Mexican American civil rights lawsuit which recognized that discrimination could be based on something other than racial classification.

Strauder v. West ­Virginia, 100 U.S. 303 (1880) The Strauder case was the first to address the issue of race discrimination in juries. Existing West ­Virginia laws did not allow persons of African descent to serve on ­grand or petit juries. This Supreme Court case established that barring a certain group of ­people from jury ser­vice based on race or color ­violated their rights as outlined in the equal protection clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Hernandez’s ­lawyers would l­ater cite this case as a l­egal pre­ce­dent that applied to their own case. As the Hernandez ­lawyers argued, though Mexican Americans w ­ ere legally white, Euro-­Americans treated them in a subordinate manner similar to African Americans.

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When the district court ruled that Pete Hernandez was guilty and sentenced him to life imprisonment in October 1951, Hernandez’s ­lawyers appealed the case to the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, hoping for a reversal of the lower court’s ruling. One of Hernandez’s attorneys, Carlos Cadena, noted that the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals had never recognized that Mexican American discrimination existed. In the early 1930s, during the Ramirez case, Texas courts first took the position that t­here was no such t­hing as “anti-­Mexican discrimination in juries.” Since then, the Criminal Appeals court had reaffirmed its stance, in several more Mexican American jury discrimination lawsuits, that the exclusion of a par­tic­u­lar “national origin” was not unconstitutional. Carlos Cadena noted that Texas courts did not accept the argument that the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution applied to Mexican Americans, b­ ecause the jurists claimed that only the white and black races ­were protected by this clause. The appellate court referred to this as the “two classes” theory of the equal protection clause, and thus claimed that the equal protection clause did not apply to ethnic groups. Texas courts argued that b­ ecause persons of Mexican descent w ­ ere legally white, they w ­ ere already protected by the equal protection clause. H ­ ere, the courts refused to recognize that most p­ eople of

Ramirez v. State of Texas, 119 Tex. Crim. 362, 40 S.W.2d 138 (1931) When Geronimo Ramirez’s case went before a district court judge again in April 1930, defense ­lawyers Frank Hartgraves, Brian Montague, and J. F. Sutton turned to the “Mexican race” strategy, emphasizing the deep and permanent racial in­equality in most of Texas. They filed a motion that questioned why no person of Mexican descent served on the ­grand jury that indicted Ramirez. The ­lawyers asked the judge to overturn the g­ rand jury indictments b­ ecause they alleged that the jury commissioners who composed the ­grand jury purposefully left off persons of the “Mexican race.” As with his motion to quash the g­ rand jury, Ramirez’s motion to quash the petit jury was denied by the trial court judge, who viewed it as an unsubstantiated claim. Ramirez was found guilty of castration and sentenced to five years in a state prison. Appeals to the Texas Court of Appeals failed to make a difference. As a last resort, Ramirez’s team petitioned the U.S. Supreme Court to review the case based on their claim that Ramirez’s right to equal protection of the laws and due pro­cess of law had been denied. The Supreme Court, however, rejected the case in October 1931, leaving the issue of racial discrimination against persons of Mexican descent an issue that continued to be debated.

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Mexican descent w ­ ere not treated as equals in American society. The Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, therefore, used Mexican Americans’ ­legal white racial status to ignore their pleas for meaningful equality. The Supreme Court apparently recognized t­here might be a serious prob­lem with treatment of Mexican Americans in Texas and agreed to review the Hernandez case in October 1953. Three months ­later, the Court would hear the same arguments that the Mexican American l­awyers had made at the district and appellate phases, but this time the outcome would be very dif­fer­ent. The Supreme Court issued its decision on May 3, 1954. In a unan­i­mous decision written by Chief Justice Earl Warren, the Supreme Court overturned Pete Hernandez’s conviction. The U.S. Supreme Court made it clear that Mexican-­descent ­people in Texas ­were not truly considered part of the white race. The Supreme Court declared that Mexican Americans should be recognized as a unique group of their own, one that had faced continuous discrimination, and was protected ­under the equal protection clause. The Court recognized that discrimination could take many forms beyond race. By d­ oing so, the Court acknowledged that the United States had to protect ­those who fell outside the white-­black racial binary. The Hernandez decision was announced in national newspapers like the Los Angeles Times, and even in Mexican newspapers like the Excelsior. However, it received the most attention in Texas newspapers, like the San Antonio Express, Corpus Christi Caller, and the Dallas Morning News. Legally, the case has been cited in other lawsuits brought by Mexican Americans, Latinos, and other subordinated

Clifton v. Puente, 218 S.W.2d 272 (1948) In the Clifton case, Mexican Americans tackled restrictive covenants in housing against persons of Mexican descent. In the Texas jury discrimination cases that occurred in the 1930s to early 1950s, Texas courts refused to acknowledge that Mexican-­ descent p­eople faced discrimination. Courts argued that jury discrimination against Mexican p­ eople did not exist ­because Mexican-­descent ­people ­were white, and white p­ eople served on juries that tried Mexican defendants. Courts avoided the question of anti-­Mexican discrimination in ­these cases. In this housing discrimination case, however, the court acknowledged anti-­Mexican discrimination. Texas courts accepted a broader interpretation of the ­Fourteenth Amendment when it involved housing discrimination. When Mexican Americans claimed that they suffered systematic exclusion from juries, Texas courts denied their claims.

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groups. Courts have also made greater efforts to make juries more racially and ethnically inclusive. Despite t­ hese efforts, in the early 21st ­century, Latinas/os are still underrepresented in Texas juries. A variety of ­factors, including citizenship status, language, and the historically discriminatory treatment of minority groups by the U.S. criminal justice system, have made it difficult for Mexican Americans to serve on juries. In academic circles, Hernandez v. Texas has received recognition in recent years. A 50th anniversary conference, hosted by the University of Houston Law School, helped renew interest in the case. Scholarly books such as Colored Men and Hombres Aqui: Hernandez v. Texas and the Emergence of Mexican American Lawyering (Olivas, 2006), White but Not Equal: Mexican Americans, Jury Discrimination, and the Supreme Court (Garcia, 2008), and What Blood ­Won’t Tell: A History of Race on Trial in Amer­i­ca (Gross, 2010) have further increased academic interest in the case. In 2009, the PBS American Experience history series broadcast A Class Apart, a film about the Hernandez case, which helped expand interest to the general public. While some scholars view Hernandez as having had a minimal impact, ­others view the case as historic and a precursor to more radical efforts to dismantle discrimination in ­later years. For many Mexican Americans, Hernandez v. Texas is significant b­ ecause it signaled the first time that the highest court in the country acknowledged the unique and historic discrimination that Mexican Americans had experienced.

Biographies of Notable Figures Gustavo C. Garcia (1915–1964) The team that represented Pete Hernandez came from a privileged class within the Mexican American community. In the 1950s, ­there w ­ ere fewer than two dozen ­lawyers of Mexican descent in the state of Texas, and none of them ­were w ­ omen. Most of t­hese ­lawyers grew up in the early 20th ­century, when some of the worst treatment of Mexican Americans by Anglos occurred. In the 1910s, for example, the Texas Rangers w ­ ere responsible for the murders of random Mexican-­descent civilians in retaliation for a Mexican American plot to overthrow Anglo-­American power in south Texas. ­These Mexican American l­ awyers also witnessed increasing restrictions placed upon Mexican-­descent p­ eople’s access to education, jobs, and recreational areas a­ fter the Mexican Revolution spurred Mexican immigration to the United States in the 1910s. This increased migration led to harsher attitudes among Euro-­Americans t­ oward most persons of Mexican descent. ­These f­ actors prompted the ­lawyers to fight for the Mexican American masses, most of whom faced difficult circumstances and limited opportunities.

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Individually, each Hernandez ­lawyer—­Carlos Cadena, James DeAnda, Gus Garcia, and John J. Herrera—­brought a dif­fer­ent strength to the Hernandez case. Only three of them (Cadena, Garcia, and Herrera) went to Washington, D.C., to pres­ent the case before the U.S. Supreme Court. Cadena and Garcia argued the case before the Court, while Herrera assisted them. It was fitting that Garcia argued before the Court, as he was known as a commanding orator. He was also known for his movie-­star looks and Don Juan tendencies; a one-­time San Antonio mayor, Maury Maverick Sr., dubbed Garcia “the Mexican John Barrymore.” Born in Laredo, Texas, in 1915, Garcia moved with his ­family to San Antonio when he was a young boy. He graduated valedictorian of his high school class in 1932 and attended the University of Texas-­Austin on a full scholarship. According to one newspaper account, this made him the first Mexican American student to receive such an honor. He received a BA in 1936 and an LLB (a law degree) in 1938. At the university, he won g­ reat accolades on the school’s debate team; the team never lost a match u­ nder Garcia’s leadership. By the age of 23, he was a full-­ fledged l­ awyer, having passed the bar exam in 1938. Immediately ­after graduating from the University of Texas, he became the first assistant attorney in the city attorney’s office of San Antonio. In 1941, Garcia was drafted into the military and spent the early 1940s serving as an infantry first lieutenant and Judge Advocate General in Yokohama, Japan, during the Second World War. Within a few years of returning to the States, Garcia took on the role of ­legal advisor for the Mexican Consul General Office in San Antonio in 1947. Garcia also became the first Mexican American to serve on the San Antonio school board (1948–1952). He became enmeshed in Mexican American issues as a result of his fellow Mexican Americans seeking him out b­ ecause of his high position within city politics. He also dedicated his time to civic c­ auses, serving as the LULAC ­legal counsel in the 1940s. Garcia acted as the primary l­awyer in the Delgado v. Bastrop In­de­pen­dent School District (1948) school desegregation case, which increased his popularity as a defender of the ethnic Mexican population. Mexican children, even if they did not speak Spanish were sent to a “Mexican school.” The Delgado case drew on the success of the Mendez. v. Westminster School District (1946–1947) case in California, in which Mexican American parents sued on behalf of their c­ hildren, obtaining the right for them to attend the “Anglo school” instead of the “Mexican” one. Hearing of the success of the Mendez lawsuit in 1947, Gus Garcia wrote to the Texas state superintendent, L. A. Woods, to inquire if Woods would enforce the Ninth Cir­ cuit Court of Appeal’s Mendez ruling in Texas. Woods announced that he would acknowledge the ruling and not sanction segregation of Mexican American schoolchildren ­unless it was done for instructional purposes. Woods’s response led Garcia to file the Delgado lawsuit on behalf of Mexican American schoolchildren in

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several central Texas school districts in 1948. The Delgado case did not go to trial. The court and both parties w ­ ere able to come to an agreement, which acknowledged the Delgado plaintiffs’ complaints and required the desegregation of Mexican schools. Garcia’s involvement in well-­publicized efforts on behalf of Mexican Americans like Delgado explains why Pete Hernandez’s f­amily and his first attorneys, John J. Herrera and James DeAnda, sought Garcia’s help on the Hernandez case. Herrera and Garcia knew each other through their mutual LULAC connection and ­because ­there ­were so few Mexican American ­lawyers. Garcia joined the Hernandez team b­ ecause he believed that this case provided the opportunity to address the long-­standing tradition of anti-­Mexican discrimination in jury se­lection. He realized this might be the case that Mexican American leaders had been searching for to further dismantle the unsanctioned but per­sis­tent discrimination against ethnic Mexicans in Texas. Having helped to dismantle Mexican schools through lawsuits, Garcia knew the Mexican American leadership was looking for a case to rid Texas of other discriminatory practices. Through Hernandez, Garcia saw an opportunity to use his skills, training, and education to change the harsh realities of most Mexican-­descent ­people’s lives. His pre­sen­ta­tion before the U.S. Supreme Court was historic in more ways than one. Garcia was among the first Mexican Americans ever to appear before the U.S. Supreme Court, was one of the first to address anti-­Mexican discrimination before the Court, and was also granted extra time to speak in presenting the Hernandez ­matter. According to John J. Herrera, the Supreme Court Justices ­were impressed with Garcia’s impassioned delivery on behalf of Mexican Americans. They even broke pre­ce­dent and allowed him to speak beyond the time usually allotted for oral arguments. His participation in the 1954 Hernandez case was prob­ably one of the most memorable of his short life. He ­later participated in the Hernandez v. Driscoll In­de­pen­dent School District (1957), along with James DeAnda, another case which nipped at anti-­Mexican discrimination in schools. Just 10 years ­later, however, the brilliant Garcia died. He had lost his law license by the early 1960s and died on a park bench in the summer of 1964 in San Antonio. ­After having suffered from alcoholism for several years, he apparently succumbed to it. He was only 48 years old.

Carlos C. Cadena (1917–2001) If Gus Garcia was a commanding orator, Cadena was the quiet genius of the Hernandez team. He was not an imposing presence the way Garcia was. His contribution to the Hernandez defense team was his sharp wit and solid knowledge of U.S. laws. Cadena was a successful 36-­year-­old ­lawyer when he joined the Hernandez defense team. Born in 1917, he was the child of Mexican immigrants who came to

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Texas around 1907 due to the unstable economic and po­liti­cal situation in Mexico. ­After his parents separated, he was raised primarily by his ­mother in a mostly German-­descent community in San Antonio, Texas. He grew up in a mostly working-­ class home, although Cadena’s large ­family managed to pay for him to attend private Catholic schools. Graduating from high school in 1935, Cadena entered the University of Texas-­Austin immediately, thanks to additional economic support from his f­ amily. By 1937, he was able to enter law school. In 1940, at the age of 23, Cadena was a summa cum laude law school gradu­ate of UT-­Austin. Cadena was the only Mexican American law student in his graduating class. He found that most law firms had no interest in hiring him initially, most likely b­ ecause of his Mexican background. However, the city attorney’s office in San Antonio hired him the year he graduated, and he worked ­there for a few years before joining the Army Air Force division during World War II. By 1947, Cadena had returned to the United States, rejoined the city attorney’s office, and begun teaching at St. Mary’s Law School. He opened his own law firm with two other partners soon ­after. In the mid-1940s, Carlos Cadena was an experienced proponent for the Mexican American civil rights movement. He had filed or participated in Mexican American civil rights lawsuits addressing school segregation and housing discrimination. Cadena, along with Gus Garcia, also became involved in the l­ egal challenge against Mexican American school segregation in the late 1940s. The two men worked together in the Delgado case. L ­ ater, Cadena served as the chief attorney on Clifton v. Puente (1948), a Mexican American housing discrimination case, which he won. In an interview, Cadena credited an earlier ruling in f­ avor of an African American plaintiff in the Shelley v. Kraemer (1948) case for paving the way for the Clifton v. Puente case. Cadena was known for assisting African American clients, as well. In 1954, the same year he participated in the Hernandez case, Cadena was co-­counsel for I. H. Harvey, an African American boxer who wanted to fight a white opponent. Texas law forbade interracial matches, but Cadena and his co-­counsel argued that Harvey’s rights ­under the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution ­were being ­violated. A Texas court agreed, and the law was overturned. Cadena’s role in this case demonstrated that the Mexican American l­ awyers in Hernandez ­were willing to defend African American clients. The third ­lawyer who traveled to Washington, D.C., for the Hernandez case, John J. Herrera, was known for defending African American clients as well. A complicating aspect of the Hernandez case was that, despite their willingness to assist African American civil rights efforts at times, the Mexican American ­lawyers who defended Pete Hernandez went to ­great lengths to use Mexican Americans’ ­legal whiteness to their advantage. In the briefs presented before the U.S. Supreme Court, which Cadena wrote, he established the daily nonwhite life of most Mexican Americans. He noted that Mexican Americans’ ­legal whiteness had never

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truly been acknowledged—­certainly not on a broad level. Cadena’s brief pointed to the verbal distinctions made between “Mexicans” and “whites.” He also offered evidence of numerous facilities and institutions like restaurants and schools that offered Mexican-­descent p­ eople fewer rights. Cadena’s most impor­tant point in the Supreme Court brief was noting that the Jackson County, Texas, court­house also treated “Mexicans” as distinct from “whites.” The court­house bathrooms w ­ ere divided into a “white” bathroom and another bathroom labeled both “Colored men” and “Hombres Aqui” (Spanish for “Men H ­ ere”). In an earlier phase of the case, Gus Garcia had called both John J. Herrera and James DeAnda to testify that persons of Mexican descent w ­ ere clearly being directed to use the same rest­room as African Americans, demonstrating that ethnic Mexican ­people w ­ ere definitively not treated as “white” in Texas. Despite this racialized treatment of ethnic Mexicans by Euro-­ Americans in Texas, however, Cadena did not claim that the group was nonwhite. Instead, he classified them as a white racial group that had been wrongfully treated as nonwhite. The ethnic Mexican population faced a difficult road to full ac­cep­tance into the white race ­because of the historic contentious relationship between the United States and Mexico, as well as the economic exploitation of ethnic Mexican workers in Texas. Tensions and hostility had developed between Euro-­Americans and ethnic Mexicans that Cadena traced back to the mid-19th  ­century and the Mexican-­American War, although some scholars would date entrenched animosity between the two g­ oing back earlier, to the Texas Revolution. As a result of the long-­ standing hostility between the two groups, Cadena’s brief argued that though “white” in race, ethnic Mexicans’ “national origin” mattered most in understanding why they ­were not treated equally in Texas. Thus, Cadena called for the Supreme Court to recognize “national origin” as a category that deserved protection u­ nder the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution. With their victory in the Hernandez case, the Hernandez team achieved this recognition. Cadena’s astute and carefully worded arguments and evidence played a crucial role in winning the case. Unlike Garcia, Cadena lived a long life. He died at the age of 83 in 2001. By the time he died, he had ascended to ­great heights in the l­egal world. Cadena was selected to the Texas Fourth Court of Appeals in 1965, and became the Chief Justice of this court in 1977, on which he served ­until his retirement in 1990.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Brief for Petitioner and Appendix B, Hernandez v. Texas, 1953 The following document excerpt is a ­legal brief that was authored largely by Carlos Cadena and presented by Hernandez’s ­lawyers to the Supreme Court of the United

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States. The l­ egal brief is followed by Appendix B, which was included with the “Brief for Petitioner” and further described the school segregation issue. The Texas court’s “two classes” theory [the theory that only the black and white races fall ­under the equal protection clause of the F ­ ourteenth Amendment] is without foundation in reason; it is without support in the decisions of this or any other court. All courts which have considered the question have held that the ­Fourteenth Amendment forbids discrimination ­because of national origin. . . . The invalidity of the “two classes” theory becomes apparent when it is examined in light of the minority status of persons of Mexican descent in Texas. They occupy an inferior social and economic position. The increase in the number of cases in which the Texas court has given its sanction to the practice of excluding them from jury ser­vice shows that they also occupy an inferior ­legal status. The Texas court has announced that it ­will continue to hold them in such inferior ­legal status ­until this Court compels it to do other­wise. While the Texas court elaborates on its “two classes” theory, in Jackson County, and in other areas in Texas, persons of Mexican descent are treated as a third class—­a notch above the Negroes, perhaps, but several notches below the rest of the population. They are segregated in schools, they are denied ser­vice in public places, they are discouraged from using non-­Negro rest rooms [sic]. They are excluded from juries, and a Texas court upholds their exclusion by a paternal reminder that they are members of the dominant white class. As members of the dominant class, they are chided by the Texas court for seeking “special privileges.” They are told that they are assured of a fair trial at the hands of persons who do not want to go to school with them, who do not want to give them ser­vices in public places, who do not want to sit on juries with them, and who would prefer not to share rest room facilities with them, not even at the Jackson County court h­ ouse [sic]. Fi­nally, to insure that they do not succeed in their selfish demand for “special privileges,” the Texas court formulates a special rule of evidence for them so that they may never gain admission to the jury box. . . . All of the talk about “two classes”; all of the verbal pointing with alarm at a “special class” which seeks “special privileges” cannot obscure one very s­ imple fact which stands out in bold relief: the Texas law points in one direction for persons of Mexican descent, like petitioner, and in another for Negroes. Cf. Oyama v. California, 332 U.S. 633, 641 (1947). ­Under such circumstances, can it be said that the State of Texas has accorded to petitioner the protection of equal laws? Distinctions negate equality, and “distinctions between citizens solely b­ ecause of their ancestry are by their very nature odious to a f­ ree p­ eople whose institutions are founded upon the doctrine of equality.”

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This is an excerpt from Appendix B, included with the “Brief for Petitioner” in ­Hernandez v. Texas (1954). Being largely of Indian blood, the Mexican immigrant was literally and so­cio­ log­i­cally high vis­i­ble. That visibility became the peg upon which to hang the ste­ reo­type of the “Mexican;” and, once ste­reo­typed, the immigrant acquired burdens which augmented his socio-­economic prob­lems and increased his so­cio­log­i­cal visibility. Thus, he fell into a vicious circle out of which he has been trying to break with only meager success. It still is not unusual to find in Texas segregated schools for “Mexican” c­ hildren. Often, they are barred from swimming pools, cafes, movie theaters, and even public parks. In some communities, ­there are separate American Legion Posts for “whites” and “Mexicans.” Restrictive covenants limit the areas in which a person of Mexican descent may buy or rent a home. ­These practices have been so prevalent that the Texas legislature on several occasions has considered the passage of laws prohibiting discrimination against persons of Mexican descent. Only the fear that such protection would have to be extended to Negroes also has prevented the passage of such legislation! While legally white (anthropologically he is predominantly Indian) frequently the term “white” excludes the “Mexican” and is reserved for the rest of the non-­ Negro population. . . . ​It is so well recognized that Mexican-­Americans are a class apart that the United States Bureau of the Census, since 1930, has been collecting data that distinguish between the two segments of the white population in Texas and the rest of the Southwest. That Bureau, as part of the 1950 Census of Population, has issued a special report, Persons of Spanish Surname. In its 1950 United States Census of Housing, that Bureau pres­ents a special tabulation for p­ eople of Spanish surname. The under-­privileged status of this population group is quickly evidenced by t­hese Census reports. Not only is the Mexican-­American commonly regarded as a class apart, but by e­ very objective measurement—­from biological makeup to deaths from tuberculosis and from infantile diarrhea—he is a class apart. Source: Hernandez v. Texas, 347 U.S. 475 (1954). Brief for Petitioner, Texas Court of Criminal Appeals.

See also: The Chicano Movement; Founding of LULAC; Mendez v. Westminster; Texas Revolt

Further Reading Behnken, Brian. 2014. Fighting Their Own ­Battles: Mexican Americans, African Americans, and the Strug­gle for Civil Rights in Texas. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Hernandez v. Texas, 1954 | 499 Blanton, Carlos K. 2006. “George I. Sanchez, Ideology, and Whiteness in the Making of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement, 1930–1960.” Journal of Southern History 72 (3, August): 569–604. Blanton, Carlos K. 2009. “The Citizenship Sacrifice: Mexican Americans, the Saunders-­ Leonard Report, and the Politics of Immigration, 1951–1952.” Western Historical Quarterly 40 (3, Autumn): 299–320. Foley, Neil. 2005. “Over the Rainbow: Hernandez v. Texas, Brown v. Board of Education, and Black v. Brown.” Chicano-­Latino Law Review 25 (Spring): 139–152. Reprinted in Michael A. Olivas, ed. 2006. “Colored Men” and “Hombres Aqui”: Hernandez v. Texas and the Emergence of Mexican American Lawyering. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Garcia, Ignacio M. 2008. White But Not Equal: Mexican Americans, Jury Discrimination, and the Supreme Court. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Gross, Ariela J. 2010. What Blood ­Won’t Tell: A History of Race on Trial in Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gutierrez, David. 1995. Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Haney Lopez, Ian. 1997. “Race, Ethnicity, Erasure: The Salience of Race to LatCrit Theory.” California Law Review 85 (5, October): 1143–1211. Haney Lopez, Ian. 2003. Racism on Trial: The Chicano Fight for Justice. Cambridge, MA: Belknap/Harvard University Press. Herrera, J. J. 1972, February 22. Letter to Houston Post editor. JJH Papers, Box 2, Folder 24. Houston Metropolitan Research Center (HMRC), Houston, TX. Johnson, Ben. 2003. Revolution in Texas: How a Forgotten Revolution and Its Bloody Suppression Turned Mexicans into Americans. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Johnson, Kevin  R. 2006. “Hernandez v. Texas: Legacies of Justice and Injustice,” in Michael A. Olivas, ed., Colored Men and Hombres Aquí: Hernandez v. Texas and the Rise of Mexican American Lawyering, 53–90. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Montejano, David. 1987. Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986. Austin: University of Texas Press. Olivas, Michael A. 2006. “Hernandez v. Texas: A Litigation History,” in Michael A. Olivas, ed., Colored Men and Hombres Aquí: Hernandez v. Texas and the Rise of Mexican American Lawyering, 209–222. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Orozco, Cynthia E. 2009. No Mexicans, ­Women, or Dogs Allowed: The Rise of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement. Austin: University of Texas Press. San Miguel, Jr., Guadalupe. 1987. “Let All of Them Take Heed”: Mexican Americans and the Campaign for Educational Equality in Texas, 1910–1981. Austin: University of Texas Press. Sheridan, Clare. 2006. “Peremptory Challenges: Lessons from Hernandez v. Texas,” in Michael A. Olivas, ed., Colored Men and Hombres Aquí: Hernandez v. Texas and the Rise of Mexican American Lawyering, 143–160. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2004. ­Labor Rights Are Civil Rights: Mexican American Workers in Twentieth ­Century Amer­i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press.

500 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959 Wilson, Steven H. 2006. “Some Are Born White, Some Achieve Whiteness, and Some Have Whiteness Thrust Upon Them: Mexican Americans and the Politics of Racial Classification in the Federal Judicial Bureaucracy, Twenty-­Five Years a­ fter Hernandez v. Texas,” in Michael A. Olivas, ed., Colored Men and Hombres Aquí: Hernandez v. Texas and the Rise of Mexican American Lawyering, 124–142. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Zamora, Emilio. 2009. Claiming Rights and Righting Wrongs in Texas: Mexican Workers and Job Politics during World War II. College Station: Texas A&M University Press.

Operation Wetback, 1954 Daniel Morales

Chronology 1910–1920 The Mexican Revolution begins, and prompts a massive movement of Mexican immigrants to the United States over the next de­cade. Between 1910 and 1920, over 500,000 Mexicans migrate to the United States. 1917

The Immigration Act of 1917 passes, despite President Woodrow Wilson’s veto. The law establishes the “Asiatic barred zone” from which ­people cannot immigrate, and creates stricter standards for immigration, including a head tax and tests for literacy, po­liti­cal beliefs, and personality types.

1920–1930 Due to migration networks, tens of thousands of ­people cross the U.S.-­Mexico border in both directions each year. Mexican communities are established across the United States from California to Pennsylvania. 1924

The Immigration Act of 1924 (Johnson–­Reed Act) establishes national quotas for immigration from the eastern hemi­sphere, effectively ending large-­scale migration from Eu­rope. The United States Border Patrol is founded in order to keep p­ eople from entering the country without inspection. The first stations are established in Detroit and El Paso; most of the work of the early patrol is focused on Asian and Eu­ro­pean migration.

1929

The Immigration Act of 1929 establishes a global immigration quota ceiling of 150,000 p­ eople. The law elevates undocumented entrance into the country from an administrative offense to a felony misdemeanor, establishing the crime of illegal entry.

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The ­Great Depression begins. With unemployment rates at more than 40 ­percent in some places, public opinion turns against Mexicans who are seen as foreigners taking jobs that could be filled by Americans. 1930–1935 Repatriation drives result in 300,000 to 500,000 Mexicans and Mexican Americans being sent to Mexico. Half of ­those sent back are U.S.-­born, Mexican American citizens. 1930

1.5 million ethnic Mexicans are living in the United States.

1941

The United States enters World War II. Millions of workers enter the armed forces, creating l­abor shortages throughout the economy.

1942

The United States and Mexican governments sign the Mexican Farm L ­ abor Agreement, creating what became known as the Bracero Program.

1946

Public Law No. 46 continues the Bracero program ­after the end of the war.

1947

As more and more farmers turn to undocumented workers, the Border Patrol uses its discretionary powers to legalize 55,000 into the Bracero Program in Texas alone. Public Law No. 40 extends the program.

1948–1951 Repeated breakdowns in negotiations between Mexico and the United States over wages and l­ abor conditions lead the Border Patrol to open the border several times and grant entry to all workers, who are then promptly legalized into the Bracero Program. 1950–1954 Increasing media attention to braceros and undocumented workers leads to nationwide public outcry to do something about “illegal immigration.” The Border Patrol creates plans for Operation Wetback, which w ­ ill seek the deportation of all undocumented Mexicans in the United States. 1951

Public Law No. 78 reauthorizes the Bracero Program and establishes terms of the agreement u­ ntil the end of the program in 1965.

1952–1954 Border Patrol apprehensions reach new highs: 800,000 p­ eople are apprehended in 1952, and 1,000,000 in 1953. 1952

The Border Patrol establishes raids and special operations teams as part of its protocol to apprehend undocumented mi­grants. The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1952 (McCarran–­Walter Act) ends race-­based citizenship restrictions but keeps the quota system in place. The act allows the government to deport immigrants for a

502 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959

wide variety of subversive activities, regardless of naturalization status. Mexican American activists are often targeted. 1954–1955 Apprehensions of undocumented mi­grants by the Border Patrol drop precipitously; use of Bracero contract workers increases. 1954

President Eisenhower names General Joseph Swing as commissioner of the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice.

1954, June The first phase of Operation Wetback sweeps through California and Arizona. 1954, The second phase of Operation Wetback sweeps through Texas and September Illinois. 1955–1965 The INS works with growers to make sure they use braceros rather than undocumented workers; the agency resists attempts to change the program. 1964

The CBS documentary “Harvest of Shame” and a campaign by or­ga­nized l­abor turn public opinion against the Bracero Program. Congress lets the program expire against the protests of the Border Patrol.

Narrative Operation Wetback was an attempt by the Border Patrol to deport as many undocumented immigrants (i.e., “illegal aliens”) as pos­si­ble in order to shore up the struggling Bracero Program. (The terminology “illegal alien” or “illegal immigrant” diminishes an individual’s personhood and connotes the notion that the persons themselves are illegal or criminal, rather than that they have committed an illegal act. It casts the person rather than the action as criminal, which is why it is within quotation marks ­here. Likewise, the term “wetback” is a pejorative word or racial epithet that referred to mi­grants who swam across the Rio Grande River to cross the Texas-Mexico border.) In the years before the deportation drive, the Bracero Program was meant to be the only means by which employers could employ Mexican farm workers, but instead it encouraged both Mexican mi­grants and large employers to forgo the program altogether. Operation Wetback was meant to solve vari­ous prob­lems: to address public fear about undocumented mi­grants as a dangerous, criminal, and diseased ele­ment in the population; to satisfy the desire of the Mexican and U.S. governments to make the Bracero Program work; and to put pressure on agricultural employers that ­were reluctant to use contract l­abor. On June  10, 1954, the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS) and the U.S. Border Patrol announced the start of Operation Wetback. The new

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commissioner of the Border Patrol, recently retired U.S. General Joseph Swing, said that this would be a military-­style operation that would use coordinated teams on land and in the sky to round up tens of thousands of “illegal immigrants.” Swing then announced the start of the operation to the press, and created a special taskforce of 700 agents to carry it out. Operation Wetback began in California and Arizona, where agents targeted farms in the Imperial Valley, the San Joaquin Valley, and the industrial center of Los Angeles. Hundreds of agents working in small teams with local law enforcement fanned out and captured thousands of ­people a day. The Border Patrol then swept across Texas and the Midwest, as tens of thousands more w ­ ere deported. Hundreds of thousands of ­people, supposedly terrified of the coming immigration sweeps, left on their own for Mexico. Most Mexican American organ­izations supported Operation Wetback. In the fall, Commissioner Swing announced that more than 1 million ­people had been deported. Swing declared that “[t]he so-­called ‘wetback’ prob­lem no longer exists . . . ​the border has been secured,” and newspapers across the country heralded the success. “Illegal” immigration stopped and l­ egal migration ­rose. The public, Congress, and the president w ­ ere satisfied with Operation Wetback; the Border Patrol received increased funding; and press coverage of “illegal” immigration declined. The perception that a small task force of Border Patrol agents working with local police deported a million p­ eople and stopped “illegal immigration” is strong in American memory, in books and countless websites. So strong, in fact, that President Trump told a version of this story on the campaign trail in 2016 to support his plan to deport 11 million ­people from the country. However, this account is wrong. As historian Kelly Hernández put it, “As described, Operation Wetback of 1954 never ­really happened” (Hernández, 2010, p. 171). Yet, this contradiction between public perception and what actually occurred is not accidental. It was the result of an intense media campaign by Commissioner Swing and a public that wanted to believe the story. In order to properly understand what actually did happen in 1954, it is impor­tant to place Operation Wetback within its proper context, within the history of border enforcement, but also the Bracero Program, public fears, and the precarious position of Mexican American communities at the time. In the end, Operation Wetback neither deported as many ­people as the Border Patrol claimed, nor solved the prob­lem of unauthorized immigration, and its short-­term success relied on changes in the Bracero Program. In the long term, Operation Wetback changed how the Mexican American community saw itself, led to a movement to end the Bracero Program, and led to a push for civil rights in the 1960s.

504 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959

The Bracero Program The Mexican Farm ­Labor Agreement, which was signed on August 4, 1942, marked the beginning of the Bracero Program. Named for the Spanish term meaning “laborer,” the program entailed Mexican men being contracted to work in the United States for short periods of time, usually from 45 days to 6 months, before they ­were expected to return to Mexico. The program exempted ­these workers from other U.S. immigration laws, and was the result of negotiations between the two countries. In theory, the program was supposed to provide workers with a guaranteed wage, housing and transportation, a way to save money through mandatory savings plans, and oversight by Mexican and U.S. authorities. For employers, the program offered stability and flexible ­labor that could be moved from place to place and increased during harvest seasons and reduced in winter. It would also control ­labor turnover. ­These turned out to be contradictory goals. Workers went to California primarily; Texas was initially barred from hiring workers b­ ecause of its long history of discrimination against Mexicans. Texas farmers sidestepped this situation for the most part by hiring undocumented workers in large numbers. Meant as a temporary program to alleviate farm l­abor shortages during World War II, the program survived ­until 1964. The Mexican government had its own reasons for agreeing to the program. They saw this as a way to participate in World War II and as an extension of the Good Neighbor Policy, a Roosevelt-­era attempt to create a reciprocal relationship between Latin Amer­ic­ a and the United States. The government ran a propaganda campaign in Mexico, stressing the program as a patriotic duty in defeating the Axis powers, but also highlighting it as a way to modernize the country. Braceros would supposedly gain modern skills, especially in farming, which they could bring back to Mexico to modernize local farming practices. ­Those who worked in the United States would also bring back money, which government officials hoped would help alleviate rural poverty. However, only certain p­ eople could participate. Only young men who did not own land and came from agricultural communities could sign up, ­because the government was determined not to undermine its own land re­distribution efforts, and did not want p­ eople leaving cities to do this work. Not surprisingly, many ­people found ways around this restriction. A prospective bracero was typically a young man who was ­either recently married or aspired to be. He would have to get requisite documents from his local town government: a birth certificate, and a statement from someone testifying to his character. He would then travel to Mexico City, where he would wait at a recruitment center to be selected. Once chosen, he would enter into a contract with the U.S. government, and would board a train to the United States. Braceros would undergo a medical inspection, be showered, and sprayed for lice with pesticides. The humiliating experience of being stripped naked and inspected was one that men who

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participated in the program remembered de­cades ­later and described in interviews. A person would then be placed in the custody of a farmer or, more likely, a farm association, which served as the contractor. He would work on a series of farms for several months. Conditions w ­ ere poor, with long hours and low pay, yet enough men managed to save money to take back home that the program got a good reputation in local communities, at least initially. At the end of the contract, which lasted between one and six months, in theory the worker would return home and would have to wait to take another contract, as the government wanted to make employment available to as many p­ eople as pos­si­ble. This description was rarely the real­ity, however, as the program was rife with violations, corruption, and noncompliance (Snodgrass, 2011, pp. 79–102). In Mexico, high demand for jobs meant that p­ eople who could not meet the stringent requirements or could not afford to go to one of the recruitment centers in central Mexico bypassed the system entirely and simply went to the border on their own in search of work. Returning braceros who brought home full wallets encouraged more Mexicans to travel north for employment, as mi­grants could rely on growing social networks. ­These transnational networks of information, passed on by friends, f­ amily members, and acquaintances, decreased the risks of migrating without a ­labor certificate. As a result of the difficulty of obtaining a bracero contract and the increasing familiarity that potential mi­grants gained with the United States, p­ eople began to skip the formal pro­cess altogether. By the late 1940s, nearly as many p­ eople migrated without ­legal authorization as t­ hose who participated in the official Bracero Program. The program essentially encouraged undocumented migration rather than reducing it. Agribusiness leaders worked to undermine the program’s effectiveness and played a power­ful role in how the program was implemented. Wages and ­labor conditions continuously fell short of the agreement. Growers and associations routinely ignored program regulations, charging workers high prices for food, housing, and transportation, all of which w ­ ere usually substandard. Over time, oversight of ­these conditions was weakened, with Mexican diplomats losing the ability to inspect and punish specific employers. Additionally, U.S. inspectors ­were more interested in keeping growers happy than in protecting workers. Workers ­were tightly controlled, often kept in barracks, not allowed to change jobs or negotiate for higher wages, and ­were required to leave the country ­after a few months, thus keeping the workforce constantly changing. It is no surprise that bracero workers went on strike dozens of times throughout the life of the program. Increasing numbers of workers felt they would do better outside of the program and “skipped” their contracts, joining the undocumented population. From 1946 to 1951, the Bracero Program entered a period of instability, with authorization for the program ending e­ very six months to a year. Mexican

506 | World War II and Postwar Migrations, 1941–1959

authorities lost leverage in t­ hese years, worker protections w ­ ere weakened, and growers became increasingly power­ful in getting their demands met. During this time the INS and Border Patrol often used their own discretion rather than following the law. The most significant example of this was the recruitment of bracero workers at the border rather than in the interior of Mexico. This practice had the effect of letting the Border Patrol legalize any worker it wanted. Several times when negotiations between the two nations broke down, the Border Patrol resorted to opening the border to allow entry to any worker who desired. ­These tactics resulted in incidents where the Mexican military officials would try to keep workers from leaving while the Border Patrol would try to lure them in. ­There are vari­ous photo­graphs of ­these incidents, showing U.S. and officials fighting to pull ­people into the country. The Mexican government wanted to keep its workers in Mexico to show the United States that it needed to sign a fair bracero agreement in order to get workers; the U.S. government opened the border to show that it did not need the program or Mexico’s cooperation. The United States also won concessions that weakened protections for workers. Meanwhile, undocumented migration increased as word spread that the easiest way to get a bracero contract was to cross the border illegally and get “dried out,” or authorized with a l­ abor contract afterward. From 1947 to 1949, 142,200 undocumented workers w ­ ere legalized, while only 74,600 braceros ­were contracted in Mexico. In 1950, 96,000 workers ­were legalized while only 20,000 w ­ ere contracted (Calavita, 2010, p. 30). It was clear that the Bracero Program resulted in increased unauthorized migration, and the media began to focus on this issue. In the meantime, the United States was gripped with a fear of communism, and anti-­immigrant sentiment spread across the nation, creating pressure to do something about the “wetback prob­lem.” The McCarran–­Walter Act, other­wise known as the Immigration Act of 1952, was passed by Congress over the veto of President Truman. The law reaffirmed Asian exclusion and added sweeping new power to deport p­ eople and even strip them of U.S. citizenship for participating in subversive activities. The law was used to target a wide range of individuals who ­were involved in leftist activities. Some who ­were targeted ­were ­actual Communist Party members, but many ­others had no ties to the Soviet Union or communist politics. In the Mexican American community, early support for the law quickly gave way to fear and opposition, as the law was used to break up families and deport ­labor activists. Many of the leaders of organ­izations, such as ­unions, the Community Ser­ vice Organ­ization (CSO), and the Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born (LACPFB), found themselves targeted for deportation by the INS. The LACPFB worked to defend its members and overturn the law (Garcilazo, 2001, pp. 273–295).

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Growing Illegal Immigration The public began to focus more on the presence of undocumented workers in the United States. An economic recession in the early 1950s reduced the need for agricultural workers, increasing the number of unemployed braceros and undocumented persons in the country. The unemployed and undocumented soon became highly vis­ib­ le as a large cohort of foreigners to the previously unaware American public. The press began r­ unning stories about a “wetback prob­lem” across the country, which began influencing public opinion. Newspapers in the Southwest and nationwide ran stories about crime caused by immigrants, the public health prob­lems they brought, their poor living conditions, and the public resources they used. Public pressure to do something about this “wetback prob­lem” ­rose to a fever pitch, reaching Congress, the Eisenhower Administration, and the INS, which began to prepare a large deportation operation. The Border Patrol has often been accused of working with growers and acting in their interests, but the agency had its own motives for carry­ing out the deportation campaign. The Border Patrol was widely seen as unable to do its job, in­effec­ tive, and demoralized—­things that its small size and funding did not help. The Border Patrol sought to bring undocumented migration u­ nder control by shifting the flow of unauthorized mi­grants into the Bracero Program. Growers, especially in Texas, had been using the program less and less, undermining the Bracero Program as they hired undocumented workers at w ­ ill. It did not help that earlier Border Patrol agents had legalized undocumented workers into the program at the border; growers believed the Border Patrol would do this again. In the early 1950s, the Border Patrol came up with a strategy to capture and deport undocumented mi­grants on an unpre­ce­dented scale and force growers to rely on the Bracero Program for their ­labor needs. In 1950, Border Patrol inspectors in South Texas carried out a raid near Rio Hondo. This small team made a coordinated use of checkpoints, maps, and automobiles to apprehend 100 individuals per day. Soon this detail was conducting similar operations up and down the Rio Grande Valley. This “Operation-­Wetback-­style” strategy was picked up by other stations around the country, and was well established in the agency by 1952. The Border Patrol increased its cooperation with Mexican authorities to transport ­people by buses, trains, and planes deep into the Mexican interior rather than just across the border, to discourage repeat crossings. This use of coordinated teams nearly doubled apprehensions, from 459,289 in 1950 to 827,440 in 1953. In other words, the mass deportation campaign was already well ­under way before Operation Wetback was announced officially (Hernández, 2006, pp. 421–444).

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Meanwhile, the INS and Congress w ­ ere planning a deportation campaign named Operation Cloudburst, which would use the military to carry out raids in the Southwest. This campaign did not come to pass ­because of the dubious legality of using military personnel to carry out police duties, something outlawed ­after the Civil War. Instead, in early 1954, President Eisenhower named his friend, former general Joseph Swing, to head the Border Patrol. ­Under the banner “Operation Wetback,” agents used the same tactics that the Border Patrol had used for years: coordinated raids, temporary holding pens, and deportation into the interior of Mexico with Mexican government support. A 700-­man task force worked with local officials, carry­ing out Operation Wetback with press in tow, starting sweeps in California and then continuing on to Texas and the Midwest. However, it was mostly an extension of previous efforts and tactics that the Border Patrol had been carry­ ing out already, which had resulted in massive deportations in the previous four years. It was t­hese previous policies that had quietly resulted in massive ongoing deportations. Swing’s primary innovation was to rename existing operations and garner widespread publicity for himself and the agency.

Number of Apprehensions by the U.S. Border Patrol, 1945–1954

1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953 1954

Persons Apprehended

Deportable Aliens

Apprehended in Mexican Border Region

Total Questioned

70,639 100,785 194,954 193,954 289,400 469,581 510,355 531,719 839,149 1,035,282

69,164 99,591 193,657 192,779 288,253 468,339 509,040 528,815 835,311 1,028,267

64,368 92,107 183,832 180,774 279,379 459,289 501,713 517,805 827,440 1,022,374

4,161,571 4,112,966 4,826,442 5,529,685 6,618,056 7,223,069 8,606,693 8,777,886 9,543,005 8,949,130

Source: Data compiled from principal activities and accomplishments of the U.S. Border Patrol detailed in Annual Reports of the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice, fiscal years ending June 30, 1945; 1956; 1962 (Washington, DC: GPO).

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The Border Patrol worked closely with farmers to convince them to cooperate with the campaign, and to convince them to use Bracero Program workers. In California, most growers w ­ ere supportive of the effort, but in Texas, farmers w ­ ere hostile to the agency and its efforts. Over the course of several months, the Border Patrol deported fewer than 300,000 p­ eople, but funding for the operation ran out and most deportation roundups stopped. Still, Swing took credit for 1 million deportations by including the deportation numbers from the previous eight months, even though most of ­those occurred before Operation Wetback began. Swing claimed that the “era of the wetback” was over and that hundreds of thousands more had left on their own in fear of being deported, as the campaign had been well publicized. ­There is ­little evidence that this mass exodus ever took place. For the most part, the success of Operation Wetback, and all other deportation efforts during the 1950s, depended on employers switching from undocumented ­labor to legally contracted ­labor. To that end, the Border Patrol supported a general weakening of Bracero Program rules, to make the program more appealing to farmers. They also supported the establishment of the “Specials Program,” in which employers could keep their skilled workers year a­ fter year, and workers’ contract renewals ­depended on good marks from employers. During Operation Wetback, the Border Patrol regularly assured farm ­owners that they could get their workers back if they waited for them to be “legalized” into the program a­ fter they had been deported. This strategy worked for a while, as employers in Texas and California increased their use of bracero workers. By the mid-1950s, the program was larger than it had ever been, importing 400,000 workers a year. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the Border Patrol defended the Bracero Program as critical to controlling migration and opposed any efforts to improve wages or conditions, arguing that growers would turn to undocumented ­labor again if they became dissatisfied with the terms of the program (Hernández, 2010, pp. 183–217). Although the use of undocumented ­labor decreased a­ fter the deportation campaigns, undocumented migration did not cease. The Border Patrol shifted away from the type of coordinated raiding that had defined Operation Wetback. Instead, they relied more on patrols at or near the border and localized strategies, while funding for the agency was frozen for much of the next de­cade. Meanwhile, Mexican mi­grants started turning to l­egal documents, green cards, visas, and even citizenship more frequently in order to move across the border. In the 1960s, public opinion turned against the Bracero Program as its importation of contract-­bound workers with no rights began to seem like a relic from the past, especially in the era of the civil rights movement. The American Federation of ­Labor and Congress of Industrial Organ­izations (AFL-­CIO) campaigned against the program. Mexican American activists had long campaigned against a program that they argued depressed agricultural wages, hurt ­unionizing activities, and forced ­people to migrate

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inside the United States to make ends meet. The CBS documentary “Harvest of Shame” that aired in 1964 showed how exploitative conditions w ­ ere on farms, and further decreased support. Fi­nally, in 1964, the Bracero Program was allowed to expire.

Operation Wetback and the Mexican American Community Operation Wetback changed how many Mexican Americans in the United States saw themselves and their relation to the larger American society. Most Mexican American activists and organ­izations supported Operation Wetback and the deportation of undocumented workers. However, they ­were also ardently opposed to the Bracero Program. Many saw braceros and undocumented workers as ­labor competition that threatened their jobs. Most organ­izations saw their place in U.S. society as distinct from that of newer Mexican mi­grants and thus sought to distance themselves from the newcomers, promote assimilation, and defend their own civil rights. However, in the wake of massive deportations, roundups, and harassment that Mexican Americans ­were faced with, more leaders and organ­izations began to see their own fates tied to t­hose of the recent mi­grants, and began to take a dif­fer­ent tone. In the 1950s, the most prominent Latino organ­izations ­were the American G.I. Forum (AGIF) and League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC). The AGIF, founded ­after a Mexican American veteran was denied burial at a whites-­only cemetery, was made up of returning World War II veterans. LULAC, founded by many World War I veterans, was a mostly Mexican American, middle-­class organ­ization that sought to end endemic discrimination against Americans of Mexican origin. Both organ­izations worked ­toward ­legal equality, targeting segregationist laws that kept Mexican Americans out of white-­only institutions and public spaces. In court, both organ­izations often stressed that Mexicans ­were legally classified as white, as court rulings had held since the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, so t­here should be no difference in the way they ­were treated. Like LULAC, the AGIF supported an assimilationist message, arguing that the best course for Mexican Americans was to adopt American attitudes and customs. In light of their goals, both organ­izations saw the continual arrival of new mi­grants as a prob­lem. In the view of LULAC’s leadership, new mi­grants slowed assimilation and associated Mexican Americans with negative ste­reo­types about Mexican mi­grants—­that they ­were poor, criminal, diseased, an illegal presence and perpetual foreigners, not a part of American society. Braceros and the undocumented both undercut the wages of native-­born Mexican Americans, displacing them from their jobs and forcing many to migrate to other places to earn a better wage. In 1953, the AGIF published a pamphlet called What Price Wetbacks that called for the end of the Bracero Program. Most u­ nions that or­ga­nized Mexican Americans also

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opposed the Bracero Program and supported Operation Wetback. The efforts of the National Farm ­Labor Union and Ernesto Galarza, an activist and prominent ­union leader, w ­ ere often undermined by the use of braceros as strikebreakers. In response, Galarza waged a long public campaign to end the program (Gutiérrez, 1995, pp. 152–178). Although most Mexican American organ­izations supported Operation Wetback when it began, several strongly objected. The Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO), which sought to mobilize Mexicans in Los Angeles, saw the raids as an attack on the w ­ hole community, as did the Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born (LACPFB). Both organ­izations objected to the raids in Los Angeles, where roundups occurred in work places, homes, businesses, leisure spots, and public spaces. The LACPFB had a multi-­ethnic membership, which included many who had been targeted for deportation during the Red Scare, and worked as a bridge for dif­fer­ent but allied ethnic and racial communities to object to and protest Operation Wetback (Molina, 2014, ch. 5). The impact of Operation Wetback on the ground—­the raids and widespread harassment—­turned the Mexican American community against it. Although undocumented immigrants came from many dif­fer­ent countries, including Eu­ro­pean ones, Operation Wetback targeted Mexicans exclusively. The Border Patrol and local law enforcement set up dragnets that caught large numbers of p­ eople who had e­ very ­legal right to be in the United States, including many U.S. citizens. In order to deport 1 million p­ eople in 1953, the Border Patrol stopped and questioned 9 million p­ eople. In other words, agents harassed nine ­people for each person who turned out to be deportable (Hernández, 2010, p. 172). Agents often used tactics that deprived p­ eople of their rights, from not believing ­people when they showed ­legal documents, to beatings, to deportations of citizens (including ­children). The Border Patrol also set up large camps to h­ ouse ­those arrested, often in public locations, such as Elysian Park in Los Angeles. ­These reminded many ­people of Japa­nese internment or concentration camps (Molina, 2014, ch. 5). To carry out the deportations, the Border Patrol relied on overcrowded trains, ships, and holding camps. On the Mercurio, described by Congress as a “hell ship,” 500 deportees ­were crowded into a space meant to hold 100 ­people. Conditions ­were so unbearable that the mi­grants mutinied. Forty jumped overboard to escape and several died. ­Those deported by land did not fare much better, as mi­grants who ­were held in large outdoor camps in border towns w ­ ere often left without w ­ ater and exposed to the ele­ments, which sometimes led to death. In one incident, 80 p­ eople died of dehydration in the border town of Mexicali ­after being held outside in 112-­degree heat (Ngai, 2005, p. 156). ­These events ­were widely publicized in the Spanish-­language press and major newspapers across the country, and changed perceptions of Operation Wetback. For ­people in Mexican American communities,

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deportees w ­ ere not aliens: they w ­ ere neighbors, friends, f­ amily members, p­ eople they knew. By the late 1950s, most Mexican American activists and organ­izations had become highly critical of the Border Patrol and deportations. LULAC in par­tic­u­ lar became a strong critic of Border Patrol tactics and strategies. The organ­ization shifted away from its prior assimilationist philosophy as members questioned ­whether trying to integrate completely into white Amer­i­ca was feasible or even desirable. If p­ eople ­were g­ oing to keep discriminating against Mexicans and Mexican Americans, and seeing them as outsiders, why support such policies? Following the lead of the African American civil rights movement, a new form of organ­izing began to emerge, described as the Chicano Movement. Seeing the fates of Mexican Americans and Mexican mi­grants as linked, Mexican American civil rights organ­izations and activists in the 1960s moved ­toward a form of organ­izing that identified a broader ethnic Mexican community. Chicano activists increasingly vocalized support for the plight of the undocumented (Gutiérrez, 1995, pp. 173–205). The story of Operation Wetback cannot be told in a sound bite, or easily appropriated in campaign speeches, yet many have tried to do just that. From the moment Commissioner Swing began touting his plans to the media, the events that tran­spired and the motivations ­behind them have been distorted and used over and over to serve dif­fer­ent ends. A sensationalist newspaper media painted a picture of Mexicans who ­were unlawful, poverty stricken, diseased, lazy, prone to vio­lence, and coming to take American jobs. A fearful public demanded action from Congress and the president. Swing used this opportunity to exaggerate the size of his campaign and press for more funds. The Border Patrol sought to buttress a faltering Bracero Program, as did the U.S. and Mexican governments, though for dif­fer­ent reasons. Employers wanted cheap ­labor, and Mexican Americans wanted to protect their gains. Hundreds of thousands of ­people wanted a chance to work in the United States despite all the obstacles. The competing interests and motivations of the ­people and institutions involved led a wide variety of ­people to support the deportation campaign, but also led them to turn against it and ­later the Bracero Program. Operation Wetback’s competing legacies continue to shape opinions on immigration ­today.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Avotcja Jiltonilro, 1957 Poet, musician, and activist Avotcja Jiltonilro experienced Operation Wetback as a teenager soon ­after moving to California from New York. As a Puerto Rican, she offered a unique perspective on the Bracero Program and the social context of the

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time. Several years l­ater she wrote about ­those experiences in this article for Social Justice. Editor’s note: Profanity has been left in the document to preserve the integrity of the author’s au­then­tic voice. A Very Subjective View of “Operation Wetback” By Avotcja Jiltonilro IT WAS ­GOING TO BE HOT! HOTTER THAN YESTERDAY. EVERYDAY HOTTER THAN THE DAY BEFORE. You could see it coming . . . ​glowing red on the eastern horizon. Freezing and shivering as we climbed on the raggedy trucks. We feared the cold almost as much as we feared the ass-­burning heat that was waiting for us in the fields. Had a few quick flashes of Papi and my tia Milagros cutting cane in Puerto Rico . . . ​my ­mother sewing stars on American flags in Brooklyn . . . ​the armies of no name Ricans slaving away in the garment district in Manhattan. Black share-­ croppers all over the South. . . . ​Somehow this all looked familiar. It looked like half of East L.A. and all of Mexico was climbing into t­hose trucks, plus a few Blacks (including Mississippi Mo, who was married to the one we affectionately called “Wetback” Lupe—we all had corny nicknames in t­hose days). ­There was a handful of Filipinos, two or three unwashed beatniks (looking for a real ethnic experience), and me (Borinqueña negra/employment office reject). Folks called me “La Merengona.” Feeling scared, lonely, straight out of New York City, on my own . . . ​sitting on a crowded truck . . . ​on my way to pick fruit, vegetables, anything, ­because no one ­else would hire a 16-­year-­old girl . . . ​race Black. I was a newcomer to the barrio, an outsider—so every­body still pretended I d­ idn’t exist. Mexican kind of Spanish sounding kind of funny/weird, a dif­fer­ent kind of rhythm, strange . . . ​not realizing that my New York Rican Spanglish sounded just as weird and funny to them. I kept looking at a lonely looking Indian dude, who kept looking at me. Looking at each other across the crowded truck. Dark-­darker than me—­almost as dark as Papi, he stood out like a light. . . . ​His color . . . ​his not quite American ways . . . ​his clothes. Found out he was from Chiapas, Mexico. The local Chicanos called him “the hick,” “the wetback,” “el Mayate” (With well-­ indoctrinated mestizo arrogance), they thought he was a funny-­looking square. I thought he was handsome. His name was Adalberto. Look out Fresno. . . . ​¡Ya viene East Los! Big/fat/crude/greasy/red-­faced Patron grinning at us. Screaming ­orders in En­glish (which most d­ idn’t understand), telling us to work hard and we’d be rewarded. Diciendo . . . ​“Bring all y’alls friends tamorra, we ­ain’t got nuttin aginst

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you Wetbacks. We even protects our workers h­ ere. Yassiree, all our Messy-­can friends can feel right at home ­here.” *** It was payday and every­one was excited. As we ­were finishing up Adalberto came by and borrowed my high school sweater. We all then lined up in front of mister all-­American/apple pie/Christian/super-­red-­neck/Smith, Jr., to collect our money, but it was not ­going to be all that easy. We stood t­here looking at the patron, who sat on the back of a truck grinning at us. All of a sudden, two carloads of La Migra drove up, jammed on their brakes, and jumped out. They ­were followed by a van. The shit was on, my mind was blown, folks w ­ ere r­unning, ­women and men ­were crying, every­body was screaming, and I was scared. ­People ­were grabbed, snatched, dragged, punched, and kicked by La Migra, thrown into the van and driven away—­most never to be seen again. I d­ idn’t understand what was happening, but Adalberto was standing between me and Mo in my high school sweater, “giving five,” saying, “man what’s happening” e­ very five seconds u­ ntil it was all over. When La Migra split, Lupe (who had become invisible) reappeared. Then t­ hose of us left got paid or got gypped. The Patron was sitting t­ here grinning from ear to ear, as we got on the trucks and headed back to East Los in silence. My first (but a long way from my last), experience with the sickness called “Operation Wetback.” Back in East L.A., Adalberto, Jorge, and I went to eat at Lupe and Mo’s ­house. While Lupe and I threw together a Mexa-­Rican dinner, she ran down what had happened, why it happened on pay day, Bracero laws, Anglo lawlessness, the open slavery of Mexican farm workers and a good chunk of my innocence died right ­there on Lupe’s kitchen floor. Every­body said my sweater saved Adalberto’ s neck, but looking back, I ­really think that La Migra just ran out of room in their jail on wheels. Monday, it starts all over again. The same corner, the same trucks, but lots of new ­faces . . . ​hungry, resigned ­faces . . . ​proud ­faces. Kept looking around for familiar smiles—at least half of them had dis­appeared. I guess La Migra had made quite a few h­ ouse calls over the weekend. My anger so strong it hurt, but working in the fields soon brought back the numbness . . . ​my mind went blank again . . . ​ for a ­little while. One day a dude died in “The Camps,” a friend of Adalberto’s from Chiapas. So we went over to check t­hings out. ¡Aiii Dios! . . . ​“The Camps!”. . . . ​The rat trap ­little shacks called living quarters . . . ​breeding farms for mosquitoes and flies and they ­were everywhere. . . . ​The ­things called beds, where p­ eople ­were supposed to sleep, ­there are no words to describe . . . ​one cold-­water shower and w ­ ater source for the ­whole place, one out­house (bien perfumada), that made itself known long before

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you ­were in the camp. Adalberto’s friend’s shack had torn-up plastic where win­dows should have been. . . . ​We opened the door—it was hanging ­there by no more than a prayer. ­There was no electricity, but ­there was enough light to see . . . ​an old man laying on the floor . . . ​an old man dead . . . ​looked like he was asleep . . . ​like he had just got tired . . . ​way too old to have to work in the fields . . . ​should have been home in Chiapas playing with his great-­grand-­children. . . . ​Looked like he just got tired and rather than lie down on the nasty t­hing “they” called a bed, he lay on the floor to take a nap . . . ​an old, tired Mexican Indian man dead on the floor . . . ​how long . . . ​ how long . . . ​a wide-­awake nightmare, a horror movie in living color . . . . ​I cried all the way back to East Los, back to my room over Señora Cruz’s liquor store . . . ​my room, my pent­house, down the hall from hot and cold ­running ­water and a real toilet . . . ​my ­little room with the real win­dows, the funny curtains. . . . ​All of a sudden my ­little room, with its electric lamp and electric heater, ­wasn’t so l­ittle anymore. *** A bunch of teen-­agers from the center came and told me to hurry. La Migra just busted a truckload of farm workers around the corner, a truckload including Adalberto, Rafael, Herminio, Noro, and Lupe. The city cops had to get in on it, too, and arrest Sippi ­because he punched an immigration cop in the mouth for slapping his wife Lupe on the ­behind. By the time I got ­there, “it” was all over. They ­were gone. I could feel a new kind of angry feeling and frustration growing in me—so much stuff flying around in my 16-­year-­old head, so fast, so hard, so unfair. I walked and walked and walked and walked . . . ​trying to slow down my brain . . . ​looking for that numbness I used to find in the fields. Then real­ity hit me. No more time for me to be a kid. Aiii Dios, Lupe’s kids, I’d better go see about Lupe’s kids. Señora Cruz stopped me in front of her store and told me how “a bunch of dirty Wetbacks w ­ ere arrested a c­ ouple of hours ago . . . ​almost a ­whole truckload of them. Serves the ignorant fools right . . . ​drinking and fighting all the time . . . ​all they do is make t­ hings rough on hardworking, educated Spanish ­people like us. Wish ­they’d stay down t­ here where they belong and stop dirtying the image of t­ hose of us who’ve made it!” And through my tears, I looked deep into the emptiness of her face and asked myself, “Made What??” I walked away from Señora Cruz with East Los looking and sounding just a ­little bit more like Harlem. Source: Avotcja Jiltonilro, 1993, “A Very Subjective View of ‘Operation Wetback’ (1957).” Social Justice 20 (3/4): 51–56. Reprinted with permission of Social Justice Journal.

See also: The Bracero Program; Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, Mexican Repatriation

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Further Reading Blanton, Carlos Kevin. 2009. “The Citizenship Sacrifice: Mexican Americans, the Saunders-­ Leonard Report, and the Politics of Immigration, 1951–1952.” Western Historical Quarterly 40 (3): 299–320. Calavita, Kitty. 2010. Inside the State: The Bracero Program, Immigration, and the I.N.S. New Orleans: Quid Pro, LLC. Galarza, Ernesto. 1982. The Burning Light: Action and Organ­izing in the Mexican Community in California. Berkeley: Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft Library, University of California. Garcia, Juan R. 1980. Operation Wetback: The Mass Deportation of Mexican Undocumented Workers in 1954. Westport, CT: Praeger. Garcilazo, Jeffrey M. 2001. “McCarthyism, Mexican Americans, and the Los Angeles Committee for Protection of the Foreign-­Born, 1950–1954.” Western Historical Quarterly 32 (3): 273–295. Gutiérrez, David G. 1995. Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hernández, Kelly Lytle. 2006. “The Crimes and Consequences of Illegal Immigration: A Cross-­Border Examination of Operation Wetback, 1943 to 1954.” Western Historical Quarterly 37 (4, November 1): 421–444. Hernández, Kelly Lytle. 2010. Migra!: A History of the U.S. Border Patrol. Berkeley: University of California Press. Jiltonilro, Avotcja. 1993. “A Very Subjective View of ‘Operation Wetback’ (1957).” Social Justice 20 (3/4): 51–56. Koestler, Fred L. 2010, modified 2016. “OPERATION WETBACK.” Handbook of Texas Online (Texas State Historical Association). Retrieved from http://­www​.­tshaonline​.­org​ /­handbook​/­online​/­articles​/­pqo01 Marquez, Benjamin. 1993. LULAC The Evolution of a Mexican American Po­liti­cal Organ­ ization. Austin: University of Texas Press. Molina, Natalia. 2014. How Race Is Made in Amer­i­ca: Immigration, Citizenship, and the Historical Power of Racial Scripts. Berkeley: University of California Press. Ngai, Mae M. 2005. Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern Amer­ i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Pitti, Stephen J. 2004. The Devil in Silicon Valley: Northern California, Race, and Mexican Americans (3d ed.). Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Snodgrass, Michael. 2011. “The Bracero Program, 1942–1964,” in Mark Overmyer-­ Velazquez, ed., La Frontera: The History of Mexico-­U.S. Migration, 79–102. New York: Oxford University Press.

7 Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979

The Chicano Movement, 1960s–1970s Oliver A. Rosales

Chronology 1962

César Chávez leaves the Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO) to form the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA) with co-­organizer Dolores Huerta.

1963

Based in New Mexico, Reies López Tijerina establishes the Alianza Federál de Mercedes Reales (Federal Alliance of Land Grants). The organ­ ization recruits up to 20,000 members and becomes a leading organ­ization in the Chicano movement.

1964

El Malcriado, a farm worker newspaper based in Delano, California, is published. The bilingual Spanish and En­glish publication becomes an impor­tant news source during the Chicano movement, using po­liti­cal cartoons to portray farm worker exploitation and providing coverage of the wider Chicano movement.

1965

The Delano Grape strike is launched by the Filipino-­led Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee (AWOC) and predominantly Mexican American NFWA.

1966

The Mexican American Youth Organ­ization (MAYO) is founded in San Antonio, Texas, by José Angel Gutiérrez. MAYO becomes an impor­ tant po­liti­cal organ­izing group during the Chicano movement and a precursor to La Raza Unida Party (the Race United Party, RUP).

517

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Farm workers march from Delano, California, northward to the state capital of Sacramento, galvanizing action and focusing national attention on the Delano Grape strike. The U.S. Senate Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor holds hearings in Delano. Senator Robert Kennedy participates in the hearings and lends support to striking farm workers by criticizing unconstitutional law enforcement practices against striking farm workers. 1966, April

The Crusade for Justice is established in Denver, Colorado, by Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales.

1966, July

Reies López Tijerina and Alianza members march 66 miles from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Soon thereafter, the Alianza leads a raid on the Río Arriba County Court­house, ultimately leading to the largest manhunt in state history to find Tijerina.

1967

Corky Gonzales writes the Chicano epic poem “Yo Soy Joaquín.”

1968

Elizabeth “Betita” Martínez founds El Grito del Norte, an impor­tant Chicano movement newspaper published out of New Mexico’s Alianza movement. The Mexican American L ­ egal Defense Fund (MALDEF) is founded to advance civil rights and ­legal protections for Mexican Americans.

1968, March

Thousands of Chicano students, led by teacher Sal Castro, walk out of East Los Angeles high schools in protest of inferior conditions and discrimination against Mexican American students. César Chávez ends a 25-­day fast initiated to draw attention to the farm worker strug­gle and quell growing unrest in the movement. Senator Robert Kennedy joins Chávez in Delano on the last day of his fast in a show of solidarity with farm workers.

1968, June

Senator and Demo­cratic presidential candidate Robert Kennedy is assassinated in Los Angeles.

1969, March

Chicano activists meet at a Chicano Liberation Youth Conference in Denver, Colorado. As a result of this meeting and through the inspiration of the Chicano poet Alurista, El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán is distributed as a foundational Chicano manifesto, defining the tenets of Chicano cultural nationalism.

1969, April

A month ­after the Denver meeting, Chicano activists meet at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Chicano student activists subsequently produce El Plan de Santa Barbara, another key Chicano manifesto calling for the establishment of Chicano studies programs and curricula.

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1970

La Raza Unida Party (RUP) is founded by José Angel Gutiérrez in Crystal City, Texas.

1970, July

The first major agricultural ­labor contracts for a farm l­abor ­union are signed by the United Farm Workers (UFW) at the u­ nion hall at Forty Acres in Delano.

1970, The Chicano Moratorium against the War in Vietnam takes to the streets August of Los Angeles in the largest demonstration by Chicanos in U.S. history. An estimated 30,000 ­people fill the streets of East Los Angeles in protest of the Vietnam War. At this event, the noted Mexican American journalist Ruben Salazar is killed by Los Angeles County sheriffs at the Silver Dollar Bar. 1971

Hijas de Cuauhtémoc, a Chicana feminist journal, is founded by Anna Nieto Gomez and other Chicana feminists in southern California. The Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza meets in Houston, Texas, symbolizing a budding Chicana feminism within the larger Chicano movement.

1972

Rudy Acuña’s seminal text Occupied Amer­i­ca is published; it is one of the first books chronicling the history of the Mexican American p­ eople from a Chicano movement perspective. La Raza Unida National Convention meets in El Paso, Texas. Division emerges over who should be elected party chair: Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales or José Angel Gutiérrez. Gutiérrez ultimately wins the nomination.

1973

The UFW enters into a ­bitter strug­gle with the Teamsters ­union over the ­future of agricultural l­abor contracts in California. Vio­lence ensues between UFW supporters, Teamsters, and law enforcement in Kern County, California, resulting in hundreds of arrests, vio­lence, and destruction of property.

1975

With support from the UFW, California creates the Agriculture ­Labor Relations Board (ALRB), the first state labor agency in the United States targeted at protecting farm workers.

Narrative The Chicano movement was a complex cultural efflorescence of the ethnic Mexican population in the United States during the 1960s and 1970s. Developing si­mul­ ta­neously with the Black Power movement and other ethnic nationalist movements of the Vietnam War era, the Chicano movement is best understood as a series of regional strug­gles for l­abor rights, civil rights, and social justice for Chicanos and

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Chicano Movement organ­ization leader Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales speaks to inmates at Colorado State Penitentiary, 1971. (Bettmann/Getty)

Chicanas. Like other ethnic nationalist movements of the post-­World War II era, Chicano movement activists espoused an anti-­colonial perspective, critiqued U.S. capitalism and imperialism, and sought Third World solidarity with occupied ­peoples of color across the globe. Pioneering Chicano historian Rudy Acuña captured this spirit in the publication of his seminal text, Occupied Amer­i­ca (1972). He posited that the history of Mexican p­ eoples living in the United States was a brand of “internal colonialism,” drawing a direct parallel with the experiences of other colonized ­people in world history. Although anti-­colonialism was a bedrock ideological worldview common among Chicano activists, local po­liti­cal and regional strug­gles defined Chicano/a activism across the American Southwest and Midwest. Historian Ignacio García describes the “militant ethos” of the Chicano movement as “Chicanismo.” He notes that Chicano activists “developed a cultural-­political taxonomy that . . . ​differed from the past, which was e­ ither pro-­America or pro-­Mexico. This new po­liti­cal identification was pro-­barrio and incorporated Americanism with the barrio’s Mexicanism” (García, 1997, p. 8). Historian Ernesto Chávez describes Chicano ethnic nationalism as unique in the United States, given the proximity of Chicanos to Mexico. He notes further that the Chicano movement was “truly [an] American phenomenon that at times encompasse[d] . . . ​the tenets of American liberalism”

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(Chávez, 2002, p. 5), given the overlap between movement activists and President Lyndon Johnson’s ­Great Society programs and other government efforts to fight poverty and racial discrimination. The Chicano movement occurred within a larger generational history of ethnic Mexican ­people living in the United States. Historian Mario T. García refers to the “Chicano generation” as distinct from previous eras, beginning with the “conquered generation” following the U.S. war with Mexico. Next came the “immigrant generation” of the early 20th ­century—­people who came to the United States a­ fter being displaced by the Mexican revolution—­and the “Mexican American generation” of the 1920s through World War II era. The Chicano generation, García writes, “was the largest and most widespread empowerment strug­gle by Mexican Americans in U.S. history” (García, 2015, p. 3). It represented a fusion of traditional civil rights issues among Mexican Americans of the World War II generation with a more militant youth effort to fight discrimination in vari­ous forms during the Vietnam War era. The Chicano generation is also distinct from what García calls the “Latino generation” of the late 20th and early 21st centuries, marked by new immigration and settlement from Mexico and Central Amer­i­ca. The origins of the Chicano movement are difficult to pinpoint. Most scholars find the origins of the movement in previous waves of activism during the first half of the 20th ­century. The fight for l­abor and civil rights within the U.S. cap­i­tal­ist system was an integral aspect of the Chicano movement. Chicano movement scholars note that the community organ­izing tradition of vari­ous Mexican American civil rights groups, such as the League of Latin American Citizens (LULAC), El Congreso del Pueblos de Habla Español (Spanish-­Speaking ­People’s Congress), Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO), and American GI Forum, as well as mutual aid socie­ties, or mutualistas, established a critical foundation upon which the Chicano movement built. Although members of t­ hese organ­izations did not self-­identify as Chicano, or necessarily advance critiques of the cap­i­tal­ist system, the activism of previous generations around racial integration and participatory democracy has been recognized as critically impor­tant for the development of the movement.

The Strug­gle in the Fields The Delano Grape Strike was a critical turning point in the development of the Chicano movement. Beginning in September 1965 in Delano, California, the National Farm Workers Association (NWFA), led by César Chávez and Dolores Huerta, joined the Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee (AWOC), led by Filipino ­labor leader Larry Itliong, in launching a strike against Delano-­area grape growers. ­Women like Dolores Huerta, Helen Chávez, Jesse de la Cruz, and Jessica Govea played a critical role in organ­izing farm workers and maintaining strikes and

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boycotts, as well as negotiating with growers. The two organ­izations merged the following year to form the United Farm Workers, or UFW. The Delano Grape Strike, and subsequent boycott of t­able grapes, lasted five long years from 1965 to 1970, when the UFW signed the first farm ­labor ­union contracts with major growers in U.S. history. The farm worker movement inspired the larger Chicano movement in several ways. The strug­gle in the fields symbolized the hardships of los de abajo (the underdogs) or campesinos (farm workers), whose working conditions represented the most difficult and lowest paid in the United States. Although the majority of ethnic Mexicans living in the United States at the time did not work in farm ­labor, most ethnic Mexicans at one time or another had ­family who had worked in the agricultural fields. Many Chicano movement activists, therefore, w ­ ere intimately acquainted with the pain and suffering that went along with agricultural l­ abor. Since the 1930s, previous ­labor ­union movements had failed to or­ga­nize farm workers. Young Chicanas and Chicanos found inspiration in the UFW’s clear vision for achieving success in politics, economics, and social justice. Consumers of vari­ous backgrounds throughout the United States (and even abroad) boycotted grapes from growers that ­were not ­under ­union contracts. L ­ ater on, consumers would also boycott lettuce from nonunion growers, as well. Participation in UFW boycotts demonstrated solidarity with the Chicano movement. In 1966, farm workers marched 300 miles from Delano north to Sacramento, California. ­Under the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe, farm workers galvanized national attention to the strug­gle in the fields. The pilgrimage, or peregrinación, echoed the nonviolent tactics of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern civil rights movement. The symbolism and artistic production generated by the farm worker movement helped visually animate the Chicano movement. The huelga (strike) flag had a black ea­gle and a red background, capturing the spirit of revolution embodied by the farm worker movement. Its red and black colors quoted the traditional colors of the Mexican revolution. The flag also symbolized a mythical Aztec past, another central tenet of the Chicano movement’s identification with the indigenous line of the Mexican ­people’s mestizo identity, or mixed-­race heritage of Spanish and Indian bloodlines. The black ea­gle resembles a pyramid when inverted, echoing the grandeur of the Templo Mayor (­Great ­Temple) at Tenochtitlán, the Aztec capitol city conquered by Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés where Mexico City now stands. El Malcriado, the farm worker movement newspaper (loosely translatable into En­glish as the “malcontent” or “unruly child”), visualized the movement and signaled the growth of Chicano movement publications. Founded by Delano native Luis Valdez, the Teatro Campesino (farm worker’s theater) infused cultura (culture) into the Chicano movement, with m ­ usic, songs, dances, and guerilla-­style theatrical

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per­for­mances that helped sustain the long days and nights on the strike and boycott picket lines. Educated in the San Francisco Bay area, Valdez returned home to Delano to join the strug­gle in the fields, harnessing his creative genius into a blending of art and social justice activism. Valdez ultimately would enjoy g­ reat success as a playwright and producer, changing the way the world saw Mexican Americans, most notably through feature films such as Zoot Suit, a story chronicling the lives of pachucos in Los Angeles during World War II; and La Bamba, the story of Mexican American rock legend, Ritchie Valens. Chicano movement art also included the development of murals, poetry, per­ for­mance, and other forms of artistic expression throughout Chicano communities across the United States. Chicano and Chicana muralists especially built upon the Mexican muralist tradition of the early 20th ­century, notably Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros. Chicano muralists embraced a spirit of community and re­sis­tance through their art. The Chicano Park murals in San Diego’s Barrio Logan neighborhood are one of the most impor­tant artistic expressions of the movement and its legacy. The local Chicano community built a park ­under the Coronado Bridge on April 22, 1970, in opposition to the building of a California Highway Patrol headquarters on land designated as park space. The concrete pillars that dominate the area provide the “canvases” for artistic expressions. In Los Angeles, Chicana muralist Judy Baca, working with hundreds of youth artists, constructed the ­Great Wall of Los Angeles between 1976–1983: a nearly 3,000-­foot painting in a flood control channel depicting a revised history of California through portrayals of socially marginalized groups. Chicana lesbian-­feminist writers Gloria Anzaldúa and Cherrie Moraga expanded the theoretical framework of the movement to consider the intersection of race, class, and gender and multiple forms of oppression. Sandra Cisneros’s The House of Mango Street (1984) became one of the most widely read books out of the Chicano literary movement. The physical expression of Chicano art, both in visual and written forms, sustained and captured the aesthetic cultural values of the Chicano movement even ­after the movement itself declined. Historians argue that the UFW boycotts of the 1960s and 1970s represented the most successful consumer boycotts in U.S. history. Nevertheless, other Chicano movement activists expanded the bound­aries of the movement. While César Chávez was the most well-­known figure, he was first and foremost a l­ abor u­ nion or­ga­nizer. Other Chicano and Chicana activists infused ethnic nationalism into the movement. Chávez was skeptical of portraying the farm worker movement as a racial or ethnic movement, instead stressing the multiracial co­ali­tion in support of the boycott. Many Chicano movement activists embraced ethnic nationalism and found solidarity with regional strug­gles happening throughout Chicano communities in the U.S.-­Mexico borderlands. Although mainstream media generally ignored Mexican American

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politics and events, grassroots Chicano movement publications soon cropped up throughout the United States, covering not only local affairs in Delano, New Mexico, Denver, and Los Angeles, but also regionally, comparatively, and across borders—in turn defining the scope of Chicano ethnic nationalism.

Tijerina and the Strug­gle for Land While César Chávez led a farm worker rebellion in California, a dif­fer­ent strug­gle unfolded in the northern Rio Grande Valley that ultimately galvanized the Chicano movement and increased national attention. In New Mexico, the land reform movement led by Reies López Tijerina captured the hearts and minds of Chicano movement activists. A former itinerant preacher, Tijerina, known as “King Tiger,” was a fiery orator and captivated audiences with his knowledge of Mexican land grants, history, religion, and prophecy. Basing an argument in the original land claims of the Mexican ­people of New Mexico, or Indo-­Hispanos, Tijerina founded the Alianza Federál Mercedes Reales (Federal Alliance of Land Grants) in 1963. The organ­ ization argued that the United States had unjustifiably invaded Mexican lands preserved in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (the peace treaty between the United States and Mexico signed in 1848), and that the Alianza members w ­ ere the rightful heirs to more than 3 million acres of stolen land in New Mexico. The Alianza movement for land reform alarmed critics of the Chicano movement, whose propaganda stated that the ultimate goal of the Chicano movement was to reclaim Aztlán, the mythical homeland of the Aztec p­ eople. In 1966, Tijerina and Alianza members occupied land in Kit Carson U.S. National Forest and detained park rangers for “trespassing” on sovereign land. The following year, Tijerina and Alianza members stormed the Rio Arriba County Court­house in Tierra Amarilla to ­free 11 Alianzistas, resulting in the largest manhunt in the history of New Mexico to find Tijerina and Alianza members. Tijerina was captured six days a­ fter the raid and sentenced to two years in jail and five years probation, pending appeal. Despite the prospect of imprisonment, the court­house raid resulted in national attention for the Alianza and gave Tijerina a reputation for direct militant action—in contrast to the nonviolent strategies of César Chávez and Martin Luther King, Jr. Despite tactical differences with other civil rights leaders, Tijerina believed in racial co­ali­tion building. In 1968, Tijerina was invited to participate in the Poor ­People’s Campaign march on Washington, envisioned by Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). Tijerina’s participation and influence, however, ­were tempered due to his incarceration soon thereafter for two years in federal prison in 1969, due to ongoing ­legal trou­bles associated with the court­house raid. In his absence, the Alianza faltered. Tijerina’s strug­gle in New Mexico nevertheless inspired Chicanos beyond New Mexico.

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In the mid-1960s, Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales led a Denver-­based co­ali­tion, the Crusade For Justice, in an effort to fight poverty and advance social justice for Chicanos. A former boxer and po­liti­cal or­ga­nizer for Colorado’s Demo­cratic Party, Gonzales developed the ideological flavor of Chicano ethnic nationalism through his organ­izing efforts, oratory, and writing. Arguably, his most impor­tant contribution to the Chicano movement was his epic poem, “Yo Soy Joaquín,” which laid out the tenets of Chicano nationalism, emphasizing Chicano indigeneity, or, in other words, the pre-­Columbian Native American heritage of Chicanos. Through his power­ful rhe­toric and oratory, Gonzales helped build multiracial co­ali­tions with African Americans, Native Americans, and Chicanos across the United States. In 1969, Gonzales or­ga­nized the Chicano Youth Liberation Conference, one of the most significant gatherings during the Chicano movement, which was credited with awakening young ­people’s po­liti­cal consciousness. Held in Denver, Colorado, Chicano youth activists from across the country met and produced an impor­tant Chicano manifesto: El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán. Inspired by the Chicano poet Alurista, El Plan Espiritual articulated the goals of Chicano nationalism: “We, the Chicano inhabitants and civilizers of the northern land of Aztlán from whence came our forefathers, reclaiming the land of their birth and consecrating the determination of our ­people of the sun, declare that the call of our blood is our power, our responsibility, and our inevitable destiny” (El Plan Espiritual, n.d.). The concept of Aztlán drew upon an Aztec religious my­thol­ogy that placed the native homeland of the Aztec ­people somewhere in the American Southwest. This connection to a Mexican past alarmed opponents of Chicano ethnic nationalism and was interpreted as a threat to the United States.

Student, Antiwar, and Po­liti­cal Activism Student activists w ­ ere central to the Chicano movement, and the 1968 East Los Angeles walkouts w ­ ere a pivotal moment in that movement. Inspired by Chicano teacher Sal Castro and student organizers, nearly 20,000 young Chicana and Chicano students walked out of East Los Angeles schools, protesting inferior conditions and treatment of Mexican American students in what w ­ ere pejoratively known as “Mexican schools.” Los Angeles schools had a long history of tracking Mexican students into a vocational curriculum rather than encouraging the most talented to pursue college preparatory classes. Teachers also regularly disciplined students who spoke Spanish and still used corporal punishment in the classroom. In the spring of 1968, students from East Los Angeles ­middle schools and high schools walked out to protest ­these and other conditions. In 1969, Chicano educational activists in southern California articulated an ideological foundation for their work in a Chicano manifesto called El Plan de Santa

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Barbara. This plan, published only a month ­after the publication of El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, called for the creation of Chicano Studies programs in the United States. It also called for a new student activist identity embodying this ideological shift, namely the creation of El Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán, or MEChA, an organ­ization that can be found in numerous U.S. colleges and universities ­today. Chicano activists also protested the disproportionate number of young Chicanos ­dying in the Vietnam war. The antiwar movement unified Chicano activists from vari­ous ideological strains (Oropeza, 2005, p. 144). Given the movement’s identification with Third World p­ eople of color, many Chicanos found solidarity with the Viet­nam­ese as colonized p­ eople with similar agricultural l­abor experiences. On August 29, 1970, thousands of Chicanos protested in the streets of Los Angeles against the Vietnam War. The Chicano Moratorium, as the march was known, began as a peaceful event but ended in police vio­lence and tragedy. Well-­known and highly respected journalist Ruben Salazar, who covered Mexican Americans (among other topics) for the Los Angeles Times, was killed when Los Angeles County Sheriff deputies fired tear gas canisters into the Silver Dollar Bar, fatally striking Salazar in the head. The po­liti­cal outcry over Salazar’s death elevated him to martyr status in Chicano history. Salazar’s death at the hands of law enforcement symbolized another strug­gle that was central to the Chicano movement. Like African Americans, Mexican Americans historically experienced tense and difficult relations with local police departments, particularly in Los Angeles (Escobar, 1999). The Brown Berets made police brutality one of their central issues. The Berets ­were the paramilitary avant garde of the Chicano movement. Fashioning themselves in the model of the militant Black Panther Party, the Brown Berets dressed in paramilitary garb, including brown jackets and berets, and openly advocated for self-­defense and community protection against abusive law enforcement practices. This approach among the Panthers and the Berets contrasted sharply with the nonviolent philosophy of Martin Luther King, Jr., and César Chávez. The Brown Berets ultimately failed to hold a national organ­ization together and disbanded, but local chapters continue to operate to varying degrees throughout Latino communities. The decline of militant Chicano movement organ­izations, such as the Brown Berets, also underscores the role that government surveillance and infiltration played in undermining domestic po­liti­cal radicalism during the Vietnam war era. The FBI’s COINTELPRO program, for example, disrupted a host of civil rights and antiwar organ­izations in the 1960s and 1970s. Po­liti­cal organ­izing in the electoral arena was another significant aspect of the Chicano movement, especially by the 1970s. Historically, both the Demo­crat and Republican parties had marginalized Chicanos, keeping them from positions of

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power within party leadership. Although many Mexican Americans had supported the Demo­cratic Party through the Viva Kennedy campaigns of 1960, most community leaders felt neglected and underserved by the major po­liti­cal parties. By the late 1960s, Chicano activists registered Chicano voters and elected Chicano candidates in local elections, changing American politics from below. In Crystal City, Texas, po­liti­cal or­ga­nizer José Angel Gutiérrez or­ga­nized a grassroots Chicano rebellion that ultimately led to the election of Chicano candidates on the local school board and the hiring of Chicano teachers and administrators, as well as bilingual education and Mexican American history courses. The po­liti­cal maturation of the Chicano movement in Crystal City manifested in the formation of La Raza Unida Party (RUP), a third-­party option designed to bypass the traditional two-­party po­liti­cal system. The RUP spread to Midwestern states as well, including Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, and Wisconsin (Rodriguez, 2011). Although the RUP ultimately failed to win over a majority of ethnic Mexican voters in the 1970s, the RUP experience served as a training ground for budding Chicano po­liti­cal activists to become active in new organ­izations, such as “the Mexican American ­Legal Defense and Education Fund (MALDEF), the Mexican American Unity Council, Communities Or­ga­nized for Public Ser­vice, the Southwest Voter Registration Proj­ ect, the Mexican American Demo­crats, and the Mexican American Legislative Caucus” (Vargas, 2011, p. 334).

­Women in the Chicano Movement ­ omen ­were central to the Chicano movement. Many Chicana feminists criticized W Chicano ethnic nationalism as being patriarchal and lacking a sophisticated inclusion of both sexes. ­These Chicanas ­were inspired to take the movement in new directions. As in the Black Power movement, ­women ­were marginalized and excluded from leadership positions among Chicano movement organ­izations. Chicana feminists challenged this issue, as well as the traditional ste­reo­type of Chicanas as the primary preservers of their culture. At the Denver Chicano Youth Conference in 1969, Chicana feminists drafted a resolution arguing for gender equality. The final resolution was not included in El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, however, b­ ecause a majority voted to unify b­ ehind a nationalist agenda rather than to promote feminism, which was perceived as a “white w ­ omen’s issue.” Within the Brown Berets, Chicanas criticized the machismo of the movement as discriminating against ­women. Many Chicanas within the Brown Berets resigned to form a new organ­ization, Las Adelitas de Aztlán. In New Mexico, El Grito del Norte, a Chicano movement newspaper that began as an effort to support the Alianza’s effort, expanded to cover other movement topics and issues ­under the leadership of Elizabeth “Betita” Martínez. A former member of the Student Non-­Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)

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The Chicano Movement in the Midwest and Pacific Northwest The concept of Aztlán was critical to activists of the Chicano-­movement era. Based on a belief that the ancient Aztec ­people migrated south ­toward the valley of Mexico from a mythical homeland called Aztlán, somewhere in the American Southwest, Chicano activists believed their ancient ancestors’ homeland belonged somewhere in the southwestern region of the United States between Texas to California. Much of the most impor­tant Chicano activism of the era, ­whether it was the po­liti­cal organ­izing in Crystal City, Texas; the Crusade for Justice in Denver; the land grant movement in New Mexico; or the Delano Grape strike, was rooted in the American Southwest. The Chicano movement, however, was ultimately broader and more dispersed than activism in the American Southwest. Chicano movement activism could be found throughout the United States wherever significant Chicano populations existed in urban and rural settings, including the Midwest and Pacific Northwest. The Midwest was a critical site of Chicano activism during the movement years. Historian Marc Rodriguez notes that Chicano activism in Wisconsin, both in urban Milwaukee and the rural part of the state, was intimately connected to the migration of Tejanos (Texas Mexicans) from south Texas—­ what Rodriguez calls the “Tejano diaspora” (Rodriguez, 2011). The experience of Tejano mi­grants with Chicano activism in Crystal City, Texas, helped Chicano mi­grants transform citizenship and civic engagement among Latinos in Wisconsin. L ­ abor ­unions such as Obreros Unidos (Workers United) or war-­on-­poverty programs like the United Mi­grant Opportunity Ser­vices offered Latino mi­grants opportunities to continue their activism first begun in Texas. In Chicago, Mexican Americans participated in the activism of the Chicano-­movement era. Mexican American w ­ omen in Chicago’s Pilsen area mobilized following a Chicana w ­ omen’s conference in 1973, forming Mujeres Latinas en Acción (Latina ­Women in Action)—an organ­ization that included Puerto Rican w ­ omen as well and continues to provide f­ amily social ser­vices in Chicago t­ oday (Fernández, 2012, ch. 7). ­Women also participated in many other efforts, including the Farah Strike and United Farm Workers boycotts (Ramirez et  al., 2011). Latino Mennonites throughout Midwestern states played a critical role, using their religiosity to advance support for Chicano movement strug­gles, including the farm worker movement, gender equality, and racial diversity, within church leadership (Hinojosa, 2014).

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The farm worker movement itself, which relied upon nationwide and international support for boycotts against grapes and lettuce, also galvanized Chicano communities across the country. Students at the University of Washington in the late 1960s fought to ban ­table grapes from the university’s eating facilities. Chicano activists throughout the Puget Sound and Yakima Valley areas in Washington ultimately or­ga­nized around a variety of issues affecting Latinos in urban Seattle and the rural countryside. Oral histories of ­these accounts have been recorded in the Seattle Civil Rights and ­Labor History Proj­ect (n.d.). In the 1970s, in the Willamette Valley in Oregon, Mexican laborers or­ga­nized forest and farm workers in the progressive ­labor ­union Pineros y Campesinos Unidos Noroeste (Northwest Tree Planters and Farm Workers United), regardless of their immigration status (Sifuentez, 2016).

and the sit-in and Freedom Riders movement of the early 1960s, Martínez went on to a very successful publishing c­ areer in the 1970s, specifically on topics related to Chicana feminism. Chicana historian Maylei Blackwell notes the significance of another Chicana feminist group, Hijas de Cuauhtémoc, as one of the most significant Latina feminist organ­izations to emerge in the 1970s, directly challenging the broader “gendered confines of Chicano cultural nationalism” (Blackwell, 2011, p. 1). Chicana activist Anna Nieto-­Gómez, who co-­founded Hijas de Cuauhtémoc, helped develop early Chicana feminist publications and became an intellectual voice for a growing critical Chicana feminist consciousness. A professor at California State University, Northridge, Nieto-­Gómez ultimately resigned in 1976, citing the institutional re­sis­tance to the Chicano movement and Chicana feminist politics in par­tic­u­lar (Alvarez, n.d.). Assessing the decline of the Chicano movement is difficult. Historians analyzing the rise and fall of the African American civil rights and Black Power movements have similar dilemmas. A series of ­factors helped contribute to the end of the Chicano movement. The tragic vio­lence at the Chicano Moratorium in 1970 discouraged many community members from engaging in po­liti­cal action in subsequent years. The decline of the UFW ­after 1975, the passage of the California Agricultural ­Labor Relations Act, and strategic missteps by César Chávez also meant the loss of a national “cause” around which community activists could mobilize supporters (M. Garcia, 2012; Pawel, 2014). Other historians note that the Chicano movement was an extension of the nation’s broader period of liberalism characterized by the expansion of the New Deal state and G ­ reat Society programs—­both of which w ­ ere challenged by growing conservatism, a backlash against the civil rights

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movement, and the rise of the po­liti­cal right as embodied by the election of Ronald Reagan. Also, many Chicano activists themselves became part of the po­liti­cal establishment they once criticized, joining school boards, local governments, and other governing bodies. Most historians agree that continued research is needed to evaluate the Chicano movement more fully and identify its parallels, if any, with more recent social justice strug­gles, including the immigrant rights and environmental justice movements.

Biographies of Notable Figures José Angel Gutiérrez (1944–) José Angel Gutiérrez was one of the most significant leaders in the development of po­liti­cal organ­izing during the Chicano movement. Leading a grassroots po­liti­cal rebellion in Crystal City, Texas, that placed Chicanos in positions of local government, Gutiérrez’s emphasis on po­liti­cal organ­izing symbolized a growing ascendancy of Chicano po­liti­cal engagement that was ultimately ­adopted by Chicano communities throughout the United States. Gutiérrez’s ultimate goal of building an enduring third po­liti­cal party for Chicanos, outside the traditional two-­party system, did not materialize, yet his contribution to Chicano-­movement era politics is significant and lasting. Born in 1944, Gutiérrez came of age in the 1950s near Crystal City in South Texas. The son of a doctor, Gutiérrez’s ­father encouraged him to work with local braceros (Mexican contract farm workers) so that he could learn firsthand the experience of hard work. Although he grew up in the lower ­middle class, the f­ amily experienced hardship ­after Gutiérrez’s f­ ather died, which led him to encounter the institutional racism and discrimination that affected poor Mexican mi­grant workers throughout South Texas. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Crystal City was a small agricultural community whose population was nearly 80 ­percent Mexican American. Despite representing the majority of the population, Mexican Americans ­were marginalized in local politics, which had traditionally been dominated by Anglos. This po­liti­cal in­equality and disenfranchisement motivated Gutiérrez to or­ga­nize the Mexican American population po­liti­cally. Gutiérrez’s formal education played a key role in the development of the Chicano student movement. Gutiérrez excelled in academics, graduating from Texas A&M University-­Kingsville and l­ ater earning a master’s degree in po­liti­cal science from Saint Mary’s University in San Antonio, Texas. In 1967 Gutierrez co-­founded the Mexican American Youth Organ­ization (MAYO) while he was a student at Saint Mary’s, along with organizers Willie Velásquez, Mario Compean, Ignacio Patlán, and

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Juan Patlán. Reflecting years l­ater on the se­lection of the name for the organ­ization, Gutiérrez said that “choosing an innocuous name such as the Mexican American Youth Organ­ization [bought] . . . ​us time from criticism. We knew that once we achieved notoriety for our direct action tactics and strategies, our pronouncements would be targeted by the media. With negative press accounts we would then have a harder time organ­izing more chapters around the state” (Gutiérrez, 1998, p. 102). MAYO’s activities included registering Mexican American voters and promoting educational reform. By 1968, 30 MAYO chapters had been formed throughout Texas. In Crystal City, students and parents presented demands for more Mexican American teachers and bilingual education. ­After the board refused to act, students boycotted the schools, forcing the U.S. Department of Justice to intervene and negotiate a settlement (Vargas, 2011, pp. 322–323). MAYO’s activities established an impor­tant foundation for the creation of La Raza Unida Party, founded in December 1969 to provide Mexican Americans with a means to acquire po­liti­cal power. Not known as someone who typically minced his words, Gutiérrez’s fiery rhe­ toric inspired the radicalism of the Chicano movement. Along the way, however, he provoked more moderate Mexican American politicians. In 1969, Gutiérrez delivered his now-­infamous “Kill the Gringo” speech to reporters at a MAYO press conference, in which he discussed the “gringo tendency” to inflict cultural genocide among Chicanos through bigotry and racism (Mariscal, 2005, p. 115). Such rhe­toric chafed Texas’s most prominent Mexican American politician, Congressman Henry B. Gonzalez of San Antonio. Gutiérrez criticized the establishment politics represented by Congressman Gonzales, especially the assimilationist ideology embodied by the Mexican American generation (Gutiérrez, 1998, p. 84). Gutiérrez’s emphasis on Chicano ethnic nationalism as a po­liti­cal organ­izing tactic diverged from the more moderate co­ali­tional politics Congressman Gonzales had embraced since the 1950s, whereas the congressman found common ground among Texas’s diverse racial groups through the building of a liberal Demo­cratic base in San Antonio and beyond (Krochmal, 2016, pp. 153–154). As a critic of the mainstream po­liti­cal establishment, Gutiérrez argued that a third-­party option for Chicanos was the only way to po­liti­cally empower Chicanos and effect real change. Gutiérrez believed that the RUP would be the vehicle to Chicano po­liti­cal empowerment and genuine reform. The RUP was not successful in creating an enduring third po­liti­ cal party for Chicanos, but did manage to get RUP candidates on the 1972 ballot in more than 40 Texas counties, ultimately drawing Mexican American voters away from the Demo­cratic Party despite failing to win elections. “Anti-­gringo politics” ­were foundational for Gutiérrez and the RUP’s po­liti­cal worldview. The phrase “raza unida” was “derived from a phrase coined by Juan

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Nepomuceno Cortina in 1848 that meant ‘the United ­People,’ ” (Vargas, 2011, p. 333). The preamble to the Texas RUP called for equal repre­sen­ta­tion, serving individual community needs, fighting poverty and social injustice, and abolishing racism and “cultural genocidal practices.” In the late 1960s and early 1970s, “anti-­ gringo” politics also meant a general opposition to the American war in Vietnam. Gutiérrez, having served as a military reservist and completed basic and advanced infantry training, was able to avoid the military conflict itself (Gutiérrez, 1998, p. 115). Indeed, Gutiérrez and other Chicano activists during the Vietnam war espoused a belief that “la batalla está aquí” (the ­battle is ­here) (Oropeza, 2005, p. 107). While opposition to the war in Vietnam united many Chicano activists and the RUP was successful in spreading nationally beyond Texas into Western and Midwestern states, Gutiérrez strug­gled to sustain the RUP as a national po­liti­cal force through the 1970s. Moreover, internal po­liti­cal strug­gles within the RUP over who would head the party as a national force undermined party unity and effectiveness (I. García, 1989). ­After the decline of the RUP, Gutiérrez returned to gradu­ate school, earning a PhD from the University of Texas at Austin and a law degree in 1989 from the University of Houston Law Center. He l­ater served as a professor of po­liti­cal science at the University of Texas at Arlington.

Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales (1928–2005) Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales was one of the most impor­tant leaders of the Chicano movement. He helped shape the ideology of Chicano ethnic nationalism, which played a significant role in expanding the movement beyond regional strug­gles into a national movement that had a special emphasis on youth development. Born in 1928, Gonzales embodied the assimilationist politics of the Mexican American generation in his early years. He was a former boxer, liberal Demo­crat, and member of the civil rights group the American GI Forum. His ­later turn ­toward Chicano nationalism was driven by disenchantment with establishment politics, particularly the ­Great Society programs initiated by President Lyndon Johnson in the 1960s. Earlier that de­cade, Gonzales or­ga­nized a successful Viva Kennedy club among Denver’s Mexican American community (Viva Kennedy clubs w ­ ere comprised of Mexican Americans across the country who supported John F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign). Gonzales’s success in po­liti­cal organ­izing elevated his presence within Colorado’s Demo­cratic Party establishment, taking him to vari­ous leadership positions in the local administration of the War on Poverty. Gonzales also worked as a bail bondsman, exposing him to the troubled relationship between law enforcement and Denver’s racial minority communities. He would l­ater make fighting police brutality a focus of his organ­izing agenda.

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Gonzales came to believe that being accommodated within the po­liti­cal establishment ultimately did not serve the best interests of the ethnic Mexican population. In his view, separate institutions and organ­izing ­were required to effect meaningful change and reform. In 1966 Gonzales established the Crusade For Justice, a Denver-­ based civil rights organ­ization focused on promoting more in­de­pen­dent community control for Mexican Americans. The Crusade For Justice established a school called Escuela Tlatelolco, which captured Gonzales’s emphasis on both youth development and the indigenous aspects of Chicano identity. The organ­ization also established its own newspaper, called El Gallo (the rooster). Both the school and newspaper served as platforms for the Crusade For Justice to champion Chicano cultural nationalism. Gonzales’s writings and oratory helped build the ideological tenets of Chicano nationalism beyond Denver into a wider appeal for Chicano communities throughout the United States. He authored the epic poem “Yo Soy Joaquín” in 1967. “Yo Soy Joaquín” was a meditation on Chicano identity and the mythologies of mestizaje, or the racial mixture of Spanish and Indian ancestry and the social construction of Mexican identity. The poem addressed cultural conflict, racial mixture, and acculturation associated with being Chicano in Amer­i­ca (Gonzales, 1972). The poem was reprinted in Chicano grassroots publications across the country and ­later turned into a short film by Luis Valdez and the Teatro Campesino. While Gonzales contributed much to the Chicano movement in terms of orga­nizational activism, some argue that his poem “Yo Soy Joaquín” was his greatest contribution to the movement; it has become a lasting piece of Chicano lit­er­a­ture, helping to define a collective experience among the Chicano generation. Gonzales’s participation in the Poor ­People’s Campaign of 1968 in Washington, D.C., with Reies López Tijerina and African American civil rights organ­izations, helped bring him and the Crusade For Justice national attention. The Poor P ­ eople’s Campaign, notes historian Gordon Mantler, was part of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “most far reaching and radical crusade . . . ​[and] sought a multiracial army of the poor to demand the nation’s rededication to the federal War on Poverty” (2013, p. 3). Gonzales’s emphasis on Chicano indigeneity helped build racial co­ali­tions with the American Indian Movement (AIM), which also participated in the Poor ­People’s Campaign. As some observers have noted, however, the Chicano ethnic nationalism espoused by movement leaders such as Gonzales and Reies López Tijerina erased Mexican Americans’ African ancestry. One historian has noted that t­hese leaders “chose to accept the erasure of Africans from . . . ​[Mexican] history,” stymieing racial co­ali­tion politics as a result (Mantler, 2013, p. 8). Another significant piece of Gonzales’s work was organ­izing the Chicano Youth Liberation conference in 1969. More than a thousand youth from California to Texas and from the Pacific Northwest through Mid-­and upper Western states attended the week-­long gathering. Activities included panel discussions, poetry, art, and

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po­liti­cal debate. Chicano youth from across the country highlighted their unique regional strug­gles in connection with a Chicano national agenda. Gonzales and the Crusade For Justice w ­ ere especially popu­lar among Chicano youth b­ ecause of the organ­ization’s antiwar position. Ernesto Vigil, an active member of the Crusade For Justice, publicly evaded the draft during the Vietnam war and was celebrated for ­doing so in El Gallo. Following the Chicano Youth Conference, the Crusade For Justice supported the Chicano Moratorium of August 29, 1970, in Los Angeles, providing orga­nizational counsel and offering advice to young Chicanos seeking to avoid military ser­vice. However, the organ­ization faltered in the mid1970s. Violent encounters between Denver police and Crusade members, as well as massive surveillance of the organ­ization orchestrated by the FBI and local police, ultimately contributed to the movement’s decline (Vigil, 1999). Gonzales’s contributions and legacy to the Chicano movement are many and lasting—­most notably his poetic and intellectual contributions to the development of Chicano ethnic nationalism. In the late 1980s, Gonzales suffered a heart attack that caused chronic health prob­lems for the remainder of his life. He died in 2005 at the age of 76. See also: Chicana Feminist Movement; Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs; Gay Rights Movement

Further Reading Acuña, Rodolfo. 1972. Occupied Amer­i­ca: The Chicano Strug­gle ­Toward Liberation. New York: Harper & Row. Alvarez, Ramiro. n.d. “Biography of Anna Nieto Gomez,” in Chicana Por Mi Raza. Retrieved from http://­chicanapormiraza​.­org​/­chicanas​/­anna​-­nieto​-­gomez Blackwell, Maylei. 2011. ¡Chicana Power!: Contested Histories of Feminism in the Chicano Movement. Austin: University of Texas Press. Chatfield, LeRoy, comp. 2004–2012. Farm Worker Documentation Proj­ect. Retrieved from https://­libraries​.­ucsd​.­edu​/­farmworkermovement Chávez, Ernesto. 2002. ¡Mi Raza Primero!: Nationalism, Identity, and Insurgency in the Chicano Movement in Los Angeles, 1966–1978. Oakland: University of California Press. Chicana Por Mi Raza Oral History Proj­ ect (website). n.d. Retrieved from http://­ chicanapormiraza​.­org El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán. n.d. Retrieved from http://­www​.­calstatela​.­edu​/­orgs​/­mecha​ /­planespiritual​.­htm Escobar, Edward J. 1999. Race, Police, and the Making of a Po­liti­cal Identity: Mexican Americans and the Los Angeles Police Department, 1900–­1945. Oakland: University of California Press. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

The Chicano Movement, 1960s–1970s | 535 García, Ignacio. 1989. United We Win: The Rise and Fall of La Raza Unida Party. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. García, Ignacio. 1997. Chicanismo: The Forging of a Militant Ethos among Mexican Americans. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. García, Mario T. 2014. Blowout: Sal Castro and the Chicano Strug­gle for Educational Justice. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. García, Mario T., ed. 2014. The Chicano Movement: Perspectives from the Twenty First ­Century. London: Routledge. García, Mario T. 2015. The Chicano Generation: Testimonies of the Movement. Oakland: University of California Press. Garcia, Matt. 2012. From the Jaws of Victory: The Triumph and Tragedy of Cesar Chavez and the Farm Worker Movement. Oakland: University of California Press. Gómez-­Quiñones, Juan. 1990. Chicano Politics: Real­ity and Promise, 1940–­1990. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Gonzales, Rodolfo. 1972. I Am Joaquín. New York: Bantam Books. Gonzales, Rodolfo. 2001. Message to Aztlan: Selected Writings of Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales (Hispanic Civil Rights). Houston: Arte Publico Press. Gutiérrez, José Angel. 1998. The Making of a Chicano Militant: Lessons from Cristal. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Hinojosa, Felipe. 2014. Latino Mennonites: Civil Rights, Faith, and Evangelical Culture. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Krochmal, Max. 2016. Blue Texas: The Making of a Multiracial Demo­cratic Co­ali­tion in the Civil Rights Era. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Mantler, Gordon. 2013. Power to the Poor: Black-­Brown Co­ali­tion & the Fights for Economic Justice, 1960–­1974. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Mariscal, George. 2005. Brown Eyed ­Children of the Sun: Lessons from the Chicano Movement, 1965–­1975. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Montejano, David. 2010. Quixote’s Soldiers: A Local History of the Chicano Movement, 1966–­1981. Austin: University of Texas Press Montoya, Maceo. 2016. The Chicano Movement for Beginners. London: For Beginners, LLC. Muñoz, Jr., Carlos. 1989. Youth, Identity, Power: The Chicano Movement. London: Verso. Oropeza, Lorena. 2005. ¡Raza Si Guerra No!: Chicano Protest and Patriotism during the Viet Nam War Era. Oakland: University of California Press. Pawel, Miriam. 2014. The Crusades of Cesar Chavez: A Biography. New York: Bloomsbury. Ramirez, Leonard, Yenelli Flores, Maria Gamboa, Isaura Gonzalez, Victoria Perez, Magda Ramirez-­Castañeda, and Cristina Vital. 2011. Chicanas of 18th Street: Narratives of a Movement from Latino Chicago. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Rodriguez, Marc. 2011. The Tejano Diaspora: Mexican Americanism and Ethnic Politics in Texas and Wisconsin. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Rodriguez, Marc. 2015. Rethinking the Chicano Movement. London: Routledge. Seattle Civil Rights and ­Labor History Proj­ect. n.d. Retrieved from http://­depts​.­washington​ .­edu​/­civilr

536 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 Shaw, Randy. 2008. Beyond the Fields: Cesar Chavez, the UFW, and the Strug­gle for Justice in the Twenty-­First C ­ entury. Oakland: University of California Press. Sifuentez, Mario. 2016. Of Forests and Fields: Mexican L ­ abor in the Pacific Northwest. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2011. Crucible of Strug­gle: A History of Mexican Americans from Colonial Times to the Pres­ent. London: Oxford University Press. Vigil, Ernesto B. 1999. The Crusade for Justice: Chicano Militancy and the Government’s War on Dissent. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

Chicana Feminist Movement, 1960s–1970s Leticia Rose Wiggins

Chronology 1965

The Higher Education Act increases federal spending to universities and financial aid to students. This in part increases the number of Chicanos/as who can attend universities.

1967

Corky Gonzales writes the epic poem “I Am Joaquín” that gives birth to Chicano cultural nationalism and creates the idea of Chicanismo—­a heavi­ly masculine ideology that asserts ethnic Mexican pride and resists U.S. colonialism. Recognizing the need for safe spaces for conversations surrounding ­women’s rights, Alicia Escalante founds the Chicana Welfare Rights Organ­ization in East Los Angeles, California.

1968

In San Antonio, Texas, the Mexican American ­Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF), a national nonprofit civil rights organ­ ization, is formed to protect the ­legal rights of Mexicans and Mexican Americans in the United States. ­Women such as Betita Martínez and Enriqueta Vasquez are actively involved with this organ­ization.

1969

El Plan de Santa Bárbara arises from a meeting of primarily Mexican American students in Santa Barbara, California. The students, some of whom are w ­ omen, plan how to incorporate their culture into academic studies and increase Chicano/a repre­sen­ta­tion on college campuses.

1969, Spring

The National Chicano Youth Conference takes place in Denver, Colorado, hosted by Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales’s Crusade For Justice. At the conference, w ­ omen voice concern over the role of Chicanas in the movement, as they serve primarily as cooks, secretaries, and janitors and are forced to “stand b­ ehind their men” rather than champion their own ­causes.

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1970–1973 Chicanas begin organ­izing as groups on college campuses to consider their unique roles as w ­ omen in the movement. Las Chicanas form at San Diego State University, as do Hijas de Cuauhtémoc at Long Beach State University. 1971–1978 In 1971, 12 Chicanas treated at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles Medical Center claim they ­were sterilized without consent. With the help of Comisión Femenil Mexicana—an organ­ization of young Chicana professionals—­these ­women file a class-­action suit, Madrigal v. Quilligan, against the hospital and doctors who operated on them. They lose the case in 1978. 1971, March

The first issue of Hijas de Cuauhtémoc appears in print. This paper extensively details Chicana life and features a rather provocative article called “Macho Attitudes.” It also brings attention to Chicana rights and issues that w ­ omen thought w ­ ere problematic within the larger Chicano movement. Only three issues are published, all in the year 1971. It is the pre­de­ces­sor to Encuentro Femenil (1973), a larger journal about the Chicana feminist strug­gle.

1971, April

The first national conference of Spanish-­speaking religious ­sisters takes place in San Antonio, Texas, on April 3. The w ­ omen discuss their commitment to the larger Chicana/o community.

1971, May

La Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza (also referred to as the National Chicana Conference) takes place in Houston, Texas. More than 600 Chicanas meet to hold what is considered the first conference or­ga­nized by and for Chicanas in the United States. Keynote speakers include attorney Grace Olivarez and Julie Ruiz from Arizona State University School of Social Work.

1972–1982 The Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), a proposed Constitutional amendment to guarantee equal rights for w ­ omen, passes in both ­houses of Congress and is introduced for state ratification in 1972. Although many Chicana/Latina w ­ omen are dedicated to the ERA’s success, it awaits state ratification until it finally fails in 1982, gaining only 35 of the 38 necessary state ratifications. 1972

The National Conference of Puerto Rican ­Women (NACOPRW) is established as one of the first national Latina-­comprised groups, with branches in the Midwest and Eastern United States. Ana Montes writes the famous poem “La Nueva Chicana,” which calls for men to recognize the power of Chicanas in the movement.

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1972, June

­ omen in the Midwest or­ga­nize the Adelante Mujer! conference in W South Bend, Indiana, held on June 17. The keynote speaker is Martha Cotera, an activist from Texas who speaks to w ­ omen about their economic self worth. The Farah Worker Strike takes place in El Paso, Texas, in which a group of garment workers (85 ­percent of whom are ­women, and nearly all of whom are Chicana) demand maternity leave, birth control, and better working conditions. Their decision to strike and immediate action is considered by some to be militant. This gains national attention and support among many Chicano and Chicana activists.

1972, The Third World ­Women’s Conference is held in Anselmo, California, November as an attempt to strengthen the relationships between w ­ omen around the world. This serves as an example of transcontinental coalition-­building between ­women in the U.S. and third world countries to recognize oppression in their socie­ties. Another Third World ­Women’s Conference is held in Toronto, Canada. 1973

The Supreme Court issues its landmark Roe v. Wade decision, making abortions ­legal in the United States. Although some Catholics and other religious Chicanos/as object, many Chicana w ­ omen support reproductive rights and having control over their own bodies.

1974

The Mexican-­American ­Women’s Organ­ization (MANA) is established and fights against the forced sterilization of Latina ­women, who ­were often subjected to the practice without informed consent.

1976

Martha Cotera publishes Diosa y Hembra: The History and Heritage of Chicanas in the U.S., the first book that thoughtfully included Chicana ­women in the larger canon of Mexican American history. The book fights perceptions of misogyny within the larger movement.

1981

This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical ­Women of Color is published by Persephone Press. Edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, the book captures how w ­ omen of color—­Latina, Black, Native American, and Asian American—­articulate their own brand of feminism.

1982

Chicana and Native American w ­ omen scholars establish Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social (MALCS; ­Women Active in Scholarship and Social Change).

1987

Gloria Anzaldúa publishes her groundbreaking, semi-­autobiographical work Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza.

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Narrative An Exclusive Movement The first National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference took place in March 1969 in Denver, Colorado. Participants embraced one ele­ment as the common denominator of a new social movement: cultural nationalism. Armed with a newfound national Chicano identity, ­those in attendance penned El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, a call to fight against the “foreigner ‘gabacho’ who exploits our riches and destroys our culture” (“El Plan de Aztlán,” 1969). Many consider the crafting of El Plan to be the beginning of the liberation of “La Raza”—­the race of Mexicans and Mexican Americans living in the United States—­from an oppressive society. With a new collective national identity, activists advocated a separatist agenda, rejecting the title of “Mexican American,” to fight against discriminatory practices and establish themselves as ­viable po­liti­cal participants. Adherence to such a nationalist identity in the call for po­liti­cal and social action, however, excluded w ­ omen, LGBT p­ eople, and Latinos who did not identify as “Chicano” from the movement.

Chicana activist Alicia Escalante explains welfare rights at a workshop during a Chicano conference. Pictured (from left) are Eddie Montour, Florencia Granado, Sal Candelaria, and Rodolfo (Corky) Gonzales, 1971. (Bill Wunsch/The Denver Post via Getty Images)

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Cultural nationalism and its rhetorical significance within the Chicano movement tended to reinforce patriarchy, the belief that males should have full authority. Chicano nationalism promoted a “subaltern masculinity,” a machismo (a strong masculine attitude) that would empower Chicano men to combat the oppressive forces of a dominant white society (Blackwell, 2011, p. 96; R. Gutiérrez, 1993, p. 45). Embracing a masculine identity, according to Armando Rendón, author of The Chicano Manifesto, fostered a sense of nationhood as well: “macho in other words can no longer merely relate to manhood but to nationhood as well” (Chabram-­ Dernersesian, 1992, p. 83). The concept of the “macho,” however, proved detrimental to an inclusive movement. It did not create a place for w ­ omen or for any ­others who did not adhere to this standard of masculinity. Chicanas united, most notably in the early 1970s, to take a stand against the sexism promoted by this masculine movement. In 1971, the Los Angeles-­based Chicana/o magazine, Regeneración, edited by founder Francisca Flores, shared that “[Chicanas] want the opportunity to assume orga­nizational, po­liti­cal leadership and responsibility in the movement of La Causa [The Cause]” (Chabram-­Dernersesian, 1992, 83). Discussions of sexuality and gender ­were not limited to the Chicano movement. White and black ­women involved in civil rights and leftist organ­izations had also begun discussing “the ­woman question,” or the role that ­women should play in social movements for liberation. ­Women activists within the Chicano movement also began to have ­these conversations. They discussed and debated a new Chicana identity, and looked to historical female role models in the past to shape what it meant to be a ­woman of Mexican and indigenous descent in the United States in the 20th ­century. Though Mexican American w ­ omen around the country did not all agree on a universal Chicana feminist identity, they generally expressed opposition to masculine rhe­toric, sexist tendencies, and the secondary role that ­women ­were assigned in the movement.

Po­liti­cal Rumblings in Crystal City, Texas On January 17, 1970, more than 300 Mexican Americans met in Crystal City, Texas, to fight for greater po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion in both local and national politics. The formation of La Raza Unida Party (RUP) began what some considered a Chicano third-­party movement (Navarro, 2000, p. viv). Chicanos throughout Texas, especially t­hose who w ­ ere in the minority in local or county jurisdictions, proposed advancing their po­liti­cal power by electing third-­party candidates (“Méxicanos”) within their own community. RUP intended to improve the living conditions and increase the po­liti­cal power of the Mexican American population as a ­whole. This focus on electoral politics, however, ignored issues of gender in­equality and ­women’s

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concerns within the community. The focus on Chicano po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion did not include a discussion of how ­women could also be incorporated in the po­liti­cal pro­cess. Chicanas began officially discussing RUP’s dismissal of gendered issues during a convention hosted by the Young ­Woman’s Christian Association (YWCA) in Houston, Texas, on April 15, 1970 (Blackwell, 2011, p. 168). This convention featured w ­ omen who changed the YWCA acronym to “Young ­Women Committed to Action” and ­were intent on eradicating racism, “wherever it exists and by any means necessary” (Blackwell, 2011, p. 168). Self-­proclaimed Chicanas who attended this convention spoke about the absence of any true Mexican American w ­ omen’s leadership in government. They did not have power beyond their own homes to advance the po­liti­cal and social ­causes of their race. With this in mind, by late 1970, a group of w ­ omen within RUP proposed a conference to discuss advancing w ­ omen’s civic roles. They began planning for a “Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza” to be held the following year at the YWCA. This would be the first official Chicana Conference. Around 500 Chicanas attended the “Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza” in Houston, held May 28–30, 1971 (García, 1997, p. 227). Approximately 80 ­percent of the attendees ­were between 18 and 23 years of age; t­ hese ­were young students from vari­ous universities throughout the United States, though the majority hailed from the Southwest (García, 1997, p. 227). The conference lasted three days and consisted of three sets of workshops concerned with issues of organ­izing within the movement and themes of identity. Additionally, w ­ omen discussed issues surrounding their bodies, such as birth control, abortion, and information about sex: topics that some claimed ­were only part of the white ­women’s liberation strug­gle. By considering w ­ omen’s rights and roles within the movement, t­hese Chicanas entered into a larger discussion of what womanhood meant in the context of the primarily Anglo feminist movement of the time. The Chicana movement employed a brand of feminist thought that both resonated with and differed from the white ­women’s liberation movement of the 1960s and early 1970s. Though Anglo feminism also reached its height in t­ hese years, Chicanas did not always feel welcome in a predominantly white movement that focused on middle-­class white w ­ omen’s liberation. Chicanas fought for recognition of their distinct societal position as subjects who experienced the intersectionality of gender, race, and class (Roth, 2004). The white feminist movement questioned w ­ omen’s roles in the New Left—­a po­liti­cally progressive movement that grew out of the 1960s and 1970s, the civil rights strug­gle, and society in general. Chicanas did the same within the context of Chicano nationalism, the barrio, the Chicano community, and the nation as a ­whole.

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The Adelante Mujer! Conference, June 1972 Though much of the history surrounding the Chicana movement details activities in the Western and Southwestern United States, it is impor­tant to remember that w ­ omen’s claims to recognition and rights in this movement existed beyond t­hese regions and w ­ ere a national concern. One example of how feminist thought reached Chicanas outside of the Southwest can be found in the Adelante Mujer! conference that took place in South Bend, Indiana, in June 1972. ­There are many parallels between the Adelante Mujer! conference and the first Chicana Conferencia de Mujeres por La Raza. Both stemmed from conferences that ­women thought ­were lacking in Chicana repre­sen­ta­tion. The Mi Raza Primero (My Race First) conference occurred in January 1972 in Muskegon, Michigan; it marked one of the first times when Chicanos and Latinos gathered in the Midwest to discuss po­liti­cal rights and social equality. During this conference, a Muskegon w ­ oman named Jane Gonzalez led a group of ­women who w ­ ere tired of being relegated to the kitchen. Together they stormed out of the conference in what one reporter called “A Revolt of ­Women.” The “Revolt of ­Women” inspired Olga Villa Parra, secretary of the Midwest Council of La Raza, to or­ga­nize a conference just for w ­ omen in South Bend, Indiana. In June, w ­ omen from throughout the Midwest met at a United Auto Workers hall in South Bend to discuss feminism and their own economic self-­worth. Martha Cotera served as the keynote speaker, demonstrating how Midwestern Chicanas w ­ ere influenced by dialogue with their s­isters in the Southwest. ­After Adelante Mujer!, ­women from throughout the Midwest ­were tasked with organ­izing conferences in their own communities. One w ­ oman, Maria Mangual, or­ga­nized La Mujer Despierta conference in Chicago and helped to found Mujeres Latinas en Acción, a social ser­vice agency that provided for ­women suffering from domestic vio­lence and in need of prenatal care. Adelante Mujer! stands as an example of the pan-­ethnic co­ali­tion building that occurred in the Midwest. Chicana feminism became a broader Latina feminism during moments like the Adelante Mujer! conference.

The Chicana Body and Rights This first Chicana Conference featured a popu­lar session, “Sex and the Chicana: Noun and Verb,” that instigated many conversations surrounding Chicana rights in the larger Mexican and Mexican-­American culture (Blackwell, 2011, p. 170). The panel’s moderator, Gloria Guardiola, had conducted a door-­to-­door survey in her

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surrounding Chicano community asking about oppressive aspects of Chicana sexuality. Based on this community study, Guardiola fashioned an agenda focused on creating more positive views of sexuality that ­were less dependent on patriarchal values. This agenda also brought awareness to a double standard about sex in the Chicano community and the need for more sex education. ­These concerns about w ­ omen’s sexuality and sex education w ­ ere part of a larger effort to address reproductive rights. The predominantly white feminist movement advocated for w ­ omen’s right to access abortion, for example, but Chicanas and other ­women of color w ­ ere equally concerned about involuntary sterilization, a procedure that doctors often performed on poor nonwhite w ­ omen without their full consent in the 1970s. Many Chicanas criticized the feminist movement for only championing abortion rights, b­ ecause this ignored real issues surrounding the health and well-­being of the ­children that result from wanted pregnancies (Nelson, 2003). Recognizing the need for safe spaces for conversations about w ­ omen’s rights, Alicia Escalante established the Chicana Welfare Rights Organ­ization (CWRO) in East Los Angeles in 1967. The CWRO provided social ser­vices for Chicana and black ­women on welfare who may other­wise have experienced racist treatment from the county’s social ser­vices. Escalante herself was on public assistance and understood the need for an organ­ization like this (Ruiz, 1998, p. 113). It was at places like the Chicana Welfare Rights Organ­ization meetings where a group of Chicanas came to realize that they had been forcibly sterilized while giving birth. In 1971, 12 Chicanas treated at the University of Southern California Medical Center claimed that they ­were sterilized without their consent. With the help of the Comisión Femenil Mexicana (an organ­ization of young Chicana professionals), ­these w ­ omen filed a class-­action suit against the hospital and doctors that operated on them. The w ­ omen testified that though they signed consent forms for the operation, they did so ­under heavy anesthesia when their judgment was impaired (often immediately a­ fter giving birth). Furthermore, the forms w ­ ere written in En­glish, which some of them could not read. Ultimately, the ­women lost this suit, Madrigal v. Quilligan, in 1978. The sterilization procedures ­were chalked up to nothing more than a miscommunication. Though it was an unsuccessful defense, the case brought attention to the issue of forced sterilization. In 1974, a group of ­women established the Mexican American ­Women’s Organ­ization (MANA) and continued the strug­gle for reproductive rights.

Antiwar and Campus Activism In a 1973 speech, which was l­ater published in the anthology The Chicana Feminist, Martha Cotera described the 1970s as an era of “upsurge in activity and development for Chicanas without parallels” (García, 1997, p.  44). Female activists

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Mujeres Latinas en Acción (MLEA) The Adelante Mujer! conference in South Bend, Indiana, was one of many ­factors that inspired Maria Mangual to establish an organ­ization that tended to the overlooked needs of ­women and girls in her 18th Street neighborhood of Chicago, Illinois. Before Adelante Mujer!, Mangual attended a few feminist meetings at the University of Illinois Circle Campus, where she was a student. The attention to the individual rather than community turned her off to this middle-­class white form of feminism (Fernández, 2012, p. 245). In the larger Chicano community, she found that ­women ­were not ­really “vis­i­ble,” as evidenced by the fact that the community center where she volunteered, El Centro de la Causa, focused primarily on young men and male activities. For t­hese reasons, among ­others, Mangual and other ­women in the community worked to establish Mujeres Latinas en Acción (Latina ­Women in Action) in 1974. The decision to use the term Latinas rather than Chicanas was a conscious one on the part of ­these w ­ omen. Much like the Adelante Mujer! conference, the activism forming in the Midwest included more than just Mexican and Mexican American ­women. By 1973, the term Latina not only denoted pan-­ethnic identity, but also signified t­hese ­women’s solidarity. Luz María Prieto became the director of MLEA in 1974. As the ­daughter of a well-­respected medical doctor, Jorge Prieto, she brought legitimacy and re­spect to an organ­ization that was characterized as a group of female malcontents or lesbians (Fernández, 2012, p. 254). By 1976, MLEA found a permanent location and became an impor­tant cornerstone in the community. MLEA provided a space for w ­ omen to escape domestic vio­lence, learn about birth control and reproductive rights, and develop their employment and leadership skills. This organ­ization still exists and has expanded beyond the 18th Street community to serve ­women throughout the city of Chicago.

engaged and participated in many organ­izations and overlapping ­causes at this time, including protests against the Vietnam War. Alicia Escalante, founder of CWRO, for example, found herself on stage during an antiwar rally. She inspired the crowd with the claim “I’d rather have my sons die for La Raza and La Causa than in Vietnam” (Oropeza, 2005, p. 142). While some activist w ­ omen spoke out against the war as m ­ others, they also reconsidered the role of masculinity in American society as it related to the Vietnam War. One Chicana who deeply empathized with the plight of the Viet­nam­ese was Elizabeth Martinez, a feminist writer who wrote a story for the magazine El Grito del Norte about the similarities between Mexicans and the

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Viet­nam­ese. The story included a series of images, two of which ­were printed side by side showing “A North Viet­nam­ese ­Woman” and “La Chicana” working in a ­simple outdoor kitchen (Oropeza, 2005, p. 100). B ­ ecause they identified with the Viet­nam­ese and felt that their sons ­were being sent to fight an unjust war, many Chicanas protested the United States invasion of Vietnam. Protests against the war often took place on college campuses, which served as popu­lar sites for action during the Chicano movement. Together, Mexican and other Latino students fought for social justice, calling for immigrant rights and demanding Chicano Studies programs. Most notably, Chicano students formed El Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán (MEChA, the Chicano Student Movement of Aztlán), one of the largest Mexican American student organ­izations that still exists ­today. MEChA was founded one month a­ fter the big National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference in 1969, during a meeting at the University of California, Santa Barbara. ­Women ­were essential in the creation of t­ hese organ­izations, but their roles ­were often underappreciated and they w ­ ere considered ancillary to the movement. The same forms of sexism and machismo prevalent in po­liti­cal movements like La Raza Unida Party also existed on college campuses. ­Women found themselves relegated to clerical tasks, making coffee, and preparing meals rather than being taken seriously as po­liti­cal thinkers and leaders. Students and professors alike felt the need for academia to foster ties with the Chicano community. Scholars who ­were interested in the study of Chicanos formed the National Caucus of Chicano Social Scientists (NCCSS) in San Antonio, Texas, in 1972. The annual meeting was eventually renamed the National Association for Chicano Studies (NACS) in 1976. One of the Chicana feminist movement’s goals involved the inclusion of ­women’s stories in the larger history of Chicano ­people. Though men dominated the NACS, the conference had many female participants who felt w ­ omen ­were not well represented in the organ­ization or the field of Chicano studies more broadly. As the field grew, it became more evident that w ­ omen ­were ­doing much of the work to expand the number of Chicano Studies classes taught at colleges and universities, but they did not receive the credit or the professional rewards for their ­labor (Acuña, 2011, p. 159). While the field of Chicano Studies continued to grow and Mexican American ­women earned PhDs, they ­were still not represented in the professoriate or the curriculum at most universities. In the early 1980s, professors Adaljiza Sosa Riddel and Antonia Castañeda noted the lack of college courses that addressed the Chicana experience. During a meeting of Chicana/Latina scholars at the University of California, Davis, Riddel and Castañeda founded Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social (MALCS; ­Women Active in Scholarship and Social Change) in the spring of 1982. MALCS aimed to provide a space for Chicana and Latina scholars to discuss issues specific to their role in higher education. The organ­ization functioned as

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a support and professional development group; a scholarly network; and a space for Chicana, Latina, and indigenous female scholars to come together. MALCS has continued to hold a summer institute for its members to share their scholarship, activism, and expertise in the field of Chicana Studies, academia, and the community.

Chicana Authors Write Their Experience In the early 1980s, writer Gloria Anzaldúa made critical contributions to the growing field of Chicana Studies with her groundbreaking theory of a “borderlands” identity. In 1981, she co-­edited the book This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical ­Women of Color with famed poet and writer Cherríe Moraga. With this anthology, Anzaldúa and Moraga called for pan-­ethnic and interracial feminist co­ali­ tions between Asian, black, Latina, and Native American ­women. This Bridge connected the Chicana strug­gle to that of other ­women who also experienced the intersection of racism, sexism, and other forms of oppression. This text proved foundational in the development of women-­of-­color feminist writing. In addition, sexuality also entered the conversation as lesbian and queer w ­ omen of color called for recognition in the predominantly heterosexual ­women’s movement. Anzaldúa and Moraga gave lesbians a space within the Chicana feminist movement to include their stories, experiences, and strug­gles. Other Chicana feminist writers looked to Mexican and Chicano history to recover a collective feminist identity. Writers like Norma Alarcón began to reevaluate traditional cultural tropes, such as the historic legend of La Malinche/Malintzin, the indigenous ­woman who served conquistador Hernán Cortés as a translator during the Spanish conquest of Mexico. La Malinche had been maligned in history books and was synonymous with “traitor” in Mexican culture. When used in context of the Chicano movement, her name was used to describe a specific distrust of ­women who betrayed their own ­people. Chicana writers and scholars like Alarcón and many o­ thers, however, reminded every­one that Malintzin also had been betrayed—by her own ­family, who sold her to another indigenous tribe and ultimately placed her in the hands of the Spanish conquistadores. Rather than casting her as a traitor, feminists recognized Malinche as a ­woman with agency who made the best of her difficult circumstances. They also honored her as a symbol of female rebellion (Sandoval, 2008, p. 12). The same can be said for other icons like La Llorona (a ­woman in a folk legend who drowned her own ­children) and La Virgen de Guadalupe (the Mexican repre­sen­ta­tion of the Virgin Mary). Chicana feminists re­imagined ­these figures not as immoral or wayward m ­ others, in the case of La Llorona, or passive and docile, in the case of La Virgen, but as power­ful heroines who controlled their own destiny. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, a Mexican nun who wrote in the 17th ­century, became

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another popu­lar figure whom Chicana feminists revered for her refusal to accept prohibitions against ­women’s writings and who blazed a trail for modern-­day feminists. In vari­ous forms, Chicana writers, poets, artists, and scholars rescued Mexican and Mexican American w ­ omen in Mexican and Chicano history to portray them as empowering and inspirational figures for w ­ omen and girls.

Biographies of Notable Figures Martha Cotera (1938–­) Martha Cotera made her mark in the Chicana movement as a Tejana activist whose writing and speeches educated Chicanas regarding their rights as ­women. Cotera was born January 7, 1938, in Nuevas Casa Grandes, Chihuahua, Mexico. Her ­mother remarried when Martha was nine years old, prompting Cotera’s move to the United States with her ­family. They left ­behind her grandparents, whom Cotera remembers as being incredibly influential in terms of her upbringing and life philosophy. Her grand­father would consistently remind her, “Well, just remember, as long as y­ ou’re in the southwest, y­ ou’re in our extension area [ . . . ​]. As long as y­ ou’re in the southwest, y­ ou’re in your land. D ­ on’t let that worry you” (Ruiz, 1993, p. 275). ­After moving to El Paso, Texas, Cotera’s m ­ other worked two jobs for 16 hours a day to provide her f­amily a middle-­class lifestyle. Cotera always loved school, enjoyed reading, and finished seventh grade with perfect attendance. In school, however, she also encountered racism for the first time. She remembers even the Mexican American c­ hildren calling her a “basement roach” ­because her ­family lived in a basement. Cotera recalls that ­those who ­were Spanish-­speaking or bilingual ­were prime targets for this sort of teasing, as their “otherness” could be identified the moment they spoke. It was not ­until Cotera attended ju­nior high school, and witnessed blatant discrimination by a teacher, that she began to think of herself as an activist. She remembers a friend telling her to speak out against a teacher who deliberately gave her a lower grade ­because she was Mexican. Cotera took her concerns to PTA meetings and school officials to demand better treatment from her teacher, rather than just ignoring the situation or switching classes. Cotera found herself moving from being a passive observer to embracing the activist title that would carry her throughout the rest of her life. ­After high school, she went to the University of Texas at El Paso, where she met Juan Cotera, whom she married in 1963, one year ­after her graduation. Referring to her marriage to Juan as “prob­ably one of ­those first modern marriages,” Martha commented on the equality of gender roles within her relationship (Ruiz, 1993, p. 278). Especially in a culture rife with machismo, Cotera wanted to

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find a partner who considered her an intellectual equal and not someone to “rein in” (Ruiz, 1993, p. 292). Together, they became involved with the Po­liti­cal Association of Spanish Speaking Organ­izations [PASSO] in 1964, the farm worker movement and march in 1966, and police brutality issues in 1967. At this point, Cotera and her husband w ­ ere living in Crystal City, Texas, where La Raza Unida Party was founded in 1970. Additionally, they worked at the community level as a part of Texans for Educational Advancement for Mexican Americans (TEAMS) in the late 1960s while she worked as a director for the Southwest Educational Systems. Cotera did not attend the Denver Youth Conference in 1969, but recalled hearing from some of her female friends in attendance: “Well, [the ­women] voted not to be liberated” (Ruiz, 1993, p. 282). Cotera suspected that this was the result of the cultural nationalist rhe­toric and lack of collective consciousness in the movement. Often the meetings completely excluded ­women; as Cotera noted, many men in the movement refused to bring their girlfriends or wives to meetings. To combat this perceived gender in­equality, Cotera used her connections at the Mexican American Youth Organ­ization (MAYO), which consisted of students and academics; La Raza Unida Party, which served as a po­liti­cal platform for Latinas/os; and the older activists who w ­ ere involved in vari­ous grassroots organ­izations, urging them to focus specifically on improving the lives of Chicanas. “The happiest that I’ve been is with Mujeres de la Raza Unida [­Women of the Raza Unida] . . . . ​I was ­doing what I r­ eally wanted and that was consciousness raising,” Cotera stated about her involvement in Mujeres de la Raza Unida. This organ­ ization’s agenda focused on childcare, health, and female-­oriented issues. With members from this group, she helped to or­ga­nize the Conferencia de Mujeres Por la Raza, or National Chicana Conference, in Houston, Texas, 1971. ­There, Cotera and other community organ­izing ­women addressed t­ hese issues and led other workshops (Blackwell, 2011, p. 167). Cotera also served as a keynote speaker at the Adelante Mujer! conference a year ­later in South Bend, Indiana. During her speech, many ­women became aware for the first time of their economic self-­worth, recognizing that their work in the home also had monetary value. Cotera explained that ­women’s work and time spent caring for c­ hildren, cleaning, and preparing meals could be translated to a paying job that financially benefited the ­family. Through her speeches and writings, Cotera served as a harbinger of Chicana feminist thought. As a researcher, Cotera began to write texts that would become foundational in telling the history of Chicana feminism and the Chicana movement. In 1976, she wrote Diosa y Hembra: The History and Heritage of Chicanas in the United States, one of the first publications dedicated to telling the history of Chicanas and giving ­women a place in the larger Chicano movement. In addition to Diosa y Hembra, she also wrote Profile on the Mexican-­American ­Woman, which included Cotera’s historical writings along with primary source documents (García, 1997, p. 8).

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To this day, Cotera remains involved in her community of Austin, Texas, where she has lived since 1974. That year, she founded the Chicana Research and Learning Center, a nonprofit organ­ization dedicated to finding money for proj­ects and research concerning ­women of color in the region.

Olga Villa Parra (1943–­2015) Olga Villa Parra was a Chicana activist from the Midwest. Villa Parra was born in August of 1943 in San Antonio, Texas, and was a mi­grant worker, activist, and secretary of the Midwest Council of La Raza in South Bend, Indiana. When she was two years old, she and her f­ amily moved from San Antonio, Texas, to Michigan. By making a home in Muskegon, Michigan, her f­ amily became “regional” mi­grants who no longer had to make the annual, arduous, and expensive trip from San Antonio to Michigan (Wiggins, 2015, p. 108). Though Villa Parra’s m ­ other only had a fourth-­or fifth-­grade education, she astutely negotiated with the Michigan farmers who employed her ­children to harvest their crops. Villa Parra’s work alongside her m ­ other, ­father, and six siblings allowed her ­family to make a decent working-­class living in Muskegon. She remembered the distinctiveness of ­doing this sort of work in Michigan compared to elsewhere in the country: “In the Midwest it was individual farmers that made individual relationships with the workers.” Michigan’s strawberry and cherry crops required hand picking, as the fruit was too tender to be grasped by machine. Villa Parra’s ­family knew the value of their work and how critical it was to farmers’ profits. As Villa Parra put it, her ­family was very “entrepreneurial.” During her childhood, the needs of the ­family took pre­ce­dence over individual desires. Villa Parra recalls using the collective ­family coffers to help ­others—­whether that was paying to fix a toothache or providing other financial assistance to someone in the community (Wiggins, 2015, p. 108). ­After graduating from high school, she went on to earn her associate’s degree from Northeastern Illinois University. She also involved herself in Catholic Charities in Muskegon, Michigan, and accepted the job of secretary of the Midwest Council of La Raza (MWCLR) at Notre Dame in 1970. Throughout her life, Villa Parra remained passionate about and involved in mi­grant work. She developed the Western Michigan Co­ali­tion of Mi­grant Workers and spearheaded a report on national health maintenance and its relation to mi­grants as consumers. Though she took part in many strikes and marches for mi­grant workers, Villa Parra especially remembers one strug­gle for mi­grant rights in 1971. A friend of Villa Parra’s from Catholic Charities in Chicago called on her to mediate a ­labor dispute at a tomato-­harvesting camp in Marion, Indiana. As the oral history goes, the head farmer had pressured female camp workers into prostituting themselves out to the

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men in the community. As a result, mi­grant workers went on strike and barricaded themselves in one area of the camp. The holdout resulted in a standoff between local police, the head farmer, and the mi­grant workers. Villa Parra arrived three days into this standoff with her younger teenage ­sister, who happened to be visiting South Bend. They stayed to offer solidarity with the workers, and became two of many arrested for defying the police. ­After three days in jail, Catholic Charities officials posted bail to release Villa Parra and her ­sister. The dispute ended without vio­lence, and the farmer was ordered to shut his camp down. This experience inspired Villa Parra’s ­later involvement with the Manpower Program, which was dedicated to placing mi­grant workers in jobs throughout the Midwest; and Proj­ect Venceremos, an initiative started by the MWCLR to teach mi­grant workers En­glish and other skills. Although Villa Parra never identified as a feminist, it is safe to say that many individuals involved with the Midwest Council of La Raza and the greater Chicano movement considered her to be one. She helped to or­ga­nize the feminist conference Adelante Mujer! (Onward ­Woman) in 1972. In 1978, she married the director of the MWCLR, Ricardo Parra, who admired Villa Parra’s passion for helping ­women throughout her life. Similarly, Martha Cotera—­who encountered Villa Parra while serving as a keynote speaker at the Adelante Mujer! conference—­came to know her as a champion for w ­ omen who was intent on creating a safe space for Latinas in the Midwest. As secretary to the Midwest Council of La Raza from 1970 to 1978, Villa Parra was essential to the council’s work and privy to most of the organ­ization’s actions and concerns. In this unique role, Villa Parra worked to enroll more Latinas at the University of Notre Dame, raise funds for a daycare center, and put mi­grant issues on the agenda. She is an essential figure who promoted the Chicana Movement from her unique position in the ­middle of the country.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT “Mi Reflejo,” Lydia Camarillo, 1980 The power of identification and expression via verse and story is evident in the Chicana movement. Many Chicanas turned to poetry and writing as a means of expressing complicated identities and histories. The following poem by Lydia Camarillo is a perfect example of how t­ hese ­women’s identities formed in a variety of ways. Beginning with an allusion to the conquest of Mexico, she tells the history of Chicanas by referring to the famous Mexican scholar and poet Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, painter Frida Kahlo, and the Virgin Mary. The poem’s question-­and-­ response format can be interpreted as addressing a variety of oppressive forces.

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This story is also told in a code-­switching voice that employs both Spanish and En­glish throughout. ­Woman is defined as being both past and pres­ent, Spanish and En­glish, religious and heretical. Camarillo is one of many ­women discussing their complex identities as ­women of color. This poem appears in a collection of lit­er­a­ ture by Mexican American w ­ omen called Infinite Divisions: An Anthology of Chicana Lit­er­a­ture (Rebolledo and Rivero, 1993). “Mi Reflejo” by Lydia Camarillo Who goes ­there? It is I, ­Don’t you recognize me? You made me your prostitute, Me hiciste tu esclava, Conquistaste y colonizaste mi gente.1 You alienated me from my ­people. Me hiciste la “Vendida.”2 ¿Ya no te ACUERDAS de mí? Qué Poca Memoria Tienes,3 I have come to pay your dues, I have come to ­FREE my p­ eople. I AM MALINCHE. Who goes ­there? It is I, ­Don’t you remember me? Your chauvinism impedes my inner growth, quemaste mis libros,4 you smashed all w ­ omen’s hopes, you destroyed my life. ¿Ya no te ACUERDAS de mí? I am the scientist: the gifted; the one with all wisdom, Yo soy la mujer hermosa.

1. You made me your slave/ you conquered and colonized my ­people 2. You made me a traitor 3. ­Don’t you remember me?/ What a short memory you have 4. you burned my books

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He venido con Malinche,5 I have come to make you pay. I have come to LIBERATE my ­people; the oppressed. Yo soy SOR JUANA INÉS DE LA CRUZ. Who goes ­there? It is I, ­Don’t you recognize me? I’ve stood ­behind your shadows, siglo tras siglo. He sido prisionera de tus males, He llorado por mis hijos,6 I have slept on blood-­stained sheets, While my womb longs to give birth. ¿Ya no te ACUERDAS de mí? Yo soy el fruto de mi gente, Llena de amor, y capaz de matar.7 I am “creation,” Vida con Vida, Y Arte.8 I have come with Malinche and sor Juana. He venido a hacerte pagar.9 I have come to be part of the INSURRECTION of my p­ eople, The oppressed. I AM FRIDA KAHLO Who goes ­there? It is I, ­Don’t you know me? I am the ­mother of the ­people. I am the symbol of fertility,

5. I am the beautiful woman/ I have come with Malinche; 6. ­century ­after ­century./ I have been a prisoner of your evil,/ I have cried for my ­children 7. I am the fruit of my ­people,/ full of love,/ with the capacity to kill. 8. Life with Life,/ and art. 9. I have come to make you pay.

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pride, strength, beauty, and wisdom. I am the “SPIRITUAL TRUTH” of my ­people. He venido a traer “luz”10 I have come with Malinche, sor Juana, and Frieda. I have come to guide them to the EMANCIPATION de mis HIJOS. Yo soy TONANTZÍN,11 la Virgen Morena, I AM LA VIRGEN DE GUADALUPE. Who goes ­there? It is I, ­Don’t you remember me? Soy la fuerza de mi gente.12 I am the invincible. Soy la Revolucionaria.13 ¿Ya no te ACUERDAS de mí? Perhaps you have forgotten, the outright plunder you have caused. He venido a Recordarte: que mis Hijos se mueren de Hambre,14 While you sit in a French restaurant De lujo.15 Have you forgotten, How many of my ­people have died unjustly? Se te ha Olvidado cuántos pintos hay.16 QUE POCA MEMORIA TIENES, YOU, have exploited and oppressed my p­ eople.

10. I have come to bring light 11. of my sons./ I am TONANTZIN, 12. I am the strength of my p­ eople. 13. I am the revolutionary w ­ oman. 14. I have come to remind you:/ that my c­ hildren are ­dying of hunger, 15. of luxury. 16. You have forgotten how many prisoners ­there are.

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But I have come to tell you! “BASTA!”17 Si somos espejos de cada una,18 Soy Malinche, Soy La Virgen de Guadalupe, Soy sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, Soy Frieda Kahlo, Soy Mujer.19 I am the reflection of the oppressed. I am half the strug­gle . . . Y mi compañero la otra.20 I have come to knock at your door, A Decirte, “NO MAS!”21 WE ARE THE REVOLUTION! Source: “Mi Reflejo” by Lydia Camarillo. La Palabra 2 (2, Autumn), 1980, p. 73. Reprinted with permission from Lydia Camarillo.

Further Reading Acuña, Rodolfo. 2011. The Making of Chicana/o Studies: In the Trenches of Academe. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Anzaldúa, Gloria.1987. Borderlands: La Frontera, the New Mestiza. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute. Anzaldúa, Gloria, and Cherríe Moraga, eds. 1987. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical ­Women of Color. Watertown, MA: Persephone Press. Arredondo, Gabriela F., Aída Hurtado, Norma Klahn, Olga Nájera-­Ramírez, and Patricia Zavella, eds. 2003. Chicana Feminisms. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Blackwell, Maylei. 2011. Chicana Power: Contested Histories of Feminism in the Chicano Movement. Austin: University of Texas Press. Chabram-­Dernersesian, Angie. 1992. “I Throw Punches for My Race, but I D ­ on’t Want to Be a Man: Writing Us—­Chica-­nos (Girl, Us)/Chicanas—­into the Movement Script,” in Lawrence Grossberg, ed., Cultural Studies, 81–94. New York: Routledge. Chabram-­Dernersesian, Angie. 1999. “ ‘Chicana! Rican? No, Chicana Riqueña!’ Refashioning the Transnational Connection.” In Caren Kaplan and Norma Alarcón, eds., Between

17. Enough! 18. If we are mirrors of each other, 19. I am ­Woman. 20. And my companion the other. 21. To tell you,/ No longer!

Chicana Feminist Movement, 1960s–1970s | 555 ­ oman and Nation: Nationalisms, Transnational Feminisms, and the State, 264–295. W Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Cotera, Martha. 1976. Diosa y Hembra: The History and Heritage of Chicanas in the United States. Austin, Texas: Information Systems Development. “El Plan de Aztlán.” 1969, March. [text ­adopted at the first National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference in Denver, Colorado]. Retrieved from http://­clubs​.­asua​.­arizona​.­edu​ /­∼mecha​/­pages​/­PDFs​/­ElPlanDeAtzlan​.­pdf Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Flores, Lori. 2008. “A Community of Limits and the Limits of Community: MALDEF’s Chicana Rights Proj­ect, Empowering the ‘Typical Chicana,’ and the Question of Civil Rights, 1974–1983.” Journal of American Ethnic History 27 (3): 81–110. García, Alma, ed. 1997. Chicana Feminist Thought: The Basic Historical Writings. New York: Routledge. Gutiérrez, David G. 1995. Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gutiérrez, Ramón A. 1993. “Community, Patriarchy, and Individualism: The Politics of Chicano History and the Dream of Equality.” American Quarterly 45 (1): 45–72. Hartley, George. n.d. “I Am Joaquín: Rodolfo ‘Corky’ Gonzales and the Retroactive Construction of Chicanismo.” Electronic Poetry Center at University of Buffalo. Retrieved from http://­epc​.­buffalo​.­edu​/­authors​/­hartley​/­pubs​/­corky​.­html Laughlin, Kathleen A., and Jacqueline L. Castledine. 2011. Breaking the Wave: W ­ omen, Their Organ­izations, and Feminism, 1945–­1985. New York: Routledge. Medina, Lara. 2004. Las Hermanas: Chicana/Latina Religious-­Political Activism in the U.S. Catholic Church. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Muñoz, Jr., Carlos. 1989. Youth, Identity, Power: The Chicano Movement. New York: Verso. Navarro, Armando. 2000. La Raza Unida Party: A Chicano Challenge to the U.S. Two-­ Party Dictatorship. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Nelson, Jennifer. 2003. ­Women of Color and the Reproductive Rights Movement. New York: New York University Press. Noriega, Chon A., ed. 2001. The Chicano Studies Reader: An Anthology of Aztlán, 1970–­ 2000. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Oropeza, Lorena. 2005. ¡Raza Si! Guerra No!: Chicano Protest and Patriotism During the Viet Nam War Era. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pulido, Alberto López, Barbara Driscoll de Alvarado, and Carmen Samora, eds. 2009. Moving Beyond Borders: Julian Samora and the Establishment of Latino Studies. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Ramirez, Leonard G. 2011. Chicanas of 18th Street: Narratives of a Movement from Latino Chicago. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Rebolledo, Tey Diana. 2005. The Chronicles of Panchita Villa and Other Guerillas: Essays on Chicana/Latina Lit­er­a­ture and Criticism. Austin: University of Texas Press. Rebolledo, Tey Diana, and Eliana S. Rivero, eds. 1993. Infinite Divisions: An Anthology of Chicana Lit­er­a­ture. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

556 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 Roth, Benita. 2004. Separate Roads to Feminism: Black, Chicana, and White Feminist Movements in Amer­i­ca’s Second Wave. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Ruiz, Vicki L., ed. 1993. Las Obreras: Chicana Politics of Work and F ­ amily. Los Angeles: UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center Publications. Ruiz, Vicki L. 1998. From Out of the Shadows: Mexican ­Women in Twentieth-­Century Amer­ i­ca. New York: Oxford University Press. Salvidar-­Hull, Sonia. 2000. Feminism on the Border: Chicana Gender Politics and Lit­er­a­ ture. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sandoval, Anna Marie. 2008. ­Toward a Latina Feminism of the Amer­i­cas: Repression and Re­sis­tance in Chicana and Mexicana Lit­er­a­ture. Austin: University of Texas Press. Wiggins, Leticia Rose. 2015. Planting the Uprooted Ones: La Raza in the Midwest, 1970–­ 1979 (doctoral dissertation). The Ohio State University.

Urban Uprisings, 1960s–1970s Pedro Amaury Regalado

Chronology 1961

Dr. Antonia Pantoja and a group of Puerto Rican educators and professionals create ASPIRA, an organ­ization that seeks to address the low educational attainment and poverty of Puerto Rican youth in New York City.

1964

Congress passes the Civil Rights Act of 1964. James Powell, an African American teenager, is shot and killed by police Lieutenant Thomas Gilligan in Harlem, New York City. The community erupts in a street protest.

1964, August

Just weeks ­after the Harlem uprising spurred by Powell’s shooting, the first Latino urban uprising of the de­cade begins on August  29 ­after the alleged murder of a Puerto Rican man by an African American man on New York’s Lower East Side.

1965

Malcolm X is shot and killed in the Audubon Ballroom in New York’s Washington Heights, home to an emerging Dominican population. The Watts uprising in Los Angeles occurs ­after a police incident involving an African American motorist, and ends in 34 deaths and millions of dollars in property damage.

1966

The first Puerto Rican Parade is held in downtown Chicago; vio­lence erupts ­after a Chicago police officer shoots a young Puerto Rican man.

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The uprising continues for several days. ­Later that summer and fall, Puerto Rican uprisings break out in Jersey City and Perth Amboy, New Jersey; and Hartford, Connecticut. 1967

President Lyndon B. Johnson creates the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, commonly known as the Kerner Commission. The Brown Berets, a pro-­Chicano organ­ization, emerges in Los Angeles, California, as part of the Chicano movement of the 1960s.

1968

The Mexican American ­Legal Defense and Education Fund opens its doors, becoming the first ­legal fund to pursue protection of the civil rights of Mexican Americans. The Fair Housing Act is passed. This law prohibits discrimination in the sale, rental, and financing of housing based on race, religion, national origin, or sex.

1968, April Martin Luther King, Jr. is assassinated on April 4. 1968, April–­ December

Uprisings and disturbances occur in more than 100 cities nationwide.

1969

The Young Lords Organ­ization, a predominantly Puerto Rican group that originated as a street gang in Chicago, shifts t­ oward a po­liti­cal agenda, modeling itself a­ fter the Black Panther Party. Latino uprisings continue to erupt in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.

1970

Las Adelitas de Aztlan, a group of Mexican American w ­ omen activists, is formed to address machismo in the Chicano movement. The Chicano Moratorium peaceful antiwar march becomes violent ­after Los Angeles police begin attacking marchers. Police kill four ­people, including famed journalist Ruben Salazar. Elsewhere, Latino uprisings occur in New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, and Mas­sa­chu­setts.

1971

A watershed uprising occurs in Camden, New Jersey, ­after police brutally beat a Puerto Rican man t­ here. In the first uprising to occur in Texas during this era, Mexican American residents in Pharr, Texas, clash with police. More than a dozen other uprisings occur nationwide.

1973

Dallas’s Mexican American community erupts in vio­lence a­ fter police shoot a 12-­year-­old Mexican American boy.

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1978

A year ­after the killing of a Mexican American army veteran, protesters in Houston are confronted with police in the city’s Moody Park.

1980

The deadliest uprising since the 1960s sweeps Miami a­ fter white officers are acquitted in the death of an African American man. This occurs at the same time as the Mariel Boatlift, exacerbating tensions between African Americans and Cuban American in Miami.

1981

Henry Cisneros becomes mayor of San Antonio, the first Latino mayor of a major American city since 1842.

1984

White rioters face off with Dominican and Puerto Rican residents in Lawrence, Mas­sa­chu­setts, erupting a­ fter years of simmering racial tensions and discontent over job loss, increased Latino immigration, and racialized police abuse.

1991

A Salvadoran uprising breaks out in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, D.C.

1992

Soon ­after the Los Angeles uprising of 1992, Dominicans in the Washington Heights neighborhood of New York City rise up ­after the shooting of a Dominican man at the hands of a New York police officer.

Narrative The Latino urban uprisings of the 1960s and 1970s marked a pivotal, yet understudied, event in 20th-­century American history. Collective rebellions, or “riots,” among African Americans in ­these de­cades have received much more public and scholarly attention. Yet, in cities nationwide, including Chicago, New York, Hartford, Newark, Los Angeles, Albuquerque, Dallas, and many ­others, Latinos also participated in collective vio­lence, urgently seeking social recognition. ­These events occurred as Latino populations w ­ ere increasing in urban areas, as a result of migration in the years a­ fter World War II. Much like Southern African Americans, who had migrated north and west in search of employment, greater freedom, and an escape from Jim Crow society in the south, Latinos also began migrating to many of the same urban centers in search of greater opportunities. Latino uprisings challenged common po­liti­cal notions that t­ here w ­ ere only two groups in the strug­gle for social justice during the 1960s and 1970s. ­These uprisings also represented a watershed moment in the history of a population that suffered from social woes both locally and nationally. Latinos during ­those de­cades endured severe poverty resulting from public and private discrimination, frequent police harassment and brutality, and ­little to no po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion. Their unrest

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fueled social justice movements and legislative achievements during the 1960s and became historic events in the development of Latino dignity, belonging, and rights in the United States.

Uprisings or Riots? Collective urban vio­lence in the past often has been described as “riots,” a word suggesting lawlessness, senseless vio­lence, and criminality. ­These events usually result in the destruction and damage of property and physical assaults on p­ eople. A distinction should be made, however, among vari­ous forms of collective vio­lence or protest, based on who the main protagonists are, what precipitates the event, and the nature of the conflict. Some collective urban vio­lence, often described as “race riots,” are generally the result of tension between two populations in a specific area. ­These public incidents generally reflect simmering racial hostility between long-­ standing white residents in a neighborhood and minority populations who are newcomers to previously all-­white areas or who have somehow broken an unspoken racial boundary in the area. ­These types of collective vio­lence often involve white residents protecting their physical space or retaliating against nonwhite populations for a perceived violation of social norms. Other large-­scale conflicts have occurred in the past between urban minority populations and local law enforcement and are frequently triggered by some instance of police vio­lence or use of excessive force against young African American or Latino men. Some observers have argued that police are justified in using repressive tactics among populations that they argue have a higher propensity for crime and vio­lence. O ­ thers make the case that most racial and ethnic groups have been ste­reo­typed historically as being prone to crime or vio­lence and that t­hese ste­reo­ types are generally inaccurate. Some scholars have begun to shift away from describing t­hese mass disturbances between civilians and police as riots, calling them instead “uprisings” or “rebellions.” They qualify such actions as expressions of po­liti­cal discontent against structural forces that have exploited and oppressed ­people with few means to alter their circumstances through traditional channels (“Devin Fergus Challenges,” 2014; Kelley, 2015). Characterized by mass property destruction (cars, buildings, arson), interpersonal vio­lence, groups of p­ eople ranging from dozens to hundreds, and clashes with police (typically the precipitating force in triggering many uprisings), the Latina/o urban uprisings of the 1960s and 1970s occurred during an era of deep civic unrest. ­These years ­were marked by widespread social protests against racism, sexism, the war in Vietnam, and other issues. Activists or­ga­nized around civil rights and other ­causes to demand that the promise of American democracy be extended to all of the nation’s ­people. De­cades of racial strug­gles led to landmark legislation, including

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the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Fair Housing Act of 1968. Meanwhile, anti-­ Vietnam War protests proliferated on college campuses; ­women and the LGBTQ community agitated for equality; and African American uprisings engulfed U.S. cities at an unpre­ce­dented rate. Hundreds of conflagrations occurred beginning in 1964 with the murder of African American teenager James Powell by a white police lieutenant in Harlem, New York. The uprising that followed involved 4,000 New Yorkers and is considered the event that precipitated the hundreds of other uprisings that erupted nationwide in subsequent years. In 1968, the murder of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. reignited vio­lence in more than 100 cities across the country, including Washington, D.C.; Chicago; Baltimore; Detroit; and Cincinnati. In this tumultuous de­cade, urban Latinos also fought to have their voices heard. The demographic distinctions between Latino and black uprisings ­were, in many cases, unclear. In 1967, the shooting of a Puerto Rican man by a white store owner in New Haven, Connecticut, resulted in an uprising comprised of both Puerto Rican and African American youth, ending in nearly 400 arrests (“New ­England’s Forgotten,” 2016). Just 40 miles north of New Haven, uprisings erupted in Hartford in the summer of 1969, resulting in the arrests of more than 100 Puerto Ricans and African Americans (Cruz, 1998). In 1972, the police shooting of a 16-­year-­old black youth in Pomona, California, sparked vio­lence between police and black as well as Mexican American residents. African Americans and Latinos in inner cities experienced similar conditions, such as frequent racial discrimination, deteriorating housing, underfunded schools, and police vio­lence. ­These commonalities increased cross-­ethnic empathy and co­ali­ tions in some cases (Opie, 2014). However, the opposite was also true in other cases. In August 1964, vio­lence broke out on New York’s Lower East Side ­after the fatal shooting of a Puerto Rican man at the hands of an African American, triggering several days of clashes between Puerto Rican residents and police. Latino and African Americans’ relations varied greatly from one city to another, ranging from cooperation and solidarity to conflict and hostility. One of the most revered analysts of urban vio­lence in Chicago in the mid20th ­century, historian Arnold Hirsch, has highlighted the fact that African American uprisings in the 1960s ­were not isolated events. He contends that instead, they ­were part of a long history of racial antagonism and vio­lence initiated by whites in earlier de­cades. Hirsch describes how black population increases in Chicago during the first ­Great Migration of World War I sparked the Race Riots of 1919, in which white Chicagoans brutally attacked African Americans ­after a young black boy drifted across the invisible dividing line in Lake Michigan that racially segregated Chicago’s white and black beaches. Over five days of vio­lence, white law enforcement officers ­either turned a blind eye or in some cases participated in the mob assaults that white residents visited upon black residents. In the 1940s and

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1950s, a second ­great wave of Southern African Americans reached the city and searched for housing beyond the overcrowded and segregated Black ­Belt. White residents who opposed racial integration in their neighborhoods responded with widespread hostility. In fact, Hirsch has called this period “an era of hidden vio­ lence” during which residents frequently firebombed cars and homes and attacked black residents who dared to penetrate all-­white neighborhoods (Hirsch, 1983). Thus, the eruptions of African American ghettos in the 1960s ­were not an aberration in an other­wise peaceful urban society: they ­were just the latest in a long history of urban conflict and bloodshed.

Urban Context of the 1960s The roots of the urban Latino uprisings of the 1960s w ­ ere deep-­seated in the fabric of 20th-­century American cities. Two ­factors contributed to ­these events: deindustrialization (the decline of industrial employment), and increasing racial change in cities. In Northern cities, manufacturing industries, which had provided earlier generations of workers with generally stable and lucrative employment, saw a steep decline in jobs as they automated their production with machines, or migrated en masse to regional suburbs, the American South, and the American West beginning in the 1940s (Gillette, 2004). Between 1950 and 1970, New York City, the center of postwar Latino life in the Northeast, lost 174,000 manufacturing jobs while its suburbs added 129,000 (Sanjek, 1998). Chicago’s manufacturing jobs in 1947 numbered 668,000, but by 1982 that number had dropped to 277,000. From 1960 to 1970, Chicago lost 211,000 jobs, while the suburbs gained nearly 500,000 (Fernández, 2012, p. 11). In smaller cities where manufacturing represented the central economic motor, such as Camden, Jersey City, and Hartford, Connecticut, job losses had more devastating results, including high rates of unemployment and poverty. As deindustrialization slowly ravaged postwar cities, many whites migrated to suburbs and outer parts of the metropolitan centers with the help of federal housing policies that encouraged suburban development. Residential redlining (the practice of denying loans in racially mixed or nonwhite neighborhoods), restrictive covenants, and other forms of segregation restricted residential mobility into suburbia for African Americans and sometimes for Latinos as well (Sugrue, 1996). This resulted in limited housing options for the growing Latino populations that w ­ ere seeking higher standards of living in Amer­i­ca’s declining industrial centers. Given their regional concentration, Puerto Ricans dominated the Latino urban uprisings of the late 1960s. While many Puerto Rican mi­grants established small settlements called colonias during the early 20th ­century, Puerto Ricans w ­ ere also recruited heavi­ly for industrial work during the 1940s and 1950s (Sánchez-­Korrol,

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1994). By 1970, Puerto Ricans in major cities like New York and Chicago numbered more than 800,000 and 70,000, respectively. In smaller industrial cities including Bridgeport and Hartford, Connecticut; Passaic, Jersey City, and Camden, New Jersey, Puerto Ricans had also become the dominant Latino group, establishing businesses, clubs, associations, and organ­izations that fostered a deep sense of place and community. However, substandard housing, high unemployment rates, and scarce city ser­vices (including a lack of adequate schooling) contributed to a broad sense of disenfranchisement among them. Uprisings continued to erupt in Rust B ­ elt states into the 1970s, with much greater frequency than during the 1960s. However, uprisings involving Mexican Americans also appeared in the West and Southwest (Fountain, 2016). By 1960, individuals of Mexican origin numbered more than 4 million and constituted more than two-­thirds of the nation’s Latino population (Stepler and Brown, 2016). The largest concentrations lay in the Southwest and Midwest, with California becoming the largest hub of Mexican American life (Escobar, 1993). Like Puerto Ricans in Northern cities, Mexican Americans in cities like Los Angeles experienced high unemployment rates, low income, frequent discrimination, inadequate housing, and inferior schools. Moreover, in 1963 the Los Angeles city council had no Mexican American representatives to address the community’s vari­ous concerns (Escobar, 1993). Still, young Mexican Americans began to campaign for education reform, anti-­police vio­lence, and community empowerment not unlike their Puerto Rican counter­parts in the East Coast.

Puerto Rican Uprisings Chicago’s Division Street uprising in 1966, which was among the first Latino uprisings against systemic oppression during the de­cade, helped to illustrate the convergence of broader structural conditions and immediate events that triggered Latino mass action. In June 1966, the first Puerto Rican parade was held in downtown Chicago. On the last day of the week-­long festivities, a white Chicago patrolman shot a Puerto Rican young man named Arcelis Cruz in the back. P ­ eople began to gather to condemn the officer’s action and soon widespread vio­lence erupted on Division Street, in the heart of Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood. The uprising that followed lasted several days, and reports told of angry crowds burning and damaging squad cars, and smashing more than 200 win­dows as they battled police with bricks, rocks, ­bottles, and scattered sniper fire (Mendez, 1997). Many in Chicago’s Puerto Rican community attributed the uprising to issues of employment and housing discrimination as well as the prob­lem of frequent police harassment and brutality. One Puerto Rican community resident recalled, “It was impossible for any Hispanic or Puerto Rican at the time, even with a college degree,

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to find a good job. You could always find a job in a factory sweeping floors and working in an assembly line. But when it came to getting mainstream jobs, you ­were not welcome, even if you w ­ ere qualified” (Mendez, 1997, p. 31). Referring to the prob­lem of police vio­lence, another community resident remembered, “One very vis­i­ble t­ hing was police abuse, and a lack of Latinos on the police force. . . . ​ If you ­were Latino you would get stopped and searched” (Mendez, 1997, p. 30). As in other uprisings, the racial composition of Chicago’s police force (almost exclusively white), as well as the liberty with which officers frequently committed misconduct, added to local tensions (Fernández, 2012). Corruption and criminal activity within police forces ­were not uncommon ­either. In the years ­after the Division Street Uprising, several other cases of police shootings or killings of Puerto Ricans almost led to street vio­lence but ­were quelled by community or religious leaders (Fernández, 2012). The rage and frustration that fueled the conflagrations in Chicago underpinned the vio­lence that would erupt in cities across the nation with similar conditions in coming years, with police vio­lence being the prime catalyst in igniting turmoil. In 1967, a Puerto Rican man was shot in New York City a­ fter police alleged that the man was wielding a knife. Soon ­after, three days of vio­lence spread across the South Bronx (Schneider, 2014). A year ­later, a Puerto Rican man was arrested in Paterson, New Jersey, for illegally opening a fire hydrant—an alternative to swimming pools that had often barred nonwhites from admission (Rice, 1998). Vio­lence t­ here lasted for five days, during which newspapers reported young Puerto Rican and African Americans firebombing buildings from roofs (“Paterson Police,” 1968). Just 70 miles south, in Trenton, New Jersey, an uprising was sparked a­ fter a 19-­year-­old Puerto Rican man was shot by a police officer in the summer of 1969 (“Show of Force by Police,” 1969). ­There, neighborhood residents clashed with helmeted police accompanied by K-9 dogs. Displacement by urban renewal proj­ects contributed to community anger. Many local governments utilized federal funds to finance large-­scale urban planning proj­ ects that typically displaced poor black and Latino residents. Other incidents also fueled Latino rage. In August 1969, for instance, Puerto Ricans in Passaic, New Jersey, where they constituted 16 ­percent of the population, turned to vio­lence a­ fter 1,000 ­people gathered in a small area to challenge the eviction of a m ­ other and her 11 ­children from their small apartment (“Puerto Rican Area,” 1969). By 1970, more than a dozen uprisings that centered around Puerto Rican residents’ diverse grievances had occurred in the North’s declining industrial centers. Between 1970 and 1971 alone, scholars have tallied well over two dozen Latino uprisings (Fountain, 2016; Car­ter, 1992). In places like Camden, which experienced four days of vio­lence in the summer of 1971, t­hese uprisings became climactic moments in the urban crises facing postindustrial cities. Sparked by the brutal

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beating of a Puerto Rican man, Rafael Gonzales, the uprising in Camden symbolized a collective outrage over unequal citizenship that the city’s Puerto Ricans experienced. Just 90 miles northeast of Camden, uprisings struck Newark with deadly force three years ­later, in 1974, ­after county police attempted to break up a dice game at the city’s Puerto Rican festival (Tuttle, 2009). ­There, two days of vio­lence resulted in two deaths as well as dozens of arrests.

Mexican American Uprisings Uniting around issues of farm workers’ rights, land dispossession, educational reform, po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion, the Vietnam war, and police brutality, Mexican American activists of the Chicano movement also reacted sharply against a history of oppression and dispossession in the West and Southwest. Between 1969 and 1970, the “Chicano Moratorium,” a Chicano antiwar movement, sought to or­ga­nize broad opposition to the U.S. war in Vietnam with local protests planned throughout cities in the West and Southwest. On August 29, 1970, between 20,000 and 30,000 participants from across the nation marched in East Los Angeles against the war (Escobar, 1993). ­After police violently confronted demonstrators with tear gas, turmoil ensued. Demonstrators and police clashed, resulting in 150 arrests and 4 deaths, including the death of Mexican American journalist Ruben Salazar. Although many media outlets frequently presented an image of unprovoked and senseless Latino rioting, the Chicano Moratorium march that collapsed into a police riot in Los Angeles marked an impor­tant moment of radical politicization in the Chicano movement (Mirande, 1994). Most protests u­ ntil then, including ­those in support of farm workers’ rights, for example, had been peaceful, despite encountering opposition from law enforcement. When thousands of Mexicans took to the streets again to celebrate Mexican In­de­pen­dence Day in a parade that September, a fierce confrontation with police resulted in 60 arrests and 50 injuries. On January 9 and 31 of 1971, demonstrators in Los Angeles again found themselves in a violent strug­gle against police. During the latter, police opened fire and dozens ­were wounded (Mirande, 1994). In other Southwestern cities, the uprisings that occurred in the 1970s w ­ ere similar to t­hose that erupted in California. In 1973, thousands of Mexican Americans in Dallas came together to protest the killing of 12-­year-­old Santos Rodriguez by a white police officer (Silverman, 2013). The peaceful march soon turned violent, resulting in the arrests of 30 p­ eople. Rene Martinez, who was 25 years old at the time of the Dallas uprising, remembered, “This was ­really the first time Mexican-­ Americans had or­ga­nized to have a protest” (Silverman, 2013). The continued

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dehumanization and neglect of Latinos nationwide culminated in urban uprisings where Latinos like Martinez voiced their rage, desperation, and frustration through communal force. In 1978, Houston’s Mexican Americans expressed their collective anger ­after Mexican American army veteran Sgt. Joe Campos Torres was killed at the hands of police. A year l­ater, dissatisfied with the officer’s punishment, 1,500 community members protested Campos’s death, clashing with police in Houston’s Moody Park (Boyd, 2015). Similar to uprisings in northern Rust ­Belt cities, the many Mexican American conflagrations that spanned the West and Southwest ­were incited by police brutality. Unlike the mass urban vio­lence in previous de­cades, the Latino and African American urban uprisings of the 1960s and 1970s did not occur between rival ethnic groups. In many cases, they occurred between relatively new marginalized populations and the law enforcement authorities who w ­ ere charged with their safety. Racial antagonism between police and nonwhite communities, buttressed by social and spatial isolation, was often fueled by the racial prejudices that white officers, and society at large, held.

Legacies In 1967, President Lyndon B. Johnson formed the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, popularly known as the Kerner Commission, to investigate and address the under­lying causes of race-­related uprisings. In its report, the commission concluded, “Our nation is moving t­oward two socie­ties, one Black, one white—­separate and unequal” (United States Kerner Commission, 1968). The Kerner Commission’s famous quote overlooked the growing Latino population in urban areas throughout the nation’s cities and the social ills that they faced. In subsequent years, the issues of urban Latinos w ­ ere never addressed collectively. Severe poverty, high unemployment, substandard housing, police vio­lence, and a lack of po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion continued. By 1980, Latinos in the United States would grow from 9.6 million in 1970 to 14.6 million (Owens, n.d.). Nationwide, commentators ushered in the 1980s as “the de­cade of the Hispanic,” one of hope and prosperity. By the end of that de­cade, however, much of the po­liti­cal and economic potential that proponents hoped for went unrealized for the majority of Latinos nationwide. During this new era, Latinos in urban areas encountered new challenges, including unsuccessful responses to urban fiscal crises, continued state disinvestment in cities, expanded law-­and-­order policies, cuts to social welfare programs, disproportionate rates of incarceration, and media repre­sen­ta­tions that often depicted urban Latinos in denigrating manners (Torres-­Saillant and Hernandez, 1998).

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Significant Crime Legislation Following Urban Uprisings of the 1960s and 1970s During and a­ fter many of the uprisings of the 1960s, several federal “law and order” policies emerged. They disproportionately targeted African American and Latina/os in many of the poor areas where unrest had occurred. 1961—­Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Offenses Control Act 1965—­Law Enforcement Assistance Act 1968—­Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act 1970—­Controlled Substances Act 1970—­Organized Crime Act 1984—­Omnibus Spending Bill anti-­crime package 1994—­Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act

Agent Provocateurs and Informers In many of the urban disturbances of the 1960s and 1970s, community members cited the role of provocateurs who sought to incite vio­lence. ­These individuals often posed as protesters while, in fact, they ­were working with police to contain, prolong, alter, and/or repress vio­lence (Marx, 1973). In some cases, they infiltrated activist groups. In 1971, one Mexican-­American leader who helped or­ga­nize with Chicano activists in Texas and California revealed that he had worked as a police informer for two years. In 1970, he attempted to disrupt a protest march in Alice, Texas, which was intended to bring attention to Mexican American educational prob­lems, by jumping on a car and trying to cave in its roof. The in­for­mant and provocateur also committed illegal acts that allowed police to make arrests and raid the headquarters of the Chicano Moratorium Committee (Kunkin, 1972). In Chicago, during the Division Street Riots of 1966, F ­ ather James Headley noted that he recognized police officers who ­were inciting other rioters to turn over police squad cars. Headley recognized them from the police precinct in another parish where he had worked previously (Mendez, 1997). This and many other instances provide examples of how police forces themselves tried to exacerbate the vio­lence in street protest to justify repressive actions ­toward the protestors. Uprisings in Washington, D.C., and New York City during the 1990s emerged among more recently arrived Latino groups, including Salvadorans and Dominicans, who faced similar issues of visibility, discrimination, poverty, police abuse, and lack of po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion. In the Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, D.C.,

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the shooting of a Salvadoran man by a police officer in 1991 sparked three days of vio­lence between police and Latino and black youths. A year ­later, in New York City, the killing of a Dominican man by a police officer also triggered several days of vio­lence in the Washington Heights section of the city. Latino uprisings continued long a­ fter the 1960s and 1970s, but the Latino unrest during t­hose de­cades brought attention to communities that historically had been silenced and marginalized. Con­temporary mainstream histories of this era continue to neglect Latino urban uprisings and their multiple legacies. Twenty-­first ­century media have continued focusing more prominently on modern-­day police killings of African Americans, though Latinos in some places continue to face law enforcement vio­lence as well. Nonetheless, the Latino collective rebellions of the 1960s and 1970s formed part of a broader current of social protests and movements that called for an end to racial, gender, and class-­based in­equality and the extension of demo­cratic rights to all Americans. Whereas some activists embraced peaceful, nonviolent, or moderate tactics to advance their ­causes, Latino uprisings represented more militant, spontaneous, and forceful expressions of re­sis­tance and protest. Their origins, dynamics, and legacies teach valuable lessons about race and migration, as well as about how Latinos negotiated the rapidly changing landscape of postwar American cities during the 1960s and 1970s.

Biographies of Notable Figures Gualberto Medina (c. 1950–­) On August 19, 1971, members of the Puerto Rican community in Camden, New Jersey, led by the 22-­year-­old activist Gualberto “Gil” Medina, met at City Hall around noon to protest the fatal beating of a Puerto Rican man named Rafael Gonzales. They also called for the suspension of the police officers responsible. “­There was a high level of outrage from all levels of the Hispanic community, not just radicals or students,” remarked Medina (Regalado, 2013). In an oral history interview, he stated, “This was not a protest movement of the young hotheads. It was far from that. Even among the students ­there ­wasn’t a broad consensus about the means and ends, but ­there was a consensus among the students that what happened to [Rafael Gonzales] s­ houldn’t happen in the streets of Camden and that we should raise the issue and protest.” A Rutgers University student at the time, Medina and his ­family migrated to Camden from Puerto Rico in the 1950s for po­liti­cal and economic reasons. Medina represented a group of Puerto Ricans who came of age in Camden at a time when civil rights, Black Power, and other ethnic empowerment groups like the Young

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Lords, ­were highly active. At the same time, like ­others, he was the child of parents who had migrated in search of improved living conditions. The Medinas, along with many of their fellow immigrants and African American counter­parts, recognized the lack of ser­vices and governmental support that they could claim as citizens. Recalling the night of the unrest, Medina notes, “They w ­ ere more festive than anything ­else. The goal was to set up a protest in front of City Hall. . . . ​We struck a chord ­because it ­wasn’t just students, it was a cross-­section of Hispanics. It was a broad base, leaders of all sides of the spectrum, [from] conservatives to the students. The w ­ hole mall was full of p­ eople,” including w ­ omen and c­ hildren, he remembered. Soon, however, police descended on the protesters and vio­lence ensued. The uprising plunged Camden into a state of disarray for the next four days. That eve­ning, 20 ­people ­were injured and 40 ­were arrested. The following night, more than 15 fires ­were set, 3 p­ eople w ­ ere shot, 144 ­were arrested, and 87 p­ eople ­were reported injured. Over the next two days the situation only worsened. To suppress the uprising, through the late nights and early mornings, Camden’s 328-­member police force was supplemented with 78 New Jersey State troopers. The fire department, inundated with emergency calls, lost count of conflagrations, which exceeded 100. Forty-­seven firefighting units from the surrounding counties ­were alerted to assist Camden fire companies. Property damage decimated the city’s tax base; symbolic injuries cut into the city’s morale. During the first eve­ning, Medina wandered in the shattered glass along the Broadway Street businesses of Camden. As the student responsible for organ­izing the initial protest, Medina walked from store to store apologizing for the ruin ­until he stepped into one business where he received an unexpected reply. The owner told Medina that he was proud to see the ­people of Camden taking a stand against the death of Gonzales. The young activist remembers noticing identification numbers from the Auschwitz concentration camps on the own­er’s forearm. “If we had stood up, this w ­ ouldn’t have happened,” said the man. As the years passed, Camden’s social woes continued. In 1973, its residents reelected Mayor Angelo Errichetti, who—­for a time—­embodied some of the change that Camden’s nonwhite residents sought. Medina recalls Errichetti asking about the community’s needs. The young Puerto Rican recalled being stunned: “I ­didn’t know what to tell him. At that point I knew what I d­ idn’t want, but I never had anyone in the administration ask us for constructive suggestions.” Though he only witnessed the events in Camden, Medina in many ways represents the young face of the Latino urban uprisings of the 1960s and 1970s. Latino youth like him ­were products of their parents’ migration journeys as well as the radical po­liti­cal moment that ­shaped the United States during the 1960s.

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Gloria Arellanes (1946–) Born in East Los Angeles and raised in El Monte, California, Gloria Arellanes was a Chicana feminist activist who became one of the most influential participants in the Chicano movement. Inspired by the work of César Chávez and other activists across the nation, Arellanes became closely involved with the Brown Berets, a radical pro-­Chicano organ­ization created in 1967 which or­ga­nized around issues—­ police brutality, l­abor strug­gles, educational reform, and antiwar activism—­that affected the Mexican American community. Her roles in the organ­ization included directing a community clinic, serving as Minister of Finance, and editing the Brown Beret’s newspaper La Causa, as well as being a member of the National Chicano Moratorium Committee. Prior to leaving the Brown Berets, Arellanes began to or­ga­nize a new group composed of the Beret w ­ omen and ­others in the Chicano movement who ­were dissatisfied with the machismo that pervaded the organ­ization. In 1970, this group would become Las Adelitas de Aztlan. Named ­after the female soldiers who fought in the Mexican Revolution, Las Adelitas, and Aztlan, the ancestral homeland of the Aztec p­ eoples which became a symbol for the Chicano movement, this group played a foundational role in building solidarity among Chicana ­women as well as awareness of their crucial work in the Chicano movement. In an interview with ­Virginia Espino in 2011, Arellanes remembered that Las Adelitas “became a forum for Chicanas to get together and talk about all of this and to deal with it. It provided us with a sense that we ­were not alone in confronting t­ hese gender prob­lems. In a way, we ­were also redefining la familia, or at least the traditional patriarchal ­family” (Garcia, 2015). In organ­izing Las Adelitas de Aztlan, Arellanes brought ­women’s issues to the fore while addressing the deep-­seated misogyny pres­ent not only in the Chicano movement, but in the Mexican nationalism that it adapted. In her role as a member of the National Chicano Moratorium Committee, Arellanes was also among the thousands who marched in East Los Angeles when the demonstration turned violent. Arellanes remembered a high-­spirited, joyful demonstration full of dancing and singing of corridos (Mexican ballads) (Garcia, 2015). Soon, however, Arellanes recalled, “It ­wasn’t long before the sheriffs attacked . . . . ​I saw p­ eople r­unning all over the place and screaming. I saw ­children and abuelitas [grand­mothers] trying to escape the sheriffs. It was just very, very traumatic to see all this. It was horrible. Very quickly, the tear gas exploded. It burned my eyes and face.” The trauma generated by the Chicano Moratorium uprising caused Arellanes to step away from the Chicano movement. Nonetheless, she continued her health care work by founding La Clinica

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del Barrio in East Los Angeles in 1971; her patients t­here included low-­income community members, undocumented immigrants, families, and se­nior citizens (Garcia, 2015). See also: The Chicano Movement; Founding of the Young Lords

Further Reading “500 Police Keep Watch on N.W. Side: Clear Streets of Crowds.” 1966. Chicago Tribune, June 16. Retrieved from http://­archives​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­1966​/­06​/­15​/­page​/­1 Barber, Llana. 2017. Latino City: Immigration and Urban Crisis in Lawrence, Mas­sa­chu­ setts, 1945–­2000. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Behnken, Brian D., ed. 2016. Civil Rights and Beyond: African American and Latino/a Activism in Twentieth-­Century United States. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Boyd, John. 2015. “Riots in Baltimore, Ferguson Recall Houston’s Infamous Moody Park Riot.” Houston Chronicle, April 28. “Burning Camden: A Hell for Cops.” 1971. Camden Courier Post, August 21. Car­ter, Greg Lee. 1992. “Hispanic Rioting during the Civil Rights Era,” So­cio­log­i­cal Forum 7 (2, June): 301–322. Cruz, Jose E. 1998. Identity and Power: Puerto Rican Politics and the Challenge of Ethnicity. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. “Devin Fergus Challenges Critics of Ferguson Protests: Why Riot?” 2014. rollingout​.­com, August 25. Retrieved from http://­rollingout​.­com​/­2014​/­08​/­25​/­devin​-­fergus​-­challenges​ -­critics​-­ferguson​-­protests​-­riot/ “East L​.­A. Chicano Fete Erupts; 50 Are Injured.” 1970. Pro­gress Bulletin, September 17. Escobar, Edward J. (1993, March). “The Dialectics of Repression: The Los Angeles Police Department and the Chicano Movement, 1968–1971.” Journal of American History 79 (4): 1483–1514. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. “Firebombing Blamed on Earlier Shooting.” 1972. Pro­gress Bulletin, August 10. Retrieved from https://­www​.­newspapers​.­com​/­clip​/­7118638​/­1972​_­pomona​_­disorder/ Fountain, Aaron. 2016. “Forgotten Latino Urban Riots and Why They Can Happen Again.” latinorebels​.­com, May  2. Retrieved from http://­www​.­latinorebels​.­com​/­2016​/­05​/­02​ /­forgotten​-­latino​-­urban​-­riots​-­and​-­why​-­they​-­can​-­happen​-­again/ Garcia, Mario T. 2015. The Chicano Generation: Testimonios of the Movement. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gillette, Howard. 2004. Camden ­After the Fall: Decline and Renewal in a Post-­Industrial City. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Herrera, Juan. 2016. “¡La Lucha Continua! Gloria Arellanes and ­Women in the Chicano Movement.” kcept​.­org, March 25. Retrieved from https://­www​.­kcet​.­org​/­history​-­society​ /­la​-­lucha​-­continua​-­gloria​-­arellanes​-­and​-­women​-­in​-­the​-­chicano​-­movement Hirsch, Arnold. 1983. Making the Second Ghetto: Race and Housing in Chicago, 1940–­ 1960. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Urban Uprisings, 1960s–1970s | 571 Kelley, Robin D. G. 2015. “Baltimore and the Language of Change.” Los Angeles Times, May 4. Kunkin, Art. 1972. “Chicano Leader Tells of Starting Vio­lence to Justify Arrests.” Los Angeles ­Free Press, February 4. Marx, Gary T. 1973. “Thoughts on a Neglected Category of Social Movement Participant.” American Journal of Sociology 80 (2): 402–442. Mendez, Mervin. 1997. “Recollections: 1966 Division Street Riot.” Dialogo 2 (1): article 6. Retrieved from http://­via​.­library​.­depaul​.­edu​/­dialogo​/­vol2​/­iss1​/­6 Mirande, Alfredo. 1994. The Chicano Experience: An Alternative Perspective. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Morales, Armando. 1972. Ando Sangrando: A Study of Mexican American-­Police Conflict. Fairlawn, NJ: Perspectiva Publications. Munoz, Rosalio. 1971. “Letter to the Editor.” Los Angeles Times, January 23. “New ­England’s Forgotten Puerto Rican Riots.” 2016, updated 2017. Retrieved from http://­ www​.­newenglandhistoricalsociety​.­com​/­new​-­englands​-­forgotten​-­puerto​-­rican​-­riots/ Opie, Frederick. 2014. Upsetting the Apple Cart: Black-­Latino Co­ali­tions in New York City from Protest to Public Office. New York: Columbia University Press. Oropeza, Lorena. 2005. ¡Raza Sí! ¡Guerra No!: Chicano Protest and Patriotism during the Viet Nam War Era. Berkeley: University of California Press. Owens, Anna. n.d. “Hispanics in the United States.” U.S. Census Bureau, Ethnicity and Ancestry Branch Population Division. Retrieved from https://­www​.­census​.­gov​/­population​ /­socdemo​/­hispanic​/­cps2006​/­CPS​_­Powerpoint​_­2006​.­pdf “Paterson Police ­Battle Rioters.” 1968. News-­Journal [Paterson, NJ], July 6. “Puerto Rican Area Again Hit by Strife in Passaic.” 1969. Janesville Daily Gazette [New Jersey], August 5. Pulido, Laura. 2006. Black, Brown, Yellow, and Left: Radical Activism in Los Angeles. Berkeley: University of California Press. “Racial Outbreaks Flare on E. 10th: 30 Held as Puerto Ricans Throw Missiles at Police.” 1964. New York Times, August 30. Regalado, Pedro A. 2013. “Interview with Gil Medina.” . Camden, NJ. Rice, Jon. 1998. Black Radicalism on Chicago’s West Side: A History of the Illinois Black Panther Party (doctoral dissertation). Northern Illinois University. Sanchez, Carlos. 1991. “Dixon Imposes Curfew on Mt. Pleasant Area as Police, Youths Clash for a Second Night.” Washington Post, May 7. Sánchez-­Korrol, ­Virginia. 1994. From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sanjek, Roger. 1998. The ­Future of Us All: Race and Neighborhood Politics in New York City. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Schneider, Cathy Lisa. 2014. Police Power and Race Riots: Urban Unrest in Paris and New York. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. “Show of Force by Police Quiets Unrest in Trenton.” 1969. Asbury Park Press [New Jersey], June 14. Silverman, Lauren. 2013. “How the Death of a 12-­Year-­Old Changed the City of Dallas,” npr​.­com, July 24. Retrieved from http://­www​.­npr​.­org​/­sections​/­codeswitch​/­2013​

572 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 /­0 7​ /­2 4​ /­2 05121429​ /­H ow​ -­T he​ -­D eath​ -­O f​ -­A​ -­1 2​ -­Year​ -­O ld​ -­C hanged​ -­T he​ -­C ity​ -­O f​ -­Dallas Stepler, Renee, and Anna Brown. 2016, April 19. “2014 Hispanics in the United States Statistical Portrait.” Pew Research Center: Hispanic Trends. Retrieved from http://­www​ .­pewhispanic​.­org​/­2016​/­04​/­19​/­2014​-­statistical​-­information​-­on​-­hispanics​-­in​-­united​-­states/ Sugrue, Thomas. 1996. The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and In­equality in Postwar Detroit. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Torres Saillant, Silvio, and Ramona Hernandez. 1998. The Dominican Americans. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Tuttle, Brad R. 2009. How Newark Became Newark: The Rise, Fall, and Rebirth of an American City. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. United States Kerner Commission. 1968. Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders. Washington, DC: Author. Weaver, Vesla. 2007. “Frontlash: Race and the Development of Punitive Crime Policy.” Studies in American Po­liti­cal Development 21 (Fall), 230–265.

Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s Danielle Nicole Grevious and Lilia Fernández

Chronology 1804

Black generals declare Saint-­Domingue’s in­de­pen­dence; the former French colony becomes the Republic of Haiti.

1822–1843 President Jean-­Pierre Boyer unifies Hispaniola u­ nder the Haitian republic and presides over the island u­ ntil joint Haitian and Dominican forces defeat him in 1843. 1844

On February 28, the French mediate negotiations between Dominican and Haitian officials to surrender eastern Hispaniola to Dominican forces ­after a successful coup. The Dominican Republic becomes an in­de­pen­dent nation u­ nder its first constitution, which gives Buenaventura Ramón Báez absolute power.

1849

Báez becomes the president of the Dominican Republic. The following year he asks the United States to annex his country.

1868–1871 President Báez appeals to the United States yet again by offering the Samaná bay and peninsula in exchange for resources to be used against Dominican rebels. U.S. President Andrew Johnson declares support for the acquisition of the Dominican Republic, but the U.S. Senate is ambivalent and rejects the proposal.

Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s | 573

1882

Ulises Heureaux becomes the president of the Dominican Republic

1887–1899 President Ulises Heureaux indebts the Dominican Republic to several investors, including a com­pany that sells its interests to U.S. investors; this group founds the San Domingo Improvement Com­pany, giving the United States significant influence in Dominican affairs. U.S. firms control the Dominican sugar, customs, and steam travel industries; many local merchants are ruined, and the government ­faces bankruptcy. 1899

President Heureaux is assassinated and Juan Isidro Jiménes is elected president.

1901

The United States becomes directly involved in Dominican affairs when the Improvement Com­pany appeals to the government for protection ­after President Jiménes seeks ways to pay the com­pany and its bondholders equally and announces plans to remove the com­ pany from the Dominican customs administration.

1905

The Dominican Republic becomes a financial protectorate of the United States, which now controls customs revenues and the dispersal of ­those funds to the country’s debtors.

1907

The Dominican-­American Convention gives the United States complete control of Dominican finances. The United States consolidates the Dominican Republic’s debt ­under the auspices of one New York bank and has authority to control Dominican po­liti­cal affairs if repayment of the debt becomes threatened.

1916–1924 Amid extreme po­liti­cal instability, U.S. marines formally occupy the Dominican Republic and vacate the presidency and the cabinet positions, placing the country ­under complete foreign military control. The U.S. withdrawal in 1924 leaves the Dominican Republic modernized, with the national debt significantly decreased, but flooded with U.S. goods, which ­causes the failure of some Dominican industries; and with a weak po­liti­cal and economic structure that remains largely ­under U.S. control. 1930

On August 16, General Rafael Leónidas Trujillo (“El Jefe”) and Rafael Estrella Ureña take office as president and vice president of the Dominican Republic via botched elections a­ fter overthrowing President Horacio Vásquez, terrorizing po­liti­cal adversaries, and silencing the press. Trujillo had risen to prominence during the previous U.S. military occupation and received training from the U.S. Marine Corps; he crushes po­liti­cal opposition with torture and murders po­liti­cal

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adversaries as he modernizes the country and embezzles money to enhance his own personal finances. 1937

Trujillo slaughters 18,000 Haitians living within the Dominican side of the disputed border between the two countries. He attempts to frame the incident as a border conflict, but the international community admonishes the dictator nonetheless; the Haitian government is compensated with $525,000.

1940

The Trujillo-­Hull Treaty ends U.S. control of the Dominican customs administration.

1941

The Trujillo regime launches a “Dominicanization program” that entails creating towns on the border and encouraging a heightened national identity. The regime’s nationalist propaganda calls for the reclamation of occupied areas, Hispanic culture, and Catholicism.

1947

The Dominican government pays off all creditors in full on July 21; Trujillo is portrayed as the nation’s financial savior.

1959

Cuban-­trained and armed Dominican exiles invade the Dominican Republic in June in an unsuccessful attempt to overthrow Trujillo; the attack leads the moneyed elite to transfer their funds to foreign banks while Trujillo requests a loan from the International Monetary Fund for $11.5 million and purchases more than $80 million in weapons and supplies.

1961

Rafael Trujillo is assassinated with the support of the United States ­after 30 years of dictatorial rule and the creation of a personal mono­ poly within the Dominican Republic; citizens learn of Trujillo’s economic corruption and brutal vio­ lence and demand demo­ cratic elections. Po­liti­cal crisis ensues a­ fter his death.

1962

On December  20, Dominican Revolutionary Party member Juan Bosch Gaviño is demo­cratically elected president.

1963

Seven months ­after his inauguration, Bosch is ousted by the military, and the country is run by a three-­man junta (po­liti­cal group) for two years.

1965

On April 25, Col­o­nel Francisco Caamaño leads a popu­lar uprising in Santo Domingo against the right-­wing Trujilloist government and army in power, resulting in civil war; U.S. troops invade in support of the Dominican government to suppress the nearly successful revolution amid fears of the spread of communism.

1966

Trujillo supporter Joaquín Balaguer is elected president in the aftermath of the country’s civil war and U.S. intervention.

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1966–1974 More than 3,000 leaders and members of leftist po­liti­cal parties are murdered by President Balaguer’s paramilitary force called La Banda. The international community calls for an end to the country’s terrorism and ­human rights violations. Dominican supporters of Bosch begin fleeing the island’s po­liti­cal unrest. 1978–1986 President Balaguer loses re-­election to Silvestre Antonio Guzmán despite the military’s attempts to falsify the results in Balaguer’s f­ avor. Guzmán and his successor, President Salvador Jorge Blanco (elected in 1982), face public contention as the Dominican economic situation worsens based on policies previously instituted by Balaguer and unwelcome changes within the military. Thousands of Dominicans continue to leave the island for Puerto Rico, the mainland United States, and other countries. 1986–1996 Joaquín Balaguer is reelected as president in 1986 and remains in office ­until 1996. During his presidency, the Dominican Republic remains underdeveloped and eco­nom­ically unstable, and much of its population lives outside of the island. 1990s

Dominicans become the second-­largest Latino/a group in the Northeastern United States, and the fourth largest nationwide.

Narrative When Italian explorer Christopher Columbus touched land in what Eu­ro­pe­ans would describe as “the New World,” he named the island Hispaniola (La Española in Spanish; “the Spanish island”) in honor of the Spanish crown that had sponsored his voyage. He did not know that the native inhabitants of the island, the Taíno ­people, called it Quisqueya. Over the course of a turbulent colonial history u­ nder vari­ous Eu­ro­pean powers, the island eventually became two nations: Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Both countries have complex histories, but the Dominican Republic has been largely ­under the influence of the United States’ military, economic, and po­liti­cal power. Throughout the 20th ­century, the United States exerted its power on the island to protect U.S. economic interests—­mainly investment in the sugar industry—­and controlled the nation’s economy from afar. Although the Dominican Republic has not historically held a prominent place in the American public’s eye, the United States has been intimately involved in that nation’s affairs for more than a c­ entury. Perhaps the most significant event in the nation’s modern po­liti­cal history was the assassination of its longtime dictator, General Rafael Leonides Trujillo, in 1961.

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Though he had long been an ally of the United States, the American government had become concerned about his repressive regime and h­ uman rights abuses that ­were rapidly leading to civil war and instability in the country.  Trujillo’s death, however, unleashed even greater instability and turmoil, prompting thousands to flee the country, thus initiating widespread Dominican migration to the United States, Puerto Rico, Eu­rope, and Latin Amer­i­ca. For the United States, Trujillo’s assassination marked the first inflow of a Dominican immigrant community that grew rapidly in the second half of the 20th ­century. Rafael Trujillo was the dominant po­liti­cal figure of the Dominican Republic from 1930 to 1961. His strong anti-communist stance engendered support from the United States, despite his despotic rule of the country. (Library of Congress)

Background

In 1844, the Dominican Republic  announced its in­de­pen­dence ­under a newly drafted constitution, ­after 22 years of Haitian occupation of all of Hispaniola. Previously, the Dominican Republic had been ­under the control of a black-­led, French-­inspired state that achieved freedom ­after the famous Haitian slave revolt of 1791. During this era, several countries (including the United States) practiced slavery, which helped to foster racist opinions ­toward Haitian ­people. Like many other nations in the Ca­rib­bean and Latin Amer­i­ca, for much of its existence as a state the Dominican Republic has battled underdevelopment and economic instability, im­mense class differences, erratic politics, and financial dependence. Also like other nations in the region, the Dominican Republic has been used as a strategic pawn in the interests of other nations, which has exacerbated t­hose issues. Former Dominican Republic President Juan Bosch called the country the “imperial frontier” (Wiarda and Kryzanek, 1982), and historians Howard  J. Wiarda and Michael J. Kryzanek have described it as a “test case,” a “living laboratory,” and “a Ca­rib­bean crucible” (Wiarda and Kryzanek, 1982). To many, the Dominican Republic has represented an easily manipulated, peripheral state and a

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Dominican Migration to Puerto Rico Intra-­Caribbean migration has been an impor­tant phenomenon since the 19th ­century. Puerto Rico’s status as a U.S. territory adds complexity to Dominican migration, as Puerto Rico is technically part of the United States but offers lower wages than most of the United States. Puerto Rico has served as a destination for both documented and undocumented Dominicans seeking po­liti­cal and economic refuge, new opportunities, or social mobility. (Ironically, the island of Hispaniola is roughly 720 miles southeast of Florida and is closer in proximity to the U.S. mainland than Puerto Rico is.) Some Dominicans have remained in Puerto Rico; o­ thers have made it a temporary stop in their journey back to the Dominican Republic. Puerto Rico lies less than 200 miles east of the Dominican Republic across the Mona Passage. Many Dominicans without U.S. visas have chosen to take the perilous journey across the strait to reach Puerto Rican shores, which has resulted in numerous deaths on the open sea. Sharing a similar Hispanic culture, language, ancestry, and history of foreign influence, Dominicans and Puerto Ricans have much in common, and t­ hese characteristics offer Dominicans more familiar surroundings than other destinations. Some Dominicans attempt to “pass” as Puerto Rican to gain access to the benefits of U.S. citizenship and the freedom to travel to the mainland United States. From 1960 to 1990, tens of thousands of Dominicans relocated to Puerto Rico. Along with Cuban mi­grants, they tended to s­ ettle in urban centers like San Juan, Caguas, Ponce, and Mayagüez in high concentrations, making them highly vis­i­ble as a population. In a study comparing Dominican and Cuban settlement in Puerto Rico, Jorge Duany (1992) found Dominicans more likely to live in low-­income areas with more foreigners and ethnic minorities. The Dominican population also became less skilled over time, laboring and living mainly within working-­class sectors of society. Cubans ­were typically “whiter,” more educated, wealthier, and migrated from urban areas in Cuba. Dominicans, in contrast, w ­ ere darker, had rural origins, and came from the working class. The timing of their migrations also differed significantly. Most Cubans migrated between 1965 and 1973, when Puerto Rico enjoyed economic prosperity, whereas Dominicans arrived on the coattails of Cubans during an economic downturn between 1973 and 1986. The unemployment rate in Puerto Rico during the 1960s was around 12 ­percent, but it r­ose to 21  ­percent during the 1980s, placing Dominicans at a still greater disadvantage.

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Puerto Ricans and Dominicans have very similar systems of racial identification, but Puerto Ricans view Dominicans as black, while Dominicans view themselves differently. The pro­cess of assigning individuals a racial category is often called “racialization,” and in Puerto Rico, Dominicans are often racialized in negative ways. In Puerto Rico, “Dominican” can function as a euphemism for “black” and can carry the burden of societal prejudices and discrimination. Ironically, Dominicans, whose Haitian neighbors often suffer anti-­black, racist sentiments, are treated in Puerto Rico similar to the ways the Dominicans have denigrated Haitians back home. Dominican ­people in Puerto Rico often face insults and criticism based on their skin color and are ste­reo­typed as criminals. Dominican experiences in Puerto Rico also share some commonalities with the treatment of Mexican immigrants in the U.S. mainland. They are often accused of “stealing” jobs in Puerto Rico—­a charge that is also leveled against Haitians on the Dominican side of Hispaniola. Dominicans tend to identify primarily with their Dominican nationality, regardless of where they actually live. In addition, most choose not to become U.S. citizens, instead expressing interest in returning to the Dominican Republic.

form of “symbolic capital” for the United States. As in other Latin American nations during this period, the United States trained the country’s military force, but left a weak po­liti­cal and economic structure in place, which led to the eventual installment of a brutal, repressive dictator who had been trained by U.S. forces.

The 30-­Year Trujillato (Trujillo Era) General Rafael Leonidas Trujillo Molina (also known as Trujillo or El Jefe, “The Boss”) joined the U.S.-­established Dominican National Army in 1928. Trujillo served ambitiously in the military and quickly moved up army ranks. During the 1920s, he embezzled money from the army and undermined the leadership of his friend President Horacio Vásques to assume control of the country through violent terrorist acts, police intimidation, and voter fraud. In contrast to the po­liti­cal instability that plagued other Latin American countries in this period, the Trujillo regime managed to remain in power for more than 30 years. As one scholar has described it, “The Dominican Republic in [the years of Rafael Trujillo’s rule] can be likened in one of its aspects to the eye of the familiar Ca­rib­bean hurricane . . . ​a small central core, superficially placid but generating destructive pressures for hundreds of miles all around” (Crassweller, 1966).

Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s | 579

Throughout the Third World, Cold War tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union manifested themselves in po­ liti­ cal contests between pro-­ Communist (Soviet) and anti-­communist (American) po­liti­cal forces. The United States and the USSR leveraged their influence and power in support of sympathetic factions while citizens in ­these countries fought bloody ­battles against one another with secret assistance from the two world powers. Fighting communism and Soviet influence in Latin Amer­i­ca, Asia, and Africa reigned paramount for American officials. Thus, they ­were willing to look the other way or even support brutal regimes and condone state-­sanctioned terror and vio­lence, guerilla warfare, bloody po­liti­ cal repression, and extreme corruption, as long as t­hese tactics kept communist forces from penetrating ­these regions. Dictators abused ­human rights and used vio­ lence and coercion to maintain power in countries like Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Guatemala, El Salvador, Cuba, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic. They enjoyed the complicity of the U.S. government for most of their reigns in exchange for some U.S. control over state affairs. Rafael Trujillo began to amass a sizeable fortune as a military officer, and continued to do so a­ fter assuming power in 1930. When he became head of state, entire Dominican industries became Trujillo’s personal monopolies, filling the coffers of between 60 and 80 of Trujillo’s ­family members and close associates. The dictator acquired more than two-­thirds of all Dominican assets and nearly half of all agricultural land through his campaign of intimidation, fraud, and vio­lence. “Trujillo, Inc.” came to describe the economic wealth he and his associates acquired through corruption and nepotism during his rule. As Alan Cambeira noted in Quisqueya la Bella: Dominican Republic in Historical and Cultural Perspective, “It was said that during Trujillo’s rule los dominicanos [Dominicans] c­ ouldn’t eat, sleep, wear shoes, or put on any article of clothing without Trujillo or a member of his ­family benefitting in some form or another” (1997, ch. 21). In terms of the nation’s economic growth, Trujillo’s policies did lead to some positive change. The country experienced rapid industrialization through nationwide public works and construction proj­ects to build new highways, bridges, and irrigation canals. It also enjoyed growth in the agricultural sector. Dominicans became self-­sufficient producers of subsistence crops such as rice, corn, and beans. In addition, Trujillo established a manufacturing industry, and the capital, Santo Domingo, was transformed into an industrial center. The man referred to as El Jefe also mobilized the workforce in unpre­ce­dented ways: nearly 60  ­percent of all Dominicans ­were employed during his regime, from 1931 to 1961. The Dominican population became more urbanized, health ser­vices and sanitation improved, school enrollment and literacy rates increased, and domestic exports provided additional revenue for the nation. Trujillo discouraged foreign investment and encouraged import-­substitution industrialization to promote the production of domestic

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products and less reliance on imports. However, ­these efforts primarily served Trujillo’s own interests, further increasing his personal wealth while d­ oing very l­ittle to change the socioeconomic status of many Dominican citizens. Additionally, the national proj­ects developed u­ nder his leadership proved to be faulty, as new construction was deemed inadequate, schools ­were overwhelmed by population growth, unemployment r­ose, the countryside became impoverished as peasants lost land, and wages ­were stagnant despite higher costs of living. Only a limited number of individuals reaped real benefits from the economic changes. In order to maintain low-­wage ­labor for the production from which he directly benefited, Trujillo enacted migration restrictions that made both internal and external travel difficult to nearly impossible for Dominicans. ­These restrictions contributed to the doubling of the population during the Trujillo era, and although Dominican laborers increased the production of agricultural substitutes or exports, only a small minority benefited therefrom. Despite immigration restrictions, between 1950 and 1960 nearly 10,000 Dominicans managed to leave the country. ­Those most likely to leave ­were elites who ­were directly associated with Trujillo, and exiles who w ­ ere forced to leave the country. ­Under the Trujillato, attempting to leave without Trujillo’s approval or being forced out could lead to death. Some Dominicans who simply requested a passport became the subject of secret police investigations, which expanded to investigate their entire f­ amily. Especially during the l­ ater period of his rule, Trujillo feared Dominicans leaving the country and being exposed to individuals or ideas that could foster dissident opinions, and possibly lead to his overthrow. Another contradiction was Trujillo’s hatred, disdain, and racism t­oward Haitian ­people, despite his mixed Spanish, Creole, and Haitian ancestry. He displayed this intolerance in a most brutal way during what is known as “the Parsley massacre.” In early October 1937, Trujillo gave a speech informing every­one in the border region that Haitians could no longer live in the disputed territory. ­After the speech, he instructed his henchmen to subject ­those attempting to “pass” as Dominican to the “parsley test”: t­hose who could not correctly pronounce the Spanish word for parsley (perejil, a difficult word for native French speakers) w ­ ere killed. Most victims of this massacre had inhabited the area since the 19th ­century. Estimates of the number murdered range from 18,000 to 30,000, though not all of the victims w ­ ere Haitian. Anyone of vis­i­ble African descent deemed Haitian was killed, including darker-­skinned Dominicans living in the region. Trujillo attributed the deaths to the violent border dispute, but Latin Americans, the United States, and ­others in the international community reproached him for his brutality. Two years ­later, the Trujillo government gave Haiti $525,000 in reparations, quite a bit less than the $750,000 sought by Haitians.

Unhappy ­Family: Race and Nationality on the Island of Hispaniola On September  23, 2013, the Dominican Republic’s Constitutional Court made a controversial decision that affected hundreds of thousands within its borders and garnered widespread international criticism. As of February 1, 2015, thousands of Dominican Republic residents born ­after 1929 ­were rendered stateless upon their failure or inability to prove that at least one parent was born in the Dominican Republic. More importantly, most of ­these individuals are of Haitian descent. Dominicans and Haitians have a long history of contention: Dominican ­people have consistently blamed their prob­lems on Haitians and both Haitians and Dominicans maintain prejudices about one another. At the very center of this relationship are the issues of race—­more specifically issues with African ancestry or blackness—­and nationality. Despite the shared territory, ancestry, and parts of their economies and histories, racism and nationalism fuel the predominant “anti-­Haitianism” attitude in the Dominican Republic. The following dates refer to some key events under­lying this sentiment. 1822—­Haitian forces invade the former Santo Domingo and Haitian President Boyer encourages the immigration of former slaves from the United States. Haiti occupies all of Hispaniola for 22 years. 1844—­Mostly white Dominican elites declare in­de­pen­dence from Haiti; two de­cades of vio­lence on the island ensue. 1850s–1870s—­After failed pleas to Spain and the United States for annexation, Dominican writers influence the growth of nationalist sentiment. 1865—­Dominicans reject Spanish annexation ­after four years amid fears concerning the reinstitution of slavery. 1916—­The United States prohibits the immigration of anyone not “Caucasian” during its occupation of the Dominican Republic ­until 1934. 1930—­General Rafael Trujillo assumes power. Many Haitians are deported or killed ­under his “Dominicanization” program, while Eu­ro­pe­ans are encouraged to immigrate. Trujillo hopes to save the country from “Africanization” and Haitian “enemies” despite his own African and Haitian ancestry. 1937—­Trujillo’s army and police massacre around 12,000 Haitians living in the Dominican-­Haitian borderlands. 1991—­Dominican Republic President Joaquín Balaguer deports nearly 50,000 undocumented Haitians. H ­ uman rights abuses are reported and families are forced to separate.

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Trujillo had been a longtime ally of the United States, primarily ­because he had helped fight off the spread of communism to his country. A few months ­after the Cuban Revolution that was led by Fidel Castro in January 1959, Dominican exiles backed by Castro unsuccessfully attempted to depose Trujillo. This move threatened the stability that Trujillo had effectively created and motivated other Dominican nationals to act against the dictator. Conspiracies abounded and the dictator reinstituted the tactics he had previously used to obtain the presidency: imprisonment, spying, threats, torture, and murder. The torture and murder of po­liti­cal dissidents became alarmingly frequent. As Dominican dissidents became more vocal in their opposition to Trujillo, his vio­lence increased in reaction. The initial reason that American leaders supported the Trujillo regime—­his repression of leftist po­liti­ cal activity—­became the U.S. rationale for opposing the brutal dictator during the late 1950s and early 1960s. U.S. leaders feared that Trujillo was becoming a liability, and they no longer wanted him in power. In 1961, Trujillo’s adversaries planned and carried out his assassination.

The End of the Trujillo Era and Large-­Scale Emigration ­ fter Rafael Trujillo’s assassination, his po­liti­cal seat and massive wealth w A ­ ere seen as newly available assets; as a result, a civil war broke out in the Dominican Republic. The po­liti­cal turmoil of the subsequent de­cade prompted growing numbers of Dominicans to leave the island. The United States invaded the Dominican Republic in 1965 to prevent President Juan Bosch from being re-­elected in the wake of a rise in support from left-­leaning supporters. With the help of the U.S. Marines, conservative forces won the war, and Joaquín Balaguer, who had served as Trujillo’s presidential secretary, won the ensuing election. During Balaguer’s presidency, the small country resumed its close relationship with the United States. The Dominican Republic received the highest foreign aid per capita from the United States; as many as one-­fourth of all Dominicans depended on food aid from the United States. Familiar with Trujillo’s policies, Balaguer employed methods similar to t­hose of Trujillo, such as military repression of po­liti­cal dissidents and ­labor u­ nions. Unlike Trujillo, however, Balaguer invited foreign investment in the Ca­rib­bean nation and did not restrict emigration. Without travel and emigration restrictions, hundreds of thousands of Dominican mi­grants left Hispaniola and relocated to places like the U.S. mainland, Puerto Rico, Spain, and Venezuela. The bulk of the émigrés travelled to the United States and became part of the nearly 8 million individuals (mostly from Latin Amer­i­ca, Asia, and the Ca­rib­bean) who legally immigrated t­here between 1960 and 1975. This increase in immigrants to the United States from the Third World is attributed in part to the 1965 Immigration Act, which removed the discriminatory quota restrictions

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barring ­people from Eu­rope and Asia and favored skilled laborers and the reunion of separated families. Although po­liti­cal danger and social unrest propelled many Dominicans to leave their home country, o­ thers left to escape the harsh living conditions, poverty, and unemployment that had worsened ­under Balaguer. Initially, it appeared that the Dominican economy would improve drastically ­under President Balaguer, leading to better conditions for the Dominican ­people. In some ways, this did happen. As foreign investors developed new enterprises in the country and Balaguer created free-­trade export zones, many corporations moved new manufacturing jobs to the island. Between 1968 and 1977, jobs for the assembly of garments, electronics, and other goods doubled as unemployment decreased slightly during the early 1970s. This employment was aimed primarily at w ­ omen, however, leaving Dominican men to deal with still higher rates of unemployment. Also, between 1970 and 1977, 800 ­percent more Dominicans became highly skilled ­under the expansion of the university system. As ­under the Trujillo regime, ­these changes meant ­little for most Dominicans, who worked low-­wage jobs in manufacturing plants, saw l­ ittle new job creation, and faced high underemployment. Rural residents in par­tic­u­lar witnessed a decrease in the agricultural sector by nearly half and a reduction in the availability of domestic foodstuffs. Even the college-­educated population had extreme difficulty in securing employment appropriate to their skills. ­These issues led many Dominicans to seek work off the island, but many hoped to return and helped support the economy through remittances to relatives who had remained at home. When they left, they took their cultural products, identities, and dreams with them, creating a transnational Dominican diaspora in other parts of the world.

Dominicans on the U.S. Mainland a­ fter 1960 ­ fter Trujillo’s assassination in 1961, U.S. officials came up with an unusual polA icy in their quest to secure po­liti­cal stability in the Dominican Republic. They sought to induce Dominican migration to the United States to prevent further po­liti­cal turmoil or civil war. During the early 1960s, the United States made it easier for Dominicans to receive visas to enter the country and helped ensure that they did not return home. This plan was part of the United States’ fight against communism: an attempt to ensure that leftist dissidents would leave the Dominican instead of staying and electing another left-­leaning president. Emigration increased between 1960 and 1962, and each subsequent year a number of immigrants equal to or greater than the total from 1950 to 1959 entered the United States. Between 1971 and 1981, the United States increased the number of visas it issued by 75 ­percent over the previous de­cade. This spike was strategically impor­tant in the 1978 presidential election of Balaguer. From 1966 to 1981, documented Dominican immigration

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averaged 14,000 p­ eople a year. During the 1980s and 1990s, between 300,000 and 500,000 Dominican men and ­women relocated to the United States (the vast range accounts for the unknown number of undocumented Dominican mi­grants in the country). Many Dominicans who had developed strong anti-­U.S. sentiments during the 1965 occupation of their country found themselves starting a life within U.S. borders. Dominicans in the United States have settled primarily in the Northeastern states, though they reside in other parts of the United States as well. By the 1990s, Dominicans became the second-­largest Latino/a ethnic group in the Northeast. The majority of Dominicans are concentrated in New York City, with smaller populations in other metropolitan centers like Providence, Rhode Island; Boston and Lawrence, Mas­sa­chu­setts; and Paterson, New Jersey. Nestled in Upper Manhattan between Harlem, Inwood, and the Hudson Bay lies Washington Heights, the neighborhood with the highest concentration of Dominicans in the United States. As waves of Jewish, Cuban, Puerto Rican, Irish, and Greek immigrants moved out of the area during the 1970s, large numbers of Dominican immigrants began to s­ ettle in the neighborhood. More than 40,000 Dominicans moved into “The Heights” and Inwood between 1983 and 1989. The Washington Heights neighborhood is a typical inner-­city Dominican ethnic enclave, but is also home to African Americans, Mexicans, and Central and South Americans. Although Dominicans mix their native and U.S. cultures, as in Puerto Rico, most hold fast to their “Dominicanness.” Dominicans in the United States—­particularly ­those located in New York City and other Northeastern cities—­tend to live in racially segregated ethnic enclaves. Although younger Dominicans have begun to identify more with U.S. black culture, many ­others purposely distance themselves from African Americans. Few report their race as “black,” typically selecting “Some Other Race” or “White.” Despite ­these efforts, many still experience discrimination based on their perceived race. Many Dominican mi­grants are concentrated in manual and ser­vice jobs, though a significant proportion of the population is highly educated and achieves professional employment within a generation. Earlier Dominican mi­grants came from the island with high school and college degrees, and the ­children of many Dominican mi­grants have successfully acquired ­those degrees while in the United States. Interestingly, between 1960 and 1979, 54 ­percent of Dominicans who immigrated to the United States ­were w ­ omen. Together, ­women and ­children made up 67 ­percent of the immigrant total during that period. In the Dominican Republic, ­women performed unpaid ­labor within the home. In the large sending community of Los Pinos, however, ­women headed around one-­third of ­house­holds during the 1980s. When manufacturing grew in the Dominican Republic, w ­ omen most often filled t­ hose jobs. Thus, when Dominican ­women migrated to the United States, many

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sought out or w ­ ere recruited for manufacturing jobs. Dominican immigrant w ­ omen, like many mi­grant ­women from El Salvador, Guatemala, and other Latin American countries, frequently practice what some scholars call “transnational motherhood”: leaving c­ hildren b­ ehind with other f­ amily members while they come to the United States in search of better wages.

Dominican Americans in the 21st ­Century In 2013, more than three-­fourths of the 1.4 million Dominican ­people in the United States resided in the Northeast, with nearly half of all Dominicans settled in New York City. As of 2013, the Dominican presence in Manhattan had reached levels equal to or greater than that of Puerto Ricans. Dominicans currently account for 3 ­percent of the total Latino/a population in the United States, with an 85 ­percent growth in numbers since 2000; they are the largest Latino/a group in the state of Rhode Island. More recently, Dominican men and ­women have ventured into the south and west of the United States. In Puerto Rico, Dominican immigrants comprise about 2 ­percent of the island’s population. Dominican immigrants’ ser­vice and manufacturing ­labor has been very impor­ tant for the U.S. economy. A very elite group of Dominican men have made their way into professional baseball. Several Dominicans and Dominican Americans have become high profile Major League Baseball stars: David Ortíz and Pedro Martínez of the Boston Red Sox, Alex Rodriguez of the New York Yankees, and Sammy Sosa of the Chicago Cubs are but a few examples. Dominicans have become iconic figures in other fields as well. Dominican American writers Julia Alvarez and Junot Díaz both lived in the Dominican Republic as ­children. Fashion designer Oscar de la Renta, merengue singers Juan Luis Guerra and Wilfrido Vargas, and bachata singer Prince Royce are also Dominican, along with actors Rafael Campos, Zoe Saldana, Dascha Polanco, and Dania Ramirez, and rappers Juelz Santana, Fabolous, and Trina. Even the president of the Dominican Republic, Danilo Medina Sánchez, was educated in New York. Although their Dominican heritage is not always well-­known or acknowledged in mainstream media, t­hese and countless other Dominicans have had an impact on U.S. society.

Biographies of Notable Figures Ilka Tanya Payán (1943–1996) Ilka Tanya Payán worked in many capacities during her lifetime—as an actress, ­lawyer, ­human rights activist, and author—­which made her influential in many dif­ fer­ent countries and in a variety of ways.

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Ilka Tanya Payán was born in Santo Domingo in 1943. In 1956, she relocated to the United States and settled in New York City. Payán began her acting ­career in 1969 in mostly Spanish-­language theaters in New York, Spain, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. Her most notable acting roles w ­ ere in Angelica, mi vida, the first Spanish-­language soap opera to be aired nationally in the United States, in HBO’s Florida Straits, and a small role in Scarface. Concerned about her ability to support herself only through acting, Payán received her law degree in 1980 and began her immigration law practice in 1984. Working as an immigration attorney pushed her ­toward an interest in public affairs and activism in which she ­later participated. In New York, Payán volunteered for Catholic Charities, the Center for Immigrants, and the Gay Men’s Health Crisis; she also did pro bono counseling for theater groups such as the Actor’s Fund and the Association of Hispanic Arts. Additionally, Payán wrote for columns in New York’s El Barrio/La Prensa and the New York edition of the Dominican daily El Nacional. She was also a contributor to the 1995 publication of ­Women’s Rights, H ­ uman Rights: International Feminist Perspectives. In 1992, Mayor David M. Dinkins appointed Payán to the City of New York Commission on ­Human Rights ­because of the prominence she had reached through her activism on behalf of immigrants and HIV-­positive ­people. During the following year, Payán publicized her own medical status a­ fter years of inquiries and rumors concerning her HIV advocacy. Payán publicly announced that she was HIV positive during a press conference on October 14, 1993; she had kept this information secret for seven years a­ fter her diagnosis in 1986. ­After revealing this information in a publicly vulnerable way, Payán took on a more significant role in her advocacy efforts on behalf of ­people with HIV and AIDS. “I ­wasn’t ready to take on HIV and society’s rejection,” she said in a 1993 interview with the New York Times, before citing the deaths of many theater friends as the motivation for her HIV activism. During the October 1993 press conference, Payán said, “If I [keep this secret], it ­will mean that I agree with the discrimination. Having to keep this secret is collaborating with the intolerable social abnormality of treating a health prob­lem as a moral and social issue.” News of Payán’s admission had a significant impact on ­people in Puerto Rico, New York, the Dominican Republic, and the Latino/a community and United States more generally. Although some friends and ­family distanced themselves from her ­after she publicized her condition, Payán received constant praise for her bravery, primarily from ­people in New York and the Dominican Republic. She also became a spokeswoman for HIV/AIDS at vari­ous conferences and events, including the United Nations’ World AIDS Day. Payán devoted herself to educating o­ thers about the virus and removing the social stigma from t­hose diagnosed as HIV positive.

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In 1993, Payán was one of the few Latino/a artists who had admitted to being HIV positive. Her announcement of this diagnosis also defied the common ste­reo­ type in that era that it was mostly gay men who suffered from this illness. Her HIV advocacy agenda revolved around dispelling myths about the disease for members of the Latino/a community. She focused on misconceptions concerning disease transmission and highlighted the social ramifications of being HIV positive, especially ­because of the shame and stigma that many encountered a­ fter revealing their HIV/ AIDS diagnosis. She also discussed ele­ments of machismo in Latino/a culture and the related rejection of the use of contraception, emphasizing this as a f­ actor contributing to the spread of HIV. Ilka Tanya Payán died in 1996 in Manhattan, New York.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Truman Materials President Harry S Truman served as the 33rd U.S. president, from 1945 ­until 1953, ­after serving as vice president during Franklin D. Roo­se­velt’s fourth term in office. Truman’s time in office was dramatic; World War II came to an end only one month ­after his election, and he approved the use of the atomic bombs that w ­ ere sent to Nagasaki and Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945. World War II pulled much of the Truman administration’s focus to war-­torn Eu­rope, despite many Latin American leaders vying for U.S. economic aid at the same time. Truman’s administration touted the importance of uniting the Western hemi­sphere, including Latin American nations, to improve conditions ­after the war for all countries that had been affected. The United States had a complicated relationship with Trujillo’s regime. Despite not wanting to help dictatorships flourish, U.S. interests also did not want communism to spread as it had in places like Cuba, so dictators like Trujillo continued to receive U.S. support such as military assistance to ward off communism. The following excerpts—­a letter to Bess Truman, Harry Truman’s wife (one of hundreds to her over his ­career), and two White House memorandums—­show a few glimpses of daily interactions from Truman’s working relationship with the Dominican Republic during his years as vice president and president.

Letter from Harry S Truman to Bess W. Truman, July 7, 1939 Dear Bess: *** Had lunch ­today with Mr. Farley, Mr. Murphy, Jesse Jones, Stewart McDonald, Sen. George, Biffle and Mr. Clark. It was Clarks luncheon on a Labradore [sic] Salmon Stewart McDonald gave him. Had a very pleasant time and

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talked a lot of politics. The V.P. was ­there too. The fish was the same color and tasted just as it does out of a can. Old man Green asked me to have lunch with him and Gen. Trujillo of Santo Domingo and several o­ thers. I was glad I had the other date for the gentleman and the Ambassador may have been black. I ­didn’t see ’em so I d­ on’t know. ***

Source: Letter from Harry S. Truman to Bess W. Truman, July 7, 1939. Truman Papers, ­Family, Business, and Personal Affairs Papers. Harry S. Truman Library. Retrieved from https://­www​.­trumanlibrary​.­org​/­whistlestop​/­study​_­collections​/­trumanpapers​/­fbpa​/­index​ .­php​?­documentid​=H ­ ST​-­FBP​_­10​-­49​_­01&documentVersion​=b­ oth

Memorandum with the Secretary of Foreign Affairs and Ambassador of the Dominican Republic, 1949 DATE: October 18, 1949 SUBJECT: Call by Dominican Foreign Minister PARTICIPANTS: The Secretary Sr. Dr. Virgilio Diaz Ordonez, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs of the Dominican Republic Sr. Dr. Luis Francisco Thomen, Dominican Ambassador Mr. Edward G. Miller, Assistant Secretary, ARA Mr. Willard Barber, Deputy Assistant Secretary, ARA Mr. Charles C. Hauch, MID COPIES TO: S ARA AmEmbassy, Ciudad Trujillo (informally) At the request of the Dominican Ambassador a courtesy call was arranged for the Dominican Foreign Minister. I expressed the hope that the reason which had prompted the Minister’s visit to the United States had been realized and that his health was much improved. The Minister thanked me and stated he was feeling better. The Minister then stated that he wished to extend a message of good ­will from his Government and President. I thanked the Minister and asked that he convey similar expression upon his return to the Dominican Republic. The Minister said that his government had been pleased by the address of September 19 on our policy t­owards the other American republics. I stated that this address had been worked out in consultation with Assistant Secretary Miller and the President and was intended as a statement of this Government’s inter-­American policy. The Minister thanked me for receiving him and commented that he appreciated the merits of brevity in official calls, following which he departed. UNCLASSIFIED

Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration, 1961–1990s | 589 Source: Memorandum of Conversation with Secretary of Foreign Affairs and the Ambassador of the Dominican Republic and ­Others, October 18, 1949. Acheson Papers—­Secretary of State File. Harry S. Truman Library, Acheson Memoranda of Conversations, 1949.

Department of State Memorandum, 1951 DATE: March 23, 1951 SUBJECT: Call of Dominican Foreign Minister on the Secretary PARTICIPANTS: The Secretary His Excellency Virgilio Diaz Ordonez, Dominican Foreign Minister His Excellency Luis Francisco Thomen, Dominican Ambassador Mr. Otto Vega, Minister Counselor, Dominican Embassy Mr. Charles C. Hauch, Ca­rib­bean Affairs COPIES TO: S ARA—­Mr. Mann; Mr. Miller ARA—­Mr. W. T. Bennett AR American Embassy, Ciudad Trujillo (informally) The Dominican Foreign Minister made a courtesy call on me following his arrival March 21 for the Consultative Meeting of Foreign Ministers of the American Republics, and I welcomed the Minister to Washington for this occasion. ­After the usual pleasantries, the Minister stated that his Government was prepared to cooperate with us completely in making the meeting a success, and to put all of its limited resources into the common effort. I thanked the Minister and stated that the meeting affords us an opportunity to make a demonstration of unity before the world in the pres­ent international situation. Before the Minister left, photo­graphs w ­ ere taken of us together. Source: Memorandum of Conversation with Foreign Minister Virgilio Diaz Ordones of the Dominican Republic, Ambassador Luiz Francisco Toman, and Minister Counselor Otto Vega of the Dominican Republic, and Charles C. Hauch, March 23, 1951. Acheson Papers—­Secretary of State File. Truman Library, Acheson Memoranda of Conversations, 1951.

See also: Ca­rib­bean Migration to New York City

Further Reading Atkins, G. Pope, and Larman C. Wilson. 1972. The United States and the Trujillo Regime. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Barber, Llana. 2017. Latino City: Immigration and Urban Crisis in Lawrence, Mas­sa­chu­ setts, 1945–­2000. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Bergad, Laird W. 2014. “Have Dominicans Surpassed Puerto Ricans to Become New York City’s Largest Latino Nationality? An Analy­sis of Latino Population Data from the 2013

590 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 American Community Survey for New York City and the Metropolitan Area.” The Gradu­ ate Center, City University of New York 61 (November). Betances, Emelio. 1995. State and Society in the Dominican Republic. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Brown, Anna, and Eileen Patten. 2013. “Hispanics of Dominican Origin in the United States, 2011.” Pew Research Center: Hispanic Trends, June 19. Retrieved from http://­www​ .­pewhispanic​.­org​/­2013​/­06​/­19​/­hispanics​-­of​-­dominican​-­origin​-­in​-­the​-­united​-­states​-­2011/ Cambeira, Alan. 1997. Quisqueya la Bella: The Dominican Republic in Historical and Cultural Perspective. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe. Crassweller, Robert D. 1966. Trujillo: The Life and Times of a Ca­rib­bean Dictator. New York: Macmillan. de Galíndez, Jesús, and Russell Humke Fitzgibbon. 1973. The Era of Trujillo, Dominican Dictator. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Duany, Jorge. 1992. “Ca­rib­bean Migration to Puerto Rico: A Comparison of Cubans and Dominicans.” International Migration Review 26 (1): 46–66. Duany, Jorge. 1996. “Transnational Migration from the Dominican Republic: The Cultural Redefinition of Racial Identity.” Ca­rib­bean Studies 29 (2): 253–282. Duany, Jorge. 1998. “Reconstructing Racial Identity: Ethnicity, Color, and Class among Dominicans in the United States and Puerto Rico.” Latin American Perspectives 25 (3): 147–172. Duany, Jorge. 2006. “Racializing Ethnicity in the Spanish-­Speaking Ca­rib­be­an: A Comparison of Haitians in the Dominican Republic and Dominicans in Puerto Rico.” Latin American and Ca­rib­bean Ethnic Studies 1 (2): 231–248. Duany, Jorge. 2010. “To Send or Not to Send: Mi­grant Remittances in Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Mexico.” Annals of the American Acad­emy of Po­liti­cal and Social Science 630 (July): 205–223. Georges, Eugenia. 1990. The Making of a Transnational Community: Migration, Development, and Cultural Change in the Dominican Republic. New York: Columbia University Press. Grasmuck, Sherri, and Patricia R. Pessar. 1991. Between Two Islands: Dominican International Migration. Berkeley: University of California Press. Grosfoguel, Ramòn. 1997. “Migration and Geopolitics in the Greater Antilles: From the Cold War to the Post-­Cold War.” Review (Fernand Braudel Center) 20 (1): 115–145. Hall, Michael R. 2000. Sugar and Power in the Dominican Republic: Eisenhower, Kennedy, and the Trujillos. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Hendricks, Glenn. 1974. The Dominican Diaspora: From the Dominican Republic to New York City—­Villa­gers in Transition. New York: Teachers College Press. Hernández, Ramona. 2002. The Mobility of L ­ abor ­Under Advanced Capitalism: Dominican Migration to the United States. New York: Columbia University Press. Hoffnung-­Garskof, Jesse. 2010. A Tale of Two Cities: Santo Domingo and New York a­ fter 1950. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Howard, David. 2001. Coloring the Nation: Race and Ethnicity in the Dominican Republic. Oxford, UK: Signal Books.

Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 | 591 Levitt, Peggy. 2004. “Transnational Ties and Incorporation: The Case of Dominicans in the United States,” in David Gutierrez, ed., The Columbia History of Latinos, 230. New York: Columbia University Press. Lowenthal, Abraham F. 1972. The Dominican Intervention. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Martin, John Bartlow. 1966. Overtaken by Events: The Dominican Crisis from the Fall of Trujillo to the Civil War. New York: Doubleday. Moya Pons, Frank. 1998. The Dominican Republic: A National History. Prince­ton, NJ: Markus Wiener. Navarro, Mireya. (1993, December 5). Conversations/Ilka Tanya Payan. New York Times. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1993​/­12​/­05​/­weekinreview​/­conversations​-­ilka​ -­tanya​-­payan​-­actress​-­openly​-­faces​-­aids​-­receives​-­audience​-­s​.­html Pessar, Patricia R. 1982. “The Role of House­holds in International Migration and the Case of U.S.-­Bound Migration from the Dominican Republic.” International Migration Review 16 (2): 342–364. Roorda, Eric P. 1998. The Dictator Next Door: The Good Neighbor Policy and the Trujillo Regime in the Dominican Republic, 1930–­1945. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Roorda, Eric  P., Lauren Hutchinson Derby, and Raymundo González, eds. 2014. The Dominican Republic Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Sagás, Ernesto, and Sintia E. Molina, eds. 2004. Dominican Migration: Transnational Perspectives. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Schoonmaker, Herbert  G. 1990. Military Crisis Management: U.S. Intervention in the Dominican Republic, 1965. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Wiarda, Howard J., and Michael J. Kryzanek. 1982. The Dominican Republic: A Ca­rib­ bean Crucible. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.

Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 Maysan Haydar

Chronology 1882

The Chinese Exclusion Act bars the migration of Chinese immigrants, with some exceptions, and excludes Chinese residents of Amer­i­ca from naturalization.

1891

The Bureau of Immigration is established u­nder the Trea­ sury Department.

1906

The Bureau of Immigration becomes the Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization.

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1913

The Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization is split in two: the Bureau of Immigration and the Bureau of Naturalization. Both are placed within the new Department of ­Labor.

1917

The Immigration Act of 1917 imposes a literacy test and an $8 tax on immigrants legally entering the United States. Pressure from Southwestern businesses and the need for l­abor at the beginning of U.S. involvement in World War I propel the U.S. government to exempt Mexican temporary workers from t­ hese requirements.

1918

Passage of the Passport Act initiates a requirement of documentation for entry into the United States. Border crossing cards are issued for Canadians and Mexicans.

1921

The Emergency Quota Act establishes initial quotas restricting immigration from Eu­rope to 3 ­percent of the foreign-­born population of ­every nationality as mea­sured in the 1910 U.S. Census.

1922

Inspection exemptions for Mexican temporary workers are abolished.

1924

The Johnson-­Reed “National Quotas” Act establishes visa quotas for Eu­ro­pean immigrants at 2 ­percent of the foreign-­born population and U.S.-­born ­children of foreign-­born parents as counted by the 1890 census, thereby restricting visas for Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pe­ ans even further. The U.S. Border Patrol is established by the Bureau of Immigration.

1929

The quotas established in the Johnson-­Reed Act become permanent.

1929, March

The Immigration Act of March  4, 1929, makes unauthorized entry into the United States a federal crime.

1930–­1935 Deportation and removal of nearly half a million Mexican nationals and Mexican Americans (U.S. citizens) begins during the G ­ reat Depression. 1933

The Bureaus of Immigration and Naturalization are re­united ­under the auspices of the Department of L ­ abor, and become the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS).

1940

The INS is moved from the Department of L ­ abor to the Department of Justice.

1942

The U.S. and Mexican governments sign an international agreement to establish an agricultural guest worker program. The Bracero Program, as it is known, is continuously renewed ­until 1964.

1943

The Magnuson Act repeals the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.

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The railroad component of the United States’ temporary guest worker program is established, and lasts u­ ntil World War II ends in 1945. 1948

The Displaced Persons Act provides temporary authorization for Eu­ro­pe­ans displaced by World War II to lawfully enter the United States for permanent residence.

1952

The McCarran-­Walter Act abolishes some racial barriers for immigration visas and creates a hierarchy of “desirable” potential applicants, depending on their ethnic group, and prioritizes l­ abor qualifications. The Act bars “undesirables” from entry, and further allows the government to deport naturalized citizens accused of engaging in “subversive” activities. President Truman tries to veto the bill, but a sufficient number of votes override his veto.

1954

The “Operation Wetback” campaign is announced, culminating in the deportation of 1 million undocumented Mexican immigrants.

1958

Senator John F. Kennedy’s book, Nation of Immigrants, is published.

1959

The Cuban Revolution takes place, and the United States allows open immigration for Cubans as refugees.

1963

President Kennedy calls the national origins quota system “nearly intolerable.”

1964

The Bracero Program ends, and the Civil Rights Act passes.

1965

President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the Hart-­Celler Act into law on October 4.

1966

The Cuban Adjustment Act offers automatic refugee and ­legal permanent residence status for Cubans.

1968

Changes in the Hart-­Celler Act take effect.

1976

The Western Hemi­sphere (Eilberg) Act requires all immigrants entering with professional visas to have job offers from American employers.

1978

The quotas of each hemi­sphere are merged into one global limit of 290,000 visas per year.

1986

The Immigration Reform and Control Act establishes employer sanctions for knowingly hiring undocumented immigrants, increases border security and funding for the Border Patrol, and provides amnesty for undocumented immigrants who can prove they have been pres­ent in the United States for the past five years.

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1990

The Immigration Act increases the total number of annual visas to 675,000, with a temporary boost to 700,000 per year for 1992, 1993, and 1994.

2003

The INS is abolished and its role is re­created in three agencies within the new Department of Homeland Security: Customs and Border Protection (CBP), Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), and United States Citizenship and Immigration Ser­vices (USCIS).

Narrative The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 abolished a system of quotas established by the 1924 National Origins Act, which had restricted migration from regions beyond northern and western Eu­rope and barred migration from Asia entirely. The 1924 law favored immigration from countries that already had sizable populations in the United States, namely ­England, Germany, and Ireland. The law intentionally discriminated against Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pe­ans who had been migrating in large numbers in the previous two de­cades. Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were the newest wave of immigrants in the late 1800s and early 1900s, and they ­were especially troubling to native-­born Americans who for years had expressed their concern and lobbied federal officials to restrict the entry of such persons to the United States. The 1917 immigration law and the 1921 Emergency Quotas Act ­were earlier attempts to reduce the number of immigrants entering the United States in ­these years. By the 1960s, advocates for Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean ethnic groups, their supporters, and some members of Congress agreed that the 1924 quotas ­were discriminatory and reflected poorly on a nation that prided itself on being a champion of freedom, democracy, and ­human rights, especially in light of its Cold War rivalry with the Soviet Union during ­these years. Framed as an amendment to the 1952 Immigration and Nationality Act, the 1965 Act eliminated the national origins quotas, enacted regulations that set numerical limits by hemi­sphere and normalized quotas by country, and prioritized applicants by f­ amily ties and job skills. The legislation was proposed by Representative Emanuel Celler of New York, co-­sponsored by Senator Philip Hart of Michigan, and promoted by Senator Ted Kennedy of Mas­sa­chu­setts. Representative Celler had been one of six members of Congress who originally voted against the discriminatory 1924 Immigration Act, and the Hart-­Celler Act was the end result of four de­cades of activism to eradicate the biased system. The Immigration and Nationality Act set an annual quota of 170,000 immigrants for the Eastern Hemi­sphere, and limited Western Hemi­sphere migration to 120,000

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admissions per year. An additional condition set a maximum of 20,000 visas from any country, regardless of the population size of that nation. Eastern-­ Hemisphere immigrants ­ were ranked with a series of seven preferences: 1) unmarried adult children of U.S. citizens; 2) ­ spouses and unmarried c­hildren of U.S. permanent residents; 3) professionals, scientists, and artists of “exceptional ability”; 4) married adult ­children of U.S. citizens; 5) siblings of adult U.S. citizens; 6) both skilled and unskilled workers, in high-­ demand, labor-­shortage occupations in the United States; and 7) refugees from Communist or communist-­sympathizing countries or refugees from conflicts President Lyndon B. Johnson speaks a­ fter signing the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 below and catastrophes. The Hart-­ Celler Act passed the Statue of Liberty. The act eliminated national origins quotas, enacted regulations that set during the apex of the civil rights numerical limits by hemi­sphere, and normalized movement, on the heels of the quotas by country. (Lyndon B. Johnson Library/ 1964 Civil Rights Act and the Yoichi R. Okamoto) 1965 Voting Rights Act. Immigration reform was seen as complementary and necessary given the nation’s po­liti­cal climate. The Act was passed by the House on August 25, 1965, and by the Senate on September 22. The legislation was not greatly contentious, passing by wide margins in both ­houses. The House of Representatives voted 320 in ­favor (70 against) and the Senate voted 76 in f­ avor (18 against). It was signed into law on October 3, 1965, and became effective on June 30, 1968.

Impact of the Immigration Act The 1965 Immigration Act is considered a watershed moment for a “new” wave of migration to the United States, primarily from Latin Amer­i­ca, Asia, Africa, and the

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­ iddle East, b­ ecause in the years ­after its passage most mi­grants to the United States M came from ­those regions. The resulting increased diversity of the United States can be seen in ­every ele­ment of American lives, from the foods ­people eat, to what they wear, to their entertainment and culture. Although provisions of the law liberalized immigration restrictions for p­ eople from Eu­rope and Asia, the law actually established numerical quotas on the countries of the Western Hemi­sphere (Latin Amer­i­ca, Canada, and the Ca­rib­bean) for the very first time in the United States history, thus making immigration from ­these countries more restricted. Prior to 1965, Mexican immigrants traveled relatively freely across the U.S.-­Mexico border, and their ­labor was highly sought a­ fter by employers throughout the U.S. Southwest and in parts of the Midwest. In fact, the United States depended so greatly on Mexican ­labor that both countries’ governments established the Bracero Program to recruit temporary contract laborers to work in the United States from 1942 to 1964. One of the undeniable consequences of the guest worker program, however, was the proliferation of undocumented or unauthorized immigration. Throughout the Bracero period, the number of undocumented immigrants from Mexico increased significantly, often with American officials simply looking the other way (Garcia y Griego,1996). The rise in Mexican immigration a­ fter 1965 can be attributed at least in part to the cessation of the Bracero Program in 1964, as this ended a ­legal channel of temporary employment. The new numerical restrictions on the Western Hemi­sphere seem counterintuitive given that Mexican laborers ­were entering the country at such high rates in the years preceding the law. The ­family reunification preference, however, would make it pos­si­ble for Mexican immigrants already in the United States and other American citizens and permanent residents to petition for ­family members to join them. Between 1965 and 2000, the largest group of immigrants to the United States came from Mexico: some 4.3 million. The Dominican Republic and Cuba saw migration of between 700,000 and 800,000 of their citizens to the United States in the same period. ­Legal migration from the region makes up approximately 44 ­percent of total immigration to the United States in the latter portion of the 20th ­century and the first de­cade of the 21st ­century (with the remaining 29 ­percent from Asia, 14 ­percent from Eu­rope, 6 ­percent from Africa, and 7 ­percent from other regions). Immigration from Latin America makes up the lion’s share of undocumented, or “illegal,” immigration, constituting more than 80  ­percent of ­those living and working in the United States without authorization. In states with the largest populations of undocumented workers, 75 ­percent come from Mexico (Pew Research Center, 2015). Researchers attribute the dramatic increase in undocumented immigration ­after 1965 to the new quota restrictions as well as the end of the Bracero Program.

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Post-1965 Immigration The mid-­to late 20th ­century was a period of im­mense change for Latin Amer­i­ca. Dictatorships, dire social conditions, and economic disparities fomented revolutions, guerilla warfare, civil wars, insurgencies and counterinsurgencies in the region, beginning in the 1960s and carry­ing on through the early 1990s. Many South and Central American countries ­were the battlefronts of the Cold War, and the resulting exodus of refugees institutionalized the path northward ­toward the United States. The Soviet Union and the United States competed for power by supporting governments and groups that ­were aligned with or friendly to their own interests, and the resulting conflicts across the Amer­i­cas propelled millions to seek stability and safety outside of their homelands. The 1959 Cuban revolution had already secured in­de­pen­ dent quotas for t­hose fleeing the newly Communist nation. Into the 21st ­century, the 1966 Cuban Adjustment Act (CAA) continued to provide fast-­track naturalization for any Cuban asylee reaching the United States (Orchowski, 2015). Immigration for refugees from conflicts in El Salvador, Bolivia, and Guatemala was not encouraged in the same way, however, given that the U.S. government was generally allied with the dictatorial governments of ­those countries, and to accord asylum to ­those fleeing would have undermined friendly relations with t­ hose countries’ leaders. Warfare across the continent killed thousands and displaced millions, many of them traveling to or through Costa Rica, Mexico, and Belize. Though a small number settled in Central Amer­i­ca, or traveled through the United States to seek asylum in Canada, many sought refuge in the United States. ­There are socioeconomic ele­ments to immigration trends related to conflict, as the first wave out usually includes the elite and professionals with the resources and connections to emigrate more easily. With prolonged conflict, the m ­ iddle class and working class eventually are forced to seek asylum outside of their countries of origin (Tienda and Sanchez, 2013). Though Mexico has consistently been the largest demographic of Latin American immigration to the United States, the numbers of immigrants from South and Central American countries has increased and receded with economic and conflict events. Colombia, Ec­ua­dor, and Peru have the most significant numbers of immigrants to the United States from South Amer­i­ca. Theirs ­were parallel patterns of gradual increases through the 1970s, but the trends diverge as Colombian migration ramped up during periods of drug cartel vio­lence and po­liti­cal upheaval. Ec­ua­dor­ian immigration fluctuated ­because of the collapse of the oil market in the 1980s and the banking system in the 1990s, though the late 20th ­century saw a redirected interest in migration t­oward Spain and away from the United States for ­those seeking stability (Tienda and Sanchez, 2013). Massive underemployment caused Peruvian outmigration, but their numbers have never accounted for more than 2 ­percent of the Latin American-­born population of the United States (Tienda and Sanchez, 2013). The

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1980s saw major increases in immigration to the United States from El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Guatemala, and the Dominican Republic. Though a substantial number of immigrants could claim asylum based on civil warfare and po­liti­ cal instability, economic woes or the lack of opportunity are not sufficient grounds for refugee status, and thus “economic mi­grants” are at risk for becoming undocumented. For example, Hurricane Mitch displaced tens of thousands of Hondurans in 1998, of which an estimated 66,000 w ­ ere granted temporary protected status (TPS) in the United States. TPS does not offer a path to naturalization, necessitating that thousands reapply for visas through other channels (Tienda and Sanchez, 2013). In 1978, an impor­tant amendment was affixed to the 1965 Act, merging the two hemi­spheres with a single limit of 290,000 visas each year. Senator Ted Kennedy, a promoter of the 1965 Act, introduced another reform in 1989, which was signed into law on November 29, 1990, by President George H.W. Bush. The Immigration Act of 1990 increased the total allotment of annual immigration visas to 675,000, with a temporary limit of 700,000 per year for the fiscal years of 1992, 1993, and 1994. The 1990 Act also expanded family-­based immigration visas and employment-­ based visas, and created a “diversity visa program,” one that held a lottery for adult immigrants from “low admittance countries”: that is, nations with few of their citizens already in the United States. The Immigration Act of 1965 has been seen by many historians as a turning point in U.S. immigration. ­After the law went into effect in 1968, its provisions significantly reshaped the flow of immigrants to the United States. Whereas in the past, most of the nation’s immigrants had come from vari­ous parts of Eu­rope, ­after 1968 mi­grants came in growing numbers from new locations. This marked the beginning of increased migrations from Latin Amer­i­ca—­not just from Mexico, but from new sending nations in the Ca­rib­bean (the Dominican Republic), Central Amer­i­ca, and South Amer­i­ca. The law also led to an increase of skilled worker recruitment from both South and East Asia. The ­family reunification provision meant that U.S. citizens or immigrants who w ­ ere already in the United States could more easily petition to bring in other ­family members. Although a variety of ­factors contributed to ­these new mi­grant flows, the 1965 act is credited with reshaping the nation’s immigrants in unexpected and unintended ways.

Biographies of Notable Figures Emanuel Celler (1888–1981) Emanuel Celler was born in Brooklyn to Josephine Müller Celler and Henry H. Celler in 1888. Celler was a second-­generation American; all of his grandparents

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migrated to the United States from Germany. He was a gradu­ate of Columbia College, Columbia University, and Columbia Law School, and practiced law before ­running for his district’s congressional seat in 1922. As a Demo­cratic congressman, Celler served the state of New York for 50 years. In 1924, Celler gave his first impor­tant address on the House floor during debates on the impending Johnson-­Reed Immigration Act. Though quotas had already been in place for a number of years, the proposed legislation sought to cement the system intended to limit immigration from Eastern and Southern Eu­rope, Asia, and Africa. In the intervening four de­cades between what was popularly known as the “National Quotas Act” and the Hart-­Celler Act of 1965, Congressman Celler consistently lobbied in ­favor of immigration and for eradication of the quota system. During World War II, he strongly argued in ­favor of emergency modifications to the immigration system to assist Holocaust refugees. In 1946, the Luce-­Celler Act created a path for Filipino immigration and citizenship following the Philippines’ in­de­pen­dence. Immigration was not the only issue that motivated Congressman Celler to action. He supported the New Deal and Fair Deal legislation and in 1950 he was the lead sponsor of legislation attempting to strengthen the Clayton Antitrust Act of 1914; the result was the Celler-­Kefauver or Anti-­Merger Act. In 1965, Celler proposed the Twenty-­Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which clarified the hierarchy of succession to the presidency. Congressman Celler’s proposed bill HR 17735 became the Gun Control Act of 1968. Celler’s progressive policies earned him the ire of Senator Joseph McCarthy, and he found himself the target of attacks in the early 1950s. At the 1952 Demo­ cratic National Convention, Celler gave a speech excoriating the Senator and McCarthyism: “Let’s name the evil which has called this plank forth, an evil recognizable to e­ very mature mind. It has a name—­McCarthyism. Let us not underestimate the width and the depth of the fear blanketing this country ­because of McCarthyism. Let us not underestimate how many ­people, both within the Demo­cratic and Republican Parties and the in­de­pen­dents, are crying out for leadership to cut out this cancer. Deliberately and calculatedly, McCarthyism has set before itself the task of undermining the faith of the ­people in their Government. It has undertaken to sow suspicion everywhere, to set friend against friend, and ­brother against ­brother. It deals in coercion and in intimidation, tying the hands of citizens and officials with the fear of the smear attack” (Celler, 1952). In his role as chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, Congressman Celler played a key role in the drafting and passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and the Civil Rights Act of 1968. In 1972, Congressman Celler lost the primary election to another Demo­crat, attorney Elizabeth

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Holtzman; this loss has been attributed to Celler’s opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment and w ­ omen’s liberation politics. In his post-­Congressional life, Celler spoke frequently to civic groups and university audiences, and was a guest on tele­vi­sion and radio programs, especially during the Watergate scandal, remaining a “peppery, combative, always colorful and anecdotal debater.” Had he not lost the Demo­cratic primary the year before, he would have remained the chairman of the House Judiciary Committee. Congressman Emanuel Celler died at his home in Brooklyn in 1981, at age 92. He had written an autobiography in the mid-1950s, You Never Leave Brooklyn, and was married for 51 years, remaining single ­after his wife died in 1966. His obituary in the New York Times quotes Celler jovially describing the ideal politician: “To be a successful Congressman,” he said, “one must have the friendliness of a child, the enthusiasm of a teen-­ager, the assurance of a college boy, the diplomacy of a wayward husband, the curiosity of a cat and the good humor of an idiot” (Carroll, 1981).

Philip A. Hart (1912–1976) Philip Aloysius Hart, known as the “Conscience of the Senate,” was born in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, on December  10, 1912, to Philip  A. Hart and Ann Clyde. Hart graduated from Georgetown University in 1934 and from the University of Michigan Law School in 1937; he was admitted to the State Bar of Michigan in 1938. He practiced law in Detroit with the firm Beaumont, Smith, & Harris ­until 1941, when he enlisted in the Army a­ fter the United States entered World War II. Hart served as a lieutenant col­o­nel in the 4th Infantry Division, and he was wounded on D-­Day in the Normandy invasion on Utah Beach. He recuperated at the Percy Jones Army Hospital in B ­ attle Creek, Michigan, alongside other ­future senators Bob Dole and Daniel Inouye. For his ser­vice, Hart was awarded the Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, Arrowhead device, and France’s Croix de guerre. Hart resumed l­egal practice in 1946, and in 1949 became the State of Michigan’s Corporation Securities Commissioner. Hart was then appointed State Director of the Office of Price Stabilization in 1951, and served as the U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Michigan from 1952 to 1953. He then served as l­ egal adviser to Governor G. Mennen Williams ­until 1954. He became Lieutenant Governor, still ­under Governor Williams, a post he held ­until 1959. Hart won the 1958 Senate election, defeating a one-­term Republican incumbent by a sizable margin. He was consistently popu­lar, winning re-­election in 1964 and 1970. Already ill with melanoma in 1976, he deci­ded against ­running for a fourth term.

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In the Senate, Senator Hart gained re­spect for his staunch commitment to ethical princi­ples, and his support of civil rights, antitrust legislation (Hart served as chairman of the Senate antitrust subcommittee), and environmental and consumer protections. He was among the leaders championing the 1964 Civil Rights Act, and served as floor man­ag­er of the 1965 Voting Rights Act. Hart was appointed to two committees. While he was still serving, the U.S. Senate voted to name its new office building in his honor—­this was significant ­because it would be the first federal building named for a living person. The August 30, 1976, vote was 99 to 0, with Hart abstaining. Senator Hart passed away December 26, 1976. In addition to the Hart Senate Office Building, other buildings named for Senator Hart are the Hart Plaza, in the Detroit international waterfront; the Hart-­ Dole-­Inouye Federal Center in ­Battle Creek, Michigan; the visitor center at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore; and Hart-­Kennedy House, headquarters of the Michigan Demo­cratic Party in Lansing, Michigan. Hart was married to Jane “Janey” Briggs Hart for 33 years, and was survived by his wife and eight ­children.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Amendments to the Hart-­Celler Act (The 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act), 1968 The 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act was conceived as an amendment to the 1952 Immigration and Naturalization Act, although it reads more like a list of editing suggestions than strictly a piece of legislation. The following excerpts highlight the changes that ­were made to the 1952 Act. October 3, 1968 [H. R. 2580] Public Law 89-236 An Act To amend the Immigration and Nationality Act, and for other purposes. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of Amer­i­ca in Congress assembled, That section 201 of the Immigration and Nationality Act (66 Stat. 175; 8 U.S.C. 1151) be amended to read as follows: “Sec. 201. (a) Exclusive of special immigrants defined in section 101 (a) (27), and of the immediate relatives of United States citizens specified in subsection (b) of

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this section, the number of aliens who may be issued immigrant visas or who may other­wise acquire the status of an alien lawfully admitted to the United States for permanent residence, or who may, pursuant to section 203(a) (7) enter conditionally, (i) ­shall not in any of the first three quarters of any fiscal year exceed a total of 45,000 and (ii) s­ hall not in any fiscal year exceed a total of 170,000. “(b) The ‘immediate relatives’ referred to in subsection (a) of this section s­ hall mean the ­children, spouses, and parents of a citizen of the United States: Provided, That in the case of parents, such citizen must be at least twenty-­one years of age. The immediate relatives specified in this subsection who are other­wise qualified for admission as immigrants ­shall be admitted as such, without regard to the numerical limitations in this Act. “(c) During the period from July 1, 1965, through June 30, 1968, the annual quota of any quota area ­shall be the same as that which existed for that area on June 30, 1965. The Secretary of State s­ hall, not l­ater than on the sixtieth day immediately following the date of enactment of this subsection and again on or before September 1, 1966, and September 1, 1967, determine and proclaim the amount of quota numbers which remain unused at the end of the fiscal year ending on June 30, 1965, June 30, 1966, and June 30, 1967, respectively, and are available for distribution pursuant to subsection (d) of this section. “(d) Quota numbers not issued or other­wise used during the previous fiscal year, as determined in accordance with subsection (c) hereof, ­shall be transferred to an immigration pool. Allocation of numbers from the pool and from national quotas s­ hall not together exceed in any fiscal year the numerical limitations in subsection (a) of this section. The immigration pool s­ hall be made available to immigrants other­wise admissible u­ nder the provisions of this Act who are unable to obtain prompt issuance of a preference visa due to oversubscription of their quotas, or subquotas as determined by the Secretary of State. Visas and conditional entries s­ hall be allocated from the immigration pool within the percentage limitations and in the order of priority specified in section 203 without regard to the quota to which the alien is chargeable. “(e) The immigration pool and the quotas of quota areas s­ hall terminate June 30, 1968. Thereafter immigrants admissible u­ nder the provisions of this Act who are subject to the numerical limitations of subsection (a) of this section s­ hall be admitted in accordance with the percentage limitations and in the order of priority specified in section 203.”

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Sec. 2. Section 202 of the Immigration and Nationality Act (66 Stat. 175; 8 U.S.C. 1152) is amended to read as follows: “(a) No person s­ hall receive any preference or priority or be discriminated against in the issuance of an immigrant visa ­because of his race, sex, nationality, place of birth, or place of residence, except as specifically provided in section 101(a) (27), section 201(b), and section 203: Provided, That the total number of immigrant visas and the number of conditional entries made available to natives of any single foreign state ­under paragraphs (1) through (8) of section  203(a) ­shall not exceed 20,000 in any fiscal year: Provided further, That the foregoing proviso ­shall not operate to reduce the number of immigrants who may be admitted u­ nder the quota of any quota area before June 30, 1968. “(b) Each in­de­pen­dent country, self-­governing dominion, mandated territory, and territory u­ nder the international trusteeship system of the United Nations, other than the United States and its outlying possessions s­ hall be treated as a separate foreign state for the purposes of the numerical limitation set forth in the proviso to subsection (a) of this section when approved by the Secretary of State. All other inhabited lands ­shall be attributed to a foreign state specified by the Secretary of State. For the purposes of this Act the foreign state to which an immigrant is chargeable ­shall be determined by birth within such foreign state except that (1) an alien child, when accompanied by his alien parent or parents, may be charged to the same foreign state as the accompanying parent or of e­ ither accompanying parent if such parent has received or would be qualified for an immigrant visa, if necessary to prevent the separation of the child from the accompanying parent or parents, and if the foreign state to which such parent has been or would be chargeable has not exceeded the numerical limitation set forth in the proviso to subsection (a) of this section for that fiscal year; (2) if an alien is chargeable to a dif­fer­ent foreign state from that of his accompanying spouse, the foreign state to which such alien is chargeable may, if necessary to prevent the separation of husband and wife, be determined by the foreign state of the accompanying spouse, if such spouse has received or would be qualified for an immigrant visa and if the foreign state to which such spouse has been or would be chargeable has not exceeded the numerical limitation set forth in the proviso to subsection (a) of this section for that fiscal year; (3) an alien born in the United States s­ hall be considered as having been born in the country of which he is a citizen or subject, or if he is not a citizen or subject of any country then in the last foreign country in which he had his residence as determined by the consular officer; (4) an alien born within any foreign state in which neither of his parents was born and in which neither of his parents

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had a residence at the time of such alien’s birth may be charged to the foreign state of ­either parent. “(c) Any immigrant born in a colony or other component or dependent area of a foreign state ­unless a special immigrant as provided in section 101(a) (27) or an immediate relative of a United States citizen as specified in section 201 (b), s­ hall be chargeable, for the purpose of limitation set forth in section 202 (a), to the foreign state, except that the number of persons born in any such colony or other component or dependent area overseas from the foreign state chargeable to the foreign state in any one fiscal year s­ hall not exceed 1 per centum of the maximum number of immigrant visas available to such foreign state. *** Sec. 8. Section 101 of the Immigration and Nationality Act (66 Stat. 166; 8 U.S.C. 1101) is amended as follows: “(27) The term ‘special immigrant’ means“(A) an immigrant who was born in any in­de­pen­dent foreign country of the Western Hemi­sphere or in the Canal Zone and the spouse and c­ hildren of any such immigrant, if accompanying, or following to join him: Provided, That no immigrant visa ­shall be issued pursuant to this clause u­ ntil the consular officer is in receipt of a determination made by the Secretary of ­Labor pursuant to the provisions of section 212 (a) (14); “(B) an immigrant, lawfully admitted for permanent residence, who is returning from a temporary visit abroad; “(C) an immigrant who was a citizen of the United States and may, u­ nder section 324(a) or 327 of title III, apply for reacquisition of citizenship; “(D) (i) an immigrant who continuously for at least two years immediately preceding the time of his application for admission to the United States has been, and who seeks to enter the United States solely for the purpose of carry­ing on the vocation of minister of a religious denomination, and whose ser­vices are needed by such religious denomination having a bona fide organ­ization in the United States; and (ii) the spouse or the child of any such immigrant, if accompanying or following to join him; or “(E) an immigrant who is an employee, or an honorably retired former em­­ ployee, of the United States Government abroad, and who has performed faithful

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ser­vice for a total of fifteen years, or more, and his accompanying spouse and ­children: Provided, That the principal officer of a Foreign Ser­vice establishment, in his discretion, s­ hall have recommended the granting of special immigrant status to such alien in exceptional circumstances and the Secretary of State approves such recommendation and finds that it is in the national interest to grant such status.” (b) Paragraph (32) of subsection (a) is amended to read as follows: “(32) The term ‘profession’ ­shall include but not be limited to architects, engineers, ­lawyers, physicians, surgeons, and teachers in elementary or secondary schools, colleges, academies, or seminaries.” (c) Subparagraph (1) (F) of subsection (b) is amended to read as follows: “(F) a child, ­under the age of fourteen at the time a petition is filed in his behalf to accord a classification as an immediate relative u­ nder section 201(b), who is an orphan ­because of the death or disappearance of, abandonment or desertion by, or separation or loss from, both parents, or for whom the sole or surviving parent is incapable of providing the proper care which ­will be provided the child if admitted to the United States and who has in writing irrevocably released the child for emigration and adoption; who has been ­adopted abroad by a United States citizen and his spouse who personally saw and observed the child prior to or during the adoption proceedings; or who is coming to the United States for adoption by a United States citizen and spouse who have complied with the preadoption requirements, if any, of the child’s proposed residence: Provided, That no natu­ral parent or prior adoptive parent of any such child ­shall thereafter, by virtue of such parentage, be accorded any right, privilege, or status ­under this Act.” Source: Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1965, 8 U.S.C. § 201.

President Johnson’s Speech at His Signing of the 1965 Immigration Act President Johnson signed the 1965 law at the foot of the Statue of Liberty, and his speech that day reflected the landmark’s associated symbolism: [I]t does repair a very deep and painful flaw in the fabric of American justice. It corrects a cruel and enduring wrong in the conduct of the American Nation. Speaker McCormack and Congressman Celler almost 40 years ago first pointed that out in their maiden speeches in the Congress. And this mea­sure that we w ­ ill

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sign ­today w ­ ill r­ eally make us truer to ourselves both as a country and as a ­people. It ­will strengthen us in a hundred unseen ways. I have come ­here to thank personally each Member of the Congress who labored so long and so valiantly to make this occasion come true t­oday, and to make this bill a real­ity. I cannot mention all their names, for it would take much too long, but my gratitude—­and that of this nation—­belongs to the 89th Congress. We are indebted, too, to the vision of the late beloved President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and to the support given to this mea­sure by the then Attorney General and now Senator, Robert F. Kennedy. In the final days of consideration, this bill had no more able champion than the pres­ent Attorney General, Nicholas Katzenbach, who, with New York’s own “Manny” Celler, and Senator Ted Kennedy of Mas­sa­chu­setts, and Congressman Feighan of Ohio, and Senator Mansfield and Senator Dirksen constituting the leadership of the Senate, and Senator Javits, helped to guide this bill to passage, along with the help of the members sitting in front of me ­today. This bill says simply that from this day forth t­hose wishing to immigrate to Amer­i­ca ­shall be admitted on the basis of their skills and their close relationship to ­those already ­here. This is a s­ imple test, and it is a fair test. ­Those who can contribute most to this country—to its growth, to its strength, to its spirit—­will be the first that are admitted to this land. The fairness of this standard is so self-­evident that we may well won­der that it has not always been applied. Yet the fact is that for over four de­cades the immigration policy of the United States has been twisted and has been distorted by the harsh injustice of the national origins quota system. ­Under that system the ability of new immigrants to come to Amer­ic­ a depended upon the country of their birth. Only 3 countries w ­ ere allowed to supply 70 ­percent of all the immigrants. Families w ­ ere kept apart ­because a husband or a wife or a child had been born in the wrong place. Men of needed skill and talent ­were denied entrance ­because they came from southern or eastern Eu­rope or from one of the developing continents. This system ­violated the basic princi­ple of American democracy—­the princi­ ple that values and rewards each man on the basis of his merit as a man. It has been un-­American in the highest sense, b­ ecause it has been untrue to the faith that brought thousands to ­these shores even before we ­were a country. ­Today, with my signature, this system is abolished. We can now believe that it ­will never again shadow the gate to the American Nation with the twin barriers of prejudice and privilege.

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Our beautiful Amer­i­ca was built by a nation of strangers. From a hundred dif­ fer­ent places or more they have poured forth into an empty land, joining and blending in one mighty and irresistible tide. The land flourished ­because it was fed from so many sources—­because it was nourished by so many cultures and traditions and ­peoples. And from this experience, almost unique in the history of nations, has come Amer­i­ca’s attitude t­oward the rest of the world. We, b­ ecause of what we are, feel safer and stronger in a world as varied as the ­people who make it up—­a world where no country rules another and all countries can deal with the basic prob­lems of ­human dignity and deal with ­those prob­lems in their own way. Now, u­ nder the monument which has welcomed so many to our shores, the American Nation returns to the finest of its traditions ­today. The days of unlimited immigration are past. But t­ hose who do come w ­ ill come ­because of what they are, and not ­because of the land from which they sprung. Source: President Lyndon B. Johnson’s Remarks at the Signing of the Immigration Bill, Liberty Island, New York, October 3, 1965. Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1965. Volume II, entry 546, pp. 1037–1040. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966.

See also: Fall of the Trujillo Dictatorship and Dominican Migration; Immigration Reform and Control Act; Operation Wetback

Further Reading Carroll, Maurice. 1981. “Emanuel Celler, Former Brooklyn Congressman, Dies at 92.” New York Times, January  16. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1981​/­01​/­16​ /­o bituaries​/­e manuel​-­c eller​-­f ormer​-­b rooklyn​-­c ongressman​-­d ies​-­a t​-­9 2​.­h tml​?­p age​ wanted​=a­ ll Celler, Emanuel. 1952. Demo­cratic National Convention Speech. International Amphitheater. Chicago, IL. Chavez, Leo. 2001. Popu­lar Images and the Politics of the Nation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dinnerstein, Leonard, and David M. Reimers. 2014. The World Comes to Amer­i­ca: Immigration to the United States Since 1945. New York: Oxford University Press. Friedman, Sheldon. 1973. “Effects of the US Immigration Act of 1965 on the Flow of Skilled Mi­grants from Less Developed Countries.” World Development (1): 39–44. García y Griego, Manuel. 1996. “The Importation of Mexican Contract Laborers to the United States, 1942–1964,” in David G. Gutiérrez, ed., In Between Two Worlds: Mexican Immigrants in the United States, 45–85. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources. Keely, Charles. 1971. “Effects of the Immigration Act of 1965 on Selected Population Characteristics of Immigrants to the United States.” Demography (8): 157–169.

608 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979 Lee, Catherine. 2015. “­Family Reunification and the Limits of Immigration Reform: Impact and Legacy of the 1965 Immigration Act.” So­cio­log­i­cal Forum 30, 528–548. Marinari, Maddalena. 2014. “ ‘Americans Must Show Justice in Immigration Policies Too’: The Passage of the 1965 Immigration Act.” Journal of Policy History (26): 219–245. Massey, Douglas S., Jorge Durand, and Nolan J. Malone. 2002. Beyond Smoke and Mirrors: Mexican Immigration in an Era of Economic Integration. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Mendelson, Margot K. 2010. “Constructing Amer­i­ca: Mythmaking in the US Immigration Courts.” Yale Law Journal (119): 1012–1058. Orchowski, Margaret Sands. 2015. The Law that Changed the Face of Amer­i­ca: The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Pew Research Center. 2015, March 26. “Testimony of Jeffrey S. Passel—­Unauthorized Immigrant Population: National and State Trends, Industries and Occupations.” Hispanic Trends. Retrieved from http://­www​.­pewhispanic​.­org​/­2015​/­03​/­26​/­testimony​-­of​-­jeffrey​-­s​ -­passel​-­unauthorized​-­immigrant​-­population/ Rose, Peter Isaac. 1997. Tempest-­tost: Race, Immigration, and the Dilemmas of Diversity. New York: Oxford University Press. Tienda, Marta, and Sanchez, Susana. 2013. “Latin American Immigration to the United States.” Daedalus 142 (3): 48–64. United States Congress. 1965. Immigration: Hearings before Subcommittee No. 1 of the Committee on the Judiciary, House of Representatives, Eighty-­ninth Congress, First Session on H.R. 2580 to Amend the Immigration and Nationality Act, and for Other Purposes. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. ­Waters, Mary, Reed Ueda, and Helen B. Marrow, eds. 2007. The New Americans: A Guide to Immigration Since 1965. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Yang, Philip Q. 1995. Post-1965 Immigration to the United States: Structural Determinants. Westport, CT: Praeger.

Delano Grape Strike and the United Farm Workers Movement, 1965–1970 Luis H. Moreno

Chronology 1903, February

On February 11, 500 Japa­nese and 200 Mexican beet workers join forces ­under the banner of the Japanese-­Mexican ­Labor Association (JMLA) and go on strike against the American Beet Sugar Com­pany

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(ABSC) in Oxnard, California. Their demands are to end the mono­ poly of contract l­ abor and receive better wages. Violent confrontation occurs between strikers and strikebreakers, ending with one death. 1903, March

By March 30, the strike ends, and JMLA’s demands are met. The JMLA becomes the first successful multiracial l­abor ­union in the United States.

1933, October

On October 4, cotton workers (the majority of whom are Mexicans) go on strike in the San Joaquin Valley in California. They or­ga­nize ­under the Cannery and Agricultural Workers’ Industrial Union (CAWIU). Violent confrontation occurs between strikers and law enforcement, ending with numerous deaths. The strike ends on October 26.

1942

Due to the l­abor shortages during World War II, on August 4 the United States signs a bilateral agreement with Mexico to use Mexican nationals as war­time relief ­labor. The agreement creates the Emergency Farm L ­ abor Supply Program (Bracero Program), the primary goal of which is to supply ­labor to agribusiness in the Southwest, Pacific Northwest, and Midwest United States.

1947

The Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO) is founded by Edward Roybal, Antonio Rios, and Fred Ross in Los Angeles, California. The CSO is funded by Saul Alinsky’s Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF). The goal of the CSO is to serve as a grassroots civil rights organ­ ization fighting against discrimination in housing, employment, and education.

1952

Fred Ross recruits César Chávez into the CSO. Chávez becomes a full-­time or­ga­nizer and travels throughout California organ­izing the Mexican and Mexican American community. In addition, Ross also recruits Dolores Huerta and Gilbert Padilla.

1958–1959

Chávez develops a joint proj­ect between the CSO and United Packing­house Workers of Amer­i­ca (UPWA) to or­ga­nize local farm workers in Oxnard, California.

1959

The American Federation of Labor-­ Congress of Industrial Organ­ ization (AFL-­CIO) charters the Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee (AWOC) ­under the leadership of Norman Smith.

1962

Chávez resigns from the CSO to continue his mission of organ­izing farm workers, and is joined in his efforts to or­ga­nize them by Dolores Huerta and Gilbert Padilla in Delano, California.

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1962, On September 30, more than 200 farm workers gather in Fresno, CalSeptember ifornia, to found the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA). 1963

On January 21, the NFWA holds its first convention in Fresno, California, and elects Chávez as president. The NFWA also elects Huerta, Padilla, and Julio Hernández as vice presidents of the u­ nion.

1964

The Bracero Program, an agricultural guest worker program that imported workers from Mexico for 22 years, fi­nally ends.

1965

The Filipino farm worker-­led AWOC goes on strike for better wages in Delano, California. The NFWA votes to join the strike. A boycott of Schenley Industries’ products begins. The strike receives support and funding from UAW President Walter Reuther.

1966

The NFWA and the AWOC merge into the United Farm Worker Organ­izing Committee (UFWOC). The NFWA organizes a 300-­mile peregrinación (pilgrimage) from Delano to Sacramento to draw attention to the plight of farm workers. Schenley Industries signs the first contract with the u­ nion. The Senate Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor holds hearings in Bakersfield, California. Senator Robert  F. Kennedy attends the hearings. The UFWOC calls for a boycott of the DiGiorgio Corporation. The com­pany brings the Teamsters in as opposition to the UFWOC.

1968

Chávez begins a fast to reaffirm the commitment of the grape strike and boycott to nonviolence.

1969

The UFWOC opens grape boycott offices throughout the United States.

1970

The UFWOC signs ­union contracts with the majority of ­table grape growers in the Central Valley.

1975, June

The Agricultural L ­ abor Relations Act (ALRA) is signed into law in California on June 4.

1976

The California state legislature cuts funding for the Agricultural ­Labor Relations Board, thus making it impossible for it to operate. The UFW group organizes a signature campaign to get the issue on that November’s statewide ballot. Proposition 14 fails to pass in the November election. If passed, it would have restored the ALRB’s funding.

1977

The ALRB fi­nally receives funding from the California state legislature.

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Picketers gather at the edge of a grape field in 1965, urging workers to join a strike. The word Huelga is Spanish for strike. A total of 44 persons, including nine ministers, w ­ ere arrested in the six-week-old grape harvest. (Bettmann/Getty)

Narrative In 1965, Filipino farm workers led by the Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee (AWOC) went on strike for better wages in the grape fields of Delano, California. Filipinos and Mexican Americans comprised the majority of farm workers in the state at this time. For years, farm workers labored u­ nder exploitative conditions with low pay, poor housing, and no l­abor protections. The strike became a critical energizing moment in the farm worker movement in California, which had strug­gled for de­cades to or­ga­nize and ­unionize farm workers. The strike and accompanying grape boycott brought national and international attention to the plight of farm workers the United Farm Workers (UFW) and their ­labor movement, and the leadership of César Chávez. The UFW and its advocacy on behalf of farm workers also became a central, galvanizing ele­ment of La Causa, (The Cause) of the Chicano movement for greater civil rights and social justice in the 1960s and 1970s. Moreover, the Delano Grape Strike became an organ­izing training ground for numerous individuals and organ­izations who went on to play impor­tant roles in the Chicano Power movement during ­these de­cades.

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Fighting in the Fields Farm ­labor historically has been one of the poorest paid and most difficult industries to or­ga­nize in the United States. It has not been protected by minimum wage laws, social security laws, or other policies that benefit American workers in other types of employment. In addition, farm workers have often experienced very high rates of poverty. When President Franklin Delano Roo­se­velt created ­labor protections for American workers during the ­Great Depression, for example, he specifically excluded domestic workers and farm laborers, in a po­liti­cal compromise with Southern and Southwestern congressional representatives, to get his New Deal programs passed in Congress. Whereas in the South, African Americans made up the majority of agricultural workers, in the Southwest and West Coast, Mexican Americans, and to a lesser extent Asian Americans, supplied this workforce. Since the 1930s, many dif­fer­ent l­ abor ­unions had attempted to or­ga­nize Filipino, white, Mexican, and Mexican American farm workers. One of the key target areas was the Central Valley of California, an agricultural region that produced a significant portion of the state’s abundant crops. By the late 1950s, ­labor organizers focused their efforts on improving wages and work conditions of farm workers, especially exposing the long-­term damages caused by the short-­handled hoe (Bruns, 2013, pp. 228–230). Furthermore, a key target was ending the Bracero Program, which imported contract workers from Mexico and undercut the wages paid to domestic farm workers. Two of the key ­labor ­unions on the ground in California ­were the National Agricultural Workers Union (NAWU) and the United Packing­house Workers of Amer­ i­ca (UPWA). The NAWU was ­under the leadership of H. L. Mitchell and Ernesto Galarza, and the UPWA was ­under the direction of Ralph Helstein. The conflicts between the leadership in the American Federation of L ­ abor and Congress of Industrial Organ­izations (AFL-­CIO) and within both u­ nions limited the resources available to or­ga­nize farm workers in California. U ­ nder George Meany, the AFL-­CIO “fi­nally agreed to fund such an undertaking, [though] he would allow neither the NAWU nor the UPWA [to] lead it” (Ganz, 2009, p. 62). In 1959, AWOC took on the task of organ­izing farm workers in California. The ­union operated out of Stockton, California, with a mission to “remain local, work-­ centered, and short term” (Ganz, 2009, p. 64). Dolores Huerta was elected AWOC secretary-­treasurer, and she recruited Larry Itliong into the ­union (Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, p. 71). The majority of the agricultural workforce was composed of Mexicans and Mexican Americans, but the top leadership members of AWOC ­were white, and had no experience with farm workers or agriculture. AWOC’s strategy was to work directly with ­labor contractors—­the middlemen who hired farm workers—­instead of organ­izing farm workers themselves. Consequently,

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the strategy led numerous organizers, including Huerta, to quit AWOC (Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, p. 71). Just a year before Huerta began her organ­izing efforts through AWOC, ­future UFW leader César Chávez began organ­izing in Ventura County. In the summer of 1958, César Chávez and Fred Ross, of the Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO), met with Saul Alinsky of the Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF) and Ralph Helstein, president of the UPWA, to discuss a proposal to develop a joint proj­ect between the UPWA and the CSO focused on organ­izing the Mexican and Mexican American community in Oxnard, California (Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, pp. 52–53). UPWA Local 78 had built a base among packing­house workers since the early 1950s. Chávez agreed to lead the proj­ect. He returned to Oxnard, where he had spent time as a youth when his parents worked t­ here in the agriculture fields (Levy, 1975, pp. 35–39, 55–63). Chávez focused on learning the bread-­and-­butter issues of the Mexican and Mexican American residents of Oxnard, especially t­hose in the La Colonia neighborhood (Ross, 1989, pp. 7–17). Chávez or­ga­nized by using the ­house meeting model and met with key Mexican and Mexican American civic leaders. To focus on the needs of the Mexican and Mexican American working-­class community, Chávez set up the CSO office in the heart of La Colonia, one of the oldest Mexican neighborhoods in the area. The newly formed Ventura County chapter of the CSO launched a mass voter registration drive in the precincts of La Colonia (Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, p. 55). The registration drive led to more residents voting in the November election compared to the low numbers of previous years. Furthermore, the local CSO took on the mission of exposing corruption among local and state officials, who oversaw the placement of domestic workers in agribusiness. One of the community’s major concerns was the lack of agricultural jobs, which local growers controlled. Since the establishment of a guest worker agreement between the United States and Mexico (the Bracero Program), Mexican American farm workers had felt they ­were undercut and put at a disadvantage in terms of hiring. During World War II, agricultural employers, particularly in the Southwest, persuaded American government officials to devise a method by which to obtain temporary, low-­cost workers to plant, sow, and harvest their crops. The result—­the Bracero Program—­recruited hundreds of thousands of Mexican men to work temporarily in the United States u­ nder contract with specific employers. Though the program was intended to last only during war­time, Congress continued reauthorizing it ­until 1964. Employers ­were required to certify that they could not find adequate domestic ­labor in their area before they could request bracero contract workers. Domestic workers soon began complaining, however, that the Bracero Program unfairly undercut wages ­because many employers simply preferred to hire Mexican

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nationals or even undocumented immigrants, instead of paying the higher wages that domestic workers demanded. ­Because the contract workers ­were also temporary and highly mobile, they ­were extremely difficult to ­unionize. The Bracero Program made it more challenging to or­ga­nize farm ­labor, but it also provided a common ­enemy that domestic farm workers could target. Chávez called on the state employment officials to investigate the local Farm Placement Ser­vice Office to confirm that it was violating the program’s stipulations by hiring foreign nationals when ­there w ­ ere plenty of domestic workers available. The local CSO collected more than 100 referral cards and complaints as proof of fraud (Ross, 1989, pp. 76–77, 88–89). They or­ga­nized pickets at the ­labor camps and the fields, calling on the growers to hire local domestic workers. Together, UPWA Local 78 and the local CSO leveled charges of widespread discrimination against domestic workers through a scheme between the Farm Placement Ser­vice Office and local growers’ associations. The investigation of corruption came to an end when the State Director of Employment accused his own department staff of giving agriculture jobs to braceros over local domestic workers. State employment officials intervened, and a number of Farm Placement Ser­vice officials w ­ ere fired or resigned (Ganz, 2009, p. 83). ­Under the leadership of Chávez, the local CSO was in a position to control the hiring of agricultural workers in Ventura County. Chávez was able to build a strong base for the local CSO and UPWA Local 78 in order to continue organ­izing agricultural workers. The Oxnard experience convinced him that the national CSO could build a u­ nion for agricultural workers, but the CSO board refused. By the end of 1959, Chávez moved to Los Angeles to take the position of national director of the CSO (Levy, 1975, p. 143; Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, p. 60). In 1962, Chávez resigned from the CSO to continue his mission of organ­izing farm workers. He moved his ­family to Delano, California, and got to work. On September 30, 1962, more than 300 farm workers attended the founding convention of the Farm Workers Association (FWA) in Fresno, California. The u­ nion ­later changed its name to the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA). The members of the new ­union elected Chávez as president, Manuel Chávez as secretary-­treasurer, and Dolores Huerta, Gilbert Padilla, and Julio Hernandez as vice presidents (Ganz, 2009, p. 88). The NFWA took on the task of building a new farm worker movement; to do so, it developed a five-­year strategy of organ­izing a “self-­sustaining farm worker organ­ization rooted in farm worker families resident in local communities, and strengthening them through the provision of mutual benefits” (Ganz, 2009, p. 89). As a result, by 1964, the NFWA had signed up more than 1,000 farm workers. ­After years of debate between politicians, growers, and ­union organizers over the conditions of the Bracero Program, it fi­nally came to an end on December 31, 1964. Thus, a major obstacle to the ­unionization of farm ­labor had been eliminated.

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The following summer, AWOC led a walkout of farm workers in Coachella, California, for better wages. ­After 10 days, the grape growers agreed to increase wages, but no u­ nion contract was signed. At the end of the season, farm workers migrated to the vineyards of the Central Valley. AWOC’s successful walkout in the Coachella Valley sparked the drive for better wages from the Delano grape growers.

Delano Grape Strike On the morning of September 8, 1965, more than 800 Filipino grape workers ­under the leadership of AWOC went on strike in Delano, California. The strikers demanded a wage increase from 90 cents an hour plus 10 cents per box to $1.40 an hour plus 25 cents per box (Ferriss, Sandoval, and Hembree, 1997, p. 86; Ganz, 2009, p. 123; Bardacke, 2011, p. 151). Consequently, the growers switched to the piece-­rate system, which is based on how many buckets, boxes, or bags a farm worker fills per day, to undermine the wages of farm workers. AWOC sought support from the NFWA, which had been organ­izing in the Central Valley since 1962. On September 16, the NFWA unanimously voted to join the strike. The strike linked the NFWA with Filipino ­labor leaders Larry Itliong, Philip Vera Cruz, and Peter Velasco, who had been organ­izing workers through AWOC. ­Those organizers had developed key relationships within the Filipino community throughout the valley, especially Itliong, who had been participating in the l­abor movement since 1930s (Bruns, 2013, pp. 134–136). By October 1965, the local authorities and growers ­were responding to the strike with vio­lence, intimidation, and l­ egal injunctions. The u­ nion responded to the growers by utilizing their farm worker newspaper, El Malcriado, to expose the working conditions of farm workers more broadly. Likewise, u­ nder the direction of Luis Valdez, El Teatro Campesino began to educate farm workers and supporters through po­liti­cal per­for­mances about their cause on the picket line. One of the key goals of the ­union during the strike was to put pressure on the growers to sign a fair ­labor contract. They increased their pressure on the growers by organ­izing first a local, and eventually a nationwide, boycott of California ­table grapes. Their first target was the boycott of Schenley Industries’ products. The ­union recruited volunteers from vari­ous organ­izations to set up boycott centers throughout the country, in cities such as Chicago, Detroit, and New York. ­Later, this effort was expanded into an international boycott of t­able grapes. As awareness of the strike grew, they received a pledge of support and financial commitment from United Automobile Workers (UAW) President Walter Reuther. On the morning of March 17, 1966, 50 farm workers and supporters left Delano to make a 300-­mile march to the state capital ­under the banner of Our Lady of Guadalupe. At ­every stop during the peregrinación (pilgrimage) grew larger. In

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addition, the Plan of Delano, written by Luis Valdez with consultation from Chávez, was read to farm workers and supporters outlining the goals of La Causa. At the same time as the peregrinación was being made, the Senate Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor held hearings in Bakersfield, California, that ­were attended by Senator Robert F. Kennedy, who became a key supporter of the farm worker movement. The marchers arrived at the state capital with 10,000 supporters waiting for them. At the rally, Chávez announced to the crowd that the u­ nion had been able to negotiate the first contract in the United States between growers and farm workers with Schenley Industries. On August 22, 1966, AWOC merged with the NFWA to form the United Farm Workers Organ­izing Committee (UFWOC) ­under the AFL-­CIO and opened its Forty Acres Headquarters in Delano. The UFWOC continued to put pressure on the local growers to end the strike by increasing the boycott campaign, especially against DiGiorgio Fruit Corporation, the largest t­able grape grower in the valley. The u­ nion pushed for elections at DiGiorgio, but the com­pany responded by utilizing the International Brotherhood of Teamsters as a buffer between the farm workers and the ­union. The Teamsters w ­ ere able to offer the growers “sweetheart” contracts that undermined the farm workers’ wages. The growers believed by allying with the Teamsters, they could destroy the UFWOC (Ganz, 2009, pp. 167–200; Bruns, 2013, pp. 131– 133). DiGiorgio held the election, and the Teamsters won the right to represent the farm workers. Workers, however, believed that the election results had been fixed by the growers. A new election was held on August 30, 1967, in which farm workers voted overwhelmingly for the UFWOC. As a result, DiGiorgio fi­nally agreed to a three-­year contract with the u­ nion. As the strike continued into following years, vio­lence grew between farm workers, Teamsters, and local growers. On February 15, 1968, Chávez went on a fast for nonviolence at the Forty Acres headquarters in Delano to reaffirm the grape strike and boycott’s commitment to nonviolence (Griswold del Castillo and Garcia, 1995, pp. 84–88). Throughout the fast, Chávez received support from numerous congressmen, senators, u­ nion leaders, and religious leaders, including Martin Luther King, Jr., and Sen. Robert F. Kennedy. The fast lasted 25 days and ended on March 11, 1968, with a Mass attended by more than 4,000 farm workers. The audience heard a letter written by Chávez, which further expressed his commitment to nonviolence. He stated: “I am convinced that the truest act of courage, the strongest act of manliness is to sacrifice ourselves for ­others in a totally nonviolent strug­gle for justice” (Griswold del Castillo and Garcia, 1995, pp. 87–88). The fast brought national attention to the farm worker movement. By 1970, the UFWOC had negotiated u­ nion contracts with the majority of the ­table grape growers in the Central Valley. The organ­izing experience gained during

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this period provided the ­union with key strategies to utilize in other campaigns. ­These ­labor victories ­were short-­lived and required constant renegotiation as contracts expired, the workforce changed, and growers changed their willingness to cooperate with workers over the years. Nonetheless, the UFW’s success with the strike and consumer boycott of grapes demonstrated that organ­izing farm workers was indeed pos­si­ble.

Organ­izing beyond the Strike The UFW had rejected legislative solutions to farm worker strug­gles in the past, but the ongoing b­ attle with the Teamsters changed their minds. In 1974, Californians elected a key supporter of the UFW, Jerry Brown, as governor of California. The UFW pushed Governor Brown and the California state legislature to address the plight of agricultural workers. Governor Brown advocated for vari­ous ­labor reforms, especially for farm workers. On April 10, 1975, an agricultural l­abor bill was introduced in both chambers of the state legislature. ­After de­cades of strug­gles, the Agricultural L ­ abor Relations Act (ALRA) was signed into law in California on June 4, 1975. The ALRA established collective bargaining for agricultural workers, supplanting the National ­Labor Relations Act of 1935 (NRLA) that had excluded farm workers. Also, the ALRA created a five-­member Agricultural ­Labor Relations Board (ALRB) to oversee and certify elections and investigate unfair practices within the agriculture industry. With the ALRA set to take effect on August 28, 1975, however, the Teamsters replaced the UFW as the major ­union representing farm workers throughout California, as a result of sweetheart contracts between the growers and the Teamsters. The establishment of the ALRB did not improve conditions for farm workers once and for all, however. The ­battle between the growers and the ALRB continued into 1976, as grower-­friendly legislators moved to cut funding for enforcement of the new farm l­abor law. By February 6, 1976, the ALRB’s offices w ­ ere closed, due to the state legislature failing to approve emergency funding of $1.25 million sought by Governor Brown. The UFW mobilized a campaign to gather signatures for a statewide proposition that would restore the ALRB’s funding and prevent continued attacks on the new ­labor law. Proposition 14, as the referendum became known, was added to the November 1976 election ballot, but did not pass. The ALRB funding issues moved back to the California’s legislature, which came to an agreement to fund the farm ­labor relations board in 1977. By March of that year, the UFW fi­nally reached a successful agreement with the Teamsters, which would leave the organ­izing of farm workers to the UFW.

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Conclusion The Delano Grape Strike and the farm worker movement in California played an impor­tant role in the agricultural l­abor movements among Mexican Americans in the United States. The strike and grape boycott brought the plight of the nation’s agricultural workforce into public view more prominently than any other campaign in the past. As the UFW dispersed volunteers to spread the word about the boycott and rally support for the farm workers’ cause, college students in the Midwest, ­house­wives in Mas­sa­chu­setts, and many, many ­others became much more aware of the p­ eople who harvest the fruits and vegetables that they ate e­ very day. In fact, some Americans stopped eating grapes, essentially continuing the boycott, even years ­later, in solidarity with farm workers. The UFW became a very prominent organ­ization of Mexican American po­liti­cal activism and a symbol for many involved in the Chicano movement. Although Chávez, Huerta, and ­others saw themselves as ­labor organizers and did not necessarily consider themselves part of the Chicano movement, the symbol of the UFW (a black ea­gle emblazoned on a red flag) became a lasting ele­ment of the movement’s iconography. In ­later years, the UFW and Chávez came u­ nder criticism for their leadership style and questionable practices. Though many textbooks depict Chávez as a hero, some recent histories have been much more critical of him. Other observers have pointed out the diminished attention that Dolores Huerta has received, though she was central to the UFW’s success as well. Nevertheless, many organizers and activists committed to vari­ous social and po­liti­cal issues can trace their organ­izing to the farm worker movement, including Eliseo Medina, Miguel Contreras, Jessica Govea, Marshall Ganz, and countless o­ thers (Shaw, 2008, pp. 268–294).

Biographies of Notable Figures César Estrada Chávez (1927–1993) César Chávez was born on March 31, 1927, to Librado Chávez and Juana Estrada Chávez in Yuma, Arizona. By 1938, his ­family strug­gled to pay their taxes and ­were evicted from their land. This would lead his ­family to enter the corridors of migration through California. They settled out of the mi­grant stream by laying down roots in San Jose, California, in 1939, though they continued to do farm work. By the 1940s, his ­father had participated in the National Farm L ­ abor Union (NFLU). In 1942, César left the eighth grade to work full-­time in the agriculture fields to help support his f­ amily. In 1946, he enlisted in the Navy, and two years l­ ater he received an honorable discharge. In 1948, Chávez married Helen Fabela and they settled in Delano, California to raise a f­ amily. A few years ­later, they moved to the San Jose barrio of Sal Si

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Puedes (Escape If You Can), where César met F ­ ather Donald McDonnell. In 1952, ­Father McDonnell introduced César to Fred Ross, a well-­known or­ga­nizer in the Mexican and Mexican American community, who played a major role in Chávez’s life thereafter. Chávez was hired as a full-­time or­ga­nizer for the Community Ser­ vice Organ­ization and traveled throughout California in that capacity. In the summer of 1958, Chávez and Ross met with Saul Alinsky of the Industrial Areas Foundation and Ralph Helstein, president of the UPWA. In that meeting, they discussed a proposal for a joint proj­ect with the CSO, which would focus on organ­izing the Mexican and Mexican American community in Oxnard, California. Chávez agreed to lead the proj­ect. He returned to Oxnard, where he was able to build a strong base for the local CSO and UPWA Local 78 in order to continue organ­izing agricultural workers; this experience convinced Chávez that it was pos­si­ble to build a u­ nion for agricultural workers, though the CSO Board refused to take on this task. At the end of 1959, he relocated to Los Angeles to take the position of national director of the CSO. In 1962, Chávez resigned from the CSO to continue his mission of organ­izing farm workers. He and his ­family moved to Delano and started organ­izing the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA) in the Central Valley. On September 30, 1962, the NFWA held its founding convention in Fresno, California. Three years l­ ater, the NFWA joined AWOC in supporting the grape strike in Delano, California. On August 22, 1966, AWOC merged with the NFWA to form the United Farm Workers Organ­izing Committee (UFWOC). Chávez advocated for the dignity and h­ uman rights of all farm workers. He showed his commitment to La Causa with countless hours of organ­izing. Chávez’s nonviolence tactics, influenced by the writings of Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., led him to observe a 28-­day fast in 1968, a 24-­day fast in 1972, and a 36-­day fast in 1988. On April 23, 1993, he passed away in his sleep in San Luis, Arizona. More than 50,000 mourners attended his funeral at the historic Forty Acres Headquarters in Delano, California. Chávez is perhaps the most recognizable leader in the Mexican American community and is held up by many as one of the most impor­tant figures in Mexican American history in the 20th ­century. Though his legacy has not been without controversy, his dedication to the ­human rights of farm workers has earned him a prominent place in United States history.

Dolores Clara Fernández Huerta (1930–) Dolores Clara Fernández Huerta was born on April 10, 1930, to Juan Fernández and Alicia Chávez in Dawson, New Mexico. She was raised in Stockton, California. ­After graduating from high school, she attended the University of Pacific’s

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Delta College, earning a teaching credential. In 1950, she married Ralph Head and had two c­ hildren; l­ater they divorced. Huerta was committed to empowering her community through activism. She came into contact with Fred Ross, who identified her as a key or­ga­nizer to join the Community Ser­vice Organ­ization. She took on a leadership role in the Stockton chapter of the CSO. In addition, she co-­founded the Agricultural Worker Association (AWA) with ­Father Thomas McCullough, which focused on voter registration and barrio improvement. In 1955, Fred Ross introduced Huerta to César Chávez. Huerta was involved in the early stages of the creation of the Agricultural Workers Organ­izing Committee. In 1962, she and Gilbert Padilla resigned from the CSO and joined Chávez to form the National Farm Workers Association. During that time, she married Ventura Huerta and had five more ­children; however, commitment to her work ultimately led to a separation and eventual divorce. Although Chávez has received much more attention and credit for his role in the United Farm Workers, Huerta played an impor­tant role as a key negotiator for the Delano Grape Strike. In addition, Huerta was a key advocate for the Agricultural ­Labor Relations Act of 1975. She had four more c­ hildren with Richard Chávez. In 1988, she suffered life-­threatening injuries from an assault by the San Francisco Police Department while protesting the polices of presidential candidate George H.W. Bush outside the Sir Francis Drake H ­ otel in San Francisco, California. Both parties reached a financial settlement over the assault in 1991. By the late 1990s, Huerta had left the UFW; she formed the Dolores Huerta Foundation (DHF) in 2002. Through the foundation, she sought to develop networks of healthy and or­ga­nized communities to pursue social justice. Huerta has received numerous awards and honors, including the Ellis Island Medal of Freedom Award (1993) and the Eleanor Roo­se­velt Award for H ­ uman Rights (1998). In 2012, President Obama awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Huerta continues to advocate for farm workers and immigrants’ rights and is invited to speak around the country.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Farm Workers Statement from Dolores Huerta Between July 30 and August 7, 1970, the Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor held hearings in Washington, D.C., during the 91st Congressional sessions regarding “Mi­grant and Seasonal Farmworker Powerlessness.” During ­these hearings, activist and farm worker advocate Dolores Huerta gave a prepared statement to explain and defend the grape boycott and the plight of the farm workers and their families.

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Prepared Statement of Mrs. Dolores Huerta, Vice-­President, United Farm Workers Organ­izing Committee, AFL-­CIO My name is Dolores Huerta. I am the Vice-­President of the United Farm Workers Organ­izing Committee (UFWOC), AFL-­CIO. It is a plea­sure to come before your committee to discuss a very serious m ­ atter for our u­ nion and for all farm workers—­obstacles to farm worker organ­izing. As you know, UFWOC has undertaken an international boycott of all California-­ Arizona ­table grapes in order to gain ­union recognition for striking farm workers. We did not take up the burden of the boycott willingly. It is expensive. It is a hardship on the farm worker families who have left the small valley towns to travel across the country to boycott grapes. But, ­because of the ­table grape growers’ refusal to bargain with their workers, the boycott is our major weapon and our last line of defense against the growers who use foreign ­labor to break our strikes. It is only through the pressure of the boycott that UFWOC has won contracts with major California wine grape growers. At this point, the major obstacles to our efforts to or­ga­ nize farm workers are obstacles to our boycott. Our boycott has been met with well-­organized and well-­financed opposition by the growers and their sympathizers. Most recently, several major California grape growers joined with other agribusiness interests and members of the John Birch Society to form an employer-­dominated “­union,” the Agricultural Workers Freedom to Work Association (AWFWA), for the sole purpose of destroying UFWOC. AWFWA’s activities have been described in a sworn statement to the U.S. Government, which Senator Mondale has placed in the Congressional Rec­ord. In spite of this type of anti-­union activity, our boycott of California-­Arizona ­table grapes is successful. It is being successful for the s­ imple reason that millions of Americans are supporting the grape workers strike by not buying ­table grapes. ­After six weeks of the 1969–1970 t­able grape harvest, California t­able grape shipments to 36 major United States cities are down 20 ­percent from last year, according to United States Department of Agriculture reports. The price per lug for Thompson Seedless grapes is at least $1.00 less than it was at this time of last year’s harvest. It is ­because of the successful boycott that, on Friday, June 13, 1969, ten major California growers offered to meet with UFWOC ­under the auspices of the Federal Mediation Ser­vice. UFWOC representatives and ranch committee members met with the growers for two weeks. Pro­gress is being made in t­ hese negotiations, which are presently recessed over the issue of pesticides. Now that the boycott has brought us so close to a negotiated settlement of this three-­year old dispute, we learn that the United States Department of Defense (DOD) has doubled its purchases of ­table grapes. We appear to be witnessing an all-­out

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effort by the military to bail out the growers and break our boycott. Let me review the facts ­behind this imposing federal obstacle to farm worker organ­izing. • The DOD is doubling its purchases of t­able grapes this year.—­DOD bought 6.9 million pounds of ­table grapes in FY 1968, and 8 million pounds in the first half of FY 1969, with an estimated “climb to over 16 million this year” (according to an article in THE FRESNO BEE, 4/25/69 by Frank Mankiewicz and Tom Braden). • DOD t­able grape shipments to South Vietnam this year have increased this year by 400 ­percent.—­In FY 1968, 550,000 pounds w ­ ere shipped to S. Vietnam. In the first half of FY 1969 alone, t­hese shipments totaled 2,047,695 pounds. This data on completed FY year purchases of t­able grapes come[s] directly from a DOD Fact Sheet entitled “Use of ­Table Grapes”, dated March 28, 1969. • Commercial shipments of fresh ­table grapes to South Vietnam in 1968 have risen nine times since 1966, according to U.S. Department of Commerce statistics—­In 1966, S. Vietnam imported 331,662 pounds of U.S. grapes and was the world’s 23rd largest importer of U.S. fresh t­able grapes. In 1967, when the UFAVOC boycott of Giumarra t­able grapes began, S. Vietnam’s imports of U.S. ­table grapes jumped to 1,194,988 pounds, making it the world’s 9th largest importer. Last year, 1968, S. Vietnam became the world’s 5th largest importer of this luxury commodity, by buying 2,855,016 pounds of U.S. ­table grapes. “This could not have occurred,” states the AFL-­CIO News of June 14, 1969, “without both DOD and Agriculture Dept. encouragement.” ­ hese are the facts as to how the Grapes of Wrath are being converted into the T Grapes of War by the world’s richest government in order to stop farm workers from waging a successful boycott and organ­izing campaign against grape growers. The DOD argues in its Fact Sheet that “The total Defense Supply Agency purchases of t­able grapes represent less than one p­ ercent of U.S. t­able grape production.” Data from the California Crop and Livestock Reporting Ser­vice indicate, however, that t­able grapes may be utilized in three dif­fer­ent ways: fresh for t­able use; crushed for wine; or dried as raisins [ . . . ​] it is clear that DOD purchases of ­table grapes for fresh use represents nearly 2.5% of all U.S. fresh t­able grape production! ­Table grape prices, like t­ hose of other fruits and vegetables, are extremely susceptible to minor fluctuations in supply. DOD purchases of t­able grapes are prob­ ably shoring up the price of all grapes and, at a critical point in the UFWOC boycott,

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are permitting many growers to stand firm in their refusal to negotiate with their workers. It is obvious that the DOD is taking sides with the growers in this dispute. The DOD Fact Sheet states that “The basic policy of the DOD with regard to awarding defense contract to contractors involved in ­labor disputes is to refrain from taking a position on the merits of any ­labor dispute. This policy is based on the premise that it is essential to DoD procurement needs to maintain a sound working relationship with both l­ abor and management.” Nevertheless, many ­unions in the United States are decrying this fantastic increase in DOD ­table grape purchases. AFL-­CIO News of June 14, 1969, notes that “­union observers point out, however, that DoD does become involved in a ­labor dispute when it so greatly increases its purchase of boycotted grapes.” It seems that the DOD is violating its own policy and endangering its working relationship with ­labor, and we hope that the committee ­will explore this fully. The history of our strug­gle against agribusiness is punctuated by the continued violations of health and safety codes by growers, including many t­ able grape growers. Much of this documentation has already been submitted to the Senate Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor. Such violations are so well documented that Superior Judge Irving Perluss recently ruled that a jobless worker was within his rights when he refused to accept farm ­labor work offered him through the California Department of Employment on grounds that most of such jobs are in violation of state health and sanitation codes. If the federal government and the DOD is [sic] not concerned about the welfare of farm workers, they must be concerned with protecting our ser­vicemen from contamination and disease carried by grapes picked in fields without toilets or washstands. Recent laboratory tests have found DDT residues on California grapes. Economic poisons have killed and injured farm workers. ­Will they also prove dangerous to U.S. military personnel? Focusing on other forms of crime in the fields, we would fi­nally ask if the DOD buys ­table grapes from the numerous growers who daily violate state and federal minimum wage and child l­ abor laws, who employ illegal foreign l­ abor, and who do not deduct social security payments from farm worker wages? The DOD increasing purchase of ­table grapes is nothing short of a national outrage. It is an outrage to the millions of American taxpayers who are supporting the farm workers strug­gle for justice by boycotting t­able grapes. How can any American believe that the U.S. Government is sincere in its efforts to eradicate poverty when the military uses its im­mense purchasing power to subvert the farm workers’ non-­ violent strug­gle for a decent, living wage and a better ­future? Many farm workers are members of minority groups. They are Filipino-­and Mexican-­American, and black Americans. ­These same farm workers are on the front

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lines of ­battle in Vietnam. It is a cruel and ironic slap in the face to ­these men who have left the fields to fulfill their military obligation to find increasing amounts of non-­union grapes in their mess kits. In conclusion let me say that our only weapon is the boycott. Just when our boycott is successful the U.S. military doubles its purchases of ­table grapes, creating a major obstacle to farm worker organ­ization and ­union recognition. The DOD is obviously acting as a buyer of last resort for scab grapes and is, in effect, providing another form of federal subsidy for anti-­union growers who would destroy the efforts of the poor to build a u­ nion. UFWOC calls on all concerned Americans and on the members of the Senate Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor to protest this anti-­union policy of the military and the Nixon administration. Source: U.S. Senate, 91st Congress, 1st Session, Hearings Before the Subcommittee on Migratory ­Labor of the Committee on ­Labor and Public Welfare, Part 3-­A, Mi­grant and Seasonal Farmworker Powerlessness, July 15, 1969, 551–562. Retrieved fromhttp://­www​ .­archive​.­org​/­details​/­migrantseasonalf03unit

Further Reading Araiza, Lauren. 2014. To March for O ­ thers: The Black Freedom Strug­gle and the United Farm Workers. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bardacke, Frank. 2011. Trampling Out the Vintage: César Chávez and the Two Souls of the United Farm Workers. London: Verso. Bruns, Roger A. 2013. Encyclopedia of Cesar Chavez: The Farm Workers’ Fight for Rights and Justice. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Chatfield, LeRoy. n.d. Farmworker Movement Documentation Proj­ect Collection. MSS 763. Special Collections & Archives, University of California, San Diego. Retrieved from https://­libraries​.­ucsd​.­edu​/­farmworkersmovement/ Chávez, César. 2008. An Or­ga­niz­er’s Tale: Speeches. New York: Penguin Group. Ferriss, Susan, Ricardo Sandoval, and Diana Hembree. 1997. The Fight in the Fields: César Chávez and the Farmworkers Movement. New York: Harcourt Brace. Ganz, Marshall. 2009. Why David Sometimes Wins: Leadership, Organ­ization, and Strategy in the California Farm Worker Movement. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. García, Mario T. 2007. The Gospel of César Chávez: My Faith in Action. Lanham, MD: Sheed & Ward. García, Mario T. 2008. A Dolores Huerta Reader. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. García, Matt. 2012. From the Jaws of Victory: The Triumph and Tragedy of César Chávez and the Farm Worker Movement. Berkeley: University of California Press. Griswold del Castillo, Richard, and Richard A. Garcia. 1995. César Chávez: A Triumph of Spirit. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. León, Luis D. 2015. The Po­liti­cal Spirituality of César Chávez: Crossing Religious Borders. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Founding of the Young Lords, 1968–1972 | 625 Levy, Jacques E. 1975. César Chávez: Autobiography of La Causa. New York: Norton. Pawel, Miriam. 2009. The Union of Their Dreams: Power, Hope, and Strug­gle in César Chávez’s Farm Worker Movement. New York: Bloomsbury Press. Pawel, Miriam. 2014. The Crusades of César Chávez: A Biography. New York: Bloomsbury Press. Ross, Fred. 1989. Conquering Goliath: César Chávez at the Beginning. Keene, CA: United Farm Workers. Shaw, Randy. 2008. Beyond the Fields: César Chávez, the UFW, and the Strug­gle for Justice in the 21st ­Century. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Founding of the Young Lords, 1968–1972 Lilia Fernández

Chronology 1940s–1960s P ­ eople from Puerto Rico and Mexico begin migrating in large numbers to the mainland United States, trying to escape the ongoing hardships left by the ­Great Depression and attracted by growing employment opportunities during World War II. Many come through state-­sponsored ­labor migration programs, such as the Bracero Program and Operation Bootstrap, but some simply migrate on their own. Mexicans and Puerto Ricans begin arriving in Chicago a­ fter being placed in the area by employment centers, learning about job opportunities through word of mouth, or ­going to join ­family members. 1942

Francis Cabrini Homes, a series of low-­rise public housing proj­ ects, opens on Chicago’s Near North Side.

1946–1947

The first Puerto Rican mi­grants arrive in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago, initiating a l­abor migration program sponsored by the U.S. and Puerto Rican governments aimed at moving unemployed ­people off the island.

1947

Chicago real estate developer Arthur Rubloff announces his interest in making North Michigan Ave­nue, a main boulevard on the city’s Near North Side, a “Magnificent Mile” featuring upscale retail shopping and luxury apartments.

1948

Luís Muñoz Marín becomes the first popularly elected Puerto Rican governor.

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1950s

A Puerto Rican community begins to emerge in Chicago on the Near West Side, around Madison Street, and on the Near North Side, around Clark Street. ­Those on Madison s­ ettle near an existing but expanding Mexican American community that is also home to Greeks, Italians, African Americans, and o­ thers. ­Those on Clark Street live among Italians, white Appalachian mi­grants, African Americans, some Native Americans, and some Japa­nese and Japa­ nese American internment resettlers.

1952

Puerto Rico becomes a “­Free Associated State” or Commonwealth, retaining its colonial economic and po­liti­cal relationship to the United States.

1957

The Federal Housing Act authorizes the use of funds for urban renewal.

1958

The Cabrini Extension in Chicago opens with 15 high-­ rise ­buildings. By 1960, 1,000 Puerto Rican families live in the development.

1959

Orlando Davila, Jose “Cha Cha” Jimenez, and other youth in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood form a street gang to defend themselves from nearby white gangs that regularly harass them.

1960

A report by the Chicago Commission on H ­ uman Relations notes that Puerto Ricans feel that Chicago police target them unfairly, subjecting them to harassment, abuse, and mistreatment.

1960, January–­ February

The Chicago Tribune publishes a number of stories exposing widespread corruption and misconduct in the Chicago Police Department

1960, November

The magazine Saturday Eve­ning Post publishes a sensational story about two Puerto Rican men in Chicago’s West Town neighborhood who killed two Italian Americans.

1961

The William Green Homes in Chicago add another eight high-­ rise apartment buildings, completing the Cabrini-­Green Housing Proj­ects.

1964–1968

Jose “Cha Cha” Jimenez spends four years in prison, where he begins to learn about po­liti­cal leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., Pedro Albizu Campos, Malcolm X, and ­others.

1966

The Black Panther party is established in Oakland, California, by Huey Newton and Bobby Seale. The party identifies itself as an activist organ­ization for African Americans, particularly t­hose

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in  the working class struggling with poverty, segregation, and unemployment. 1966, June

On the final day of the city’s first ever Puerto Rican parade, June 12, a riot erupts a­ fter a police officer, Thomas Munyon, shoots a Puerto Rican youth, Arcelis Cruz. ­People protest and riot in the streets for three nights. In the months before and a­ fter the parade, police continue to beat, shoot, and brutalize Puerto Rican men.

1967

In a survey conducted by a University of Chicago researcher, Puerto Rican respondents report police abuse as the number one prob­ lem in their community.

1968, September

The leader of the Young Lords gang, Cha Cha Jimenez, announces that his group has become a po­liti­cal organ­ization, the Young Lords Organ­ization (YLO), that ­will be devoted to fighting against police brutality, urban renewal, and the oppression of the poor.

1969, May

On May 4, Young Lords member Manuel Ramos is shot by an off-­ duty policeman, James Lamb, at a party at the home of Orlando Davila. Ramos’s death spurs many community members to action and they begin supporting the YLO in greater numbers. Through mid-­May, the YLO occupies McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood, making a list of demands related to urban renewal, community day care, and affordable housing.

1969, July

­ fter learning about the Young Lords Organ­ization in Chicago, A New York City activists travel t­ here to speak with Cha Cha Jimenez and obtain permission to establish a chapter in New York City. ­ ater that month, the new YLO members announce the formation L of their group during a rally at Tompkins Square Park in New York City commemorating the Cuban Revolution.

1969, August

In a protest against the New York City sanitation department’s inadequate trash collection in Latino and black neighborhoods, YLO members block several streets in East Harlem with piles of garbage and set them on fire. The event, which attracts major press attention, becomes known as the “Garbage Offensive.”

1969, December

The New York YLO occupies the First Spanish Methodist Church in East Harlem, declaring it “the p­ eople’s church” and refusing to leave for 11 days. Thousands are eventually drawn to the protest, and vigils are held in an effort to deter the police from making arrests.

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During the protest, participants offer education on Puerto Rican culture and Marxist ideology, give poetry readings, and hold po­liti­cal discussions. 1970, May–­June

The New York Young Lords Organ­ization breaks away from the Chicago headquarters, renaming itself the Young Lords Party (YLP).

1970, July

On July 14, Young Lords Party members occupy part of Lincoln Hospital in the South Bronx, citing dangerous conditions and neglectful health care practices and demanding a new hospital. During the takeover, the group conducts lead poisoning and tuberculosis tests and sets up health programs and a daycare fa­cil­i­ty. ­After the building is surrounded by police, the Young Lords vacate the building peacefully within less than 24 hours. In mid-­July, Cha Cha Jimenez resigns as chair of the Chicago YLO. He is scheduled to begin serving a one-­year sentence on August 11 for the theft of $23 worth of lumber used to modify the daycare center.

1970, September

Felipe Luciano is demoted as chair of the YLP.

1970, October

On October 13, Julio Roldán, a member of the YLP, is arrested for allegedly burning garbage in an apartment building. He is taken to The Tombs (the Manhattan Men’s Prison), where two days ­later he is found hanged. The prison claims that his death was a suicide, but the community believes he was killed by police. During Roldán’s funeral pro­cession, on October 18, the YLP stages a protest against Roldán’s death and occupies the First Spanish Methodist Church for a second time. On October  30, the YLP stages a march to the United Nations headquarters.

1970, December

The YLP fi­nally vacates First Spanish Methodist Church.

1971, March The YLP expands to Puerto Rico and establishes branches in Aguadilla and Santurce. 1972, June

A split erupts in the YLP, with several leaders and members in Puerto Rico leaving to join the Puerto Rican Socialist Party.

1972, July

Remaining YLP members dissolve the YLP and rename themselves the Puerto Rican Revolutionary Workers’ Organ­ization.

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1972, December

The Young Lords Organ­ization’s Chicago leadership resurfaces ­after having gone underground. Cha Cha Jimenez turns himself in to police to begin his jail sentence.

1983

The Young Lords or­ga­nize a festival in New York’s Humboldt Park along with the Puerto Rican Parade Committee. An estimated 100,000 p­ eople attend, with tens of thousands acknowledging the Young Lords Party by wearing the organ­ization’s buttons.

2007, April

DePaul University premieres Professor Jacqui Lazu’s play “The Block-­El Bloque, A Young Lords Story.”

2015, June

The Museo del Barrio in East Harlem hosts an exhibit called “¡Presente! The Young Lords in New York,” illustrating key moments and ideologies from the group’s activism efforts.

Narrative The period of the 1960s and 1970s was a time of enormous po­liti­cal unrest and massive social movements. Young p­ eople protested what they perceived as unjust economic conditions, racial in­equality, and an indefensible war in Vietnam. ­These po­liti­cal expressions took a variety of forms, ranging from marches for federal legislation and social reforms to militant protests that called for revolution and a radically new society. Although African American strug­gles for civil rights have gained the greatest attention in historical accounts of this period, Latinos also participated in po­liti­cal protest in a variety of ways, including through groups such as the Young Lords. Founded in Chicago and then expanded to New York and other East Coast cities, California, and Puerto Rico, the Young Lords Organ­ization represents what may be called a radical Puerto Rican leftist group. They focused on a variety of issues, generally ­those that ­were most pressing in their local communities: police brutality, urban renewal, sanitation ser­vices, health care, and lead poisoning, to name a few. Regardless of local chapters’ priorities, they also concentrated their efforts in working-­class communities. Although they are often described as a Puerto Rican organ­ization, the Young Lords in fact ­were multiethnic and multiracial in their membership. The communities where they or­ga­nized also supported them to varying degrees. For some, the Young Lords represented a very dangerous organ­ization with radical ideas. Although their existence was short-­lived, they attracted intense attention from local and federal law enforcement agencies. In Chicago and New York, for example, local police closely monitored the group’s activities, and used in­for­mants to gather information and infiltrators to disrupt the organ­ization’s

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Members of the Puerto Rican activist group the Young Lords gather near the mobile chest X-­ray unit they seized in East Harlem, New York City, 1970. (Meyer Liebowitz/New York Times Co./Getty Images)

operations. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) similarly kept the group ­under surveillance as part of its C ­ ounter Intelligence Program (COINTELPRO) that targeted most civil rights activists, militant leaders, and protest groups that it deemed subversive and po­liti­cally threatening in ­those years. Although the Young Lords did not achieve most of their po­liti­cal goals of reforming the nation’s institutions, liberating Puerto Rico from U.S. colonial rule, or radically changing society, they left a legacy of activism for younger generations and inspired many Latinos in ­later de­cades.

Origins The Young Lords initially began as a street gang in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood in 1959. As Puerto Ricans ­were newcomers to the city in the 1950s and 1960s, they faced hostility in the new neighborhoods where they settled, especially among youth. Puerto Rican ­children and young adults ­were a minority, outnumbered by much larger numbers of white ethnic residents. As had been common in urban areas for generations, neighborhood youth, particularly young men, formed gangs

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along ethnic or geographic lines to defend themselves from one another, engage in petty and more serious crimes, and generally give themselves a sense of belonging and something to do. The Young Lords followed this pattern. In 1959, Orlando Davila, Jose “Cha Cha” Jimenez, and other Puerto Rican and white youth joined together to defend themselves against neighborhood gangs. They chose the name “Young Lords” to give themselves status and prestige and presumably to make their enemies fear them (Fernández, 2012). The boys in the original gang grew up in the Lincoln Park and surrounding neighborhoods at a time of enormous upheaval and displacement. Lincoln Park and the neighborhoods just to its south had become the targets of urban renewal programs meant to attract middle-­and upper-­class white residents back to the city at a time when many had fled to the suburbs. City planners aimed to demolish older, deteriorating structures and replace them with new upscale housing. Urban renewal proj­ects had been displacing working-­class populations for several years and many Puerto Rican and poor white families in the community had relocated—in some cases multiple times—­just ahead of the bulldozers that w ­ ere tearing down dilapidated tenements and slums. Young ­people in the community became acutely aware of ­these dynamics and the impact they had on their families. As one young gang member explained to a researcher in 1971, “We w ­ ere pushed out of Old Town. By the city. By the real estate developers. And we ­didn’t know what was happening to us. . . . ​It happened once, it happened twice, it happened three times. Each time the ­family had to move. . . . ​And this is why the kids have become more po­liti­cal. The kids now realize what has happened to us, to our families” (Fernández, 2012, p. 173). Increasingly, young ­people wondered what they could do to stop the displacement. By 1964, Jose “Cha Cha” Jimenez and some of the original members of his gang ­were in jail. O ­ thers had grown up and drifted away from the group. Jimenez began to read po­liti­cal lit­er­a­ture while in prison and started to become educated on issues such as social in­equality, colonialism, and racism. When he was released from prison in 1968, he deci­ded to make the Young Lords a more socially conscious group. He and fellow gang members began d­ oing community ser­vice activities, but they soon realized that they ­were not addressing the root ­causes of residents’ prob­ lems. They deci­ded to become more explic­itly po­liti­cal. Jimenez and other Lords ­were influenced by white leftist activists in their neighborhood as well. In the late 1960s, Chicago, like other major cities, had a large enclave of white liberals who supported civil rights and white radicals who ­were sympathetic to the more militant black power movement, as well as students and o­ thers who considered themselves part of the “New Left.” A large segment of Americans also protested the war in Vietnam. Chicago had seen the clash of protestors and police in the summer of 1968 at the Demo­cratic National Convention. Thus, the local po­liti­cal climate was saturated with militant ideas and radicalism.

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Jimenez became exposed to t­ hese influences and soon enlisted his friends, such as Ralph Rivera, Sal de Rivero, Omar Lopez, and ­others, to join other activists and resist what they saw as unfair treatment and unjust conditions around them (Fernández, 2012). Perhaps the most inspiring figure on the Chicago po­liti­cal scene was a young, charismatic, African American leader of the newly formed Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party (BPP), Fred Hampton. Jimenez had learned of Hampton and the BPP and began to make a connection with him and his activist efforts in the predominantly black neighborhood on the city’s West Side. The Black Panthers had been established in Oakland, California, in 1966 as a defensive body against police brutality and to promote African American self-­determination. Jimenez embraced the BPP’s philosophy and approach and soon developed an impor­tant alliance with Fred Hampton. The Young Lords began to protest urban renewal policies by disrupting community board meetings and using sometimes violent tactics to express their discontent with the displacement of their families. They also became especially vocal against police brutality. The Chicago Police Department had become notorious for its abuse and mistreatment of African Americans and Puerto Ricans in the 1950s and 1960s. Although the Young Lords w ­ ere indeed originally a gang, and participated in criminal activities and drug use, local police regularly harassed them, and arrested them for minor reasons. At one point, for example, Cha Cha Jimenez had 18 indictments brought against him within a span of 6 weeks. Nonetheless, the Lords ­were convinced that they had a po­liti­cal purpose and began protesting conditions in their community (Fernández, 2012). The event that perhaps fully politicized the Young Lords and earned them the support of their community was the police killing of YLO member Manuel Ramos. On Saturday, May 4, 1969, several Lords ­were attending a party at the home of former gang leader Orlando Davila. An off-­duty officer across the street came to the home to confront the partygoers, where he engaged in an altercation with several guests and shot two of them, Manuel Ramos and Ralph Rivera. Although Rivera survived his wounds, Ramos died shortly ­after reaching the hospital. The Young Lords called for the arrest and conviction of the off-­duty officer, James Lamb, but instead saw four of their own group arrested for assaulting an officer. A coroner’s jury concluded that Lamb had acted in self-­defense and had been justified in killing Ramos. The event incited the community to take a stand against yet another example of Chicago police abuse and brutality that went unpunished. At Ramos’s funeral pro­cession, hundreds marched with the Young Lords, visibly moved by this latest development. They also staged a second march to the police station near where Ramos had been shot to demand James Lamb’s arrest. Ramos’s murder inspired many Lords who had not yet embraced the po­liti­cal agenda that

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Jimenez and Rivera ­were promoting and galvanized community support for their cause. As the YLO members became more committed po­liti­cal actors, they solidified their interracial alliance with the BPP and white radical groups, which Fred Hampton called “The Rainbow Co­ali­tion.” The Co­ali­tion was an alliance between the Black Panthers, the predominantly Puerto Rican Young Lords, and a poor Appalachian white group called the Young Patriots. The YLO began to make more serious demands of local institutions and stage militant actions. ­After the death of Manuel Ramos, for example, they took over and occupied McCormick Theological Seminary, a well-­resourced religious institution in the neighborhood that they believed was collaborating with urban renewal plans. They demanded that the seminary fulfill its Christian duty and serve the poor community that surrounded it by supporting a daycare center for working parents, advocating for affordable housing, and acting on vari­ous other issues. Following the example of the Black Panthers, the YLO also began to create “survival programs”: a ­free breakfast program for neighborhood ­children, a daycare center, and a health clinic. They operated t­hese a­ fter taking over and occupying the Armitage Ave­nue Methodist Church nearby. The militant action of taking over the church was controversial and received scathing criticism from some parishioners and other observers. The mysterious murder of the church’s pastor and his wife, who supported the Young Lords’ activities, also stirred up a ­great deal of suspicion and fear about the YLO and what they represented.

Expansion to New York By the spring of 1969, accounts in New Left newspapers of the YLO’s activities had inspired youth from New York’s Puerto Rican community to emulate the Chicago organ­ization. In both the Lower East Side of Manhattan and East Harlem, separate groups formed that sought to be recognized as New York branches of the Young Lords. The Lower East Side group was mainly composed of high school students, whereas the East Harlem activists ­were largely college students who initially called themselves the Society of Albizu Campos. In July, the two groups merged and won approval from Cha Cha Jimenez to form the official New York City chapter of the YLO. The chapter’s public unveiling occurred on July 26, 1969, during a commemorative rally for the Cuban Revolution in Tompkins Square Park on the Lower East Side. ­There, Felipe Luciano, the chairman of the New York chapter, gave a fiery speech surrounded by Young Lords in purple berets. Within weeks, the New York YLO began to draw media attention through a string of dramatic confrontations with city officials. In August, the group highlighted inadequate trash collection by the city’s sanitation department in East Harlem. Garbage often piled up outside overcrowded tenement buildings for days without

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LGBT Rights in the Young Lords Party Many nationalist organ­izations in communities of color and on the po­liti­cal left in the United States during the 1960s and 1970s kept a distance from LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) activists and issues. Some vociferously objected to their involvement in the YLO group’s ­causes. They believed that being “gay” was a mainstream, white t­ hing or an indulgence of the bourgeoisie. ­Others thought that acknowledging or addressing LGBT issues would distract from the main cause of po­liti­cal liberation for oppressed racial minorities, or that it would interfere with the socialist revolution. The Young Lords chapter in New York (the Young Lords Party or YLP) was one of the few groups at this time that took a relatively progressive stance on LGBT rights and even welcomed the formation of an LGBT caucus. One month before the announcement of the YLP in New York City, a Puerto Rican-­ Venezuelan transgender ­woman, Sylvia Rivera, had participated in the famous Stonewall Riots. Her po­liti­cal views aligned with t­ hose of the Young Lords and she soon joined the organ­ization. She helped to found an LGBT caucus in the party. Perhaps ­because they began their po­liti­cal work in the 1970s, ­after many other leftist and nationalist groups had had extensive experience with divisiveness, infighting, and debates over who was to be included in “the cause,” members of the YLP did not object to the participation of gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender activists. This inclusivity reflected the many intersectional experiences that working-­class ­people of color had in New York City and elsewhere. Urban black and Latino communities ­were regularly the site of gay nightlife. Even if residents did not embrace “homosexuals” or their social life, they seemed to tolerate it much more than middle-­or working-­ class white communities, where any association with sexual deviance tarnished one’s respectability. To be sure, some ­people of color expressed virulent homophobia, but in marginalized, impoverished neighborhoods, being “gay” did not damage a neighborhood’s reputation the way it did in more affluent communities.

being removed, and a long-­standing complaint of local residents was that more affluent and less crowded neighborhoods received more frequent trash pickup. YLO members swept the streets for several Sundays, filled scores of plastic bags with trash, and then began blocking the neighborhood’s main ave­nues as a tactic to force city trash trucks to remove them. By the second Sunday, the protests escalated when

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YLO members began setting fire to the trash bags, which led to confrontations with police and firefighters, and to the arrest of several of the group’s members. The “Garbage Offensive,” as it was dubbed, signaled to city officials that the YLO would pursue a far more militant approach to achieving equality in city ser­vices than had previous community organ­izations. When the city responded by quickly improving trash pickup in the area, the YLO’s victory brought a flood of young p­ eople ­eager to join the group. The new recruits included not only idealistic high school and college students, but also older and more hardened Puerto Ricans (among them former drug addicts, ex-­gang members, and ex-­prisoners), all attracted to the group’s confrontational style (Melendez, 2003). By the fall of 1969, the YLO was operating several ­free breakfast and ­free clothing programs, all patterned on ­those of the Black Panther Party. It had opened its first storefront office on 111th Street in East Harlem, and it began conducting Puerto Rican history and culture classes for its own members and other East Harlem residents. That December, the group launched an even more daring confrontation, one that would turn the Young Lords into a ­house­hold name in New York City. It began when YLO members appealed to the First Spanish Methodist Church in East Harlem for space for a c­ hildren’s breakfast program. The church’s pastor, a refugee from the Cuban Revolution, rebuffed them and called in police to arrest YLO members who had disrupted a Sunday ser­vice. ­Those arrests, which w ­ ere marked by the beating of Young Lord chairman Felipe Luciano, led to weeks of protests against the church and culminated with the Young Lords eventually occupying and barricading themselves in the building for 11 days, ­until police moved in and arrested more than 100 p­ eople. The ­People’s Church occupation, as it came to be known, galvanized support from Puerto Rican leaders throughout New York and from other Latino communities in nearby states, as well as from black and white civil rights activists and even Hollywood celebrities. Hundreds of ­people gathered for cultural and po­liti­ cal events at the church each night, while YLO members operated breakfast and ­free clothing programs during the days. Of the vari­ous activities embarked upon by the New York Young Lords, none had more lasting impact than their efforts to expose the lack of adequate health care for the city’s poor. In late 1969, YLO members documented an epidemic of lead poisoning in East Harlem and the South Bronx ­after they went door-­to-­door in t­ hose neighborhoods with teams of medical school student volunteers, collected urine samples from young c­ hildren, and detected a high percentage of dangerous lead levels in many c­ hildren. Their efforts, which ­were publicized in a series of articles in the Village Voice, prompted the New York City Council to mandate the removal of lead-­based paint from city tenements. Several months ­later, a second door-­to-­ door testing campaign revealed an unusually high level of positive test results in ­those same neighborhoods for tuberculosis. YLO members then seized a city

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Life ­after the Lords For many members of the Chicago, New York, and other chapters of the Young Lords, their involvement in the group was but one chapter in a lifetime of activism or public ser­vice. For some, the Lords ­were a continuation of previous student activism, as in the case of Juan Gonzalez, who had been a member of Students for a Demo­cratic Society at Columbia University. ­After the Lords ceased to exist, however, many members continued their po­liti­cal work or commitment to social justice in other ways. For example, in New York, member Myrna Martinez became a ­family court judge; Felipe Luciano became an award-­winning tele­vi­sion reporter with NBC and Fox stations in New York; and Pablo Guzman spent more than 30 years as a tele­vi­sion reporter as well. Luis Garden Acosta headed a youth education empowerment group called El Puente. Denise Oliver became a university professor at SUNY New Paltz, and Minerva Solla became vice president of the health care u­ nion 1199SEIU. Among Chicago activists, Omar Lopez continued his social activism, eventually working on community health issues. Cha Cha Jimenez became a drug rehabilitation counselor in G ­ rand Rapids, Michigan. Juan Ramos, head of the Philadelphia Young Lords, became a Philadelphia city council member. ­Others similarly distinguished themselves through ongoing community ser­vice. The ­careers ­these activists pursued ­later in life reveal the lasting impact that their youthful activism inspired and their commitment to social justice.

tuberculosis x-­ray truck that was only operating on a part-­time basis, moved it outside their East Harlem offices, and began testing scores of local residents for tuberculosis on extended hours—an action that the chagrined city officials subsequently endorsed. At the same time, YLO members established patient complaint ­tables at vari­ous city hospitals in Puerto Rican neighborhoods, and pressed city officials to improve hospital ser­vices. In July  1970, the group even occupied a major building at Lincoln Hospital in the South Bronx to highlight its demand that the city fi­nally build the new replacement hospital it had been promising neighborhood residents for 25 years. The group left the hospital ­after only one day, and city officials completed construction of a new hospital soon thereafter.

Conclusion Although the Young Lords made many missteps, and the Chicago chapter in par­ tic­u­lar was plagued with prob­lems, their presence in the public sphere brought

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visibility to the plight of the poor, to Puerto Ricans, and to residents of impoverished and underserved inner city barrios. The group’s decline was as much the result of poor leadership and decision making as it was of conditions external to the group. In Chicago especially, the ongoing strug­gles with drug addiction among some leaders made them in­effec­tive and caused them to lose the confidence of their members. Also, the law-­enforcement infiltration of the New York chapter, which occurred in many leftist radical grassroots groups during ­these years, had a tremendously damaging effect. The presence of provocateurs caused suspicion among members, who stopped trusting each other, became paranoid, and descended into infighting over po­liti­cal ideology and the f­ uture direction of organ­izing. Overall, while the Young Lords enjoyed only a brief moment on the national and international po­liti­cal stage, their legacy has lasted much longer. For many young ­people in the 21st ­century, they symbolize aspirations for a socially just society and dreams of in­de­pen­dence for Puerto Rico. The group is romanticized and idealized among some youth as liberation heroes and freedom fighters who took ­great personal risk and used militant tactics to improve the lives of barrio residents. Still, beyond the my­thol­ogy and legend, they represented a significant, and perhaps the most vis­i­ble, example of po­liti­cal activism in Chicago and New York’s Latino communities during the era of the nation’s largest social movements.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Young Lords Party Position on ­Women’s Liberation The New York City chapter of the Young Lords Organ­ization, renamed the Young Lords Party ­after breaking away from the Chicago founding chapter, took a much more radical po­liti­cal platform on ­women’s issues and gender equality than the Chicago Lords did. This was likely b­ ecause ­there was a critical mass of ­women members like Iris Morales and Denise Oliver in the New York chapter and they took active leadership roles in the group. They advocated for feminism, promoted by a ­women’s movement that emerged in the late 1960s and 1970s calling for an end to patriarchy and ­women’s oppression. Like many feminists of color during ­these years, however, they believed in fighting alongside the men in their communities to create a socialist society. The following document excerpt highlights the YLP’s position on ­women’s liberation. Puerto Rican, Black, Asian, Native American, and other Third World ­Women (­women of color) are becoming more aware of how we have been especially oppressed. ­Women have historically been at the bottom of the ladder; u­ nder capitalism, this has been intensified so that we are oppressed three ways. First, we are

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oppressed as Puerto Ricans, Blacks, Chicanas, Native Americans, or Asians (Third World ­People). Second, we are oppressed as w ­ omen. Third, we are oppressed by our own men who have been brainwashed by this cap­i­tal­ist system into believing a ­whole set of false, empty standards of what manhood is supposed to be—­machismo. The Third World ­Woman thus becomes the most oppressed person in the world ­today. Wherever ­there is oppression, a movement develops to end that oppression. Third World ­Women have been and are still being oppressed, and therefore, t­here is a movement for their liberation. Third World ­Women have always strug­gled in many dif­fer­ent ways. This strug­gle, however, should not be confused with the ­Women’s Liberation Movement. ­There are many differences—­differences in the background of the w ­ omen involved and differences about how best to end the oppression of ­women. In the Young Lords Party we disagree with the analy­sis made by the right wing. We feel that the greatest conflict in the world ­today lies between capitalism (and capitalism’s invasion of other countries, imperialism) and socialism, and ­people’s drives to bring socialism to their countries, to their lives. We believe that the new society we are talking about ­will not come about by ­women separating themselves from men, but through ­sisters and ­brothers struggling with one another, working together, to deal with the negative ­things inside all of us. For ­sisters, this is feeling that we are supposed to be passive t­ owards ­brothers, you know, let them run t­ hings; with ­brothers, this is feeling that we are supposed to be superior or better than s­ isters, you know, acting out t­ hose macho roles. The Party knows that Puerto Rican, Black, and other Third World ­Women make up over half of the Revolutionary Army; in the strug­gle for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, s­ isters and b­ rothers must press for the equality of ­women—­the w ­ omen’s strug­gle is part of the Revolution within the Revolution. What is a man? What is a ­woman? Nonconsciously [subconsciously], we believe a man is strong, aggressive, hairy, decisive, hard, cold, firm, and intelligent. Nonconsciously [subconsciously], a ­women is weak, timid, smooth, soft-­spoken, scatter-­ brained, soft, warm, dumb, and loving. Both of ­these sets of descriptions are a result of the way we have been trained nonconsciously [subconsciously]. From the time that we are born, we are taught by our parents and by the society to be a “man” or a “­woman” and to live up to ­those false characteristics we are supposed to have. ­These personality traits are part of the way we are supposed to be. See, originally in the Party, we d­ idn’t understand t­ hese concepts. We knew that ­brothers ­were messing over ­sisters and we said machismo and male chauvinism must be eliminated. We did not understand that ­brothers ­were acting out the roles that this society had assigned to them. B ­ rothers had trou­ble understanding why some

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of the ways they related to s­ isters was wrong b­ ecause they had been taught to be this way. We said, “But that’s the way a man is supposed to be.” On the other hand, we would criticize our ­sisters for being passive and allowing men to mess them over. We did not understand that every­thing in a w ­ oman’s experience in this society conditions and prepares us to be shy and timid. Every­ thing in a w ­ oman’s experience conditions us to accept leadership from men and to accept our roles as someone who cooks, sews, and takes care of ­children. The right wing in the w ­ omen’s movement says men are evil and c­ an’t be changed. Babies are not born oppressors. Therefore, our major ­enemy is capitalism rather than men. But t­here a­ in’t no doubt about it, t­here are a few rich men who control this planet. They are our enemies. Not ­because they are men, but ­because they are cap­ i­tal­ists. Some of the rulers are w ­ omen (and some of them are in the right-­wing ­women’s movement). They are also our e­ nemy, not b­ ecause they are w ­ omen, but ­because they are cap­i­tal­ists. ­There is a center position in the ­women’s movement. ­These are liberals, reformers, who merely demand “more rights for ­women.” ­There is a left-­wing, and the best of t­hese ­women, are revolutionaries who understand who the real e­ nemy is. But both the center and the left wing made no attempt at stopping the right, or exposing them for what they are—­pigs, agents and supporters of the e­ nemy. They must do so now. The progressives must see that most of the right wing in the ­women’s movement are white, and their racism is being reinforced heavi­ly against Third World ­People, ­brothers and ­sisters. We reject t­ hose ­women’s groups that turn their backs on socialism ­because they say it was created by men, or they reject groups like the YLP [Young Lords Party] who have discipline ­because, they say, discipline and structure is a man’s ­thing. We support t­hose groups that are anti-­capitalist, anti-­imperialist, and see the fight for ­women’s liberation as part of the fight for socialism. All oppressed p­ eople together ­will make the Revolution within the Revolution and end all kind of oppression. UNIDOS VENCEREMOS! FORWARD ­SISTERS IN THE STRUG­GLE! Central Committee YOUNG LORDS PARTY Source: Young Lords Party Position on ­Women’s Liberation (May 1971), Palante, p. 17. Retrieved from https://­www​.­scribd​.­com​/­document​/­76924606​/­Young​-­Lords​-­Party​-­Position​ -­on​-­Womens​-­Liberation​-­Palante​-­May​-­1971. Reprinted with permission.

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See also: Chicana Feminist Movement; Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs; Gay Rights Movement; Rise of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party

Further Reading Enck-­Wanzer, Darrel, ed. 2010. The Young Lords: A Reader. New York: New York University Press. Fernandez, Johanna. 2003. “Between Social Ser­vice Reform and Revolutionary Politics: The Young Lords, Late Sixties Radicalism, and Community Organ­izing in New York City,” in Jeanne F. Theoharis and Komozi Woodard, eds., Freedom North: Black Freedom Strug­gles Outside the South, 1940–­1980, 255–285. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. “The Evolution of the Young Lords Organ­ization: From Street Gang to Revolutionaries,” in Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago, 173–205. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gilman, Azure. 2015. “Young Lords Exhibit a Timely Salute to Puerto Rican Activism.” Aljazeera Amer­i­ca, July. Retrieved from http://­america​.­aljazeera​.­com​/­articles​/­2015​/­7​/­22​ /­young​-­lords​-­exhibit​-­timely​-­salute​-­to​-­pr​-­activism​.­html Guzmán, Pablo. 1998. “La Vida Pura: A Lord of the Barrio,” in Andres Torres and Jose E. Velasquez, eds., The Puerto Rican Movement: Voices from the Diaspora, 155–172. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Kargbo, Connie. 2015. “Puerto Rican Radical Group Young Lords Retake NYC in Museum Exhibit.” PBS Newshour, September 19. Retrieved from http://­www​.­pbs​.­org​/­newshour​ /­art​/­puerto​-­rican​-­radical​-­group​-­young​-­lords​-­retake​-­new​-­york​-­city​-­multi​-­museum​ -­exhibit/ Laó, Agustin. 1995. “Resources of Hope: Imagining the Young Lords and the Politics of Memory.” CENTRO 7: 1. Lee, Jennifer. 2009. “The Young Lords’ Legacy of Puerto Rican Activism.” New York Times, August 24. Melendez, Miguel. 2003. We Took the Streets: Fighting for Latino Rights with the Young Lords. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Morales, Iris. 1996. “Pa’lante, Siempre Pa’lante: The Story of the Young Lords” [documentary video]. New York: Latino Education Network Ser­vice. Morales, Iris. 1998. “Palante, Siempre Palante! The Young Lords,” in Andrés Torres and José E. Velázquez, eds., The Puerto Rican Movement: Voices from the Diaspora, 210– 227. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Morales, Iris. 2016. Through the Eyes of Rebel ­Women: The Young Lords 1969–­1976. New York: Red Sugarcane Press. National Young Lords. 2017. “Young Lords History.” Retrieved from http://­nationalyoung​ lords​.­com​/­​?­page​_­id​=­13 Nelson, Jennifer A. 2001. “ ‘Abortions ­under Community Control’: Feminism, Nationalism, and the Politics of Reproduction among New York City’s Young Lords.” Journal of ­Women’s History 13 (1, Spring): 157–180.

Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs, 1968–1974 | 641 Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G. 2006. “Puerto Rico en Mi Corazón: The Young Lords, Black Power, and Puerto Rican Nationalism in the U.S., 1966–1972.” Centro Journal 18 (1): 149–169. Omotosho, Josiah. 2015. “Young Lords Recall 1970 Hospital Takeover.” Bronx Journal [New York], September 29. Retrieved from http://­bronxjournal​.­com​/­2015​/­09​/­young​-­lords​ -­recall​-­1970​-­hospital​-­takeover Pérez y González, María E. 2017. “Young Lords and Puerto Rican Activism (Overview).” In Marian Perales, Spencer Crew, and Vicki L. Ruiz, eds., The American Mosaic: The Latino American Experience [database]. ABC-­CLIO. http://­www​.­abc​-­clio​.­com​/­ABC​ -­CLIOCorporate​/­product​.­aspx​?­pc​=L ­ AAAW Wanzer​-­Serrano, Darrel. 2015. The New York Young Lords and the Strug­gle for Liberation. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Whalen, Carmen Teresa. 1998. “Bridging Homeland and Barrio Politics: The Young Lords in Philadelphia,” in Andres Torres and Jose E. Velasquez, eds., The Puerto Rican Movement: Voices from the Diaspora, 107–123. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Young Lords Party and Michael Abramson. 2011. Pa’lante: Young Lords Party. New York: McGraw-­Hill.

Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs, 1968–1974 Sarajaneé Davis

Chronology 1927

Dr.  Carlos Eduardo Castaneda becomes librarian of the Latin American Collection at the University of Texas at Austin and serves in that role ­until 1946.

1936

Folklorist Jovita Gonzalez becomes the first Mexican American to serve as president of Texas Folklore Society

1940

Education scholar George I. Sanchez publishes Forgotten ­People: A Study of New Mexicans.

1958

Folklore scholar Américo Paredes publishes With His Pistol in His Hand: A Border Ballad and Its Hero.

1963

A group of Mexican Americans establishes the National Organ­ ization for Mexican American Ser­vices (NOMAS) in Washington, D.C., which seeks to unify Latino groups ­under one umbrella and provide technical assistance to the community.

1964

­ abor scholar Ernesto Galarza publishes Merchants of L L ­ abor, a book about Mexican immigrant ­labor in the United States.

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1966

Julian Samora publishes the edited text La Raza: Forgotten Americans with University of Notre Dame Press.

1967

The Mexican American Youth Organ­ization is founded by Jose Angel Gutierrez, Mario Compean, William Velasquez, Ignacio Perez, and Juan Patlan at St. Mary’s University of San Antonio.

1968

NOMAS pres­ents a proposal to the Ford Foundation that leads to the creation of the Southwest Council of La Raza (SWCLR) in Phoenix, Arizona.

1968, March

Latino students in East Los Angeles, California, stage citywide walkouts to protest discrimination and unequal treatment by the school district. A co­ali­tion of the Latin American Students Organ­ization, the Black Student Union, the Filipino American Collegiate Endeavor, and El Renacimiento form a combined group called the Third World Liberation Front at San Francisco State University, and go on strike, demanding campus reform throughout the California state public school system.

1968, April

Puerto Rican and other Latino demands for a college in the South Bronx result in the creation of Hostos Community College.

1968, Puerto Rican students at Brooklyn College demand the establishment September of a Puerto Rican Studies program. 1969

Many of the first Chicana/o Studies departments are founded throughout the year: Department of Chicano Studies, California State University at Los Angeles; Chicano Studies Institute at the University of California, Santa Barbara; Chicano Studies Research Center at the University of California, Los Angeles; Department of Chicana and Chicano Studies at California State University, Northridge; Department of La Raza Studies at San Francisco State University. Puerto Rican and black students at Hunter College, City University of New York, demand Puerto Rican Studies and African American Studies programs.

1969, March

Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales convenes the first National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference in Denver, Colorado, which many f­uture Chicano activists attend. This leads to the collective writing of El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, which calls for Chicano self-­determination.

1969, April

The Chicano Council on Higher Education adopts El Plan de Santa Barbara, a plan to implement Chicano Studies in California.

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Black and Puerto Rican students strike at the City College campus of the City University of New York, demanding open admissions and the creation of an ethnic studies program, among other t­ hings. This leads to the establishment of the Puerto Rican Studies (now Latin American and Latino Studies) program, as well as the Black Studies program. 1970

The first issue of Aztlan: Journal of Chicano Studies, based at UCLA, is published. Leo Grebler publishes The Mexican-­American ­People.

1970, Student demands propel Rutgers University to establish a Puerto September Rican Studies program. 1970, December

The University of Minnesota sponsors a Chicano symposium during which students and professors throughout the Midwest discuss the development of a Chicana/o Studies curriculum for the region.

1971

A Chicano-­Boricua Studies program is founded at Wayne State University. The Rican: Journal of Con­temporary Puerto Rican Thought begins circulation out of Chicago and is published quarterly through 1975. Juarez-­Lincoln University (Jacinto Trevino College) is founded in Texas to ensure that Mexican-­American college students receive adequate business training to support their communities. Dr. Julian Samora publishes Los Mojados: The Wetback Story with Notre Dame University Press. Reverend Joseph Fitzpatrick of Fordham University publishes Puerto Rican Americans: The Meaning of Migration to the Mainland, a foundational study on the migration of Puerto Ricans to the United States.

1972

Rodolfo Acuña publishes the first edition of Occupied Amer­i­ca: The Chicano’s Strug­gle ­toward Liberation, the first comprehensive history of Chicanos in the United States. Notre Dame establishes the Centro de Investigaciones Sociales (Center for Social Research), a research center focused on studies of Mexican Americans experiences. This center enhanced public knowledge about Mexican American life and laid an impor­tant foundation for Latino Studies. The National Association of Chicana and Chicano Studies is founded in San Antonio, Texas.

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1973

SWCLR becomes a national organ­ization and changes its name to the National Council of La Raza. The Rutgers University Puerto Rican Studies program gains departmental status. Dr. Luis Dávila (Indiana University, Bloomington) and Dr. Nicolas Kanellos (Indiana University, Northwest) jointly publish the literary journal La Revista Chicano-­Riqueña, which continues publication for more than a de­cade. The Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños (Center for Puerto Rican Studies) is founded at Hunter College.

1974

The first annual conference meeting for the National Association of Chicano Studies is held at the University of California at Irvine, entitled “Action Research: Community Control.” The University of Illinois at Chicago launches a Latin American and Latino Studies program. Writer and activist Martha Cotera establishes the Chicana Research and Learning Center in Austin, Texas.

1976

Martha Cotera publishes Diosa y Hembra: The History and Heritage of Chicanas in the United States, one of the first publications to provide a history of Mexican American ­women.

1979

The History Task Force, a collective of scholars at the Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, publishes ­Labor Migration u­ nder Capitalism: The Puerto Rican Experience.

1981

The Mexican American Studies Research Center opens at the University of Arizona.

1985

The Center for Latino Research is founded at DePaul University.

1987

The Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños begins publishing its academic journal, Centro Journal. A Latino Studies program is founded at Cornell University as the Hispanic American Studies Program (HASP).

1991

Juarez-­Lincoln University closes.

1991, April–­ August

Students at Hostos Community College protest then-­college President Dolores’s proposed cuts to ESL and Spanish-­language classes.

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1992

Students at the University of Illinois, Urbana-­Champaign, stage an occupation of the administration building and hunger strike to demand a Latino Studies department. The Puerto Rican Studies Association is established.

1996

A Department of Latina/Latino Studies is created at the University of Illinois at Urbana-­Champaign in response to student demands. The Center for Latino Research at DePaul University begins publishing, Dialogo, an interdisciplinary journal.

2000

California State University at Northridge establishes a Department of Central American Studies.

2003

DePaul University begins publishing the Latino Studies Journal.

2014

The first ever Latina/o Studies Association conference gathers in Chicago and plans to inaugurate the association.

Narrative The fields of Chicano, Puerto Rican (or Boricua), and Latino Studies trace their origins back to the earliest scholars and their publications in the first half of the 20th ­century. A handful of Latino intellectuals focused their research and scholarship on the populations of Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, and Latinos in the United States during ­these years. They often worked in traditional disciplines such as folklore studies, education, and economics. Nonetheless, they ­were precursors to the development of academic programs and scholarly fields devoted to the study of Latino populations in the United States: Chicano/Raza/Mexican American Studies, Puerto Rican/Boricua Studies, and Latino and Latin American Studies. The emergence of Latina/o Studies represented a synergy of ­people, ideas, and po­liti­cal power. Scholars worked in tandem with student and community activists to raise public awareness about the everyday realities and lived experiences of Latinos in the United States. The found­ers of Latina/o Studies endeavored to create an academic space that would center Latinos and examine solutions to the prob­lems plaguing many Latino communities around the country. The first university programs emerged in 1969 as a result of vari­ous protests and demonstrations. That year, the first programs opened their doors at vari­ous campuses in the California public university system. In New York City’s public colleges (the City University of New York [CUNY] system), Puerto Rican and black students also demanded more relevant courses, greater faculty diversity, and open admissions, and eventually secured some of t­hese concessions from university

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administrators. In subsequent years, programs would appear on vari­ous campuses in the Midwest and East. The establishment of Chicano, Raza, Puerto Rican, and Latino/Latin American Studies programs around the country in the 1960s and 1970s ­were the intellectual branch of activism that was collectively described as the “Chicano movement,” in the case of Mexican Americans, and the “Puerto Rican/Boricua movement” in the case of Puerto Ricans.

Origins of the Chicano and Puerto Rican Movements In the 1960s, young ­people who ­were troubled by the racism, oppression, social turmoil, and warfare they witnessed around them i­ magined a more perfect form of democracy for Americans and ­people around the world. Students on college campuses—­not only in the United States, but globally—­called for an end to government repression and fascism, an end to Eu­ro­pean colonialism in the Third World, and an end to what many saw as an imperialist war in Vietnam. In the United States, African American, Chicano, Puerto Rican, Native American, and other activists initiated a flurry of vibrant social protest (Ferreira, 2011). The Chicana/o movement was led primarily by activists in the Southwest who rejected the denigrating image that white American society had created of Mexican Americans. Instead, ­these activists embraced Chicano nationalism, an ideology of collective ethnic pride, community autonomy, and self-­determination. ­Those who ­adopted Chicano nationalism called on fellow Mexican Americans to embrace their mixed Spanish, indigenous, and African ancestry rather than be ashamed of it. Activists emphasized social justice issues such as land rights in New Mexico, equitable education in barrio schools, and humane working conditions for farm workers and other Chicano workers (Acuña, 1998). Educators highlighted the population’s substantial sacrifices and contributions to the development of the United States and the rich history of the indigenous ­peoples of the Amer­i­cas that preceded the arrival of Spanish colonizers. Artists celebrated the creativity and artistic production of Mexican, indigenous, and other marginalized ­peoples. On the East Coast and in the Midwest, Puerto Rican activists brought attention to the colonial status of Puerto Rico and discussed possibilities of in­de­pen­dence. Inspired by civil rights activism, they also brought attention to the conditions of inner-­city Puerto Ricans on the U.S. mainland and the prejudice and systemic discrimination that they experienced. Students and activists also began celebrating the historical contributions, arts, and culture of Puerto Ricans on the island and in the United States. As Chicano, Puerto Rican, and other activists called for liberation from what they had determined was their status as “internally colonized” p­ eople in the United States, their strug­gles often began in their own communities with the demand for

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community-­controlled resources. In addition, they recognized colleges and universities as key educational institutions that had an obligation to serve marginalized communities and educate young ­people. Racial minority students had much less access to institutions of higher learning at this time compared to white students, and yet they understood how critical and valuable an education was to social justice, community empowerment, and economic freedom. Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales’s poem “I Am Joaquín” captured the Chicano movement’s spirited embrace of complex, conflicting identities. Gonzales’s poem served as a key movement document that reflects the unique Chicano experience in the United States. He presented it at the National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference, which he and o­ thers or­ga­nized in Denver, Colorado, in 1969. At that conference, participants also drafted El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, a document that was meant to guide the Chicano quest for social justice and equality. That same year, a meeting of Chicano educators, who called themselves the Chicano Council of Higher Education, drafted and a­ dopted El Plan de Santa Barbara, a vision for Mexican American education in California’s schools. The plan called for Chicano po­liti­cal autonomy, including community control over education, and discussed specific ways the university could aid the Chicano liberation strug­gle. Although some activists feared mainstream co-­optation of their movement, activists ultimately deci­ ded that universities could be used to raise community consciousness and hasten the spread of public awareness about their po­liti­cal platform and objectives. The re­nais­sance of art, poetry, writing, and scholarship during the Chicano and Puerto Rican movements of the 1960s and 1970s ­were not the first examples of Latino intellectual or creative contributions to the United States. Early scholars w ­ ere the pre­de­ces­sors to the flourishing of ideas in t­ hese de­cades. The works of scholars like Carlos Castañeda, Jovita Gonzalez, Elena Padilla, Luis Leal, George I. Sanchez, and Américo Paredes, among o­ thers, w ­ ere early contributions to what l­ater came to be called Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino Studies. Their work affirmed Latin Americans as knowledge producers and challenged Eurocentric paradigms and pedagogies. Their legacies created the foundations for studying Latino history and experiences. Moreover, their work and the scholarship that has grown from it critiques the marginalization of Latin Americans in the acad­emy and mainstream society. Although ­these academics may not have considered themselves part of ­these academic disciplines, they certainly established an intellectual tradition that inspired other scholars and students in l­ater de­cades.

Establishing Programs, Centers, and Departments As programs, centers, and departments grew around the country, their naming reflected the geographic mapping of dif­fer­ent segments of the Latina/o community.

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Tucson School District Ban on Ethnic Studies In the spring of 2010, the Arizona state legislature signed House Bill 2281 into law. This legislation prohibited the public school use of educational materials deemed to: 1. Promote the overthrow of the United States Government, 2. Promote resentment t­oward a race or class of p­ eople, 3. Be designed primarily for pupils of a par­tic­u­lar ethnic group, or 4. Advocate ethnic solidarity instead of the treatment of pupils as individuals. The primary target was the Mexican American Studies program in the Tucson Unified School District. Mexican American scholars, activists, and ­lawyers immediately opposed the mandate. In 2011, out­going superintendent Tom Horne stipulated that the Tucson school district would lose state funding if Mexican American Studies courses w ­ ere not canceled. Accordingly, school officials ­were forced to end or dilute Mexican American Studies curricula. This was a huge blow for educators like Curtis Acosta, who had taught Mexican American Studies at Tucson High Magnet School for years prior to the 2010 legislation. However, student-­led protests sparked a widespread wave of re­sis­tance and reinvigorated interest in Mexican American Studies that spread across the entire United States. ­After students occupied several Tucson school board meetings, allies rallied to their cause, eventually pushing the school board to reverse the ban. As of 2016, a court ­battle continued over Arizona House Bill 2281, but the Mexican American Studies movement has gained momentum. New courses and programs on Mexican Americans are being taught in public schools in California and Texas. Additionally, teachers across the United States have incorporated more texts that directly deal with Chicana/o and Latina/o experiences in the United States. Where legislators sought to marginalize Mexican American experiences in Arizona, the bill has served to galvanize activism and efforts for culturally relevant pedagogy.

In the Southwest and other areas with a significant Mexican or Mexican American population, program names tended to reflect Chicano nationalism and thus w ­ ere called Chicano, Mexican American, or Raza Studies. Programs founded in the East often took the title of Puerto Rican or Boricua Studies, such as at Brooklyn College, Hunter College, and Rutgers University. ­Those in the Midwest took a variety

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Hostos Community College Hostos Community College, a school in the City University of New York, is located in the South Bronx, New York City. The college opened in 1968, just as students launched protests at colleges and universities across the United States. This was the first college or university in the continental United States to be named ­after a Puerto Rican; Eugenio María de Hostos was an esteemed 19th-­century educator and writer. With more than half of the student body identifying as Latino (primarily Puerto Rican), the college has always offered many courses in Spanish and provided resources for English-­language learners. In the early 1990s, ­these resources came ­under attack. College president Dolores Fernandez began cutting courses and ser­vices that most greatly impacted Spanish-­speaking students. In April 1991, student activists responded to the growing number of their peers being forced to leave the college with a number of demonstrations and protests aimed at reversing the president’s unilateral decisions. The Hostos demonstrations occurred si­mul­ta­neously with other student protests against increasing tuition and bud­get cuts at other City University of New York campuses. As students aimed their demands at New York’s state legislature and governor, they drew impor­tant attention to the unique issues facing Latina/o students in higher education. Moreover, their strug­gle highlighted impor­tant parallels with the student strug­gles of the 1960s and 1970s, namely the continued marginalization of Latina/o rights and needs.

of names, in some cases reflecting Mexican American populations, such as Chicano Studies at University of Minnesota. Some reflected a mixed presence of Puerto Rican and Mexican American populations in a geo­graph­i­cal location, such as Wayne State University’s Chicano-­Boricua Studies Program and Latino and Latin American Studies at the University of Illinois at Chicago (also known as Circle Campus). Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, many programs underwent name changes that more broadly reflected the strug­gles of a diverse range of ­people of Latin American descent, rather than just one specific ethnic group (Valdés, 2000). More recently, numerous programs have added Ca­rib­bean Studies to their mission and aims. Central American Studies have grown at some institutions, like California State University at Northridge—­a sign of the growing presence of Central Americans in Southern California. Regardless of naming choices, ­these programs advocate decolonization and emphasize cultural expression. Together, the naming practices reflect the perceived linked destinies of individuals in and from Latin Amer­i­ca.

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Latina/o Studies departments shared a broad set of key objectives. The field draws on an array of interdisciplinary scholarship that centers on the experiences of Latinos in Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States and takes their knowledge production seriously as a contribution to the acad­emy. One of the discipline’s foremost goals is the establishment of a culturally relevant curriculum that trains and prepares students for a diverse set of ­careers that ­will ultimately advance social justice and improve the status of Latin Americans in the United States and around the globe. In addition, many departments are also committed to improving recruitment and retention of Latina/o students and faculty on U.S. college campuses. Departments and programs also aim to create more equitable and welcoming campus environments for Latino students by providing information, resources, and programming that ultimately benefits students from diverse racial, cultural, and economic backgrounds. This last goal has been accomplished by the establishment of “cultural h­ ouses” or “cultural centers” at some universities. The University of Illinois at Urbana-­ Champaign, for example, created La Casa Cultural Latina in 1974 to provide a welcoming and comfortable space for Latino students, who often find themselves in the minority on predominantly white campuses, and at times isolated by being so far away from home. Cultural centers like t­ hese provide an opportunity for community building, extracurricular and cultural activities, and academic support. Moreover, ­these centers and programs aim to bridge the gaps between universities and their surrounding communities. The Centro de Estudios Chicanos e Investigaciones Sociales at the University of Notre Dame is one example of a center that brought together scholarship and activism. Founded in 1972, it provided undergraduate and gradu­ate students the opportunity to develop their research skills and engage with the community (Wiggins, 2016). In addition to enriching campus climates, cultural centers and Latina/o Studies programs strive to ensure that universities and colleges are more receptive and responsible to Latin American communities. Intellectually, Latino Studies scholars have made significant interventions in the humanities and social sciences. For example, Latino/a historians have re­imagined how we narrate U.S. history, to highlight and appreciate the contributions of Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, indigenous p­ eoples, and other Latinos from the precolonial period to the pres­ent. Latina and Chicana scholars have documented ­women’s experiences and analyzed how gender dynamics shape the ­human experience. Latina/o social scientists have authored pioneering surveys that bring the voices of Latin American immigrants, workers, and youth to the forefront. Their work has enriched understandings of race and ethnicity in the United States as well. The discipline highlights the historical contributions that other fields might ignore and creates spaces for studies focused on Latin Americans. The field also offers a unique interdisciplinary approach that enables scholars and students to

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Chicano Liberation Front In the fall of 1969, a co­ali­tion of Chicana and Chicano student activists from the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis and Macalester College in St. Paul created the Latin Liberation Front. Shortly thereafter, the group changed its name to the Chicano Liberation Front (CLF) and began a string of diversity campaigns at their respective universities. Inspired by “El Plan de Santa Barbara” put forth by student activists in California, the CLF aimed to increase Chicano repre­sen­ta­tion in higher education. Early on, the CLF focused on recruiting Chicano students, staff, and faculty to their campuses. Although the conventional histories about the development of Chicana/o Studies emphasize the southwestern United States, particularly California, the CLF illustrates the vibrant activism that occurred in the Midwest. The group was able to exert a wide influence ­because of the unwavering support they received from their families and peer organ­izations working throughout the region. Their activism led to the University of Minnesota-­Twin Cities approving the Department of Chicano Studies in 1971 and launching it in 1972. The establishment of a formal program at the University of Minnesota reflected changing ideas about knowledge production, what was considered legitimate in university curricula, and the educational purpose of the university. The CLF highlights the importance of community and activist networks that enabled the transmission of ideas and resources across regional bound­aries that underwrote the development of Chicana/o Studies in the second half of the 20th ­century.

consider how a range of social ­factors shape Latin American realities. Despite the growing lit­er­a­ture that Latina/o Studies scholars produced in its first de­cade, the discipline came u­ nder assault in the 1980s and 1990s. University administrations and state legislatures from California to New York threatened to cut the already limited fiscal resources for the programs. This sparked an upsurge in Latina/o student activism at campuses like UCLA and University of Illinois at Urbana-­Champaign. From May 23 to June 7, 1993, students at UCLA staged a hunger strike to protest the administration’s attempt to dismantle the César E. Chávez Center for Interdisciplinary Instruction in Chicana and Chicano Studies. Students fought hard to maintain the earlier generation’s gains and pressed for further expansion of their local programs. Some of ­these bud­get cuts and backlash actions have continued into the new millennium. U.S. colleges and universities are noticeably dif­fer­ent in their composition nearly 50 years ­after the student protests of the late 1960s and 1970s. It is impossible

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to deny the sizeable increase in repre­sen­ta­tion of Latin Americans in higher education. Nonetheless, it is also impor­tant to identify the challenges Latina/o students and Latina/o Studies programs continue to face. Programs across the country continue to fight for physical space on college campuses as well as the resources and ability to fulfill the found­ers’ original visions. The expansion of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino Studies has happened in conjunction with the creation of several scholarly organ­izations and the establishment of multiple Chicano, Latino, and Puerto Rican focused library collections. The National Association for Chicana and Chicano Studies (NACCS), formed in 1972, remains one of the leading organ­izations in the development and preservation of the field. The group’s annual conference provides an opportunity for scholars to showcase their research and discuss solutions to the national and local challenges facing the discipline. In 1982, Chicana and Native American w ­ omen formed Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social (MALCS; ­Women Active in Letters and Social Change), an organ­ization devoted to supporting women scholars. The Puerto Rican Studies Association (PRSA), founded in 1992, brings together scholars, activists, educators, and policy experts with interests in studying Puerto Rico, Puerto Ricans in the United States, or both. The most recent of t­hese organ­izations, the Latina/o Studies Association, held its first bi-­annual conference in 2014. In addition to promoting research and teaching on Latina/o Studies, the group strives to encourage positive policy changes with regard to the Latina/o community in the United States. Libraries throughout the United States have or­ga­nized special collections of Chicana/o, Puerto Rican, and Latina/o materials in direct response to the growing interest in each field. Some, like the Latino Collection at the San Antonio Public Library, have a specific population focus on Mexican American experiences. ­Others, like the Chicano Studies Collection at the Ethnic Studies Library at UC-­Berkeley, which opened in 1969, emphasize thematic strengths like immigration and bilingual education. Established in 1973, The Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños at Hunter College h­ ouses the nation’s largest repository for information on Puerto Ricans. ­These and other collections are comprised of a multitude of primary and secondary sources, including manuscripts, dissertations, pamphlets, personal correspondences, oral interviews, and orga­nizational documents. Latina/o Studies has a rich and varied history and has witnessed exponential growth in the past two de­cades. As more doctoral students are trained, more research in the discipline is being produced. Rather than stifling scholastic production, recent bud­get constraints in Latina/o Studies programs have generated a renewed interest in the discipline. With an ever-­growing production of rigorous scholarship as well as an expanding pool of talented scholars, the field is flourishing and the f­ uture of this discipline is very bright.

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Biographies of Notable Figures ­Virginia Sánchez-­Korrol (1936–­) Historian and author ­Virginia Sánchez-­Korrol was born and raised in a tight-­knit Puerto Rican f­amily in the Bronx, New York. Her prolific c­ areer spans the last 40 years and includes unmatched contributions to Puerto Rican and Latina/o Studies, Feminist Studies, and multicultural education. Sánchez-­Korrol graduated with B.A. in En­glish Lit­er­a­ture and Secondary Education from Brooklyn College in 1960. She completed several gradu­ate courses at Brooklyn College and Chicago Teachers College in Lit­er­a­ture and Pedagogy, before enrolling in a gradu­ate program at the State University of New York at Stony Brook. Upon enrolling at SUNY-­Stony Brook, Sánchez-­Korrol deci­ded to study history, ultimately completing a master’s degree and PhD in Latin American History. Her professional endeavors and scholarship reflect a profound commitment to the Puerto Rican and Latino community. Outside of the acad­emy, Sánchez-­Korrol has won several awards for her curriculum work with the New York State Education Department. At Brooklyn College she displayed unwavering ser­vice to students and the institution, including serving as the coordinator of Ca­rib­bean Studies and the coordinator of studies in Asia, Africa, and Latin Amer­i­ca throughout the 1980s. Additionally, she served as a co-­director of the Latino Studies Department and a chair of the Puerto Rican Studies department. Sánchez-­Korrol worked tirelessly to establish Puerto Rican Studies as a formal discipline and is considered one of its pioneering figures. A member of the 1985 CUNY Council on Puerto Rican Studies Departments, she played a key role in establishing formal undergraduate and gradu­ate programs throughout the city. However, her efforts went well beyond establishing the Puerto Rican Studies department. As a president of the Puerto Rican Studies Association, which was created in 1992, Sánchez-­Korrol ensured the emergence and vibrancy of nationwide attention to Puerto Rican Studies. As of 2016, she was professor emerita of Puerto Rican Studies at Brooklyn College. Sánchez-­Korrol’s array of published texts debunk lingering questions about the legitimacy of Puerto Rican Studies. Some of her most popu­lar texts include From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City (1994) and “In Search of Unconventional ­Women: Histories of Puerto Rican ­Women in Religious Vocations Before Mid-­Century” (1988). She is also an editor, along with historian Vicki Ruiz, of Latinas in the United States: A Historical Encyclopedia (2006). Her work has contributed to interdisciplinary knowledge of Puerto Rican and Latino experiences and provides an academic model that continues to inspire innovative and community-­centered scholarship.

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Julian Samora, 1920–­1996 Widely considered the ­father of Latino Studies, Julian Samora offered invaluable contributions to the discipline’s development throughout the 20th ­century. Born in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, Samora grew up in a Mexican American community. Much of his scholarship and activism w ­ ere greatly motivated by the discrimination he experienced and the exploitation of Mexican and Mexican American l­abor he continuously witnessed. Samora devoted his c­ areer to increasing Mexican and Mexican American repre­sen­ta­tion and access to higher education. Samora’s formal academic ­career began when he received a scholarship to attend Adams State Teacher’s College. He graduated in 1942 with a degree in po­liti­ cal science and history and went on to earn a master’s degree from Colorado State University. By the time he enrolled in the sociology doctoral program at Washington University in St. Louis, countless experiences with racism had solidified Samora’s desire to fight bigotry. Finishing his program in 1953, Samora became the first Mexican American to earn a doctorate in sociology and anthropology. His pioneering study on Mexican American treatment in hospitals was completed while on his first job at the University of Colorado School of Medicine. This study paved the way for medical sociology studies, as well as increased sensitivity for Spanish-­ speaking patients. Moreover, the study’s far-­reaching results helped secure his next job at Michigan State University in 1957. ­After a short stay in East Lansing, Samora was offered a tenure track position at the University of Notre Dame. His impact on Notre Dame’s campus and the Midwest Latino community at large cannot be understated. Samora’s research touched on a myriad of topics, from Mexican Americans in rural and urban areas to the educational status of youth and adults, as well as Mexican immigration. Equally impor­tant to his individual scholarly contributions was his role as a mentor. Using a Ford Foundation grant from 1970, he founded Notre Dame’s Mexican-­American Gradu­ate Studies Program in 1976. As a result, gradu­ate students flocked to the university to train ­under his skillful watch; the first cadre included 23 students studying in sociology, economics, history, and government. Samora’s scholarship and commitment to gradu­ate students advanced Chicana/o Studies dramatically. His pedagogical approach created a new space for students of color to consider their experiences and conceive of solutions to social inequity. Around the same time, Samora and activist gradu­ate students founded the Centro de Estudios Chicanos e Investigaciones Sociales, a research center that brought together scholarship and community activism. The Mexican-­American Gradu­ate Studies Program and the Centro de Estudios Chicanos e Investigaciones Sociales fostered an academic climate rooted in social responsibility. Samora’s expertise was highly valued. Over the course of his ­career, he would be invited to serve on or consult with numerous national and federal committees.

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A few of ­these included the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the National Advisory Committee to the U.S.-­Mexican Border Research Program. When he retired in 1985, he left an indisputable mark on the acad­emy. His life’s work effectively challenged the normative paradigms and standards that dominated higher education. Samora affirmed Mexican and Mexican American experiences as well as Mexican Americans’ ability to produce knowledge. Moreover, he solidified the national agenda of Chicano Studies: to challenge the traditional understandings of the purpose and function of the university.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Arizona House Bill 2281 Becomes Law, 2010 The Arizona State legislature’s passage of House Bill 2281 instituted a law that prohibited public schools from using educational materials that (among other ­things) ­were “designed primarily for pupils of a par­tic­u­lar ethnic group; [or]advocate ethnic solidarity instead of the treatment of pupils as individuals.” The following is an excerpt from the bill itself. HOUSE BILL 2281 AN ACT AMENDING TITLE 15, CHAPTER  1, ARTICLE 1, ARIZONA REVISED STATUTES, BY ADDING SECTIONS 15-111 AND 15-112; AMENDING SECTION  15-843, ARIZONA REVISED STATUTES; RELATING TO SCHOOL CURRICULUM. H.B. 2281 Be it enacted by the Legislature of the State of Arizona: Section 1. Title 15, chapter 1, article 1, Arizona Revised Statutes, is amended by adding sections 15-111 and 15-112, to read: 15–111. Declaration of policy THE LEGISLATURE FINDS AND DECLARES THAT PUBLIC SCHOOL PUPILS SHOULD BE TAUGHT TO TREAT AND VALUE EACH OTHER AS INDIVIDUALS AND NOT BE TAUGHT TO RESENT OR HATE OTHER RACES OR CLASSES OF P ­ EOPLE. 15-112. Prohibited courses and classes; enforcement A. A SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL IN THIS STATE S ­ HALL NOT INCLUDE IN ITS PROGRAM OF INSTRUCTION ANY COURSES OR CLASSES THAT INCLUDE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING:

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1. PROMOTE THE OVERTHROW OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT. 2. PROMOTE RESENTMENT ­TOWARD A RACE OR CLASS OF P ­ EOPLE. 3. ARE DESIGNED PRIMARILY FOR PUPILS OF A PARTICULAR ETHNIC GROUP. 4. ADVOCATE ETHNIC SOLIDARITY INSTEAD OF THE TREATMENT OF PUPILS AS INDIVIDUALS. B. IF THE STATE BOARD OF EDUCATION OR THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION DETERMINES THAT A SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL IS IN VIOLATION OF SUBSECTION A, THE STATE BOARD OF EDUCATION OR THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION ­SHALL NOTIFY THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL THAT IT IS IN VIOLATION OF SUBSECTION A. IF THE STATE BOARD OF EDUCATION OR THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION DETERMINES THAT THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL HAS FAILED TO COMPLY WITH SUBSECTION A WITHIN SIXTY DAYS ­AFTER A NOTICE HAS BEEN ISSUED PURSUANT TO THIS SUBSECTION, THE STATE BOARD OF EDUCATION OR THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION MAY DIRECT THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION TO WITHHOLD UP TO TEN PER CENT OF THE MONTHLY APPORTIONMENT OF STATE AID THAT WOULD OTHER­WISE BE DUE THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL. THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION ­SHALL ADJUST THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL’S APPORTIONMENT ACCORDINGLY. WHEN THE STATE BOARD OF EDUCATION OR THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION DETERMINES THAT THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL IS IN COMPLIANCE WITH SUBSECTION A, THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION S ­ HALL RESTORE THE FULL AMOUNT OF STATE AID PAYMENTS TO THE SCHOOL DISTRICT OR CHARTER SCHOOL. C. THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION S ­HALL PAY FOR ALL EXPENSES OF A HEARING CONDUCTED PURSUANT TO THIS SECTION. D. ACTIONS TAKEN ­UNDER THIS SECTION ARE SUBJECT TO APPEAL PURSUANT TO TITLE 41, CHAPTER 6, ARTICLE 10. E. THIS SECTION S ­ HALL NOT BE CONSTRUED TO RESTRICT OR PROHIBIT: 1. COURSES OR CLASSES FOR NATIVE AMERICAN PUPILS THAT ARE REQUIRED TO COMPLY WITH FEDERAL LAW.

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2. THE GROUPING OF PUPILS ACCORDING TO ACADEMIC PERFORMANCE, INCLUDING CAPABILITY IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, THAT MAY RESULT IN A DISPARATE IMPACT BY ETHNICITY. 3. COURSES OR CLASSES THAT INCLUDE THE HISTORY OF ANY ETHNIC GROUP AND THAT ARE OPEN TO ALL STUDENTS, ­UNLESS THE COURSE OR CLASS VIOLATES SUBSECTION A. 4. COURSES OR CLASSES THAT INCLUDE THE DISCUSSION OF CONTROVERSIAL ASPECTS OF HISTORY. F. NOTHING IN THIS SECTION ­SHALL BE CONSTRUED TO RESTRICT OR PROHIBIT THE INSTRUCTION OF THE HOLOCAUST, ANY OTHER INSTANCE OF GENOCIDE, OR THE HISTORICAL OPPRESSION OF A PARTICULAR GROUP OF ­PEOPLE BASED ON ETHNICITY, RACE, OR CLASS. Sec. 2. Section 15-843, Arizona Revised Statutes, is amended to read: 15-843. Pupil disciplinary proceedings A. An action concerning discipline, suspension or expulsion of a pupil is not subject to title 38, chapter 3, article 3.1, except that the governing board of a school district ­shall post regular notice and ­shall take minutes of any hearing held by the governing board concerning the discipline, suspension or expulsion of a pupil. B. The governing board of any school district, in consultation with the teachers and parents of the school district, s­ hall prescribe rules for the discipline, suspension and expulsion of pupils. The rules ­shall be consistent with the constitutional rights of pupils and ­shall include at least the following: 1. Penalties for excessive pupil absenteeism pursuant to section 15-803, including failure in a subject, failure to pass a grade, suspension or expulsion. 2. Procedures for the use of corporal punishment if allowed by the governing board. 3. Procedures for the reasonable use of physical force by certificated or classified personnel in self-­defense, defense of o­ thers and defense of property. 4. Procedures for dealing with pupils who have committed or who are believed to have committed a crime. 5. A notice and hearing procedure for cases concerning the suspension of a pupil for more than ten days. 6. Procedures and conditions for readmission of a pupil who has been expelled or suspended for more than ten days.

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7. Procedures for appeal to the governing board of the suspension of a pupil for more than ten days, if the decision to suspend the pupil was not made by the governing board. 8. Procedures for appeal of the recommendation of the hearing officer or officers designated by the board as provided in subsection F of this section at the time the board considers the recommendation. *** L. RULES PERTAINING TO THE DISCIPLINE, SUSPENSION AND EXPULSION OF PUPILS S ­ HALL NOT BE BASED ON RACE, COLOR, RELIGION, SEX, NATIONAL ORIGIN OR ANCESTRY. IF THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION, THE AUDITOR GENERAL OR THE ATTORNEY GENERAL DETERMINES THAT A SCHOOL DISTRICT IS SUBSTANTIALLY AND DELIBERATELY NOT IN COMPLIANCE WITH THIS SUBSECTION AND IF THE SCHOOL DISTRICT HAS FAILED TO CORRECT THE DEFICIENCY WITHIN NINETY DAYS ­AFTER RECEIVING NOTICE FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION, THE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION MAY WITHHOLD THE MONIES THE SCHOOL DISTRICT WOULD OTHER­WISE BE ENTITLED TO RECEIVE FROM THE DATE OF THE DETERMINATION OF NONCOMPLIANCE U ­ NTIL THE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION DETERMINES THAT THE SCHOOL DISTRICT IS IN COMPLIANCE WITH THIS SUBSECTION. *** Sec. 3. Effective date This act is effective from and ­after December 31, 2010. Source: Arizona State House Bill 2281, December 31, 2010. State of Arizona House of Representatives. Retrieved from https://­www​.­azleg​.­gov​/­legtext​/­49leg​/­2r​/­bills​/­hb2281s​.­pdf

See also: Chicana Feminist Movement; The Chicano Movement; Founding of the Young Lords; Lau v. Nichols.

Further Reading Acuña, Rodolfo. 1998. Sometimes ­There Is No Other Side: Chicanos and the Myth of Equality. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Acuña, Rodolfo. 2011. The Making of Chicana/o Studies: In the Trenches of Academe. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Almaráz, Jr., Félix D. 1973. “Carlos Eduardo Castañeda, Mexican-­American Historian: The Formative Years, 1896–1927.” Pacific Historical Review 42 (3): 319–334. “Américo Paredes.” n.d. Website. Retrieved from http://­www​.­lib​.­utexas​.­edu​/­benson​/­paredes/ Caban, Pedro. 2003. “Moving from the Margins to Where: Three De­cades of Latino/a Studies.” Latino Studies 1 (1): 5–35.

Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs, 1968–1974 | 659 Darder, Antonia, and Rodolfo D. Torres. 1998. The Latino Studies Reader: Culture, Economy, and Society. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Delgado Bernal, Dolores. 1998. “Grassroots Leadership Reconceptualized: Chicana Oral Histories and the 1968 East Los Angeles School Blowouts.” Frontiers: A Journal of ­Women’s Studies 19 (3): 113–142. Ferreira, Jason. 2011. “With the Soul of a ­Human Rainbow: Los Siete, Black Panthers, and Third Worldism in San Francisco,” in Ten Years That Shook the City: San Francisco 1968–­1978, 30–47. San Francisco: City Light Books. Flores, Juan. 2000. “Latino Studies,” in From Bomba to Hip-­Hop: Puerto Rican Culture and Latino Identity, 205–220. New York: Columbia University Press. “George I. Sanchez.” 2011, last updated March 1. Retrieved from http://­www​.­lib​.­utexas​.­edu​ /­taro​/­utlac​/­00069​/­lac​-­00069​.­html Muñoz, Carlos. 1989. Youth, Identity, Power: The Chicano Movement. London: Verso. Poblete, Juan, ed. 2003. Critical Latin American and Latino Studies. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Pulido, Alberto Lopez, Barbara Driscoll de Alverado, and Carmen Samora, eds. 2009. Moving Beyond Borders: Julian Samora and the Establishment of Latino Studies. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Rios, Cati de los, and Gilda Ochoa. 2012. “The ­People United ­Shall Never Be Divided: Reflections on Community, Collaboration, and Change.” Journal of Latinos and Education 11 (4): 271–279. Rosales, F. Arturo. 1996. Chicano! The History of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Ryan, Angela. 2010. Education for the ­People: The Third World Student Movement at San Francisco State College and City College of New York (doctoral dissertation). Ohio State University. “UCLA History: A Hunger Strike Ends, A Center Is Born.” 1993 (last modified 2016). Retrieved from https://­alumni​.­ucla​.­edu​/­ucla​-­history​/­ucla​-­history​-­26/ Valdés, Dionicio Nodín. 2000. “El Movimiento: Becoming a ­Little More Militant,” in Barrios Norteños: St. Paul and Midwestern Mexican Communities in the Twentieth C ­ entury, 178–212. Austin: University of Texas Press. Wiggins, Leticia. 2016. Planting the “Uprooted Ones”: La Raza in the Midwest, 1970–­1979 (doctoral dissertation). Ohio State University.

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Gay Rights Movement, 1969–1990 Gabriel Mayora

Chronology 1945–1950s Throughout the 1950s, government institutions and officials, including President Eisenhower and Senator Joseph McCarthy, create and enforce l­egal practices targeting homosexual men and ­women. 1950

In Los Angeles, California, a group of gay men led by Harry Hay found The Mattachine Society, considered one of the earliest gay rights organ­izations in the United States.

1952

Antonio “Tony” Reyes, a Mexican American gay professional flamenco dancer, becomes one of the co-­founders of ONE Inc. alongside a group of gay male activists in Los Angeles.

1953

As part of ONE Inc., the first issue of ONE Magazine is published; this is the first magazine exclusively dedicated to gay ­people.

1955

Tony Segura (born Gonzalo Segura, Jr.), a Cuban American gay man working as a research chemist in New York, founds the New York chapter of the Mattachine Society. The same year, a group of lesbian w ­ omen activists in San Francisco found the ­Daughters of Bilitis, considered one of the most influential early gay rights organ­izations.

1961

José Sarria, a cross-­dresser performer born in San Francisco to a Colombian ­mother and an unknown Nicaraguan f­ ather, runs for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, becoming the first openly gay person to run for elective office in the United States.

1965

Sarria helps found gay rights organ­izations in San Francisco and declares himself the Empress of San Francisco.

1966

In August, a group of transgender w ­ omen and drag queens start rioting at Compton’s Cafeteria in San Francisco a­ fter being denied ser­ vice, thus initiating one of the first transgender riots in the history of the country.

1969, June

In the early hours of June 28, New York police officers raid the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village, setting off a highly publicized street protest. Sylvia Rivera, an Afro-­Latina homeless transgender ­woman of Puerto Rican and Venezuelan descent, is

Gay Rights Movement, 1969–1990 | 661

credited as one of the patrons who initiated the opposition to the police. “Stonewall” is considered the event that brought public visibility to LGBT rights at a national and global level. 1970

The Stonewall protests lead gay p­ eople to or­ga­nize po­liti­cally as a movement. Organ­izations like the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) and Gay Activists Alliance (GAA) are founded in New York. In response, Rivera co-­founds Street Transvestites Action Revolutionaries (STAR) with black transgender activist Marsha P. Johnson to help homeless transgender ­women and drag queens in New York.

1975

A group of LGBT Latino/a w ­ omen and men or­ga­nize in the San Francisco Bay Area to create the Gay Latino Alliance (GALA), which becomes one of the first prominent gay Latino organ­izations.

1979

A large number of LGBT Latino ­women and men join the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights.

1981

The HIV crisis begins and turns into a national epidemic primarily affecting gay men throughout the decade.

1984–1990

President Reagan refuses to publicly acknowledge the epidemic ­until 1984; by that time, more than 3,000 patients had been diagnosed with the disease, and nearly half of them had died. As a response, gay activists found the AIDS Co­ali­tion to Unleash Power (ACT UP). ACT UP becomes a major activist platform for LGBT Latinos. Other LGBT Latino organ­izations also emerge throughout the de­cade.

1988

Latino gay activists in Los Angeles, California, meet to found the National Latina/o Lesbian and Gay Organ­ization (LLEGO), which ­later changed its name to the National Latina/o Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Organ­ization. LLEGO goes on to become the most prominent LGBT Latino organ­ization.

1993

Queer historian Martin Duberman releases the book Stonewall, which focuses on first-­person accounts from p­ eople involved in the riots, including Sylvia Rivera. The book brings a newfound recognition for Rivera as a Stonewall veteran.

1995

The movie Stonewall is released, based on Duberman’s memoir.

Narrative In popu­lar and academic publications, documentaries, films, and TV shows, traditional approaches to the history of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT)

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p­ eople in the United States tend to focus on the contributions of Anglo Americans to the movement. Historical accounts that credit gay Latinos for their contributions to gay rights often make no mention of their Latino background, choosing instead to prioritize their LGBT identity, thus excluding their race, nationality, ethnicity, and ties to the Latino/a community’s Latinidad. Consequently, gay Latinos’ key roles in the development of the con­temporary gay rights movement in the United States have been largely overlooked. In the past 20 years, an increasing number of LGBT Latino authors, scholars, and activists, such as Letitia Gómez, Salvador Vidal-­Ortiz, and Horacio Roque Ramírez, have criticized what they see as an erasure of LGBT Latinos from the history of gay rights. An overview of major events in the development of LGBT rights highlights the ways in which Latinos have consistently and significantly participated in gay activism. In par­tic­u­lar, LGBT Latinos ­were an essential part of the emergence of gay rights as a po­liti­cally or­ga­nized civil rights movement in the 1960s and 1970s. As the movement gained momentum on both the East and West Coasts, LGBT Latinos like Sylvia Rivera and José Sarria helped usher in a new era for gay rights and the history of civil rights in the United States.

Make the Road New York, a community activism center, holds a block party called “Bushwick Pride” for the local lesbian, gay, and transgender youth of the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, in Bushwick, Brooklyn, 2017. (Andrew Lichtenstein/Corbis via Getty Images)

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Latinx The term Latino originates from Spanish, which, unlike the En­glish language, uses gendered nouns and adjectives. In the Spanish language, the singular noun “Latino” refers to a man and the singular noun “Latina” refers to a ­woman. The term Latinos, however, refers to a group of men and ­women. For de­cades, this linguistic convention has represented a prob­lem for En­glish writers and speakers who believe the noun “Latinos” excludes ­women. Thus, ­these individuals began using the term “Latina/o” instead to signal that the population includes both men and ­women. Yet, “Latina/o” (or the variation “Latino/a”) poses a further prob­lem by not taking into account nongender-­ conforming individuals who do not fit within a male-­female binary. Although in the 2000s some scholars used the term Latin@, the term Latinx has gained more popularity over the last half of the 2010s. For scholars and ­others who ­favor the word “Latinx,” the “x” represents a rejection of what they perceive as gendered Spanish-­language conventions. However, the term “Latinx” has proven to be controversial among Latinos. One argument against the use of “Latinx” is that it represents an example of cultural appropriation. ­Because adding the letter “x” at the end of a word is not a linguistic convention in the Spanish language, opponents of the term “Latinx” argue that the term cannot be pronounced in Spanish and thus excludes Spanish speakers—­a large segment of the ­people for whom the term “Latinx” (or “Latino”) is meant (Guerra and Orbea, 2015). Both camps—­those who support “Latinx” and t­hose who oppose its use—­continue to fight strongly to defend their position in scholarly debates, popu­lar outlets, and social media.

The Homophile Movements of the 1950s Although gay communities and gay Latinos have been part of United States’ society for centuries, and no exact event marks the precise beginning of gay rights, historians generally agree that the con­temporary gay rights movement can be traced back to the 1950s. Following World War II and through the late 1960s, the United States was fixated on fighting communism, which was perceived as a threat to national order and traditional American values. Homo­sexuality was equated with communism and was similarly treated as a social and po­liti­cal threat to the nation. Hence, government institutions and po­liti­cal leaders in the 1950s, including the FBI, President Eisenhower, and the Senate, created and enforced laws that persecuted ­people suspected of engaging in homosexual acts. ­These laws w ­ ere based on the

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prevalent assumption that homosexuals ­were emotionally unstable individuals whose mere presence was capable of “polluting” what­ever group or space they w ­ ere associated with. ­Under ­these laws, hundreds of ­people suspected of “sexual perversion” (the ­legal term used to refer to homosexual be­hav­ior at the time) lost their jobs and professional licenses. Sexual activity between two consenting adults of the same sex in the privacy of their home was considered a crime for which they could be fined or sent to prison. B ­ ecause homo­sexuality was considered a psychiatric disorder, shock therapy treatments, castration, and lobotomies ­were all l­ egal and widely practiced “treatments” meant to “cure” a man convicted of having consensual sex with another man (Car­ter, 2004). Historians have criticized the severity of t­hese laws, enforced even as the United States was si­mul­ta­neously denouncing ­human rights violations in rival nations. Historian David Car­ter, for instance, points out that “[b]y 1961 the laws in Amer­i­ca ­were harsher on homosexuals than t­hose in Cuba, Rus­sia, or East Germany, countries that the United States criticized for their despotic ways” (2004, p. 15). The ­legal and active persecution of homosexuals in the United States led to the emergence of homophile groups in the 1950s and 1960s. ­These early LGBT groups identified themselves as homophile (meaning “love of the same”), as opposed to “gay,” which allowed members to maintain a sense of secrecy about their sexual identity by not using the words “gay” or “lesbian” in the official names of the organ­ izations. The groups ONE Inc. and ONE Magazine, the Mattachine Society, and the ­Daughters of Bilitis have historically been credited as the earliest and most prominent of t­hese early homophile groups. Latinos w ­ ere directly involved in the creation and development of t­hese three organ­izations. In 1952 in Los Angeles, California, Mexican American flamenco dancer Tony Reyes helped co-­found ONE Inc., a homophile organ­ization born out of the desire to create a magazine exclusively for a gay male audience. Reyes played a key role in the creation of ONE Magazine—­first published in 1953—­which is widely considered the first magazine for a gay readership (Faderman and Timmons, 2006). In 1955, eight lesbian w ­ omen in San Francisco created the ­Daughters of Bilitis, which went on to become one of the most prominent lesbian activist groups. According to original found­ers Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, one of t­hese original eight w ­ omen was a Chicana. The same year, Cuban American Tony Segura founded the New York chapter of the Mattachine Society, a homophile group that had started in Los Angeles in 1950, and is thus credited for being the oldest of the three notable 1950s homophile groups. Segura’s crucial role in creating a network of gay ­people along the East Coast went beyond organ­izing the New York gay community through the Mattachine Society. Segura traveled to Pittsburgh, Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C., to work with homophile groups in t­hose areas and also

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helped connect gay p­ eople in the south to LGBT communities in the north by setting up a correspondence network (Strub, 2016). Gay Latinos continued to pioneer the fight for gay rights on each coast in the 1960s. On the West Coast, cross-­dressing performer José Sarria became a prominent po­liti­cal figure and activist through his work in the San Francisco area. Sarria, born in San Francisco to a Colombian ­mother and a Nicaraguan ­father whom he never met, first made history when he ran for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, becoming the first openly gay person in the country to run for elected office. Though he lost the election, he garnered 5,000 votes and came in ninth out of 30 candidates who w ­ ere up for 5 spots on the board. The unexpectedly large number of votes Sarria garnered proved the increasing power of gay p­ eople as a voting demographic in regions with an historically large LGBT population. Throughout the 1960s, Sarria continued to work at the forefront of the fight for gay rights by helping to found gay activist groups in San Francisco. The most durable of t­ hese groups is the International Court System (ICS), an LGBT organ­ization with more than 65 chapters in the United States, Mexico, and Canada. Per the organ­ ization’s website, as of 2017, the ICS is the second-­largest LGBT organ­ization in the world.

Rioting for Gay Rights In addition to official forms of activism carried out by gay advocacy groups, Latinos made enormous strides in the fight for gay rights through unofficial and spontaneous forms of activism on the streets. Two riots, a lesser known riot in San Francisco and a more famous one in New York, are evidence of the indelible role that the most marginalized members of the LGBT community played in the emergence of gay rights. The first of ­these riots, known as the Compton’s Cafeteria Riots, took place in San Francisco in 1966. Gene Compton’s cafeteria was a spot where drag queens, trans w ­ omen, and gay hustlers—­many of whom w ­ ere of color—­gathered ­after working on the streets. The cafeteria was near the Tenderloin neighborhood, known at the time as a usual spot for sex workers and drug users, and therefore, as one of the few places where “street queens”—­the term homeless trans ­women and drag queen prostitutes used to refer to themselves—­could live in the open. To combat the LGBT clientele, workers at the cafeteria would often call the police to arrest the street queens. One early morning in August, 1966, as one of the queens was being arrested by a hostile police officer, she threw coffee in the officer’s face. Thereafter, a protest erupted in which transgender ­women, drag queens, and ­people on the street fought against the police. Whereas awareness about the Compton Cafeteria riots only started to gain traction in the mid-2000s, the Stonewall Riots in New York City—­more commonly

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referred to just as Stonewall—­have been credited for de­cades as “the emblematic event in modern lesbian and gay history” and an “empowering symbol of global proportions” (Duberman, 1993, p. xv). As with the San Francisco riots, many historians and scholars have pointed to Stonewall as one of the most significant examples of the impact that LGBT Latinos have had on the emergence of the con­temporary gay rights movement. The riots took place the morning of June 9, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn, an underground gay bar in New York’s Greenwich Village. The New York Penal Code allowed for the arrest of anyone caught wearing three or more articles of clothing that did not correspond to the person’s sex (Car­ter, 2004). Therefore, when the police conducted a routine raid at the bar, they targeted the street queens for wearing ­women’s clothing. ­After being kicked out of the bar, the Latino and black street queens started throwing coins at the cops while yelling at them. As the protests escalated and more ­people joined in, protesters started throwing Molotov cocktails and lighting garbage cans on fire, forcing the police officers to barricade themselves inside the bar. The protests lasted for days and are widely seen as the catalyst for the creation of a nationally vis­i­ble gay rights movement, leading to the first organ­ izations (e.g., the Gay Liberation Front, the Gay Activist Alliance) and publications (e.g., Gay Power, Gay Flames) that explic­itly ­adopted the word gay as part of their names (Yoshino, 2006). Stonewall, and more specifically, the black and Latina street queens’ participation in the events, has historically been a controversial subject. For instance, in his 1993 book Stonewall, gay historian Martin Duberman highlighted Sylvia Rivera’s role in the protests. Rivera was a Latina homeless sex worker living on the streets of New York when Stonewall took place. Though she often referred to herself as transgender or as a street queen (she was assigned male gender at birth but lived as a ­woman for most of her life), she disliked labeling her gender or her sexuality (Rivera, 2002). In books, interviews, and speeches, she provided first-­hand accounts of her participation in Stonewall. However, in his 2004 book about the event, historian David Car­ter notes that, ­after talking to several white gay male Stonewall veterans, he did not find enough evidence to confirm Rivera’s testimony (Car­ter, 2004). White gay men’s negation of Rivera’s participation in Stonewall exemplifies Rivera’s larger strug­gles within the gay rights movement. She attended meetings and engaged in activism as a member of the Gay Activists Alliance and the Gay Liberation Front, the two main gay rights organ­izations that emerged in New York directly a­ fter Stonewall. However, she became displeased with the fact that neither organ­ization was welcoming of trans/drag queens, especially a­ fter the groups’ leaders refused to include transgender p­ eople as part of their agenda (Rivera, 2002). The exclusion of the transgender community in gay rights groups led Rivera to co-­ found Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR) with her friend and fellow

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Stonewall veteran Marsha P. Johnson in 1970. She also started an LGBT caucus in the Young Lords Party in New York City.

Gay Rights ­after the 1960s Throughout the 1970s, po­liti­cal activism and community building for minorities gained prominence. However, the organ­izations that emerged within this context tended to focus on issues relevant to a single group (e.g., Chicanos, Latinos, ­women, gay ­people) and did not serve the needs of members who belonged to more than one minority. For instance, upon his return to the United States in 1969 as a veteran of the Vietnam War, gay Chicano activist Jesús Barragán spoke about feeling like an outsider among both heterosexual Chicanos and white gay ­people. At college in San Jose, Barragán became increasingly interested in the Chicano movement and eventually joined the Chicano student group MEChA (Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán, which translates as Chicano Student Movement of Aztlán). However, Barragán had to keep his gay identity “a separate ­matter” from his po­liti­cal work in the Chicano movement (Roque Ramírez, 2003, p.  229). Moreover, as detailed in Horacio Roque Ramírez’s in-­depth study of gay Latino po­liti­cal formation in San Francisco from 1975 to 1983, gay bars—­meant to be safe spaces for gay ­people—­represented contentious sites for gay Latinos. Whereas white patrons could get into the bars by showing one form of picture ID, many gay bars required gay Latinos to show two to three forms of picture ID to get in. Many gay Latinos felt this was a discriminatory practice, meant to allow far more white patrons than p­ eople of color at the bars, which only added to the sense of isolation felt by many members of the gay Latino community (Roque Ramírez, 2003). In 1975, fueled by the need for a community that recognized both their Chicano and gay identity, a group of Chicano gay men in the San Francisco area—­including Rodrigo Reyes, Jesús Barragán, and Manuel Hernández Valadéz—­published classified ads in gay newspapers to reach out to members in the community. Approximately 50 to 60 gay Latino men and ­women attended the first meeting. Thus, the Gay Latino Alliance (GALA), credited as “one of the first gay Latino organ­izations to gain national visibility,” was founded (Roque Ramírez, 2003). As an organ­ization, GALA created a “collective vision” based on a community for which “simultaneous engagement with race, sexuality, and culture” was the priority (Roque Ramírez, 2003, p. 239). Despite its success, GALA was plagued with issues from the beginning that eventually resulted in its disintegration. Its emphasis on gay men tended to exclude or marginalize the voices and experiences of w ­ omen members, and rifts between the Chicano and Puerto Rican members caused further tensions among the membership. Ultimately, GALA folded in 1983 (Roque Ramírez, 2003).

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The 1980s marked a shift in the development of gay Latino activism that was largely influenced by the HIV/AIDS crisis of the de­cade. Starting with the first HIV/ AIDS diagnoses in 1981, the disease spread rapidly among gay men at a time when ­there was virtually no medical research on treatment options for affected patients, resulting in the deaths of tens of thousands of ­people who had contracted the disease by 1985 (AIDS​.­gov, 2016). Although it was originally viewed by most ­people as a “gay men’s disease,” it became clear that heterosexual men and ­women and ­others could contract the virus by vari­ous means. The epidemic particularly affected members of disenfranchised communities who had few resources to access appropriate health care. The prob­lem was exacerbated by the fact that the majority of HIV/AIDS funds and ser­vices supported white gay organ­izations, leaving minority communities with few resources to respond to the far-­reaching effects of the disease. As a response, lesbian Chicana activists and other members of the LGBT Latino community founded organ­izations like the Minority AIDS Proj­ect and Bienestar, which focused on AIDS activism for minorities (Esquivel, 2015). Bienestar, founded in 1989, evolved from a smaller grassroots organ­ization into one of the most impor­tant organ­izations for the LGBT Latino community; as of 2017, it has nine locations in Southern California. By the 1990s, the professionalization of LGBT organ­izations had begun as they ­were increasingly turning into nongovernmental organ­izations (NGOs). ­These groups w ­ ere officially recognized as nonprofit organ­izations that ­were eligible for—­ and, in fact, depended on—­large private donations and federal grants. ­These funds typically went to prominent LGBT NGOs whose membership was overwhelmingly white. In his introduction to the collection of oral histories Queer Brown Voices, queer Puerto Rican scholar Salvador Vidal-­Ortiz notes that “the last two de­cades of the twentieth ­century became a battleground for the establishment and institutionalization of larger units that sought to give the broadest possibility to Latina/o LGBT p­ eople . . . ​through the nonprofit system” (2015, p. 10). The national Latina/o Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Organ­ization (LLEGO) is an example of an LGBT Latino NGO that has thrived within this system; nevertheless, many LGBT NGOs have found it difficult to survive in this context due to limited funds from major donors and federal grants. This strug­gle points to the challenges LGBT Latinos still face as they attempt to negotiate their LGBT identities and their Latino cultural background within the LGBT community in the United States at large. Moreover, their contributions to the gay rights movement over the de­cades continue to remain on the sidelines. However, scholars like Lawrence LaFountain-­Stokes and Vidal-­Ortiz, as well as nonprofit organ­izations like the Sylvia Rivera Law Proj­ect, have contributed to the rising acknowl­edgment of the key role that LGBT Latinos played in the gay rights movement.

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Chicana Lesbian Writers As in the case of the gay rights movement, the Chicano movement, which primarily refers to the fight for the civil rights of Mexican Americans, gained prominence in the late 1960s. A significant number of Chicana lesbian activists, however, felt that they had to compromise their lesbian identity to belong to the Chicano movement. In response, a number of Chicana lesbian activists used lit­er­a­ture and writing to publicly discuss their identities as Chicanas, ­women, and lesbians. During the 1980s, Chicana lesbian lit­er­a­ture gained prominence as two of its most well-­known figures, Gloria Anzaldúa and Cherríe Moraga, started publishing their work. Together, the two of them collaborated on the 1981 collection This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical ­Women of Color, which compiled essays, poetry, and reflections from w ­ omen of color who spoke about their strug­gles in relationship to issues of gender, ethnicity, race, sexual orientation, class, and other topics. As reflected in This Bridge Called My Back, as well as their other famous works—­such as Anzaldúa’s 1987 book Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza and Moraga’s 1983 book Loving in the War Years: Lo que nunca pasó por sus labios—­ Chicana lesbian writing consisted of a mixture of dif­fer­ent writing genres; was often semi-­autobiographical; and focused on presenting feminism, sexuality, and ethnicity as intertwined ele­ments of lived experiences. Through their writing, Gloria Anzaldúa and Cherríe Moraga became two of the loudest and most influential voices in the history of Chicanos and Latinos, Chicana feminism, and the rights of LGBT Latinos.

Biographies of Notable Figures José Sarria (1922–2003) José Sarria made history in 1961 when he became the first openly gay person to run for public office in the United States. Sarria was the son of a Colombian ­mother and a Nicaraguan ­father. Sarria’s m ­ other, Maria Dolores MalDoñado, immigrated to the San Francisco area as a result of the Thousand Days’ War, the civil war in Colombia that lasted from 1899 to 1902. MalDoñado had an upper-­class upbringing in Colombia as the d­ aughter of well-­known po­liti­cal activists. Her ­mother’s connections as a po­liti­cal activist allowed MalDoñado to escape to the American Consulate in the midst of the war. American officials initially relocated her to Panama and then she moved to Guatemala. In 1920, she left Guatemala City to move

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to San Francisco. On the boat trip, she met Julio Sarria, a Nicaraguan man of Spanish ancestry, and the two became a ­couple. Once they arrived in the United States, MalDoñado worked as a maid while Sarria worked as a maître d’­hotel. The ­couple never married; when MalDoñado became pregnant, Julio Sarria abandoned her (Gorman, 1998). José Sarria was born on December 12, 1923, at the St. Francis Hospital in San Francisco. His f­ ather refused to pay child support, which led to him being arrested multiple times and forced to pay $5 for child support with each arrest. When his son was between the ages of three and four, Julio Sarria returned to Nicaragua to avoid making further payments. As a result, José Sarria’s ­mother had to raise her son on her own. Sarria described his childhood as a happy one. His ­mother was insistent on him speaking Spanish and enrolled him in private school; however, ­after the ­Great Depression, Sarria was moved to a public school (Sarria, 2003). Sarria’s ­family was accepting of his gayness early on. Growing up, he would go out with his m ­ other dressed as a girl; in addition, when he began a serious relationship with another young man as a teenager, his f­amily offered their support (Gorman, 1998; Sarria, 2003). ­After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941, which led to the United States’ involvement in World War II, Sarria deci­ded to enlist in the Army. ­After being discharged, he returned to San Francisco in 1947 and went to college. In his last year of college in the early 1950s, he was arrested on a charge of moral turpitude (a criminal law phrase meaning conduct that suggested qualities of “baseness, vileness, or depravity”) at an all-­men’s bar in the St. Francis ­Hotel during a police raid. This arrest limited his job opportunities despite the fact that he spoke multiple languages and had a college education (Sarria, 2003; Retzloff, 2007). The lack of job opportunities led him to work at a bar in San Francisco called the Black Cat, which was known as a central site for the “semi-­clandestine gay world of mid-­century San Francisco” (Retzloff, 2007). Though he started out as a waiter, he eventually assumed the role of the bar’s main entertainer, ­going on to become known as “The Nightingale of Montgomery Street.” His act consisted of singing parodies of famous songs, all of which included “sexual innuendos or po­liti­cal or social commentary” and emphasized gay solidarity (Retzloff, 2007; Imperial Council of San Francisco, 2016). His act was so successful that the Black Cat would be filled to capacity when he performed, and patrons would stand outside the bar to hear the per­for­mance (Imperial Council of San Francisco, 2016). In 1960, now known as a local celebrity, Sarria founded the League of Civil Education, which sought to educate o­ thers about issues in the gay community and fight against anti-­gay laws (Imperial Council of San Francisco, 2016). Frustrated by ­these and other discriminatory laws—­including anti-­sodomy laws—­Sarria deci­ded to run for a seat on the Board of Supervisors in 1961, marking a historic moment in gay politics in the United States. In 1965, Sarria declared himself Empress of San

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Francisco and created the Imperial Court of San Francisco, seeking to “educate and cultivate a greater community sense of gay pride, identity and unity” (Imperial Council of San Francisco, 2016). Over the next three de­cades, Sarria continued his activism as part of the Imperial Council of San Francisco, which became the International Court System as it gained traction as a global organ­ization (Slotnik, 2013). He stepped down as a leader of the organ­ization in 2007 (Retzloff, 2007). The 1990s led to a newfound recognition of Sarria’s pioneering work in gay rights activism. He was part of the festivities to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Stonewall in 1994, and in 1998, author Michael Gorman released Sarria’s biography, which consisted of a series of conversations between Gorman and Sarria. However, in 2005, Sarria was involved in controversy when he was a juror in an anti-­gay murder case. Defense l­awyers accused him of strong-­arming other jurors to propose the death penalty, though he was cleared of wrongdoing years ­later, and he did not receive any official form of punishment. On May 25, 2006, San Francisco renamed a block of the city’s 16th Street “Jose Sarria Court” in his honor. Sarria died of adrenal cancer in Albuquerque, New Mexico, on August 19, 2013, at age 90 (Slotnik, 2013).

Sylvia Rivera (1951–2002) Sylvia Rivera is widely considered to be the pioneer of gay rights and transgender rights in the United States. Rivera was born in New York City on July 2, 1951, and was assigned male gender at birth (Retzloff, 2007). When Rivera was three, her ­mother killed herself by ingesting rat poison, and also attempted to kill Rivera in the pro­cess. ­After her ­mother’s death, Rivera was forced to live with her maternal grand­mother, a Venezuelan immigrant. According to Rivera’s personal testimony, her grand­mother’s prejudices against dark-­skinned ­people and Puerto Ricans caused her to openly express her disdain ­toward Rivera, whose f­ ather was a dark-­skinned Puerto Rican. Additionally, Rivera’s grand­mother did not want her grand­daughter to be perceived as a Latina; she enrolled Rivera in an all-­white Catholic school and scolded her when she spoke Spanish. The relationship between the two only became more tense as Rivera started wearing makeup and engaging in same-­sex be­hav­ior at a young age (Rivera, 2002). Sylvia Rivera deci­ded to leave her grand­mother’s home in 1962, when she was only 11 years old, to live on the streets of Times Square, a New York landmark known at the time for its large concentration of “street queens” (Duberman, 1993). In a 2001 speech, Rivera admitted to being scared to live on the streets, and she found sex work “disgusting,” but she did not think t­ here was any other way for her to survive, especially since she was living as a transgender ­woman (though the word “transgender” did not yet exist). As she explained, “The street queens have always

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been prostitutes to survive, b­ ecause some of us left home so early, or it just w ­ asn’t feasible to be working if you wanted to wear your makeup” (Rivera, 2002, p. 72). The older street queens—­most of whom w ­ ere only in their late teens—­offered Rivera their support and guidance; they gave Rivera the name “Sylvia” (Rivera, 2002). During this time Rivera met Marsha P. Johnson, an African American street queen who went on to become an activist for transgender rights with Rivera and whom she considered a s­ ister. Throughout the 1960s, Rivera supported herself by engaging in sex work and started using drugs like heroin and Benzedrine, starting her on a path to addiction that would plague her for most of her life. In the mid1960s, she started taking estrogen hormones; however, she soon stopped, ­after coming to the conclusion that she did not want to be known as ­either a ­woman or a man (Duberman, 1993). When she was 17, Sylvia Rivera became part of history when she participated in the Stonewall riots. The night of June 27, 1969, Rivera was at the Stonewall Inn at the insistence of a friend. She did not like g­ oing to the Stonewall Inn, which she described as a bar for “white middle-­class males to pick up young boys of dif­fer­ent races” and where men in drag w ­ ere not welcome (Rivera, 2002, p. 79). When the police raided the bar in the early hours of June 28, they kicked out some of the street queens and gay patrons while retaining ­others inside. The group of street queens and gay men outside, including Rivera and Johnson, started throwing coins at the cops while screaming at them. As the riots escalated, the police officers had to barricade themselves inside the bar. In a speech delivered months before her death, Rivera mentioned how in some accounts of the riots, she is credited with throwing the first Molotov cocktail: “I always like to correct [them]; I threw the second one” (Rivera, 2007, p. 119). Following Stonewall, Rivera attempted to participate in the gay rights groups that emerged in the aftermath of the riots, such as the Gay Activists Alliance (GAA). However, the members of ­these organ­izations—­mostly white, middle-­ class activists—­did not see transgender rights as part of their po­liti­cal agenda (Retzloff, 2007). Rivera deci­ded to start Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR) with Marsha P. Johnson, a group that provided shelter to homeless transgender ­people. She asked the GAA to support STAR, but her requests w ­ ere denied (Duberman, 1993). Rivera eventually moved to Tarrytown, New York, where she worked in the food ser­vice industry while dealing with substance abuse, though she would go back to Manhattan to join the annual pride march commemorating Stonewall in June (Retzloff, 2007). The 1990s marked a shift in Rivera’s life following the publication of Martin Duberman’s 1993 book Stonewall. Duberman focused on first-­person accounts from six Stonewall veterans, and Sylvia Rivera was one of them. Following publication of that book, Rivera became one of the public ­faces of Stonewall:

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in 1994 she led a march in New York City in honor of the 25th anniversary of the riots; the co-­lead of the 1995 film adaptation of Duberman’s book was based on Rivera’s life; and five years ­later, Rivera was honored at World Pride in Rome. Sylvia Rivera died of liver cancer at St. Vincent’s Manhattan Hospital on February 19, 2002; she was 50. Though she had remained homeless for the majority of her adult life, she found refuge at a private shelter for transgender p­ eople in Brooklyn five years prior to her death. At the shelter she met her life partner, Julia Murray. Since her death, Rivera has been commemorated for her pioneering work as a transgender rights activist. Months ­after her death, transgender rights activist and ­lawyer Dean Spade founded the Sylvia Rivera Law Proj­ect, a New York-­based nonprofit organ­ization that provides ­legal aid, health care ser­vices, and protection for transgender, intersex, and gender nonconforming low-­income ­people and ­people of color (Sylvia Rivera Law Proj­ect, 2017). In 2005, the corner of Christopher Street and Hudson Street in New York City’s Greenwich Village—­near the Stonewall Inn—­was named “Sylvia Rivera Way” in her honor. In October 2015, it was announced that Rivera’s portrait would be added to the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, marking the first time a transgender person would be part of the exhibit.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Stoumen v. Reilly (1951) The Black Cat was a popu­lar hangout for gay men in the San Francisco area in the mid-20th ­century. In 1951, the California Supreme Court made a decision in a case that sought to indict the bar for serving alcohol to gay p­ eople. Although the court ruled that a bar could not lose its liquor license for serving alcohol to gay patrons, laws prohibiting bars from serving alcohol to their gay clientele continued to be enforced, leading Black Cat entertainer José Sarria to found the League for Civil Education in 1960 and to run for public office in 1961. The accusation filed against plaintiff was in two counts and alleged violations of sections 58 and 61(a) of the Alcoholic Beverage Control Act. fn. * (2 Deering’s Gen. Laws, 1944, Act 3796.) Count one charged that plaintiff permitted his premises to be used as a disorderly h­ ouse for purposes injurious to public morals. Count two charged that one of plaintiff’s employees sold beer to a person ­under the age of 21 years. The hearing officer of the board, who received the evidence, found that plaintiff “kept and permitted his licensed premises to be used as a disorderly h­ ouse in that . . . ​persons of known homosexual tendencies patronized said premises and used said premises as a meeting place,” and that beer was sold to a minor as alleged. He

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concluded that plaintiff had ­violated sections 58 and 61(a) and recommended “indefinite suspension” of the license. The findings and recommendation w ­ ere a­ dopted by the board as its decision. Thereafter the superior court denied a writ of mandate ­after reviewing the ­matter on the rec­ord before the board. (See Covert v. State Board of Equalization, 29 Cal.2d 125, 131 [173 P.2d 545].) [1a] The principal question with re­spect to count one is w ­ hether the evidence is sufficient to warrant suspension of plaintiff’s license. Several police officers testified that many of the patrons of the Black Cat ­were homosexuals and that it was reputed to be a “hangout” for such persons. A number of p­ eople w ­ ere arrested t­ here, some for vagrancy and some b­ ecause they “demonstrated homosexual actions,” but ­there was no showing that any of ­those arrested ­were convicted. ­There was no evidence of any illegal or immoral conduct on the premises or that the patrons resorted to the restaurant for purposes injurious to public morals. [37 Cal.2d 716.] [2] Section 58 of the act makes it a misdemeanor for a licensee to permit his restaurant and bar to be used as a disorderly ­house or place “to which ­people resort for purposes which are injurious to public morals.” The terms of the section refer to conduct on the premises or resort thereto for improper purposes, and it is clear that it would be necessary to read something into that section before it could be construed as an attempt to regulate mere patronage by any par­tic­u­lar class of persons without regard to their conduct on the premises. (Cf. Orloff v. Los Angeles Turf Club, Inc., 36 Cal.2d 734 [227 P.2d 449].) [3] Members of the public of lawful age have a right to patronize a public restaurant and bar so long as they are acting properly and are not committing illegal or immoral acts; the proprietor has no right to exclude or eject a patron “except for good cause,” and if he does so without good cause he is liable in damages. (See Civ. Code, §§ 51, 52.) In analogous cases it has been held that a liquor license could not be revoked on the ground that prostitutes had dined in the licensee’s restaurant (In re Farley, 217 N.Y. 105 [111 N.E. 479]) and that a conviction of maintaining a bawdy h­ ouse was not supported by evidence that ­women of loose or immoral character had obtained lodging in defendant’s ­hotel (Patterson v. State, 9 Okla.Cr. 564 [132 P. 693, 695]). In the Patterson case the court pointed out that such ­women are ­human beings entitled to shelter and that it is not a crime to give them lodging u­ nless it is done for immoral purposes. [1b] The same reasoning applies to the patronage of a public restaurant and bar by homosexuals, and mere proof of patronage, without proof of the commission of illegal or immoral acts on the premises, or resort thereto for such purposes, is not sufficient to show a violation of section 58. The fact that the Black Cat was reputed to be a “hangout” for homosexuals indicates merely that it was a meeting place for such persons. (See Webster’s New Internat. Dict.) Unlike evidence that an establishment is reputed to be a h­ ouse of prostitution, which means a place where prostitution is practiced and thus necessarily

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implies the d­ oing of illegal or immoral acts on the premises, testimony that a restaurant and bar is reputed to be a meeting place for a certain class of persons contains no such implication. Even habitual or regular meetings may be for purely social and harmless purposes, such as the consumption of food and drink, and it [37 Cal.2d 717] is to be presumed that a person is innocent of crime or wrong and that the law has been obeyed. (Code Civ. Proc., § 1963, subds. 1, 33.) [4] Defendants contend that even though the evidence is insufficient to show a violation of section 58, the license could be suspended ­under section 22 of article XX of the Constitution which provides that the board “­shall have the power, in its discretion, to deny or revoke any specific liquor license if it s­ hall determine for good cause that the granting or continuance of such license would be contrary to public welfare or morals.” (See, also, § 40, subd. 1, of the act, which contains a similar provision.) The board’s discretion ­under section 22, however, is not absolute but must be exercised in accordance with the law, and the provision that it may revoke a license “for good cause” necessarily implies that its decisions should be based on sufficient evidence and that it should not act arbitrarily in determining what is contrary to public welfare or morals. (See Covert v. State Board of Equalization, 29 Cal.2d 125, 131–132 [173 P.2d 545].) [5] In order to establish “good cause” for suspension of plaintiff’s license, something more must be shown than that many of his patrons ­were homosexuals and that they used his restaurant and bar as a meeting place. [6] As to count two of the accusation, the rec­ord shows that a young man who was u­ nder age visited the Black Cat with an adult companion and purchased and consumed beer on the premises, and ­there is sufficient support for the finding that plaintiff’s employee sold beer to a minor in violation of section 61(a) of the act. A separate penalty was not assessed for this offense, the order of indefinite suspension being based upon the finding that plaintiff had ­violated both sections 58 and 61(a). No prior disciplinary action had ever been taken against plaintiff, and t­here was evidence that the minor, who was nearly 20 years of age, looked to be 21. It appears that the usual punishment imposed ­under such circumstances varies from a reprimand to a limited suspension of not more than 30 days. Since it does not seem likely that plaintiff’s license would have been suspended for an indefinite period on this charge alone, the m ­ atter should be remanded to the board. We find it unnecessary to pass upon other contentions made by the plaintiff with re­spect to the propriety of the board’s action. [37 Cal.2d 718.] The judgment is reversed with instructions to the trial court to grant a peremptory writ of mandate directing the board to set aside its order of suspension and to take such further action as may be proper. Source: Stoumen v. Reilly, 37 Cal. 2d 713 (1951). Retrieved from http://­scocal​.­stanford​.­edu​ /­opinion​/­stoumen​-­v​-­reilly​-­29515

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See also: Chicana Feminist Movement; The Chicano Movement; Founding of the Young Lords

Further Reading AIDS​.­gov. 2016. “A Timeline of HIV/AIDS.” Retrieved from https://­www​.­hiv​.­gov​/­hiv​-­basics​ /­overview​/­history​/­hiv​-­and​-­aids​-­timeline Alamilla Boyd, Nan, and Horacio N. Roque Ramirez. 2012. Bodies of Evidence: The Practice of Queer Oral History. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Car­ter, David. 2004. Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Duberman, Martin. 1993. Stonewall. New York: Dutton. Esquivel, Laura M. 2015. “An East L.A. Warrior Who Bridged the Latina/o and the Gay Worlds,” in Uriel Quesada, Letitia Gomez, and Salvador Vidal-­Ortiz, eds., Queer Brown Voices, 78–96. Austin: University of Texas Press. Faderman, Lillian, and Stuart Timmons. 2006. Gay L.A.: A History of Sexual Outlaws, Power Politics, and Lipstick Lesbians. New York: Basic Books. Gorman, Michael. 1998. The Empress Is a Man: Stories from the Life of José Sarria. Binghamton, NY: Harrington Park Press. Guerra, Gilbert, and Gilbert Orbea. 2015. “The Argument Against the Use of the Term ‘Latinx.’ ” The Phoenix, November 19. Retrieved from http://­swarthmorephoenix​.­com​ /­2015​/­11​/­19​/­the​-­argument​-­against​-­the​-­use​-­of​-­the​-­term​-­latinx Imperial Council of San Francisco. 2016. “Found­er: José Julio Sarria, In Honor and Loving Memory, Absolute Empress I, The ­Widow Norton, December 12, 1992-­August 19, 2013.” Retrieved from http://­www​.­imperialcouncilsf​.­org​/­founder​.­html Nichols, James Michael. 2016. “Roland Emmerich: ‘Stonewall Was a White Event, Let’s Be Honest.’ ” Huffington Post, June 22. Retrieved from http://­www​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​ /­entry​/­roland​-­emmerich​-­stonewall​-­white​-­event​_­us​_­576ab781e4b09926ce5d493b Retzloff, Tim. 2007. “Eliding Trans Latino/a Queer Experience in U.S. LGBT History: José Sarria and Sylvia Rivera Re-­Examined.” CENTRO Journal 19: 140–161. Rivera, Sylvia. 2002. “Queens in Exile, the Forgotten Ones,” in Gender Queer: Voices from the Sexual Binary. Los Angeles: Alyson Books. Rivera, Sylvia. 2007. “Sylvia Rivera’s Talk at LGMNY, June 2001 Lesbian and Gay Community Ser­vices Center, New York City.” CENTRO Journal 19: 117–123. Roque Ramírez, Horacio. 2003. “ ‘That’s My Place!’: Negotiating Racial, Sexual, and Gender Politics in San Francisco’s Gay Latino Alliance, 1975–1983.” Journal of the History of Sexuality 12: 224–258. Sarria, José. 2003. “Oral History: José Sarria,” in Nan Alamilla Boyd, ed., Wide-­Open Town: A History of Queer San Francisco to 1965, 25–28. Berkeley: University of California Press. Slotnik, Daniel E. 2013. “José Sarria, Gay Advocate and Performer, Dies at 90.” New York Times, August 23. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2013​/­08​/­24​/­us​/­jose​-­sarria​ -­gay​-­advocate​-­and​-­performer​-­dies​-­at​-­90​.­html

Central American Civil Wars and Migration, 1970s–1980s | 677 Strub, Whitney. 2016. “In Hispanic Heritage Month, Let’s Remember Gay Rights Pioneer Tony Segura.” Slate, October 10. Retrieved from http://­www​.­slate​.­com​/­blogs​/­outward​ /­2016​/­10​/­10​/­tony​_­segura​_­may​_­have​_­been​_­the​_­most​_­important​_­early​_­gay​_­rights​ _­organizer​.­html Sylvia Rivera Law Proj­ect. 2017. “About SRLP.” Retrieved from https://­srlp​.­org​/­about Vidal​-­Ortiz, Salvador. 2015. “Introduction: Brown Writing Queer: A Composite of Latina/o LGBT Activism,” in Uriel Quesada, Letitia Gomez, and Salvador Vidal-­Ortiz, eds., Queer Brown Voices. Austin: University of Texas Press. Yoshino, Kenji. 2006. Covering: The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights. New York: Random House.

Central American Civil Wars and Migration, 1970s–1980s Susan E. Montgomery

Chronology 1926

Augusto Cesar Sandino, the ­father of the liberation movement, leads an attack against the Nicaraguan government.

1927

A young Communist intellectual named Farabundo Martí is banished from El Salvador ­because of his activities in student politics.

1934

General Anastasio Somoza assumes power in Nicaragua with help from the U.S.-­trained National Guard.

1951

Jacobo Arbenz wins the presidency in Guatemala and subsequently starts expropriating uncultivated land ­under his new agrarian reform law.

1954

Arbenz is ousted in a military coup in Guatemala and is replaced by Castillo Armas, a leader chosen by the United States CIA.

1961

The Sandinista Front for National Liberation (FSLN) is founded in Nicaragua and begins its operations clandestinely.

1967

Anastasio “Tachito” Somoza Debayle assumes the Nicaraguan presidency, succeeding his f­ ather, General Anastasio Somoza.

1972

A 6.2 earthquake hits Nicaragua, destroying homes and killing thousands. Tachito Somoza and the National Guard siphon international aid for their own personal gain. The Guerrilla Army of the Poor (EGP) is formed in Guatemala.

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1978, January

Journalist Pedro Joaquin Chamorro, an out­spoken critic of the Somoza regime, is murdered on January  10. His death fuels support for the San­di­nis­tas.

1978, May

The first reported massacre occurs in Guatemala on May 29. During a protest in Panzos, an indigenous town located in the highlands, army officials shoot into the crowd, killing 53 unarmed Q’eqchi’ Maya and injuring another 47.

1979

Somoza flees, the National Guard surrenders, and the FSLN, popularly known as the San­di­nis­tas, take control of the Nicaraguan government. More than 1,000 p­ eople die in El Salvador due to po­liti­cal vio­lence.

1980

Several revolutionary groups in El Salvador unite to form the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN). Archbishop Oscar Romero is nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for his out­spoken criticism of h­ uman rights violations in El Salvador.

1980, March

In El Salvador, Archbishop Oscar Romero is assassinated in church on March 24 while conducting Mass.

1980, December

Three American nuns and one lay worker are kidnapped, raped, and murdered in El Salvador on December 2.

1981

President Ronald Reagan authorizes a covert action military unit; the Contrarrevolutionarios (Contras) begin attacks along the Nicaraguan border against the leftist Sandinista government.

1981, December

War breaks out between the San­di­nis­tas and the Contras in Nicaragua. This war continues ­until 1989.

1982

Yo, Rigoberta Menchu, the autobiography of Guatemalan activist Rigoberta Menchu, is published. The book depicts the atrocities of the civil war in Guatemala.

1982–­1983 The FMLN initiates a military offensive striking primarily El Salvador’s infrastructure and military units. Estimates of damage are as high as $1 billion by the end of 1983. Paramilitary death squad victims and massacre deaths total 30,000. 1982, February

The Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca (URNG) is formed in Guatemala. The group unites several guerrilla groups.

1984–1986 Conflict between the FMLN and the military escalates in El Salvador, resulting in more than 50,000 deaths in two years of fighting. 1986

The FMLN and the Salvadoran government begin to hold peace talks to end the war.

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1990–1991 The United Nations begins peace talks between the government and the URNG in Guatemala. 1990

Sandinista candidate Daniel Ortega loses the Nicaraguan presidential election to a U.S.-­supported candidate, Violeta Chamorro.

1992

With UN support, the FMLN and the Salvadoran government announce a Peace Accord, which promises a cease-­fire by the end of January 1992. Rigoberta Menchu wins the Nobel Peace Prize for her activism, drawing international attention to the plight of the Guatemalan indigenous population during the country’s civil war.

1996

On December 29, final peace accords are signed in Guatemala City, Guatemala, ending the decades-­long war.

Narrative During the 1970s and 1980s, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala suffered violent civil wars resulting in the death of thousands of their citizens and forcing o­ thers to flee their homeland for safety. The conflicts in ­these countries ­were a combination of a social movement for equal repre­sen­ta­tion in their national government, a growing fear of communism spreading to the Western Hemi­sphere, and increasing military dominance. At the time, Cuba was u­ nder the control of Fidel Castro, and he maintained strong ties to the U.S.S.R. The United States, still recovering from the Vietnam War and the success of the Communist forces t­here, was fearful of any nearby countries electing a leader with socialist or communist tendencies. The polarization of the populace in ­these countries—­where both poverty and po­liti­cal corruption ­were rampant—­only fueled a social movement that demanded po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion and the opportunity to improve their economic situation. Military power and repression of the peasantry and extensive h­ uman rights violations w ­ ere common in all three countries during this era. The power collusion between the military and a small elite population in each country sustained national governments that worked primarily in the interests of the few at the expense of the majority. In El Salvador, government control was firmly held by the “Fourteen Families,” elite landowners who controlled the lucrative coffee market; and the military commanders. Throughout the 20th ­century, t­ hese dominating families controlled business interests and established the country’s rules (Chapman, 2007, p. 123). Their military supporters enforced their policies. In return, military leaders received the elite’s po­liti­cal support, resulting in many military leaders becoming presidents. Once in power, the leaders ruled the country to benefit the elite f­ amily members.

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Catholic nuns pray over the corpses of their murdered ­sisters in El Salvador, December 2, 1981. Exactly one year earlier five National Guardsmen caused international outrage when they raped and murdered three American Roman Catholic nuns and a lay worker whom they suspected of sympathizing with leftist guerrillas. (John Hoagland/Liaison/Getty Images)

However, societal tensions grew during the 1970s. Opposing po­liti­cal powers gained popularity, and in the early 1970s, a po­liti­cal co­ali­tion emerged. The National Opposition Union in El Salvador nominated Jose Napoleon Duarte as their presidential candidate. Duarte won the election and should have been declared the new president of El Salvador. However, the military, which controlled the election, declared General Arturo Molina, the oligarchy’s candidate, to be the country’s next president. Molina subsequently ordered Duarte’s arrest and torture. Blatant electoral corruption plagued El Salvador throughout the 1970s. Opposition groups

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united and or­ga­nized their efforts against the controlling elite and the military’s abusive power. In Nicaragua, Anastasio “Tachito” Somoza Debayle (1925–1980) ruled with an iron fist from 1967 to 1979. He succeeded his ­father, Anastasio Somoza García (1896–1956), who controlled the country for 20 years from 1936 to 1956. The younger Somoza had been educated at West Point Acad­emy and maintained strong ties with the Nicaraguan National Guard, a military unit created with U.S. support in 1927 during the elder Somoza’s reign. Like his ­father, Tachito Somoza maintained strong ties with the U.S. government and with the Nicaraguan elite, most of whom w ­ ere relatives. As in El Salvador, the Somoza ­family established government policies, which ­were enforced by a loyal military, to promote its wealth. Tachito Somoza’s presidential term was scheduled to end in 1971. However, he revised the constitution in a way that allowed him to stay in power ­until 1972. Rising opposition forced him to negotiate a po­liti­cal agreement known as the Kupia-­Kumi Pact. That agreement created a three-­member junta, which ruled from 1972 u­ ntil 1974. The pact was not well received by the opposition, specifically Pedro Joaquin Chamorro Cardenal and his newspaper La Prensa (Library of Congress, 1993, p. 28). A culminating event for the fall of the Somoza regime was the government’s response to a power­ful earthquake, which registered 6.3 on the Richter scale, in 1972 that destroyed most of Managua, the capital. Nicaragua received extensive international assistance to help rebuild the country following the disaster (Landau, 1993, p. 25). Somoza and his supporters diverted the money, however, using it for their own personal profit. The blatant greed of the Somoza government generated further opposition, not only by po­liti­cal adversaries but also by business members who had historically supported the Somozas. In Guatemala, the military ascended to power following the overthrow of a demo­cratically elected president in the 1950s. Jacobo Arbenz Guzmán (1913–1971) overwhelmingly won the presidency in a popu­lar election in 1950. Although a military leader, Arbenz enacted a sweeping agrarian reform law which revoked land owner­ship from entities with vast land holdings that w ­ ere not being actively cultivated. The law adversely impacted the property held by the United Fruit Com­pany (UFCO). Arbenz was ousted from office in 1954 and military command grew unhindered in Guatemala. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Guatemala experienced a series of coups, dictatorships, and military governments. H ­ uman rights atrocities spread across the country. ­Labor u­ nion organizers, peasantry, and the country’s large population of non-­Spanish-­speaking indigenous ­peoples ­were the primary targets. Brutal tactics against residents and entire villages that ­were suspected of rebel activity became rampant across the country.

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The Opposition Movement The growth of the military, combined with the poor economic conditions in ­these countries, fueled opposition movements. At first, the re­sis­tance groups ­were disor­ ga­nized, but as time passed, protestors and activists became more determined and focused. The most well-­known opposition movements in the region w ­ ere the Sandinista Front for National Liberation (FSLN) in Nicaragua, the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN) in El Salvador, and the Guerrilla Army of the Poor (EGP) in Guatemala. The FSLN began in 1961 as a guerrilla movement aimed at ousting the Somoza ­family from power. The found­ers ­were inspired by the success of the Cuban Revolution and the possibility of a clandestine group overthrowing an entrenched, corrupt government that was backed by the United States. They named it in honor of Augusto Cesar Sandino, a leader who had or­ga­nized an attack against the government in October 1926. The FSLN, whose members ­were also referred to as San­di­ nis­tas, based their fight on ending the exploitation of Nicaraguan workers and peasants and promoting a social transformation in the country (Zimmermann, 2000, p. 167). The Somoza greed following the 1972 earthquake and the fraudulent 1974 election marked a turning point in garnering support for the FSLN (Landau, 1993, p. 25). Support for the Sandinista movement spread, forcing the Somoza ­family to flee. On July 19, 1979, following the flight of the Somozas and their supporters, the FSLN assumed control of the government. In El Salvador, the FMLN formed in 1980 and united several revolutionary groups. Named in honor of the young communist leader Farabundo Martí of the 1920s, FMLN was inspired by the successes of the Cuban Revolution and the more recent Nicaraguan revolutionary government. Though it faced internal dissension within its organ­ization, FMLN fought to create social change, such as agrarian reform and the establishment of legitimate elections in the country. Salvadorans lived in constant fear u­ nder a ruthless military government that utilized death squads and violent tactics to quash any activity viewed as subversive. Protesters in urban areas clashed with the military, which killed ­labor strikers, students, and activists. However, rebel groups did get national support for their movement. The Catholic Church, which traditionally supported the government and the elite, began to openly support the rebel cause and criticize the government’s repressive actions. The high illiteracy rate and the widespread lack of housing and access to health ser­vices by the poor fomented criticism by the Church. Priests who spoke out against the Salvadoran government ­were often unjustly arrested and imprisoned for their remarks. Archbishop Oscar Romero (1917–1980), a popu­lar priest who preached social justice, was assassinated on March 24, 1980, while performing Mass. This outraged

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The Stimulus of Liberation Theology Liberation theology gained support in Latin Amer­i­ca during the 1970s. Priests in the Catholic Church began to modify their discourse. Rather than focusing their preaching on obtaining salvation by adhering to the princi­ples of the Christian faith, members of the clergy began to preach against the injustice of poverty and oppression of indigenous p­ eople and peasants. They worked with the poverty-­stricken and the unempowered to achieve social justice and improve their plight (Kruijt, 2008, p. 49). The Catholic Church, historically an advocate for the wealthy and the military in Latin Amer­i­ca, became a critic of ­those segments of society. Priests began organ­izing peasant communities, encouraging them, through scripture, to challenge ­those in power who ­were denying them their right to prosper and live with dignity. The military and oligarchy felt threatened and began to target the Church. In El Salvador in 1989, six Jesuit priests ­were murdered in their residence by military officers for supposedly inspiring rebellious activities and defaming the military. Not all Catholic priests supported the preaching of liberation theology. Several members of the Church hierarchy denounced the practice, indicating that scripture should not be used to incite rebellion or po­liti­ cal vio­lence (LaFeber, 1984, p. 223). In fact, Archbishop Oscar Romero in El Salvador regularly preached about social injustices but did not embrace the tenets of liberation theology. However, as he saw his fellow priests violently repressed by the government for their preaching to the poor, Romero changed his tone (Landau, 1993, p. 77). He became an out­spoken critic of the government’s violent activities to prevent priests from preaching what they believed. During the Central American wars of the 1970s, liberation theology spread quickly among impoverished communities. The religious movement became widespread throughout El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua and supported the revolutionary cause in t­hose countries. Religious communities in the United States also began to express solidarity and sympathy with the ­people of ­those nations.

Salvadorans and p­ eople around the world. Conflict between the FMLN and the military government continued through the 1980s. The EGP began in the rural regions of Guatemala. Residents throughout the country assembled in public locations, openly denouncing the military government and demanding access to land and equal treatment. National l­abor groups

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and land cooperatives helped workers voice their grievances against the repressive government. Military troops, ­under o­ rders, responded by massacring unarmed civilians. The first reported event occurred on May 29, 1978, in the indigenous town of Panźos. ­There, more than 700 peasants gathered to protest the way they ­were being treated by wealthy landowners. Army soldiers fired into the crowd and killed 53 unarmed Q’eqchi’ Maya and injured another 47 (Brockett, 2005, p. 4). Eventually, Guatemalans succeeded in forming a more unified guerrilla force, and in 1982 the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity/Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca (URNG) was announced (Brockett, 2005, p. 123). However, conflicts like the one in Panźos continued and became more widespread. The attacks centered on the large indigenous population that constituted the land-­working peasantry and w ­ ere also seen as primitive and unprogressive. The Guatemala Truth Commission, which investigated the atrocities following the conclusion of the war, reported that more than 600 massacres had occurred between 1978 and 1985, and that an overwhelming number of victims ­were Maya. The Truth Commission confirmed that 7,000 Ixil Maya ­were killed during the war (Brockett, 2005, p. 259).

Repression The Sandinista victory in 1979 did not go unnoticed by the U.S. government. Although President Car­ter had recognized the Sandinista government, anti-­ communist rhe­toric and the fear of communism spreading throughout Latin Amer­ i­ca dominated the 1980 U.S. presidential election. A new clandestine movement took root in Nicaragua: The Counterrevolutionaries, or Contras, or­ga­nized with U.S. financial and military support, began a campaign in the countryside. Former members of Somoza’s National Guard military formed the Contras with U.S. support and training at the School of the Amer­i­cas. They based their operation in nearby Honduras. Funding of the Contras became very controversial. Americans discovered that the Reagan administration was selling weapons to Iran to fund the Nicaraguan Contras. This became known as the Iran-­Contra affair. With the goal of forcing the San­di­nis­tas from power, the Contras brutally attacked villages and towns in northern Nicaragua. The ensuing conflict lasted through the 1980s. Although the Contra forces w ­ ere outnumbered by the San­di­nis­tas, they ­were better trained and outfitted ­because of the U.S. support (Kruijt, 2008, p. 122). They also employed terrorist tactics to disrupt the Sandinista government: attacking social ser­vice agencies such as schools, clinics, and daycare centers; attacking agricultural areas; and publicly killing officials (Booth, Wade, and Walker, 2014, p. 295). Combined, ­these repressive actions destroyed popu­lar support for the Sandinista government, which led to its defeat in the 1990 election.

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Surrounded by Civil War Honduras borders Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala and b­ ecause of its central location to t­hese countries, one might think it too would have suffered a civil war during the late 20th ­century like its neighbors. However, Honduras did not experience a populist revolution during the 1970s and 1980s as its neighboring countries did. The history of Honduras is not very dif­fer­ent from that of other Central American countries. The United Fruit Com­pany established itself in the country at the end of the 19th ­century, taking over Honduran banana production and exportation. Hondurans suffered from widespread poverty and did not have access to land, similar to the situation of fellow Central Americans. The Honduran military held significant control over government policies and activities, and also received U.S. training and assistance (LaFeber, 1984, p. 262). Elections and po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion ­were merely a façade for military rule. However, rather than become inspired by the revolutions occurring close to its borders, Honduras remained shockingly immune to po­liti­cal revolution. Honduran leaders emphasized the need for the country to remain neutral in a time of regional confrontation and conflict (Library of Congress, 1995, p. 48). The military did not adopt repressive tactics as in El Salvador and Guatemala (Kinzer, 1979, p. 461). Furthermore, as the revolutionary movements grew in Central Amer­i­ca, the U.S. government acted purposely in Honduras to retain its support. Following the San­di­nis­tas’ win in Nicaragua, U.S. financial and military support flowed into the country. During the 1980s, Honduras became the largest recipient of aid in Latin Amer­i­ca, receiving almost $1.6 billion (Library of Congress, 1995, p. 1999). Besides economic, military, and development assistance and food aid, Honduras was the site of one of the largest Peace Corps programs worldwide (Library of Congress, 1995, p. 200). While war raged in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala, Honduras became the staging area for U.S. attacks in Central Amer­ic­ a in the region in exchange for extraordinary U.S. aid.

Following the success of the Sandinista revolution, t­ here was a surge in violent conflict between the FMLN and the military in El Salvador. The United States, fearful of another social revolution in the region, financed the military’s operations. The government attributed the rebel activities to Cuba and the U.S.S.R. FMLN supporters held public demonstrations against the government and the military retaliated by attacking them on the street. Death squads invaded the homes of opposition

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leaders, ruthlessly killing entire families. The most notorious squads w ­ ere Mano Blanca, which formed in the 1960s, and ORDEN, formed in the 1980s. During this time, the Catholic Church also became targets of the vio­lence. Priests openly criticized the government’s use of vio­lence against Salvadorans during church ser­vices and demanded that the government respond to the plight of the country’s needy. Missionaries in El Salvador who helped victims of the conflict w ­ ere perceived as aiding the e­ nemy by military officials. Archbishop Oscar Romero was one of six priests murdered in El Salvador ­under military ­orders. The same year as Romero’s assassination, three Maryknoll nuns and a lay person w ­ ere assaulted, murdered, and buried in a shallow grave (Landau, 1993, p. 95). Atrocities like t­ hese, carried out by death squads and military officials, both heightened the level of fear in El Salvador and motivated guerrilla groups to pursue their cause of ousting the despotic government. The internal conflict between the military and peasantry in Guatemala raged through the country for years. In the indigenous highlands of Guatemala, army officials attacked villages and towns, hunting guerrillas, while in urban areas, the death squads focused their attention on rebel activity (Chapman, 2007, p. 183). The death squads ­were especially notorious for the kidnapping, torture, and systematic murder of suspected guerrillas. More than 15,000 Guatemalans vanished between 1970 and 1975 (Landau, 1993, p. 171). However, the brunt of the military repression fell upon the Guatemalan indigenous population. Residing primarily in the rural areas, the Maya endured hunger and homelessness during the war. U ­ nder General Efraín Ríos Montt (1926–), who ruled as president of Guatemala from 1982 to 1983, the military capitalized on ­these vulnerabilities, giving the Maya the ultimatum, “If you are with us, ­we’ll feed you; if not, ­we’ll kill you” (LaFeber, 1984, p. 225). Ríos Montt also sanctioned death squads during his presidency. The guerrillas attacked military headquarters and sabotaged the country’s communication infrastructure and highway system, thereby preventing army units from sending reinforcements. Guatemalans who sided with the government ­were also targeted by the guerrillas. As in Nicaragua, the U.S. government financially supported the Guatemalan military to prevent a leftist group from gaining popu­lar support and winning government power. The conflict in Guatemala did not end ­until 1996, when the United Nations succeeded in brokering a peace treaty between the government and the UNRG.

Migration The wars in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala forced many residents to leave their homelands. Some found safety in nearby countries such as Mexico or Costa Rica. ­Others made their way to the United States and created a new life within its borders. President Jimmy Car­ter signed the United States Refugee Act of 1980,

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which legally defined a refugee as an individual with a well-­founded fear of persecution ­because of race, religion, nationality, membership in a par­tic­u­lar social group, or po­liti­cal opinion. Although all the mi­grants from ­these countries ­were fleeing war for safety from po­liti­cal vio­lence and maltreatment, their admission to the United States depended on the United States’ po­liti­cal relationship with their national government. Therefore, if the United States did not approve of a country’s government for po­liti­cal reasons, such as the Sandinista government in Nicaragua, ­those fleeing the revolutionary government could seek refugee status in the United States. However, ­because the United States supported the governments in Guatemala and El Salvador, ­those fleeing the wars in ­those countries ­were not seen by the U.S. government as po­liti­cal refugees. In fact, applications for po­liti­cal asylum made by individual Salvadorans and Guatemalans w ­ ere rejected except in a few cases (Chinchilla and Hamilton, 1999, p. 4). Thus, many Salvadorans and Guatemalans entered illegally and lived in the United States as undocumented residents. In fact, during the war in El Salvador, 1 million Salvadorans moved to the United States. One quarter of t­ hose refugees migrated to Washington, D.C., making it one of the largest Salvadoran communities in the United States (Landau, 1993, p. 209). Most Guatemalans fleeing the war resettled to the Mexican state of Chiapas, as it was close to their homeland. ­These mi­grants, 84 ­percent of whom w ­ ere w ­ omen, lived in camps administered by the Mexican government. They came from vari­ous indigenous groups, including Kanjobal (57  ­percent), Mam (10  ­percent), Chuj (10 ­percent) and Jacalteco (7 ­percent; Baines, 2000, p. 16). ­Because each group spoke its own language, communication and organ­ization across the resettled population w ­ ere challenging. Their survival in Mexico depended on their acquisition of Spanish, which threatened maintenance of their indigenous language. The female mi­grants also faced discrimination if they wore huipils, the traditional dress of Mayan ­women. The war in Guatemala forced them to sacrifice their native language and appearance in exchange for their safety. Nicaraguans who migrated to the United States following the Sandinista overthrow of Somoza w ­ ere allowed entry. Their ­legal status was unclear ­because the administration was not sure what would happen to the revolutionary government in Nicaragua. ­These mi­grants ­were primarily Somoza supporters who opposed the San­di­nis­tas. ­Because of the strong anti-­communist stance of the Reagan administration (1980–1988) and its support of the Contra War, more than 10,000 Nicaraguans ­were granted po­liti­cal asylum from 1983 to 1992 (Orozco, 2008, p. 2). The United States acknowledged that ­there was a war in Nicaragua, in sharp contrast to its stance regarding the situations in Guatemala and El Salvador. B ­ ecause the U.S. government was closely tied to the movement to remove San­di­nis­tas from power, ­those who came during the Contra war period entered the country without much difficulty. In Costa Rica, Nicaraguans who entered in the 1980s w ­ ere given refugee

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status and provided government assistance. During the 1990s, the Nicaraguan government encouraged voluntary return of ­those who had fled following the 1979 Sandinista victory. The wars in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala during the 1980s and 1990s grew from internal resentment against the national governments whose policies and actions benefited the few at the expense of the majority. U.S. influence in ­these nations enabled governments that protected U.S. investments and prevented any public protest that would adversely impact U.S. interests. The close ties between the government and military, such as the Somozas in Nicaragua and the “Fourteen Families” in El Salvador, created an oligarchy, which enacted policies that only benefited themselves. In Guatemala, the military was the government and thus had ultimate control of the country. As opposition in ­these countries grew and became more or­ga­nized, violent confrontations between the guerrillas and the government increased. Millions of ­people throughout the region died from the vio­lence and ­others ­were forced to relocate. The wars w ­ ere attempts by small countries in the region to take control of their governments, reestablish their autonomy, and not have their interests be subsumed by the interests of the United States.

Biographies of Notable Figures Augusto Cesar Sandino (1895–1934) Sandino is considered the f­ ather of the liberation movement in Nicaragua. Born in 1895 in poverty in Niquinohomo, Sandino started picking coffee with his m ­ other at a young age. During his early twenties, Sandino moved to Tampico, Mexico, and worked as a mechanic. At that time, Mexico was in the ­middle of po­liti­cal change, so Sandino learned about social change, socialism, and nationalism with the goal of obtaining po­liti­cal sovereignty. Sandino returned to Nicaragua determined to campaign against U.S. control of Nicaragua. At the time of Sandino’s return, U.S. Marines occupied Nicaragua and protected the government. His first confrontation occurred in October 1926, when he led a group of co-­workers from a U.S.-­owned gold mine to strike a military base. The attack was unsuccessful, but this did not deter Sandino. He continued recruiting supporters, raising funds, and buying weapons. The U.S. military was unable to capture Sandino and his “guerrillas” as he waged war in the northern mountains of Nicaragua (Landau, 1993, p. 17). Sandino’s troops focused their attacks on U.S. outposts and areas of importance. They received support in the rural and peasant regions of Nicaragua, areas that had historically been neglected by the government. Families w ­ ere forced to work long days for wealthy landowners who paid them meager wages. Their communities lacked health ser­vices, schools, and access to

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­ ater. Sandino attributed this hardship to U.S. imperialism and the government’s w inability to respond to the ­people’s needs. In response to Sandino’s crusade, poor residents fed and sheltered his troops and protected them from capture. Sandino waged war in Nicaragua ­until 1933 when the U.S. announced its departure. Liberal candidate Juan Sacasa won the Nicaraguan presidency in 1932. In 1933, U.S. Marines withdrew from Nicaragua, but installed a U.S.-­trained National Guard to serve as the nation’s military. They named Anastasio Somoza Garcia, a man without any military training, the leader of National Guard. Sacasa wanted to end the war and negotiate a peace truce with Sandino. In 1934, Sandino was driving to Managua to meet with Sacasa. On the way, his car was stopped by army soldiers and Sandino, along with his ­brother Socrates and another general in his army, ­were kidnapped and murdered. Anastasio Somoza claimed responsibility for Sandino’s assassination, but asserted that he was acting on o­ rders from the United States. Although debate ensued as to who was responsible for Sandino’s death, no further investigation was made. Soon a­ fter, Somoza became the president of Nicaragua and ruled the country with an iron fist. His rule continued as he transferred power to his heirs. The Somoza dynasty controlled the government for 40 years. In 1967 a new revolutionary movement began. The FSLN, or San­di­nis­tas, ­adopted the early rebel’s name as an homage to his cause, and b­ ecause the Sandino name still resonated with the rural population, where the new guerrillas gained widespread support (LaFeber, 1984, p. 163). The Sandinista government came to power in 1979. ­After the fall of the revolutionary government in 1990, the San­di­nis­tas remained a po­liti­cal party in Nicaragua. Augusto Sandino is still considered by his nation to be a hero: a poor man who left a legacy of years spent achieving the quest for freedom from U.S. intervention and national in­de­pen­dence.

Farabundo Martí (1893–1932) Agustín Farabundo Martí was born the son of a landowner in Teotepeque, El Salvador. During his upbringing, Martí was surrounded by peasant laborers, and ­those interactions informed his personality and his belief in equal treatment for every­one, regardless of their background. He attended the National University of El Salvador, enrolling in the Department of Jurisprudence and Social Sciences. Martí’s po­liti­cal activism began while he was a university student. ­There, he began reading books on communism and anarchism, educating himself about revolutionary politics. In 1920, he became involved in the ­labor movement and participated in the early strikes against employers. Soon thereafter, the Salvadoran government exiled Martí to Guatemala. In Guatemala, he joined other revolutionaries and helped form the Central American Socialist party. The goal of the group was to ­free their countries from

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oligarchic rule and U.S. imperialism. Martí aspired to establish socialism as the new government system for all of Central Amer­i­ca (LaFeber, 1984, p. 73). Unfortunately, the socialist party failed to gain support and eventually collapsed. Martí subsequently traveled back to El Salvador and tried again to advance Marx’s theory of class consciousness among the rural and impoverished communities. Seen as a threat to the traditional social order in El Salvador, Martí was again ousted in 1928 by then President Alfonso Quiñones Molina. This time, though, Martí was sent to Nicaragua. In Nicaragua, he joined Augusto Sandino’s movement and eventually became a general in Sandino’s guerrilla army (Landau, 1993, p. 67). Even though both men held similar convictions about the need for government change, Martí believed Sandino’s strategy to be too limited in scope and inadequately revolutionary. Martí then returned to El Salvador. The ­Great Depression severely affected El Salvador’s coffee production. The demand for coffee decreased and coffee prices plummeted, forcing landowners to reduce production and wages (Landau, 1993, p. 67). Martí returned home to see farm laborers, like ­those he had known as a child, become more and more destitute and frustrated. During this time, Martí started organ­izing the Salvadoran Communist Party, with the objective of gaining support for the party among the peasantry. Martí did prove successful in motivating that population, but their determination was fueled more by hunger than by support for communism (LaFeber, 1984, p. 73). Martí and his supporters had planned a mass protest for January 22, 1932. However, the Salvadoran military learned about the uprising and thwarted the attack. Martí and his organizers ­were arrested and immediately executed. The military, ­under the command of General Maximiliano Hernandez Martínez, began an attack on the rural peasant communities, arresting and executing laborers by firing squads. The massacre continued for days and by the end more than 30,000 peasants had been murdered. ­After his assassination, the Salvadoran government erased Martí from history. When a new revolutionary movement began in 1980, the FMLN (Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front) organizers honored the early communist leader by selecting his name to unify its members and launch the renewed fight.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS President Ronald Reagan, Address to the Nation on the Situation in Nicaragua, 1986 Republican candidate Ronald Reagan became president of the United States in 1981. During his presidency, Reagan was staunchly anti-­communist and often spoke about the threat of communism in the Western Hemi­sphere, particularly in Latin

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Amer­i­ca. When the San­di­nis­tas won the 1984 election in Nicaragua, the Reagan administration denounced the victory and discredited the electoral pro­cess. The Contras ­were fighting in full force, although the American public would not find out ­until ­later that the Contras ­were being funded illegally by the American sale of weapons to Iran. President Reagan was losing congressional and public support for his strategy, however. On March 16, 1986, he addressed the nation to alert them of the dangers mounting in Nicaragua and urged the public to support his policies. The following is an excerpt of Reagan’s speech. March 16, 1986 My fellow Americans: I must speak to you to­night about a mounting danger in Central Amer­i­ca that threatens the security of the United States. This danger ­will not go away; it ­will grow worse, much worse, if we fail to take action now. I’m speaking of Nicaragua, a Soviet ally on the American mainland only 2 hours’ flying time from our own borders. With over a billion dollars in Soviet-­bloc aid, the Communist government of Nicaragua has launched a campaign to subvert and topple its demo­cratic neighbors. Using Nicaragua as a base, the Soviets and Cubans can become the dominant power in the crucial corridor between North and South Amer­i­ca. Established ­there, they w ­ ill be in a position to threaten the Panama Canal, interdict our vital Ca­rib­bean sealanes, and, ultimately, move against Mexico. Should that happen, desperate Latin ­peoples by the millions would begin fleeing north into the cities of the southern United States or to wherever some hope of freedom remained. The United States Congress has before it a proposal to help stop this threat. The legislation is an aid package of $100 million for the more than 20,000 freedom fighters struggling to bring democracy to their country and eliminate this Communist menace at its source. But this $100 million is not an additional 100 million. ­We’re not asking for a single dime in new money. We are asking only to be permitted to switch a small part of our pres­ent defense bud­ get to the defense of our own southern frontier. Gathered in Nicaragua already are thousands of Cuban military advisers, contingents of Soviets and East Germans, and all the ele­ments of international terror—­from the PLO to Italy’s Red Brigades. Why are they ­there? B ­ ecause as Col­o­nel Qadhafi has publicly exulted: “Nicaragua means a ­great t­ hing: it means fighting Amer­i­ca near its borders, fighting Amer­i­ca at its doorstep.” For our own security, the United States must deny the Soviet Union a beachhead in North Amer­i­ca. But let me make one t­hing plain: I’m not talking about American troops. They are not needed; they have not been requested.

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The demo­cratic re­sis­tance fighting in Nicaragua is only asking Amer­i­ca for the supplies and support to save their own country from communism. The question the Congress of the United States ­will now answer is a ­simple one: ­Will we give the Nicaraguan demo­cratic re­sis­tance the means to recapture their betrayed revolution, or ­will we turn our backs and ignore the malignancy in Managua ­until it spreads and becomes a mortal threat to the entire New World? ­Will we permit the Soviet Union to put a second Cuba, a second Libya, right on the doorstep of the United States? *** So, to­night I ask you to do what ­you’ve done so often in the past. Get in touch with your Representative and Senators and urge them to vote yes; tell them to help the freedom fighters. Help us prevent a Communist takeover of Central Amer­i­ca. Source: Ronald Reagan, “Address to the Nation on the Situation in Nicaragua,” March 16, 1986. Ronald Reagan Library and Archives. Retrieved from https://­reaganlibrary​.­archives​ .­gov​/­archives​/­speeches​/­1986​/­31686a​.­htm

Agreement on the Resettlement of Population Groups Uprooted by the Armed Conflict, United Nations, June 17, 1994 The peace pro­cess to resolve the long conflict in Guatemala took several years and multiple accords to officially end the vio­lence. One major issue that had to be addressed was the reintegration of Guatemalan refugees, primarily of Maya descent, who had fled Guatemala in fear. Many of the refugees moved to Mexico ­because of its proximity and with the hope of returning home once the war ended. As peace negotiations progressed, a vital discussion between the URNG and the government focused on how the refugees would be resettled into Guatemala and the assurances they would be given. The peace accords included provisions on po­liti­cal participation, access to land, and re­spect for ­human rights. The following is an excerpt of the accord which delineates t­ hese rights to t­ hose populations forcibly removed during the war. The comprehensive resettlement strategy ­shall have the following objectives: 1. To ensure that the uprooted population groups fully enjoy all their rights and fundamental freedoms, in par­tic­u­lar ­those rights and freedoms which ­were affected during the uprooting pro­cess; 2. To reintegrate the uprooted population groups, which w ­ ere socially, eco­nom­ ically and po­liti­cally marginalized, and create the conditions that would allow

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them to be a dynamic f­actor in the economic, social, po­liti­cal and cultural development of the country; 3. To give priority to the fight against poverty and extreme poverty, which have had a particularly serious effect on areas where the population has been uprooted, and which largely correspond to the resettlement areas; 4. To develop and strengthen the democ­ratization of State structures, ensuring that the constitutional rights and duties of the uprooted population groups are respected at the community, municipal, departmental, regional and national levels; 5. To promote genuine reconciliation, fostering a culture of peace in the resettlement areas and at the national level based on participation, mutual tolerance, reciprocal re­spect and commonality of interests. Guarantees for the resettlement of uprooted Population groups 1. Full re­spect for ­human rights and fundamental freedoms is essential for the security and dignity of resettlement pro­cesses. The Parties reiterate their decision to comply fully with the Comprehensive Agreement on H ­ uman Rights, which took effect on 29 March 1994, promoting re­spect for the ­human rights of uprooted populations, one of the vulnerable sectors which deserve par­tic­u­lar attention, with special vigilance. 2. Special emphasis should be placed on protecting female-­headed families and ­widows and orphans, who have been the most seriously affected. 3. The rights of the vari­ous indigenous communities, primarily Mayas, should be taken into account, especially re­spect for, and encouragement of, their way of life, cultural identity, customs, traditions and social organ­ization. 4. Concerned about the security of ­those who are being resettled or who live in the zones affected by the conflict, the Parties recognize the urgent need to remove all types of mines or explosive devices buried or abandoned in ­these areas, and they commit themselves to cooperate fully in ­these activities. 5. In view of the efforts being made by uprooted communities to improve the level of education of their p­ eople and of the need to support and provide continuity to this pro­cess, the Government undertakes to: 5.1. Recognize the formal and informal educational levels of uprooted persons, through the use of rapid evaluation and/or certification procedures; 5.2. Recognize the informal studies of education and health promoters and grant them, following an appropriate evaluation, equivalent credit. Source: United Nations. Retrieved fromhttp://­peacemaker​.­un​.­org​/­sites​/­peacemaker​.­un​.­org​ /­files​/­GT​_­940623​_­AgreementResettlementofPopulationGroups​_­1​.­pdf

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Further Reading Baines, Erin K. 2000. “Refuge and Return: The Challenges of Transition for Guatemalan ­Women’s Organ­izations.” Canadian ­Woman Studies 19 (4): 115–121. Booth, J. A., C. J. Wade, and T. W. Walker. 2014. Understanding Central Amer­i­ca: Global Forces, Rebellion, and Change. Berkeley, CA: Westview Press. Brockett, C. D. 2005. Po­liti­cal Movements and Vio­lence in Central Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Chapman, Peter. 2007. Bananas: How the United Fruit Com­pany ­Shaped the World. Edinburgh, UK: Canongate. Chinchilla, Norma, and Nora Hamilton. 1999. “Changing Networks and Alliances in a Transnational Context: Salvadoran and Guatemalan Immigrants in Southern California.” Social Justice 26 (3): 4–26. Farcau, Bruce W. 1996. The Transition to Democracy in Latin Amer­i­ca: The Role of the Military. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Garcia, Maria Cristina. 2006. Seeking Refuge: Central American Migration to Mexico, the United States, and Canada. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kinzer, Stephen. 1979. “Central American Dominoes.” The Nation (November  10): 458–461. Kruijt, Dirk. 2008. Guerrillas. London: Zed Books. LaFeber, Walter. 1984. Inevitable Revolutions: The United States in Central Amer­i­ca. New York: Norton. Landau, Saul. 1993. The Guerrilla Wars of Central Amer­i­ca. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Library of Congress, Federal Research Division. 1993. Nicaragua: A Country Study. Washington, DC: Author. Library of Congress, Federal Research Division. 1995. Honduras: A Country Study. Washington, DC: Author. Orozco, Manuel. 2008, March 28. The Nicaraguan Diaspora: Trends and Opportunities for Diaspora Engagement in Skills Transfers and Development (Paper commissioned by the Office for Economic Co-­operation and Development (OECD)). Retrieved from http://­ archive​ .­t hedialogue​ .­o rg​ /­P ublicationFiles​/­T he%20Nicaragua%20case​_­M %20Oro​ zco2%20REV​.­pdf Rouquiâe, Alain. 1987. The Military and the State in Latin Amer­i­ca. Berkeley: University of California Press. Zimmermann, Matilde. 2000. Sandinista: Carlos Fonseca and the Nicaraguan Revolution. Durham, NC: Duke University Press Books.

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Lau v. Nichols, 1973–1974 Jonathan T. Hernandez

Chronology 1964

The Civil Rights Act passes in both h­ ouses of the United States Congress and is signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson.

1968

The Bilingual Education Act (BEA) passes as Title VII, an amendment to the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) of 1968. The act recognizes the specific needs of c­ hildren identified as limited En­glish speaking ability (LESA) students.

1970

On March 25, a group of students of Chinese descent and their families, represented by attorney Edward H. Steinman, file a lawsuit against the San Francisco Unified School District (SFUSD). They claim that the school district is not providing an equal education for ­these students, who have limited English-­language proficiency. The District Court for the Northern District of California denies the claim.

1971

In the landmark case of Lee v. Johnson, the U.S. Supreme Court rules in ­favor of desegregating the school system in San Francisco, California.

1972

The ASPIRA Association of New York files a lawsuit against the New York City Board of Education, claiming that the city’s Puerto Rican students are being denied an equal education due to the lack of bilingual educational programs to assist them.

1973, January

Steinman and his petitioners attempt to reverse the decision of the 1970 lawsuit at the Court of Appeals for the Ninth Court. On January 8, this court upholds the initial decision of the District Court for the Northern District of California.

1973, On June 12, the United States Supreme Court agrees to hear Steinman June, and his petitioners’ case and on December 10, Steinman pres­ents the December case to the Court. 1974, January

In a unan­im ­ ous decision, the United States Supreme Court rules in ­favor of the claimants in the case of Lau v. Nichols and recognizes the need for supplemental instruction for students with limited En­glish proficiency.

1974, August

On August 5, the Bilingual Education Act is amended for the first time to define what constitutes a bilingual education program, specify program goals, and mandate the establishment of regional support to assist schools in implementing bilingual education programs.

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The ASPIRA Consent Decree is signed on August 29 as a result of ASPIRA winning the lawsuit it filed in 1972. The decree establishes that New York City public school students with limited English-­ language proficiency have the right to receive bilingual education. 1975

The United States Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) and its Office for Civil Rights (OCR) issues a set of guidelines (now referred to as the Lau Remedies) governing school districts’ compliance with the law for LESA students.

1976

The San Francisco Unified School District signs the Lau consent decree, based on a four-­volume comprehensive report by the Citizens’ Bilingual Task Force and the Center for Applied Linguistics, a Washington, D.C.-­based firm.

1978

The Bilingual Education Act is amended to expand bilingual programs to limited-­English proficient (LEP) students.

1980

The United States Department of Education proposes a series of Lau Regulations that are ultimately rejected in Congress, following an extended debate over their purpose. ­These regulations would have authorized the federal government to determine bilingual education program goals for state and local governments, which critics saw as an overreach.

1984

Additional amendments are made to the Bilingual Education Act, giving school districts increased flexibility in their implementation of bilingual education programs for LEP students.

1988

The Bilingual Education Act is amended to increase funding for bilingual education programs that better serve LEP students.

1994

The Bilingual Education Act is reauthorized, which gives priority to grant applications related to programs that focus on developing bilingualism, rather than improving En­glish proficiency only.

1998

On June 2, California’s voters approve Proposition 227, a ballot mea­ sure that is intended to eliminate bilingual education in the state in ­favor of En­glish immersion programs for LEP students.

2002

Congress passes the No Child Left B ­ ehind (NCLB) Act and the Bilingual Education Act is renamed the En­glish Language Acquisition, Language Enhancement, and Academic Achievement Act.

2015

NCLB is replaced by the E ­ very Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), a law that reduces the federal government’s role in K-12 education.

2016

California’s Proposition 58, which repeals most of Proposition 227, passes by a wide margin, signaling a new receptiveness to dual-­language immersion programs in the state.

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Narrative For students who are not native En­glish speakers, learning the En­glish language can be challenging. Historically, Latino c­ hildren have encountered many dif­fer­ent approaches and techniques to learning En­glish in American schools. In some cases, students have simply been immersed in English-­only classrooms to “sink or swim” academically and do not receive any specific English-­language instruction. Although this situation was fairly common, beginning in the 1960s, educators began to direct more attention to the educational needs of English-­language learners. The Lau v. Nichols case, though not focused on Latino or Spanish-­speaking ­children, has had significant consequences for Latino c­ hildren nonetheless.

Opposing Views Regarding Bilingual Education For Latinos and Latinas, education has been and continues to be an issue of ­great importance. In par­tic­ul­ ar, and as is the case for other minority groups, the option of bilingual education is a central issue in the education of Latino students. Generally speaking, bilingual education programs in American public schools aim to help two groups of students: ­those referred to as limited-­English proficient (LEP), and ­those called non-­English proficient (NEP). The first group refers to students who have some ability to read and write in En­glish, while the second category refers to students who know very ­little to no En­glish. This second group of students primarily consists of students who have recently arrived in the United States from a dif­fer­ent country and/or ­those students who grew up in ­house­holds where En­glish was not spoken. Although bilingual education is necessary in order to allow LEP and NEP students to succeed in school, ­there is a considerable amount of discussion over the implementation and effectiveness of specific methods of bilingual education. The notion of bilingual education itself has been heavi­ly debated. From the nativist perspective, ­those who believe in “En­glish only” education (which means no bilingual education options) argue that state and federal funds should not go t­oward teaching other languages to students who should be working ­toward acquiring En­glish fluency. Some parents and students, even ­those who belong to groups that may benefit from bilingual education, also oppose bilingual education, ­because they believe ­these programs can hinder students’ ability to readily assimilate into the regular classroom. Critics also share concerns that students may not be provided with enough academic rigor in bilingual programs, making them complacent as they become more comfortable with learning in their native language instead of being immediately immersed in only En­glish. ­Those who support bilingual education programs believe that some degree of bilingual instruction is beneficial to help students from dif­fer­ent backgrounds to

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Promoting Bilingual Education: The Bilingual Education Act In 1968, Title VII of the Elementary and Secondary Act (ESEA), better known as the Bilingual Education Act (BEA), was enacted by the U.S. Congress. This significant piece of legislation recognized the specific needs of limited En­glish speaking ability (LESA) students for the first time by encouraging school districts to offer instruction in languages other than En­glish and to teach students about dif­fer­ent cultures. However, while the BEA encouraged a multicultural approach in the classroom, its initial form did not provide specific guidelines for instruction, leaving local districts to determine how to implement bilingual education programs. This vagueness led to additional complications when some school districts risked violating “English-­only” and desegregation laws that ­were in place in vari­ous states. Following its introduction, the BEA underwent a series of amendments and reauthorizations. The purpose of ­these changes was to provide specific definitions for bilingual education programs, increase funding for ­these programs, and broaden the number of students covered ­under its provisions. ­After No Child Left ­Behind (NCLB) was passed in 2002, the BEA was renamed the En­glish Language Acquisition, Language Enhancement, and Academic Achievement Act. This name change reflected NCLB’s emphasis on testing and the development of students’ proficiency in En­glish, but it also represented a shift from the BEA’s original intent. In 2015, NCLB was replaced by the ­Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), a reauthorization of the ESEA. The effect of ESSA on the recognition of bilingual education remains to be seen, particularly as the Trump administration begins to implement its own educational policies.

assimilate effectively into the American education system, as well as life in the United States in general. For this reason, throughout the United States’ history, the need for bilingual education has been established and upheld by the courts. Historically, Latinos have benefited from legislation and court rulings regarding bilingual education in cases that involved other minorities. One example of such a court ruling is the 1974 Supreme Court case of Lau v. Nichols.

Events Leading up to Lau v. Nichols The 1960s was a significant de­cade for the expansion of civil rights in the United States. On July 2, 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act

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into law. This landmark piece of legislation outlawed discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. The act also paved the way for the racial desegregation of public spaces, including schools. In 1971, the Supreme Court ruled in f­ avor of desegregating the San Francisco, California, school system in the case of Lee v. Johnson. Despite t­hese progressive mea­sures, students faced other forms of in­equality, particularly in terms of the lack of bilingual education programs in schools across the country. The case of Lau v. Nichols centered on the lack of supplemental language instruction for students with limited English-­language proficiency attending school in California’s San Francisco Unified School District (SFUSD) during the early 1970s. The suit involved roughly 1,800 students of Chinese descent attending school in the SFUSD who ­were not receiving supplemental instruction in En­glish. At the

The ASPIRA Consent Decree The ASPIRA Association, founded in 1961, is a nonprofit organ­ization that advocates for Latino communities across the United States and Puerto Rico through vari­ous education and leadership initiatives. In 1972, the ASPIRA Association of New York filed a lawsuit against the New York City Board of Education. This lawsuit, supported by ASPIRA of Amer­i­ca and the Puerto Rican ­Legal Defense and Education Fund (PRLDEF), was filed on behalf of a group of predominantly Puerto Rican students enrolled in the city’s public schools. The parents of ­these students claimed that their ­children w ­ ere at an academic disadvantage in comparison to their peers due to the lack of bilingual education programs at their schools. ­These plaintiffs’ claims resembled t­hose of a group of Chinese parents and their ­children who had filed a suit against the San Francisco Unified School District for similar reasons in 1970. In 1974, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in f­avor of t­hese plaintiffs in Lau v. Nichols. The court’s ruling established an impor­tant pre­ce­dent for the recognition of the need for bilingual education in California and across the nation. With the Lau decision, ASPIRA had the leverage it needed to win its own case (Anyon, 1997, p. 57). On August  29, 1974, the New York City Board of Education settled with ASPIRA by signing the ASPIRA Consent Decree. This binding l­egal agreement established that New York City public school students with limited English-­language proficiency had the right to receive bilingual education. This case is an example of the way in which the Lau ruling affected the lives of Latino students.

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time of the lawsuit, close to 98 ­percent of the school’s students ­were of Chinese descent, which directly correlated with the current demographics of the city (Euchner, 1984). ­After learning of the lack of supplemental instruction for t­hese students, Edward H. Steinman, an attorney and professor at the University of Santa Clara School of Law, spoke to some of the students’ parents about the possibility of presenting a lawsuit against the SFUSD. On December 10, 1974, during testimony presented before the Committee on Ways and Means of the California State Assembly, Steinman declared that while the SFUSD seemed sympathetic to the strug­gles of the Chinese students, it did not provide them with instruction in their native language. Steinman believed that this lack of instruction let students flounder in regular classrooms, causing “frustration, discouragement, resentment, truancy, [and] delinquency,” and leading some students to drop out of school. For ­these reasons, “the Lau case . . . ​was the community’s last resort a­ fter all other ave­nues had been exhausted in hopes of overcoming the serious educational harms suffered by non-­ English-­speaking c­ hildren” (Steinman, 1975, p. 4). Among the parents Steinman contacted was Kam Wai Lau, whom he was already representing in a separate landlord-­tenant dispute. Kam Wai Lau was the ­mother of Kinney Kinmon Lau, a first-­grade student at Jean Parker Elementary School in the SFUSD who came to San Francisco from Hong Kong. When reflecting on his experiences a de­cade a­ fter the Supreme Court’s decision, a teenage Kinney Lau noted that while he was not proficient in En­glish at the time, he preferred to be enrolled in English-­language classes over receiving any type of specialized instruction. The primarily reason he gave for this decision was the stigma he associated with being identified as an En­glish as a second language (ESL) student by his classmates (Euchner, 1984). Nevertheless, when Steinman filed the class-­action lawsuit against Alan H. Nichols, the president of the SFUSD, Kinney Lau was listed first among the 13 plaintiffs named in the case, thus becoming permanently associated with the case and its ruling. The initial claim, filed on March 25, 1970, was that the lack of supplemental instruction for ­these students of Chinese descent constituted a violation of the Equal Protection Clause of the F ­ ourteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution. The petitioners also considered this lack of instruction a violation of section 601 of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. However, this initial claim was denied by the District Court for the Northern District of California. Three years ­after the district court denied the claim, the petitioners went to the Ninth Cir­cuit Court of Appeals, and on January 8 1973, this court upheld the district court’s original decision. In both of ­these instances, the argument against the plaintiffs was that the school district was already providing the Chinese students with equal education by offering them the same facilities, teachers, textbooks, and curriculum as all other students.

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The Court of Appeals argued that the plaintiffs’ prob­lems ­were not due to state laws, but rather the influx of immigrants to the state, over which the school district had no control, as well as the failure of t­ hese students to learn En­glish through the means provided.

Lau v. Nichols ­ fter t­hese setbacks, the plaintiffs petitioned the United States Supreme Court to A hear their case. The court granted this petition on June 12, 1973, and on December 10 of that year, Steinman presented the case before the Supreme Court. In a unan­i­mous decision, issued on January 21, 1974, the Supreme Court reversed the judgment of the Court of Appeals, which had affirmed the district court’s denial of relief to the 1,800 students who ­were affected by the lack of supplemental instruction in the SFUSD’s schools. In the opinion of the Court, delivered by Justice William O. Douglas, the Supreme Court did not consider that the SFUSD was in violation of the Equal Protection Clause. Instead, the court focused on section 601 of the Civil Rights Act, which states that: “No person in the United States s­ hall, on the ground of race, color, or national origin, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination ­under any program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance” (Lau v. Nichols, 1974). As Justice Douglas stated in the opinion of the court, the SFUSD received “large amounts of federal financial assistance” (Lau v. Nichols, 1974), which meant that by not providing appropriate instruction for t­ hose students affected, the school was violating the Civil Rights Act. In addition, the Supreme Court’s decision was informed by a set of interpretative guidelines that had been previously established by the (now defunct) United States Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW), and which also prohibited discrimination in school systems that received federal funds. Justice Potter Stewart agreed with the court’s decision and wrote a concurring opinion. In this concurrence, he noted that while the plaintiffs w ­ ere not necessarily accusing the SFUSD of intentionally contributing to their lack of En­glish proficiency, the school district had nevertheless “failed to act in the face of changing social and linguistic patterns” (Lau v. Nichols, 1974). For Justice Stewart, this made them responsible for rectifying this situation for ­those students affected. Part of the argument against establishing and maintaining bilingual education in public schools was the belief that students with few or no English-­language skills should be immersed in English-­language classes so that they could quickly assimilate into the dominant U.S. culture. However, in his delivery of the opinion of the court, Justice Douglas recognized the basic need for bilingual education programs. He noted that even though federal and state-­imposed standards directed school districts to provide all students with the same instructors, materials, facilities,

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and curriculum, “students who do not understand En­glish are effectively foreclosed from any meaningful discussion” (Lau v. Nichols, 1974). This means that additional provisions are required in order to achieve equal treatment. For Justice Douglas, students with a limited grasp of En­glish would not be able to benefit from the education they receive to the same degree as their peers if they w ­ ere only taught in En­glish. Although the Supreme Court’s ruling in ­favor of the plaintiffs initially appeared to completely solve the need for bilingual education, one aspect of Lau that would have significant consequences was the plaintiffs’ failure to mention a specific solution. In his delivery of the court’s opinion, Justice Douglas mentioned some potential remedies, including teaching En­glish to students of Chinese descent who did not speak En­glish and providing Chinese-­language instruction to t­ hese students. Although t­ hese recommendations seemed to be sufficient at the time of the Court’s decision, the plaintiffs’ lack of a specific remedy left it up to the states to decide how to comply with the court’s ruling. Another ele­ment of Lau that would become impor­tant to other groups of students was the concurring opinion submitted by Justice Harry Blackmun. Justice Blackmun’s opinion emphasized the large number of students of Chinese descent affected by the SFUSD’s lack of supplemental instruction for non-­English-­speaking ­children. For him, this was the deciding ­factor in requiring the federally funded school district to provide special instruction for the claimants. Justice Blackmun’s concurrence meant that the rights of other large groups of students with limited proficiency in En­glish, such as Latinos, would also be protected by Lau.

The Immediate and Long-­Term Effects of Lau v. Nichols A year a­ fter the Lau decision, the United States Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) and its Office for Civil Rights (OCR) issued a set of guidelines (referred to t­ oday as the Lau Remedies). The purpose of ­these guidelines was to determine ­whether school districts ­were in compliance with the law. ­These guidelines also presented school districts with ways to comply with the Supreme Court’s ruling as they developed proper supplemental education plans for LESA students. However, ­these remedies also placed serious economic pressure on school districts. School districts also dealt with public objection from critics who saw bilingual education programs as promoting foreign languages with federal funds. To address t­hese challenges, the United States Department of Education proposed a series of Lau Regulations in 1980. ­These regulations w ­ ere ultimately rejected in Congress by critics who did not want the federal government to have the authority to determine bilingual education program goals for state and local governments. Other objections to ­these regulations involved the costs associated with their

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implementation, as well as the argument that the federal government should not require schools to teach in languages other than En­glish. In the immediate years following the Supreme Court’s decision, schools like San Francisco’s Jean Parker Elementary began to implement bilingual education programs so as to be in compliance with the Lau ruling. ­These bilingual classes allowed students to learn math and other subjects in their native languages while also attending En­glish classes. Other solutions implemented at this school included teaching ESL students in En­glish and providing them with additional language instruction so that they could begin to close their English-­language proficiency gap. In addition to t­hese mea­sures, schools in the SFUSD began to offer Chinese-­and Spanish-­language instruction to students who claimed En­glish as a first language. ­These schools also began to teach writing to students who ­were fluent speakers of their native language but did not know how to write in the language. ­These foreign-­ language classes also included a cultural component, in which all students w ­ ere taught about the countries whose language they ­were learning. Although the majority of the students at Jean Parker Elementary at the time of Lau ­were of Chinese descent, a de­cade a­ fter the suit, about 45 ­percent of the school’s students w ­ ere Chinese and 15 ­percent w ­ ere Hispanic. The rest of the school’s population consisted of “white, black, Filipino, Cambodian, Indian, Burmese, and Arabic students” (Euchner, 1984, p. 2). B ­ ecause California’s student population was so diverse, adding bilingual programs at schools was complicated. Schools would need to respond to ­these student groups’ needs by establishing bilingual education programs in their native languages, which also meant that schools would need to find qualified instructors for t­hese programs. The vari­ous approaches schools took in regards to offering bilingual education reflected differing attitudes over the most effective ways of helping students thrive in school environments. This was seen not only in terms of curriculum, but also in regard to teacher training and other associated costs. In the case of Jean Parker Elementary, local community organizers and activists spearheaded many of the initiatives implemented, particularly ­those involving a cultural component (Euchner, 1984). Following the Supreme Court’s ruling in Lau, community leaders demanded that the SFUSD form a Citizens’ Bilingual Task Force. This co­ali­tion helped design the bilingual education programs implemented in local schools, including their cultural components (Euchner, 1984).

Lau v. Nichols and Latino Students Providing bilingual education is not a ­simple pro­cess for schools, largely due to how many options they have to implement ­these programs, as well as the wide variety of each district’s student population. Latino students come from a variety of countries

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and are concentrated in dif­fer­ent regions of the United States. For example, Mexicans and Mexican Americans tend to predominate among the Latino population on the West Coast and in the American Southwest. Conversely, the East Coast is known for its sizable Puerto Rican and Dominican populations, whereas Cubans tend to live in the Southern United States, particularly Florida. Although ­these geo­graph­i­cal divisions have changed somewhat since the 1970s, Latino students attending the same school may have dif­fer­ent backgrounds, including linguistic differences in the types of Spanish they speak at home. This diversity within the Latino population pres­ents significant challenges for bilingual education instructors who want to provide an adequate and all-­inclusive curriculum for ­these students. In addition, students’ levels of fluency may fluctuate widely within a classroom: some students might be fluent in Spanish, while ­others might have limited proficiency in the language. M ­ atters become even more complicated when educators have to determine which countries’ cultures and histories to teach to avoid bias and exclusion among students. ­These ­factors are significant ­because they reveal the complex nature of establishing bilingual education programs in schools, even when ­these programs are seen as beneficial to students.

The ­Future of Bilingual Education Although the case of Lau v. Nichols faced a difficult ­battle on its path to the Supreme Court, the Court’s recognition of the need for language education established an impor­tant pre­ce­dent that benefited Latinos living throughout the United States. Nevertheless, though Lau was easily deci­ded in the Supreme Court, the upholding and implementation of the decision proved to be another ­matter. The value of bilingual education has continued to be challenged in the de­cades following the Lau decision, even in the state of California, which has a sizable and diverse student populace. More than four de­cades a­ fter the Supreme Court ruled in support of supplementary education programs for the country’s LEP and NEP students, the promises and challenges of bilingual education continue across the nation. Since the 1980s, the focus on bilingual education initiatives has gradually shifted ­toward multilingual education programs that can better take into account the diversity of the student population. This move, which contrasts sharply with the bilingual education conversations of the 1970s, is a result of con­temporary educational theories and pedagogies. Many educators now recognize the importance of students maintaining fluency in their native languages, while also becoming proficient in En­glish. ­Today, educators and curriculum writers are working with students’ varied backgrounds and levels of experience in order to promote acculturation, rather than assimilation, into the United States. The need for this shift was already being

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Rejecting Bilingual Education: Proposition 227 In 1998, bilingual education in California was targeted by Proposition 227, a ballot initiative that explic­itly opposed bilingual education in ­favor of an approach that focused on En­glish immersion for LEP students. This mea­sure was to have significant consequences for the state’s Latino community, as “California’s foreign-­born Latino population [had] increased by 42” ­percent during the 1990s. In addition, by the late 1990s, “over 80” ­percent of California’s LEP students ­were “native Spanish speakers” (Branton, Dillingham, Dunaway, and Miller, 2011, p. 148). Among the proposed changes in Proposition 227 was the requirement that LEP students in California’s public schools be taught in classes where En­glish was the main language, essentially ending true bilingual classes. In addition, the length of most programs for LEP students was considerably shortened to a year, which was believed to be enough time for LEP students to acquire working English-­language skills. Overall, t­hese changes reflected objections to bilingual education programs by t­ hose who deemed them to be too costly for the state to fund and too lengthy for students to effectively assimilate to the regular classroom. On June 2, 1998, during the state’s gubernatorial primary election, the mea­sure passed with 60.88 ­percent of the vote, and its provisions remained in effect ­until November 2016, when Proposition 58, which repealed most of Proposition 227 in f­ avor of multilingual education, passed with 73.5 ­percent of the vote.

acknowledged in the years immediately following the Lau decision. For example, leading educators and academics remarked that “the educational philosophy of American education ­will have to change the already eroding ethnocentric viewpoint to a pluralistic perspective, in order to accommodate the true multicultural fabric of ­today and tomorrow’s society” (Valverde, 1978, p. viii). A de­cade ­after the Supreme Court’s deliberation in Lau v. Nichols, Kinney Lau displayed ambivalence t­ oward bilingual education. In a 1984 interview, he remarked that although he felt “uneasy” about the bilingual education initiatives of the period, he also saw the benefit of teachers being “able to answer questions in [students’ native languages]” (Euchner, 1984, p. 6). Kinney Lau’s comment shows that what­ ever form bilingual education takes has deep ramifications for students. ­Today, the f­ uture of bilingual education is in flux due to vari­ous legislative changes at the federal and state levels. ­These include the phasing-­out of the No Child

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Left B ­ ehind (NCLB) Act in 2015 and the overturning of mea­sures like California’s Proposition 227 in 2016. In addition, the effect that Betsy DeVos’s appointment as Secretary of Education w ­ ill have on education in general, and Latinos’ education in par­tic­u­lar, remains to be seen.

Biographies of Notable Figures Edward H. Steinman Edward H. Steinman is a civil rights attorney and professor. In 1965, Steinman received his B.A. from Northwestern University; in 1968, he received his J.D. from Stanford University. ­After serving as law clerk for Robert Francis Peckham, during the latter’s tenure as a U.S. District Court judge, he joined the faculty at Santa Clara University School of Law, located in Santa Clara, California, in 1972. Steinman specializes in constitutional law, criminal law, criminal procedure, and law and education, among other areas. In addition, he had an active role in his community, advocating in support of vari­ous issues that affect Santa Clara residents. During the late 1960s he began to work for the San Francisco Neighborhood ­Legal Assistance Foundation in its Chinatown office. While in this position, he learned of the difficulties that the Chinese students in the San Francisco Unified School District w ­ ere facing due to the lack of supplemental instruction in the classroom. The ­matter was brought to his attention by Ling Ching Wang, a local college student and activist. Steinman worked with the parents of some of the affected students to pres­ent a lawsuit against Alan H. Nichols, the president of the SFUSD. In the years immediately following the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling in ­favor of the plaintiffs in Lau v. Nichols, Steinman spoke extensively about the suit to vari­ ous groups. ­These included the Committee on Ways and Means of the California State Assembly (in 1974), and the Program for Educational Opportunity at the University of Michigan (during its 1977 Bilingual-­Bicultural Education Conference). On t­hese occasions, Steinman provided an overview of the Lau case, and most importantly, he anticipated the impact that the Supreme Court’s ruling would have on other groups of students facing similar predicaments. For example, when addressing the Committee on Ways and Means, Steinman remarked that the Supreme Court’s unan­im ­ ous decision regarding Lau spoke “loudly and clearly of the importance which the Court places on the rights of non-­English-­speaking ­children.” Steinman also noted that Latinos represented a majority of ­those students who required supplemental instruction (Steinman, 1975, p. 9). In the mid-1990s and early 2000s, Steinman’s activism focused on the availability and quality of food assistance programs in the state of California. In 1995

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and 1996, he became involved with the California Food Policy Advocates (CFPA), exploring ways to improve low-­income communities’ access to food. In 2003, he was a contributing author of a report that was prepared for the CFPA, which argued for the necessity of improving access to healthy food for low-­income communities in the state. That same year, he published a background paper for the CFPA that identified the need to improve state and federal funding for food assistance programs in order to prevent hunger and malnutrition among the state’s se­nior citizens. ­Today, Steinman continues to work at the Santa Clara University School of Law, where he teaches seminars on the Supreme Court and the judiciary branch’s impact on ­matters related to education, among other subjects. In addition, he is involved with programs designed to assist the homeless population of San Francisco, both as a ­lawyer and a member of the community.

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Justice Harry Blackmun’s Concurring Opinion Regarding Lau v. Nichols, 1974 Justice Harry Blackmun’s concurring opinion in Lau v. Nichols is significant ­because it specifically emphasizes the number of students of Chinese descent affected by the lack of supplemental instruction during the 1970s. As seen in this excerpt, Justice Blackmun’s focus on the sheer number of students of Chinese descent that ­were affected meant that in the ­future, other large groups of students in similar situations, such as Latinos, could benefit from this ruling. Mr. Justice Blackmun, with whom the Chief Justice joins, concurring in the result. I join Mr. Justice Stewart’s opinion and thus, I, too, concur in the result. Against the possibility that the Court’s judgment may be interpreted too broadly, I stress the fact that the c­ hildren with whom we are concerned ­here number about 1,800. This is a very substantial group that is being deprived of any meaningful schooling ­because they cannot understand the language of the classroom. We may only guess as to why they have had no exposure to En­glish in their preschool years. Earlier generations of American ethnic groups have overcome the language barrier by earnest parental endeavor or by the hard fact of being pushed out of the ­family or community nest and into the realities of broader experience. I merely wish to make plain that when, in another case, we are concerned with a very few youngsters, or with just a single child who speaks only German or Polish or Spanish or any language other than En­glish, I would not regard ­today’s decision,

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or the separate concurrence, as conclusive upon the issue ­whether the statute and the guideline require the funded school district to provide special instruction. For me, numbers are at the heart of this case and my concurrence is to be understood accordingly. Source: Lau v. Nichols, 414 U.S. 563, 571 (1974)

Proposition 227, 1998 This ballot initiative sought to change the way in which limited En­glish proficient (LEP) students in California w ­ ere taught by significantly reducing bilingual education programs for the state’s students. This proposal was based on the argument that such programs ­were in­effec­tive and constituted excessive spending of state funds. The proposed mea­sure passed on June 2 and remained in effect ­until November 2016. The following is the first two articles of Proposition 227. SECTION 1. Chapter 3 (commencing with Section 300) is added to Part 1 of the Education Code, to read: Chapter 3. En­glish Language Education for Immigrant C ­ hildren Article 1. Findings and Declarations 300. The ­People of California find and declare as follows: (a) Whereas, The En­glish language is the national public language of the United States of Amer­i­ca and of the State of California, is spoken by the vast majority of California residents, and is also the leading world language for science, technology, and international business, thereby being the language of economic opportunity; and (b) Whereas, Immigrant parents are ­eager to have their c­ hildren acquire a good knowledge of En­glish, thereby allowing them to fully participate in the American Dream of economic and social advancement; and (c) Whereas, The government and the public schools of California have a moral obligation and a constitutional duty to provide all of California’s c­ hildren, regardless of their ethnicity or national origins, with the skills necessary to become productive members of our society, and of t­hese skills, literacy in the En­glish language is among the most impor­tant; and (d) Whereas, The public schools of California currently do a poor job of educating immigrant ­children, wasting financial resources on costly experimental language programs whose failure over the past two de­cades is demonstrated by the current high drop-­out rates and low En­glish literacy levels of many immigrant ­children; and

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(e) Whereas, Young immigrant c­ hildren can easily acquire full fluency in a new language, such as En­glish, if they are heavi­ly exposed to that language in the classroom at an early age. (f) Therefore, It is resolved that: all c­hildren in California public schools ­shall be taught En­glish as rapidly and effectively as pos­si­ble. Article 2. En­glish Language Education 305. Subject to the exceptions provided in Article 3 (commencing with Section 310), all c­ hildren in California public schools s­ hall be taught En­glish by being taught in En­glish. In par­tic­u­lar, this ­shall require that all c­ hildren be placed in En­glish language classrooms. ­Children who are En­glish learners ­shall be educated through sheltered En­glish immersion during a temporary transition period not normally intended to exceed one year. Local schools s­ hall be permitted to place in the same classroom En­glish learners of dif­fer­ent ages but whose degree of En­glish proficiency is similar. Local schools ­shall be encouraged to mix together in the same classroom En­glish learners from dif­fer­ent native-­language groups but with the same degree of En­glish fluency. Once En­glish learners have acquired a good working knowledge of En­glish, they s­ hall be transferred to En­glish language mainstream classrooms. As much as pos­si­ble, current supplemental funding for En­glish learners ­shall be maintained, subject to pos­si­ble modification u­ nder Article 8 (commencing with Section 335) below. 306. The definitions of the terms used in this article and in Article 3 (commencing with Section 310) are as follows: (a) “En­glish learner” means a child who does not speak En­glish or whose native language is not En­glish and who is not currently able to perform ordinary classroom work in En­glish, also known as a Limited En­glish Proficiency or LEP child. (b) “En­glish language classroom” means a classroom in which the language of instruction used by the teaching personnel is overwhelmingly the En­glish language, and in which such teaching personnel possess a good knowledge of the En­glish language. (c) “En­glish language mainstream classroom” means a classroom in which the pupils e­ ither are native En­glish language speakers or already have acquired reasonable fluency in En­glish. (d) “Sheltered En­glish immersion” or “structured En­glish immersion” means an En­glish language acquisition pro­cess for young ­children in which nearly

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all classroom instruction is in En­glish but with the curriculum and pre­sen­ ta­tion designed for c­ hildren who are learning the language. (e) “Bilingual education/native language instruction” means a language acquisition pro­cess for pupils in which much or all instruction, textbooks, and teaching materials are in the child’s native language. Source: California Secretary of State, “Proposition 227—­Full Text of the Proposed Law.” Last modified April 26, 2017. Retrieved from http://­vigarchive​.­sos​.­ca​.­gov​/­1998​/­primary​ /­propositions​/­227text​.­htm

See also: Formation of Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Programs; Hernandez v. Texas; Mendez v. Westminster

Further Reading Anyon, Jean. 1997. “What Is to Be Done? ­Toward a Rationale for Social Movement Building,” in H. Svi Shapiro, ed., Education and Hope in Troubled Times: Visions of Change for Our ­Children’s World, 47–62. New York: Routledge. ASPIRA of New York v. Board of Education of City of New York, 423 F. Supp. 647 (SDNY 1976) [case text]. Retrieved from http://­law​.­justia​.­com​/­cases​/­federal​/­district​-­courts​/­FSupp​ /­423​/­647​/­2393852 “ASPIRA’s ­Legal Landmark Cases.” 2009. ASPIRA, September 18. Retrieved from http://­ www​.­aspira​.­org​/­book​/­aspiras​-­legal​-­landmark​-­cases Biegel, Stuart. 1994. “Bilingual Education & Language Rights: The Par­ameters of the Bilingual Education Debate in California Twenty Years a­ fter Lau v. Nichols.” Chicano-­Latino Law Review 14 (48): 48–60. Branton, Regina, Gavin Dillingham, Johanna Dunaway, and Beth Miller. 2011. “Anglo Voting on Bilingual Education: The Partisan Nature of the Impact of Proximity to the Border of Mexico,” in David L. Leal and Kenneth J. Meier, eds., The Politics of Latino Education, 148–162. New York: Teachers College Press. California Secretary of State. 2017. “Proposition 227—­Full Text of the Proposed Law.” Retrieved from http://­vigarchive​.­sos​.­ca​.­gov​/­1998​/­primary​/­propositions​/­227text​.­htm Civil Rights Act of 1964, Pub. L. No. 88–352, 78 Stat. 252. Crawford, James. 1992. “Lau v. Nichols (1974),” in James Crawford, ed., Language Loyalties: A Source Book on the Official En­glish Controversy, 251–255. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Crawford, James. 2002. “Obituary: The Bilingual Ed Act, 1968–2002.” Rethinking Schools. Retrieved from http://­www​.­rethinkingschools​.­org​/­special​_­reports​/­bilingual​/­Bil164​ .­shtml Darder, Antonia, Rodolfo D. Torres, and Henry Gutíerrez. 1997. “Introduction,” in Antonia Darder, Rodolfo D. Torres, and Henry Gutíerrez, eds., Latinos and Education: A Critical Reader, xi–­xix. New York: Routledge. “Edward H. Steinman.” 2017. Santa Clara Law. Retrieved from http://­law​.­scu​.­edu​/­faculty​ /­profile​/­steinman​-­edward

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 | 711 Euchner, Charlie. 1984. “Languages, Law, and San Francisco.” Education Week (January 25). Retrieved from http://­www​.­edweek​.­org​/­ew​/­articles​/­1984​/­01​/­25​/­05300020​.­h03​ .­html Lau v. Nichols, 414 U.S. 563 (1974). Oyez. 2017, August 22. “Lau v. Nichols.” Retrieved from https://­www​.­oyez​.­org​/­cases​/­1973​ /­72​-­6520 Steinman, Edward. 1975. “The Lau v. Nichols Supreme Court Decision of 1974: Testimony of Edward H. Steinman before the Committee on Ways and Means of the California State Assembly.” CATESOL Occasional Papers 2 (Fall): 3–15. Stewner-­Manzanares, Gloria. 1988. “The Bilingual Education Act: Twenty Years L ­ ater.” National Clearing­house for Bilingual Education 6: 1–10. Teitelbaum, Herbert, and Richard J. Hiller. 1977. “Bilingual Education: The L ­ egal Mandate.” Harvard Educational Review 2 (47): 138–170. Valverde, Leonard A. 1978. “Preface,” in Leonard A. Valverde, ed., Bilingual Education for Latinos, vii–­viii. Washington, DC: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development.

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 Walter Wilson

Chronology 1956 Rep. Joseph Montoya (D-­NM) wins election to the U.S. House of Representatives, replacing Rep. Antonio Fernandez as the only Latino in the chamber, and one of two Latinos serving in Congress, the other being U.S. Senator Dennis Chavez (D-­NM). 1961 Henry B. Gonzalez (D-­TX) wins a special election to the U.S. House of Representatives. He holds the seat u­ ntil retiring in 1999, and is succeeded by his son, Charles A. Gonzalez (D-­TX). At the time of his election, he is the third Latino serving in Congress, along with Rep. Jose Montoya (D-­NM) and Sen. Dennis Chavez (D-­NM). 1962 Edward Roybal (D-­CA) is elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. He goes on to found the Congressional Hispanic Caucus and continues to serve in the House u­ ntil 1993. 1964 Joseph Montoya wins a special election to complete the term of Sen. Dennis Chavez, who died in office in 1962. He continues to serve in the U.S. Senate ­until retiring in 1977. Eligio (Kika) de la Garza becomes the second Latino from Texas elected to Congress.

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1969 Manuel Luján  Jr. (R-­NM) becomes the first Latino Republican member of Congress since Sen. Octaviano Ambrosio Larrazolo (R-­NM) retired in 1929. 1971 Herman Badillo (D-­NY) becomes the first Latino of Puerto Rican descent to serve in Congress. 1973 Ron de Lugo (D-­VI) becomes the first territorial delegate to represent the Virgin Islands in Congress ­after vigorously lobbying for the establishment of the position. Including Resident Commissioner Jaime Benítez of Puerto Rico, the number of Latinos in Congress reaches a rec­ord number of eight. 1976 The Congressional Hispanic Caucus (CHC) is formed by Demo­cratic Representatives Henry B. Gonzalez, Edward Roybal, Kika de la Garza, Herman Badillo, and Resident Commissioner-­elect Baltasar Corrada-­del Rio of Puerto Rico. Sen. Joseph M. Montoya is defeated in a reelection bid. No Latino serves in the Senate again for more than 25 years. 1978 Robert Garcia (D-­NY) wins a special election to replace Rep. Herman Badillo a­ fter he resigns from Congress. Tony Coelho (D-­CA) becomes the second Latino member of the House from California. 1980 Manuel Luján Jr. (R-­NM) becomes the first Latino Republican member of the CHC. 1982 Matthew Martinez (D-­CA) wins a special election to replace Rep. George E. Danielson. Along with the November victories of Esteban Torres (D-­CA), Solomon Ortiz (D-­TX), and Bill Richardson (D-­NM), his election pushes the number of Latinos in Congress to a rec­ord 12 (including Puerto Rico’s Resident Commissioner Baltasar Corrada-­del Rio and Virgin Islands delegate Ron de Lugo). 1983 Members of the CHC temporarily derail immigration reform by helping to convince Speaker Tip O’Neill to pull the Simpson-­Mazzoli legislation from the floor. The legislation eventually passes in 1986 with the CHC split on ­whether to support or oppose it. 1989 Ileana Ros-­Lehtinen (R-­FL) becomes the first Latina, first Cuban American, and first Latino congressional representative from Florida. The number of Latinos in Congress reaches 15. 1990 Ed Pastor becomes the first Latino elected to Congress from Arizona. 1993 A rec­ord 20 Latinos serve in the House of Representatives. 1995 Republicans gain control of Congress. As a mostly Demo­cratic organ­ ization, the CHC’s influence diminishes. 1997 Cuban American representatives Ros-­Lehtinen and Lincoln Diaz-­Balart of Florida leave the CHC over disagreements about policy ­toward Cuba.

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The CHC ceases to be a bipartisan member organ­ization. The number of Latinos in Congress reaches 22. 2002 A rec­ord 25 Latinos win election to the House of Representatives. 2003 Latino Demo­crats oppose the nomination of Miguel Estrada to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia, accusing him of insensitivity to minority community concerns. Latino Republicans respond by forming the Congressional Hispanic Conference as an alternative to the CHC. 2004 A rec­ord 30 Latinos serve in Congress. 2007 Demo­crats gain control of Congress for the first time since 1995. The CHC’s Demo­cratic membership uses this opportunity to advance policy agendas on education and other issues, but falls short in efforts to pass comprehensive immigration reform. 2011 Republicans regain control of Congress, returning CHC members to the minority, and diminishing their ability to advance a collective Latino policy agenda. 2012 The CHC releases a document outlining nine princi­ples for guiding comprehensive immigration reform. The document represents a coalescence of both CHC and Demo­cratic policy preferences on the issue. 2015 Thirty-­two Latinos serve as U.S. Representatives in Congress, and the CHC boasts 26 members.

The Congressional Hispanic Caucus: A Collective Effort to Represent Latinos The 1976 founding and evolution of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus (CHC) in many ways reflects the evolving nature of Latino politics and po­liti­cal participation in the United States. The impetus for the organ­ization mirrored the growing synthesis of a pan-­ethnic Latino co­ali­tion that embraced an increasing sense of common po­liti­cal interests among Latinos, and a shared identity. As this co­ali­tion developed and evolved, so did the CHC. The story of the organ­ization’s development and policy influence in Congress thus serves as an institutional example of the maturation of Latino politics in the United States, and helps to illustrate the increasingly national nature of the Latino po­liti­cal agenda, as well as the punctuation of Latino politics by partisan politics. The 1960s and 1970s ­were a period of po­liti­cal awakening in Latino communities across the country. In the Southwest, particularly in Texas, new organ­izations such as the Mexican American Youth Organ­ization (MAYO), founded in San

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Representative Michelle Lujan Grisham (D-­NM), Chair of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus (center), is joined by about 25 fellow House Demo­crats to introduce a petition to force a vote on the DREAM Act during a news conference in Washington, DC, 2017. (Chip Somodev­illa/Getty Images)

Antonio, Texas in 1967, began emerging. ­Later, organ­izations such as La Raza Unida, a Mexican American po­liti­cal party, developed as alternatives to older Mexican American civil rights organ­izations like the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and the American G.I. Forum, a Hispanic veterans’ organ­ization. Unlike ­these more traditional organ­izations, whose agendas focused primarily on gaining increased inclusion for Mexican Americans in existing po­liti­ cal power structures, new Chicano movement organ­izations placed greater emphasis on Chicano self-­determination, often challenging existing power structures. Although some Latino representatives, such as Henry B. Gonzalez (D-­TX), ­were skeptical of the strategies employed by t­hese new organ­izations, their popularity and emphasis on Chicano empowerment could not be ignored by t­hose representing Hispanic constituents (Burns et al., 2013, p. 403). At the same time, Mexican Americans in Texas, California, and other states ­were organ­izing to improve the quality of public education available to Latino students, and to improve the working conditions of mostly Mexican American mi­grant farm workers. The rise to prominence of civil rights and ­labor leaders César Chávez, Dolores Huerta, and o­ thers brought unpre­ce­dented national attention to Latino po­liti­cal demands. Like the growing number of new Latino civil rights

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organ­izations, the United Farm Workers and other Latino l­abor organ­izations demonstrated the expanding potential of Latino pressure politics, and the growing need for repre­sen­ta­tion within the po­liti­cal system. In 1971, Herman Badillo (D-­NY) became the first Latino U.S. Representative of Puerto Rican descent elected to Congress, and the first Latino elected to Congress from outside the Southwest and Louisiana. The development signaled the growing regional and cultural diversity of Latino politics in the United States. Previous Latino representatives in Congress had traced their roots to Mexican or Spanish origins. Now, the mostly Puerto Rican Latino community in New York also enjoyed repre­sen­ta­tion in the national legislature. Meanwhile, the 1960s and 1970s ­were also proving po­liti­cally tumultuous in Puerto Rico. The Popu­lar Demo­cratic Party (PDP), which had governed Puerto Rico for 20 years beginning in 1948, favored commonwealth status and was therefore satisfied with very limited committee repre­sen­ta­tion in Congress. The rise to power of the upstart, pro-­statehood, New Progressive Party (PNP) in 1969 brought new demands for congressional repre­sen­ta­tion. In 1971, the party successfully pushed for the Resident Commissioner of Puerto Rico to be given the ability to serve on standing committees in the House, and the right to accrue se­niority (Burns et al., 2013, p. 354). Fi­nally, Latinos in U.S. territories w ­ ere securing a greater voice in Washington, D.C. Congress created positions for territorial delegates from the U.S. Virgin Islands and Guam in 1972. Like Puerto Rico’s Resident Commissioner, delegates from the territories did not enjoy the full voting privileges of U.S. Representatives. Still, their presence in Congress extended repre­sen­ta­tion to new communities of Hispanic descent, and increased the critical mass of congressional members with Latino heritage. Although Guam did not send a Latino delegate to Congress ­until electing Ben Garrido Blaz in 1985, Ron de Lugo was elected to represent the Virgin Islands in 1973. As demands for greater repre­sen­ta­tion in diverse Latino communities and the presence of Latino membership in Congress grew, the need for a Latino congressional member organ­ization became clearer. In 1976, five of the eight Latino members of Congress—­Rep. Edward Roybal (D-­CA), Rep. Henry B. Gonzalez (D-­TX), Rep. Representative Herman Badillo (D-­NY), Rep. Kika de la Garza (D-­TX), and Puerto Rican Resident Commissioner-­elect Baltasar Corrada-­del Rio—­co-­founded the Congressional Hispanic Caucus (Garcia, 2005). The mission of the organ­ ization was policy oriented, seeking to “reverse the national pattern of neglect, exclusion, and indifference suffered for de­cades by Spanish-­speaking citizens of the U.S.” The organ­ization also had a po­liti­cal goal: “to increase opportunities for Hispanics to participate in and contribute to the American po­liti­cal system” (Burns et al., 2013, p. 357).

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One catalyst for the formation of the organ­ization was the election of President Jimmy Car­ter, and the desire to increase Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in executive branch positions during the presidential transition. The 19-­member Carter-­Mondale National Hispanic Advisory Committee presented the transition team with a list of potential Latino federal appointees. The formation of the CHC provided an ave­nue to use congressional leverage to pressure the new administration to act on the committee’s recommendations (Vidal, 1976). It is impor­tant to note that the CHC was not immediately embraced by all members of Congress with Hispanic heritage. Representatives Manuel Lujan (R-­NM), out­going Resident Commissioner Benitez (PDP-­PR), and Delegate de Lugo (D-­VI) ­were not founding members of the CHC, though Lujan eventually joined the organ­ ization. The lack of unan­i­mous participation by Latino representatives in the CHC at its establishment foreshadowed the f­ uture for the organ­ization, which has often been marked by a lack of universal participation by Latino members of Congress and some substantial differences of opinion among CHC members. Disagreements among Latino members of Congress over CHC membership or policy positions have often been due to partisanship, the diversity and in­de­pen­dence of Latino members of Congress, and (early on) the organ­ization’s relative lack of institutionalization. During its first years, CHC organ­ization members attempted to operate by unan­i­mous consent, which frequently hindered the group’s ability to advance a collective agenda b­ ecause full agreement could be reached on only a few issues. Revisions to the rules which allowed the organ­ization to operate based on majority votes rather than una­nim­i­ty gave the CHC an ability to pursue a broader agenda, but did not bring about full participation in the organ­ization by all Latino representatives. The CHC became a bipartisan member organ­ization when Rep. Lujan joined in 1980. Lujan was often frustrated by the dominance of Demo­cratic agendas, although common ground was occasionally identified on issues such as immigration (Wieck, 1988). When other Latino Republicans ­were elected in the late 1980s and early 1990s, including Ileana Ros-­Lehtinen (FL), Henry Bonilla (TX), and Lincoln Diaz Balart (FL), they also joined the CHC. By the mid to late 1990s, agreeing to disagree on many, if not most, issues ceased to hold the CHC together as a bipartisan organ­ization, and the CHC’s Republican members left the organ­ization. One incident that contributed to the bipartisan dissolution was the decision of two of the CHC’s Demo­cratic members to visit Cuba and meet with Fidel Castro. The move resulted in the departures of Rep. Ros-­Lehtinen and Rep. Diaz-­Balart, both members of Cuban American descent who staunchly opposed the Castro regime. Partisan divisions among Latino representatives, including a pointed partisan disagreement about President Bush’s nomination of Miguel Estrada to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Cir­cuit, eventually led Latino Republicans to establish a

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parallel organ­ization, the Congressional Hispanic Conference, in 2003 (Davies, 2003). Unlike the CHC, the Hispanic Conference allows associate membership by members of Congress who are not of Hispanic or Portuguese descent. Also unlike the CHC, the Conference never became a thoroughly institutionalized organ­ization, nor pursued a serious policy agenda. Although specific policy differences likely contributed to the end of bipartisan repre­sen­ta­tion in the CHC, larger changes associated with the partisan control of Congress prob­ably contributed as well. Demo­crats had controlled the House of Representatives for the entire history of the CHC prior to 1995. In such an environment, the group’s minority Republican members likely saw the CHC as an organ­ization that offered opportunities to develop personal alliances and to advance their priorities. But when Republicans gained control of the House ­after the 1994 elections, the CHC lost much of its usefulness to its GOP members as an organ­ization that could help further the Republican agenda. Among Demo­cratic members of the CHC, regional and generational differences divided caucus members from time to time. In the early 1980s, five new Latino Demo­crats ­were elected to Congress, nearly doubling the size of the CHC’s membership. The new generation of Latino representatives envisioned a more activist, national Latino agenda than did the long-­time colleagues whom they joined. They also encountered national politics that focused increasingly on issues that affected the Latino community: namely, immigration and language issues. In some ways, the new Latino leaders brought with them a more confrontational and nationally oriented politics. Some of their pre­de­ces­sors balked at the new approach, associating it with the more radical strategies of the Chicano movement they had criticized for being separatist rather than integrationist (Wieck, 1988). Fi­nally, the freewheeling organ­ization lacked a strong degree of institutionalization, at least in its early years. One frustration expressed about the organ­ization was that it lacked a written constitution to guide it. Rep. Henry  B. Gonzalez expressed concern that membership in the organ­ization could lead to conflicts between members’ roles as representatives of their districts and of a broader (but perhaps not unanimously supported) CHC agenda (Wieck, 1988). Ultimately, Henry Gonzalez left the CHC to pursue his own path. Although the caucus was relatively informal, and not very cohesive in its early years, the organ­ization has become increasingly institutionalized and far more cohesive in terms of agenda-­setting (Vega, 1990; Vega and Peters, 1996). The con­ temporary organ­ization bears all of the hallmarks of institutionalization: it is well bounded, with a defined membership based on Hispanic or Portuguese ancestry; it is internally complex, and exercises regularized and specialized functions; and it is universalistic in the sense that its members follow a clear set of demo­cratic norms and pre­ce­dents (Polsby, 1968).

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As an organ­ization made up of Demo­cratic representatives, the CHC’s influence is most apparent as a co­ali­tion within the Demo­cratic Party. By acting collectively, the CHC can influence Demo­cratic leaders to accommodate their policy demands, and occasionally does so. The organ­ization’s policy influence is therefore greatest when Demo­crats are in the majority, and quite limited when Demo­crats are in the minority. The CHC’s initial policy and po­liti­cal missions—to address prob­lems in and provide opportunities for members of the Latino community—­remain central to its activities in Congress. ­These missions appear also to serve impor­tant purposes related to the electoral and repre­sen­ta­tional goals of its members. The organ­ization is thus something like a central ner­vous system for monitoring developments that affect Latino communities, assisting its members in achieving their policy objectives, ensuring that Latino concerns are voiced in po­liti­cal debate, and facilitating overall congressional responsiveness to diverse Latino constituencies (Wilson, 2013; Garcia, 2005). Over the years, the CHC has become increasingly specialized and it now divides policy responsibilities among eight dif­fer­ent task forces: Civil Rights; Diversity and Inclusion; Education and ­Labor; Financial Ser­vices, Manufacturing and Commerce; Healthcare; Homeland Security, Veterans and Defense; Immigration; and Information Technology and Telecommunications. Each CHC task force tends to be populated by representatives with special interests or expertise related to its policy focus. For example, recent chairs of the Civil Rights task force include former Rep. Charles Gonzalez and Rep. Linda Sanchez (D-­CA), both of whom are attorneys. Ruben Hinojosa, a long-­time proponent of expanded higher education opportunities for Latinos and member of the House Education and ­Labor Committee, has served as the education and ­labor task force chair during many recent Congresses. Luis Gutierrez, who sponsored the first CHC-­endorsed comprehensive immigration reform bill, the Security through Regularized Immigration and a Vibrant Economy (STRIVE) Act, has been a frequent leader of the caucus’s immigration task force. While consensus on immigration began to emerge among Latino representatives in the 1990s, the po­liti­cal environment ­after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks appeared to crystallize that pro­cess. In the years immediately following the 9/11 attacks, immigration policy proposals and rhe­toric in the Republican-­controlled Congress grew increasingly hostile. The culmination of the pro­cess was the passage of HR 4437, an immigration bill that would have made undocumented presence in the United States a felony had it been signed into law. When Demo­crats took control of the110th Congress (2007–2008), CHC members sought to reverse the anti-­immigrant agenda. The 110th Congress marked the first time that the CHC put forth its own comprehensive immigration reform proposal, the Security through Regularized Immigration and a Vibrant Economy (STRIVE) Act, which was

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The CHC and Immigration Reform Although the CHC has been heavi­ly involved in immigration reform efforts since the 1980s, the roles the organ­ization has played and strategies it has pursued have varied markedly. In 1983, CHC members unanimously opposed (for a variety of reasons) the proposed Simpson-­Mazzoli immigration bill, and temporarily delayed action on the bill by convincing Speaker Tip O’Neill to pull the bill from floor consideration. However, the CHC was unable to formulate a satisfactory alternative to Simpson-­Mazzoli, and a revised version of the bill eventually passed in 1986, with CHC members splitting their votes. One of the most contentious disagreements related to employer sanction provisions in the bill, which some (such as Henry B. Gonzalez) supported as a means of diminishing incentives for undocumented immigration, but ­others viewed as a policy that would result in discrimination against Latinos regardless of their status. In the 1990s, members of the CHC played a role in shaping legislation that expanded visa opportunities to a wider pool of educated immigrants, and successfully opposed legislation that would have developed a national identification card. They also joined with Latino Republicans in unsuccessful opposition to provisions of the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act, commonly known as Welfare Reform, which cut a variety of federal aid benefits to ­legal immigrants.

co-­sponsored by nearly e­ very member of the organ­ization. Although the move was in many ways a reaction to the vitriol of previous years, it also appeared indicative of a changing dynamic within the CHC, and the coalescence of its members around a clear immigration policy agenda. Formerly contentious issues like employer sanctions ­were a fundamental part of the STRIVE Act, as ­were border security, a pathway to citizenship, and a number of other fundamental policy changes that have since become synonymous with the term “comprehensive immigration reform.” The CHC’s position on immigration, and the strong support of its members for that position, have not wavered much since the 110th Congress. Although the Demo­cratic, and l­ater Republican, leadership did not share the caucus’s prioritization of immigration reform for po­liti­cal reasons, the CHC’s efforts do seem to have fundamentally altered the dynamic and direction of immigration reform debate. The CHC’s ability to monitor t­hese vari­ous policy areas is enhanced by the broad distribution of its members across congressional committees. In recent Congresses, the CHC has enjoyed repre­sen­ta­tion on nearly e­ very standing committee in the House of Representatives. This arrangement has not only increased the CHC’s

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ability to respond to evolving policy agendas, but also helped to ensure that the CHC enjoys a voice in most policy debates. The organ­ization actively pursues multiple policy agendas si­mul­ta­neously and keeps its members informed about key policy developments throughout Congress. Additionally, the division of ­labor enhances the abilities of its members to pursue policies in which they are interested and have expertise by freeing them from major responsibility on initiatives spearheaded by ­others. The CHC pursues a host of coordinated activities to influence committee agendas; shape the tone of policy discussions, both in congressional debate and in the media; build legislative co­ali­tions between the CHC and other representatives and senators; negotiate partnerships with the president on certain policy initiatives; and even influence federal agency actions (Wilson, 2013). The CHC has achieved a number of relatively high-­profile policy victories in recent years. Prob­ably the most prominent was the establishment of Hispanic Serving Institutions (HSIs) of Higher Learning within the amendments to the Higher Education Act, and expansion of funding for HSI programs. In more recent, Republican-­ controlled Congresses, their successes more often come in the form of preventing policy changes that conflict with Latino interests. This is b­ ecause the CHC’s membership has been confined to minority party status since 1995; it therefore lacked substantial abilities to advance a policy agenda, with the exceptions of the 110th and 111th Congresses (2007–2010) when Demo­crats ­were in the House majority. As a Congressional organ­ization, the CHC has rarely received accolades for its effectiveness, and has sometimes been compared unfavorably with other member organ­izations like the Congressional Black Caucus (CBC). However, critics often fail to recognize the importance of context in full appreciation of the CHC’s role. First, the CHC has never enjoyed a membership of more than about 25 House members, whereas the CBC frequently numbers more than 40 members. Second, the organ­ization has coalesced into a Demo­cratic Party organ­ization with a clear agenda only over the past de­cade or so, whereas the CBC has been an established Demo­cratic party presence for de­cades. In spite of its limitations, the CHC appears critical to augmenting the individual repre­sen­ta­tion provided to Latinos by its members. Most pointedly, research suggests that the CHC is critical to enhancing the ability of its members to shape legislative decisions, and that its influence is likely to grow in the ­future (Wilson, 2017).

Biographies of Notable Figures Henry B. Gonzalez (1916–­2000) Henry B. Gonzalez served 37 years in Congress (1961–1998). His po­liti­cal ­career was remarkable not only for its longevity—he served longer than any other

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Latino U.S. Representative in history—­but also for the ways in which it illustrated the development of and divisions between Latino po­liti­cal strategies. Born in 1916 to middle-­class immigrant parents who fled Mexico following the Mexican Revolution in 1911, Gonzalez grew up in San Antonio, Texas. His ­father was editor of La Prensa, a Spanish-­language newspaper, and the f­amily was well connected in the Mexican American community. Gonzalez worked his way through college, attending San Antonio College and the University of Texas before graduating with a bachelor of law degree from St. Mary’s in 1943. He worked first as a Bexar County, Texas, probation officer, and then as a man­ag­er for a public housing proj­ect. In 1947, he helped found the Pan American Progressive Association, an organ­ization with a mission to empower the Mexican American community in San Antonio. In 1950 he lost a bid to serve in the Texas House of Representatives. Three years ­later, his experience and hard work on the campaign trail paid off when he won a seat on the San Antonio City Council—­a first for a Mexican American candidate. In 1956, he became the first Mexican American to serve in the Texas state senate when he won election in a majority-­white district. Gonzalez’s congressional ­career began ­after he won a special election in 1961 despite restrictive voting laws, such as the poll tax, that undermined Latino voting rights. He sought a seat on the Armed Ser­vices Committee, which would have enabled him to more effectively represent many military interests in San Antonio. Instead, he was assigned to the Committee on Banking and Currency (renamed the Banking Committee, and l­ater the Financial Ser­vices Committee), where he remained ­until retirement. In 1989, he became chair of the committee, a post which he used to advance public housing legislation (the Cranston-­Gonzalez National Affordable Housing Act of 1990); create the National Housing Trust, which lowered mortgage rates for first-­time buyers; and increase the transparency of the Federal Reserve Board. In 1976, Gonzalez helped found the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, but he never chaired the organ­ization, and eventually parted ways with it. In many ways, his relationship with the CHC illustrates Gonzalez’s larger role in Latino politics. He largely cut his own path, and remained fiercely in­de­pen­dent from both special interests as well as from most ethnically based activism. He had won his Texas state senate seat campaigning as “a man—­not a name” (Burns et al., 2013, p. 402). He de-­emphasized ethnic appeals throughout his long c­ areer. Although he championed civil rights in the Texas state senate, waging historic filibusters against efforts to resegregate Texas public accommodations, he was critical of more radical Chicano po­liti­cal organ­izations, such as La Raza Unida Party. He did not wish to be portrayed as an ethnic leader, and was skeptical of ethnically based organ­izing both inside and outside Congress, arguing that one cannot win equality by separating

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oneself (Gonzalez, 2015). Gonzalez’s approach emphasized conciliation and pragmatism, and a willingness to work within the system, which garnered substantial criticism from Latino activists. Although the po­liti­cal cohesiveness of t­ oday’s Congressional Hispanic Caucus is likely as ­great as it has ever been, Latino representatives in Congress also have learned lessons from Gonzalez about the importance of augmenting their legislative approaches with traditional strategies, and the need to occasionally reach beyond the CHC in order to advance their agendas.

Edward Roybal (1916–­2005) Ed Roybal’s ­career as a U.S. Representative helped to define the pathway followed by most Latino members of the con­temporary Congress. Recognized as the primary founder of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, Roybal was an activist on behalf of Latino constituencies both in his district and nationwide. Like many who followed in his footsteps, his agenda in Congress was strongly s­ haped by his participation in the CHC, and he was instrumental in establishing a collective strategy that has been continuously pursued and consolidated since his departure from Congress. Edward Roybal was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in 1916 to working-­ class parents whose roots in the state went back to the Spanish colonial period. The ­family moved to Boyle Heights, east of Los Angeles, California, in 1922. ­After graduating from high school in 1934, Roybal worked in the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and attended classes at UCLA and Southwest University. His early ­career was in the field of public health, with state and county tuberculosis associations. In 1947, ­after losing a bid for city council, he helped form the Community Ser­vice Organ­ization (CSO), which sought to po­liti­cally or­ga­nize Los Angeles’s diverse and underserved constituencies. The CSO served as a launch pad for his successful 1949 city council campaign, and he became the first Latino to serve in that office since 1881. At his initial council meeting, he was introduced as “our new Mexican councilman who also speaks Mexican,” an incident that helped to catalyze and orient his agenda on behalf of Mexican Americans and civil rights c­ auses (Burns et al., 2013, p. 410). He served on the council u­ ntil 1962, where he was a spokesperson for the interests of minority communities throughout the city. He won a seat to Congress on the strength of his community ties and with the assistance of a public endorsement from President Kennedy in 1962. He was assigned seats on the Interior and Insular Affairs, and the Post Office and Civil Ser­ vice committees, which he relinquished for a seat on the Foreign Affairs Committee two years ­later. In 1971, he gained a seat on the Appropriations Committee, where he would eventually chair the Subcommittee on Trea­sury, Postal Ser­vice, and General Government. He also was an active member of the House Select Committee on Aging, which he chaired from 1983 to 1993.

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 | 723

Organ­izations for Aspiring Latino Leaders on Capitol Hill In 1978, Ed Roybal, Kika de la Garza, and Baltasar Corrada established a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organ­ization that would eventually become the Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute (CHCI). The CHCI serves as an educational institute for the Latino community, as its programs offer leadership development and civic education training designed to assist young Latinos in accessing professional opportunities. The organ­ization now sponsors a variety of internships, fellowships, and other programs for Latino high school, undergraduate, and gradu­ate students. Although most programs are based in Washington, D.C., the Ready to Lead program targets aspiring Latino college students in 11 major U.S. cities. CHCI participants go on to earn prestigious degrees and often receive job offers in the private and public sector in Washington. Information about the CHCI can be found at www​.­chci​.­org​.­A growing number of young Latinos, including former CHCI interns and fellows, work on congressional staffs. Many are members of the Congressional Hispanic Staff Association (CHSA). A nonpartisan organ­ization, CHSA’s mission is to expand the ranks of Latino staffers in the Senate and House, and to assist the professional development of its members. The organ­ization features a mentoring program for new staffers, holds professional development workshops, and offers opportunities for socializing and networking.

In 1978, Roybal’s ­career was marred by an ethics investigation that charged him with failing to disclose campaign donations, accepting campaign funds for personal use, and giving false and misleading testimony. The ethics panel initially recommended that he be formally censured, which would have resulted in his loss of committee se­niority. However, the same panel recommended a lesser punishment—­ reprimand rather than censure—­for two similarly charged white Demo­crats. ­After substantial outcry from civil rights activists both inside and outside Congress, the House voted to reprimand Roybal as well, rather than censure him. Roybal’s greatest legacy in Congress is almost certainly the role he played as an advocate for the repre­sen­ta­tion of Latino interests and concerns. He opposed the exploitative Bracero Program, championed bilingual education, and pushed the Census Bureau to more accurately document population shifts, producing data critical for understanding the expanding Latino demographic. Many of t­ hese initiatives w ­ ere pursued with the help of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, which he helped to found. He served as the first chair of the organ­ization, and helped elevate it to a national profile. Like his colleague, Henry B. Gonzalez, Roybal was sometimes

724 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979

criticized by more radical ele­ments of the Chicano movement as too pragmatic or conservative. Unlike Gonzalez, though, Roybal frequently embraced ethnically based collective action in politics, both inside and outside of Congress. In addition to chairing the CHC, he also directed the National Association of Latino Demo­cratic Officials (NALDO) and the National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials (NALEO), a nonpartisan organ­ization which t­ oday boasts more than 6,000 members nationwide in local, state, and federal offices. By the 1980s, some congressional colleagues looked to him as the conscience of the House on immigration policy, and viewed him as the national leader of the Hispanic community.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Princi­ples on Immigration Reform and Our Commitment to the American Dream, 2012 In November 2012, the CHC released a document outlining nine princi­ples that it asserted should guide immigration reform. ­These princi­ples, which largely echo the immigration policy agenda pursued by the organ­ization since 2007, t­ oday form the bedrock of comprehensive immigration reform, and have broad backing, particularly within the Demo­cratic Party. Congressional Hispanic Caucus The Honorable Charles Gonzalez, Chair November 28, 2012 ONE NATION: Princi­ples on Immigration Reform and Our Commitment to the American Dream ­Today, we declare our commitment to the American p­ eople to work tirelessly ­toward common-­sense, comprehensive immigration reform that serves Amer­i­ca’s interests, promotes fairness and the rule of law and contributes effectively and meaningfully to our economic well-­being and recovery. Amer­i­ca has always been a nation of immigrants. In order to preserve our history, national identity and culture we must create a modern, 21st ­century l­ egal immigration system that reflects our legacy. Therefore, we commit to fighting for principled, comprehensive immigration reform that: 1. Requires the estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants in the U.S. to register with the federal government, submit to fingerprinting and a criminal background check, learn En­glish and American civics, and pay taxes to contribute fully and legally to our economy and earn a path to permanent residency and eventual citizenship;

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 | 725

2. Protects the unity and sanctity of the ­family, including the families of bi-­ national, same-­sex c­ ouples, by reducing the f­ amily backlogs and keeping spouses, parents, and c­ hildren together; 3. Attracts the best and the brightest investors, innovators, and skilled professionals, including t­ hose in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) studies, to help strengthen our economy, create jobs, and build a brighter f­ uture for all Americans; 4. Builds on the extraordinary success of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program and incorporates DREAMers—­those who ­were brought to the U.S. at a young age and are Americans but for a piece of paper—­into the mainstream of life in the United States through a path to citizenship so that Amer­ic­ a benefits from their scholastic achievements, military ser­vice and pursuit of their dreams; 5. Includes a balanced, workable solution for the agriculture industry that ensures agricultural workers have a route to citizenship and employers have the workers and American agriculture continues to lead in our global economy; 6. Ends the exploitation of U.S. and immigrant workers by providing sufficient, safe, and ­legal ave­nues for foreign workers to fill legitimate gaps in our workforce, with full l­ abor rights, protection from discrimination, and a reasonable path to permanency that lifts up wages and working conditions for both native and foreign-­born workers and their families; 7. Ensures smart and reasonable enforcement that protects our borders and fosters commerce by targeting serious criminals and real threats at our northern and southern borders and promotes the safe and legitimate movement of ­people and goods at our ports of entry and which are essential to our economy; 8. Establishes a workable employment verification system that prevents unlawful employment and rewards employers and employees who play by the rules, while protecting Americans’ right to work and their privacy; and 9. Renews our commitment to citizenship, to ensure all workers pay their fair share of taxes, fully integrate into our way of life and bear the same responsibilities as all Americans and reaffirms our shared belief that the Citizenship Clause of the Constitution is a fundamental freedom that must be preserved. Our immigration laws ­ought to reflect both our interests and our values as Americans and we believe t­ hese princi­ples are consistent with our nation’s commitment to fairness and equality. We commit to adhering to the above princi­ples as we negotiate on behalf of all Americans in good faith with both parties and all stakeholders

726 | Social Movements and Growing Po­liti­cal Power, 1960s–1979

Chairs of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus Years

Name

State-­District

Party

1978–1980 1981–1984 1984–1985 1985–1986 1986–1987

Rep. Edward Roybal Rep. Robert García Rep. Bill Richardson Rep. Matthew Martinez Rep. Esteban Torres

(CA-25) (NY-21) (NM-3) (CA-30) (CA-34)

(D) (D) (D) (D) (D)

1987–1988 1988–1989 1989–1990 1991–1992 1993–1994 1995–1996 1997–1998 1999–2000 2001–2002 2003–2004 2005–2006 2007–2008 2009–2010 2011–2012 2013–2014 2015–2016

Rep. Albert Bustamante Res. Comm. Jaime Fuster Rep. Kika de la Garza Rep. Solomon Ortiz Rep. José Serrano Rep. Ed Pastor Rep. Xavier Becerra Rep. Lucille Roybal-­Allard Rep. Silvestre Reyes Rep. Ciro Rodriguez Rep. Grace Napolitano Rep. Joe Baca Rep. Nydia Velázquez Rep. Charles Gonzalez Rep. Rubén Hinojosa Rep. Linda Sánchez

(TX-23) (PR) (TX-15) (TX-27) (NY-16) (AZ-04) (CA-31) (CA-34) (TX-16) (TX-23) (CA-38) (CA-43) (NY-12) (TX-20) (TX-15) (CA-38)

(D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D) (D)

in the immigration reform debate. We acknowledge that the time to reform the system is long past due. We ask all sides to set aside the vitriol and gamesmanship that is often a part of this debate and that blocks our ability to truly solve the prob­lem. The American p­ eople deserve nothing less. Source: Congressional Hispanic Caucus, November  28, 2012. Retrieved from https://­ gutierrez​.­house​.­gov​/­sites​/­gutierrez​.­house​.­gov​/­files​/­One%20Nation​_­Principles%20on%20 Immigration%20Reform​.­pdf

See also: California’s Proposition 187; Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st ­Century; Founding of LULAC

Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 1976 | 727

Further Reading Burns, Jacqueline, Erin Hromada, Kathleen Johnson, Kenneth Kato, Joshua Litten, and Barry Pump. 2013. Hispanic Americans in Congress, 1822–­2012. Washington, DC: Committee on House Administration. Davies, Frank. 2003. “Three GOP House Members from Miami Help Or­ga­nize New Hispanic Caucus.” Miami Herald, March 19. Garcia, John. 2005. “The Congressional Hispanic Caucus,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Latinos and Latinas in the United States I. New York: Oxford University Press. Gonzalez, John. 2015. “Henry B. Gonzalez: Always the Fighter.” San Antonio Express-­News, March 19. Polsby, Nelson. 1968. “The Institutionalization of the U.S. House of Representatives.” American Po­liti­cal Science Review 62 (1): 144–168. Vega, Arturo. 1990. Congress by Caucus: A Survey of Congressional Groups (doctoral dissertation). Norman: University of Oklahoma. Vega, Arturo, and Ronald Peters. 1996. “Principal-­Agent Theories of Party Leadership U ­ nder Preference Heterogeneity: The Case of Simpson-­Mazzoli.” Congress and the Presidency 23 (1): 15–32. Vidal, David. 1976. “Congressional Hispanic Caucus Is Formed to Speak for Hispanic Population.” New York Times, December 9. Wieck, Paul R. 1988. “Dif­fer­ent Interests, Personalities Hurt Unity of the Hispanic Caucus,” in Latinos and the Po­liti­cal System, 300–305. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Wilson, Walter. 2013. “The Congressional Hispanic Caucus and Immigration Reform.” Extensions: A Journal of the Carl Albert Congressional Research and Studies Center (Summer): 10–15. Wilson, Walter. 2017. From Inclusion to Influence: Latino Repre­sen­ta­tion in Congress and Latino Po­liti­cal Incorporation in Amer­i­ca. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

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8 The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

The Sanctuary Movement, 1980s Felipe Hinojosa

Chronology 1968

As part of the Second Vatican Council, the Conference on Latin American Bishops is held in Medellín, Colombia, where the bishops declare that the Church should take a “preferential option for the poor.” This lays the groundwork for the development of liberation theology.

1971

Peruvian priest Gustavo Gutierrez publishes the seminal book, A Theology of Liberation.

1977

In El Salvador and Guatemala, government officials view the growing popularity of liberation theology as a communist-­inspired threat and respond harshly. In the span of six months, eight priests are expelled from El Salvador, seven are denied entry to the country, two are killed, two are imprisoned, and another several are beaten beyond recognition.

1979

Sandinista rebels overthrow the president of Nicaragua, Anastasio Somoza Debayle.

1980, March

On March 18, President Car­ter signs the Refugee Act, which raises the annual limit on refugees to 50,000 and establishes a comprehensive and systematic procedure for assigning refugee status. On March 24, Archbishop Monsignor Oscar Romero is assassinated during Mass in El Salvador. His murder shakes the po­liti­cal ground in 729

730 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States, compelling religious leadership and laity internationally to speak out forcefully against U.S. policy while also assisting ­people seeking refuge from vio­lence in Central Amer­i­ca. 1980, July

On July 3, a group of 26 mainly middle-­class Salvadorans are abandoned by their smugglers in the Sonoran Desert. The harrowing story of the 13 survivors awakens concern from churches in the Tucson, Arizona area and galvanizes the Sanctuary movement as a way to assist refugees fleeing po­liti­cal vio­lence in their home countries.

1981

Relations between the United States and Nicaragua crumble ­after President Ronald Reagan takes office. Reagan makes it clear that he supports the “Contras,” or counterrevolutionaries, as a way to reduce or prevent perceived communist infiltration into the region. Increased po­liti­cal vio­lence in El Salvador and other parts of Central Amer­i­ca between 1980 and 1982 leads to approximately 100,000 refugees seeking asylum in the United States.

1982

In March, the Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona, known as the birthplace of the Sanctuary movement, publicly declares itself a Sanctuary Church. In November, the Chicago Religious Task Force on Central Amer­ic­ a (CRTFCA), a co­ali­tion of religious and social justice groups, organizes a central system of coordination to help with the placement and transportation of refugees. The Justice Department begins a surveillance program of churches and individuals.

1983

Jorge Lara-­Braud, a Mexican-­American pastor, theologian, and lay leader in the Presbyterian Church, becomes integral to the adoption of the statement “The Church and the Asylum Seekers” at the 195th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A., that provides support to churches and individuals who provide sanctuary to refugees.

1985, January

In January, ­under the FBI sting known as “Operation Sojourner,” the Justice Department announces the indictment of 16 Arizona Sanctuary workers, including the original organizers of the movement, John Fife and Jim Corbett. By this year the movement has grown to 250 sanctuaries nationwide.

1985, May

In May, American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh challenges the U.S. government’s denial of asylum status for Central American refugees.

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1985, June

In June, the Central Conference of American Rabbis endorses the Sanctuary movement and civil disobedience.

1985, December

On December 12, at a Mass in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe, F ­ ather Luis Olivares, pastor of La Placita church in downtown Los Angeles, declares the church a sanctuary for Central American refugees.

1987

Nationwide t­here are 420 Sanctuary groups: 350 churches, 41 synagogues, 25 ecumenical religious groups, 24 cities, 15 universities, and 13 secular groups.

1987, In a homily given in San Antonio, Texas, Pope John Paul II praises September Sanctuary movement workers who are providing aid to Central American refugees. 1989

The U.S. Congress passes the Central American Studies and Temporary Relief Act, which gives Central Americans certain protections and eventually the opportunity to become U.S. citizens.

1990

American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh ­settles outside of court; ­under the settlement terms, eligible Guatemalans and Salvadorans are granted a stay of deportation, a new asylum interview and decision, and other assistance.

Narrative The term Sanctuary movement refers to a campaign among religious and lay p­ eople in the United States and elsewhere that provided refuge and advocacy for immigrants fleeing vio­lence and civil war in Central Amer­i­ca in the 1980s. Churches have a long tradition as sanctuaries of refuge, dating back to ancient times around the world. The Sanctuary movement of the late 20th ­century combined religious faith and biblical princi­ples with social activism to draw attention to the plight of Central American refugees and to critique U.S. foreign policy in Central Amer­i­ca. This movement drew its strength from religious communities, based its politics on biblical princi­ples of justice, and expressed a commitment to solidarity with the poor. Sanctuary movement activists followed the Hebraic tradition in the Old Testament of welcoming the stranger and providing biblical hospitality. Latino Christians have a long history of providing sanctuary for their fellow Christians from Latin Amer­i­ca (Ramírez, 2015). However, the Sanctuary movement in the 1980s differed in that it drew participation from nonreligious groups, white churches, and a small number of universities and cities. U.S. foreign policy in Central Amer­i­ca and the suffering of refugees galvanized this movement in the 1980s. Vio­lence and civil war in El Salvador and other parts of Central Amer­i­ca created a crisis that

732 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

The New Sanctuary Movement held a news conference in front of New York’s Federal Plaza in 2013, where they discussed the humanitarian crisis along the U.S-­Mexican border for the estimated 70,000 ­people who have dis­appeared in their attempt to reach the United States. (Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

forced approximately 100,000 p­ eople, between 1980 and 1982, to leave their home countries in search of asylum in the United States. ­Those numbers continued to grow throughout the 1980s. This displacement of p­ eoples—­the largest in the Western Hemi­sphere in the modern era—­moved a new generation of religious activists to take the lessons of the civil rights era and use them to mobilize the most successful and vis­ib­ le movement for ­human rights in the 1980s (Crittenden, 1988, p. xvi). This would not, however, be the first time that churches across the United States took a collective stand against injustice. For this reason it is impor­tant to place the Sanctuary movement in its proper context as an extension of the religious (and nonreligious) activism of the civil rights era. The civil rights era was a key turning point for both Catholic and Protestant churches across the country as they began to address the racial and economic disparities that they had ignored for too long. Latina/o Christians, from Catholics to Presbyterians, ­were at the vanguard of ­these movements in churches and denominational bodies across the country. Their efforts put in place an infrastructure of churches and religious networks that helped facilitate much of their work. In this way the Sanctuary movement was an extension, in

The Sanctuary Movement, 1980s | 733

religious form, of the Latina/o civil rights activism that emerged so powerfully in the 1960s and 1970s. The Sanctuary movement of the 1980s was inspired by U.S. foreign policy in Central Amer­i­ca. Three countries in particular—­Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala—­witnessed tremendous social unrest and po­liti­cal turmoil throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Years of po­liti­cal conflict, exploitation, and vio­lence galvanized insurgencies across the region (particularly among indigenous populations) to fight for po­liti­cal change. In Nicaragua, rebels calling themselves “San­di­nis­tas,” ­after leftist leader of the 1920s and 1930s Augusto Sandino, overthrew the president of Nicaragua, Anastasio Somoza Debayle, in 1979. The activities which led to that coup, however, started in 1972 a­ fter a massive earthquake exposed the widespread corruption and injustice that a majority of the population had suffered u­ nder Somoza, whose f­ amily empire had ruled the country since the mid-1930s. The leftist po­liti­cal movement that emerged in response to Somoza’s repressive and corrupt government had widespread support throughout Nicaragua, particularly among religious leaders and priests who preached social justice. ­After the San­di­nis­tas overthrew Somoza, a new leftist government came to power. U.S. President Jimmy Car­ter initially recognized the Sandinista government, but relations between the United States and Nicaragua took a dramatic turn a­ fter President Reagan took office in 1981. In nearby El Salvador, a fraudulent election of right-­wing candidate Arturo Molina in 1972 led to an eruption of vio­lence that para­lyzed the country for much of the 1970s. A civil war between the Molina regime and dissidents gripped the small country in the 1970s and 1980s. The vio­lence reached its height in 1979 when attacks by the Salvadoran government killed a thousand ­people a month (Smith, 1996, pp. 16–17). The next year, four dissident organ­izations pulled their resources together to form Frente Faribundo Martí de Liberación Nacional (FMLN) to ­counter the government-­sanctioned vio­lence. According to the Catholic Church, 40,000 ­people w ­ ere killed between October 1979 and 1984 (Crittenden, 1988, p. 17). For his part, President Car­ter cut much of the financial aid to the country based on its history of ­human rights abuses, a decision that was consistent with his declaration that foreign aid would be tied to the ­human rights rec­ords of individual countries (García, M. C., 2005, p. 17). In Guatemala, U.S.-­backed military rule had dominated the country since 1954 when the CIA toppled the demo­cratically elected leftist president, Jacobo Arbenz. The repressive governments in the following years made it a point to crush dissent that emerged from ­either po­liti­cal opponents or guerrilla movements. “­There are no po­liti­cal prisoners,” the saying went in Guatemala, “only po­liti­cal murders” (Crittenden, 1988, p. 80). In 1976, an earthquake devastated the country, killing 25,000 ­people, leaving many more homeless, and forcing 50,000 p­ eople to migrate out of

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Guatemala in subsequent months (Smith, 1996, pp. 12–13). The civil unrest heightened in the following years. According to Amnesty International, in “the last six months of 1981 po­liti­cal murders had reached a level of more than 400 a month” (Crittenden, 1988, p. 80). The Reagan administration’s policy in t­hese three countries exacerbated the vio­lence, according to many critics. From the beginning, President Reagan made it clear that his administration would support the Contras, or counterrevolutionaries, in Nicaragua, who ­were ordered to stop the flow of weapons from the Sandinista government to the leftist FMLN rebels in El Salvador. Ignoring the pressure from activists in the United States and criticisms from the World Court as it sold illegal arms to Iran in order to fund the Contras in Nicaragua, the Reagan administration remained determined to overthrow the Sandinista government (Crittenden, 1988, p. 80). War in the region, and the Reagan administration’s continued support and funding of war supplies, made life impossible for many, who ­were thus forced to flee. Much of this paranoia stemmed from the Reagan administration’s belief that a Soviet-­Cuban connection had infiltrated the Central American countries of El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua in an attempt to turn the region into a communist stronghold. Proponents pointed to guerrilla threats posed by groups like the FECCAS (Christian Federation of Salvadoran Peasants in El Salvador) and CUC (Committee for Campesino Unity). ­These groups critiqued their national governments for taking po­liti­cal ­orders from the United States at the expense of their own citizens. At the heart of Reagan’s concern was the emergence of liberation theology, which in the 1970s prompted radical changes across the structures of the Catholic Church. Reagan and his administration also had their eye on Catholic Church leaders, nuns, and priests, whose solidarity with local peasant movements was a stark departure from the typical stance of religious leaders who colluded with po­liti­cal powers. ­These movements troubled the Reagan administration, which saw this as communism masked b­ ehind theological rhe­toric. Reagan instituted a new inter-­ American policy in the 1980s through the Santa Fe document (so named b­ ecause discussions on its composition took place in New Mexico) that marked liberation theology in par­tic­u­lar as a threat to U.S. interests in the region (Cunningham, 1995, p. 22). Governments in Central Amer­i­ca also began to see the Church as a threat, as priests and nuns vocally denounced oppressive governments and the vio­lence that had come to dominate everyday life in Central Amer­i­ca (Cunningham, 1995, p. 21). The vio­lence that emerged as a result of U.S. involvement in the region, as a way to suppress the guerrilla groups and silence the Catholic Church, terrorized ­people across the region and forced them to leave their homes and head north. Perhaps most shocking to Americans and worldwide observers was that vio­ lence in the region extended beyond civilians and the military to religious workers

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Liberation Theology Liberation theology emerged in Latin Amer­i­ca among Catholics in the late 1960s and early 1970s, primarily through the writings of theologian Gustavo Gutierrez. This new approach to understanding the Bible made the radical claims that God was on the side of the oppressed, and poverty was a sin perpetuated by the evils of capitalism. It also claimed that the Church must make a “preferential option for the poor,” in contrast to Christian teachings that the poor should accept their lot in life and be rewarded in the afterlife. Latin American bishops affirmed this more progressive platform at an historic meeting in Medellín, Colombia in 1968. At the meeting, the bishops no longer described poverty as a personal prob­lem, but rather characterized it as “institutionalized vio­lence” that contradicted the w ­ ill of God. Moreover, liberation theology stood in opposition to Eurocentric theology in Latin Amer­ i­ca, with its belief in colonial power and Eu­ro­pean virtues, by focusing on an understanding of God through the lenses of Latin American culture and community. The impact of liberation theology was felt throughout Latin Amer­i­ca, especially in the comunidades de base (base communities) that ­were formed in urban and rural communities to hold discussions on poverty, justice, and the place of theology in everyday life. Liberation theology revolutionized how many Catholics in Latin Amer­i­ca understood God, God’s relationship to humanity, and God’s care and love for ­those who suffered most in society. In the late 1970s and 1980s, F ­ ather Virgilio Elizondo’s foundational book, Galilean Journey, contextualized the message of liberation theology for a U.S. Latino audience. The book was a mix of history and theology that covered the Mexican American and Mexican immigrant experience in the United States. Elizondo argued that Jesus Christ himself was a border crosser, a mestizo (a mixed-­race person, especially in reference to someone of Eu­ro­pean and indigenous heritage), and someone who understood the plight of the refugee and of the immigrant. ­Father Elizondo wrote that Jesus Christ must have understood p­ eople living on the margins of society, like the undocumented immigrants of ­today, b­ ecause the Gospels describe a Christ figure that cared for the poor and the most needy in society. and leaders. In El Salvador, the vio­lence was especially potent against religious leaders, including missionaries. In the span of six months in 1977, eight priests w ­ ere expelled from the country, seven ­were denied entry to the country, two w ­ ere killed, two ­were imprisoned, and another several w ­ ere horribly beaten (Crittenden, 1988, p. 16). Nothing captured the attention of religious leaders in the United States more

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than two traumatic events in the 1980s: the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero and the rape and murder of four American nuns in El Salvador. The geopo­ liti­cal clash between rebels in Central Amer­i­ca and the Reagan administration’s foreign policy inspired religious leaders in the United States to defy U.S. immigration laws that they believed conflicted with their calling to welcome the stranger and provide hospitality to ­those in need. Religious groups in the United States ­were made aware of the situation in Central Amer­i­ca by returning missionaries who spoke in churches throughout the late 1970s and 1980s. Both Catholic and Protestant missionaries brought back stories, presented slide shows, gave sermons explaining the tenets of liberation theology, and encouraged the ­people in the pews to inform themselves about what was happening in Central Amer­i­ca and take action in any way they could. They promoted the idea that the church, and by extension its followers, should not only feed the hungry, but also should ask penetrating questions about the ­causes of hunger as they relate to war, U.S. policy, and injustice.

From Civil Rights to Sanctuary Although the Sanctuary movement emerged within a par­tic­u­lar po­liti­cal context and historical moment in the 1980s, the movement is best understood as a continuum of experiences and activism tied to the civil rights era. When Southside Presbyterian Church declared itself a “Sanctuary church” in 1982, it continued a long tradition of activism that started with campaigns for racial integration in the 1950s. Much of the work grew out of its location within a mostly working-­class barrio where a multiethnic mix of whites, Mexican Americans, and Native Americans filled the pews ­every Sunday (Crittenden, 1988, p. 8). Much as Southside Presbyterian’s history of activism prepared it for Sanctuary work, churches and religious organ­izations across the country also had the tools and education necessary to respond when the refugee crisis demanded action. Pastor Fernando Santillana of the Pico Rivera United Methodist Church in Los Angeles, for example, was familiar with and had been inspired by Gustavo Gutierrez’s teachings of liberation theology. In the 1960s and 1970s, the popularity of liberation theology coupled with the civil rights activism of Latinas/os in the United States, led to what sociologist Anthony M. Stevens-­Arroyo has called the “Latino Religious Resurgence,” or what minister and activist Jorge Lara-­Braud called a “religious re­nais­sance” during the 1960s and 1970s. Latina/o leadership emerged within predominantly white Protestant denominations as a direct challenge to the history of racism and sexism within ­these denominational groups. The convergence of liberation theology, Third Worldism, Chicana/o and Puerto Rican activism, and new civil rights legislation awakened

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a progressive movement within many churches across the United States (Stevens-­ Arroyo, 2004, p. 322). An example of this new religious progressive movement came in March 1968 when a group of clergy from California and Arizona or­ga­nized the Latin American Methodist Action Group (LAMAG). Led by the f­uture Bishop Elías Galván, the LAMAG launched a series of critiques against the racism they experienced among their Anglo counter­parts in the Methodist church. LAMAG leaders questioned the paternalism of past missionary movements in the Latino community and worked to place more Latinos in Methodist leadership. Presbyterians in New Mexico helped or­ga­nize the “Academia de la Nueva Raza” in 1969, and their counter­parts in California helped or­ga­nize a group called “La Raza Churchmen” (Barton, 2005, pp.  128–131). In the Catholic Church, groups such as PADRES, composed of Mexican American priests, and Las Hermanas, a group of Latina nuns, emerged as power­ful voices to demand more Chicano priests, culturally relevant theological instruction, and an end to the sexism and racism they observed in the Catholic Church. Much of the religious activism undertaken by Las Hermanas and PADRES inspired an entire generation of Catholics to take seriously the biblical calls for justice and ser­vice. ­Sister Jo’Ann De Quattro, the chair of the Sanctuary committee in Los Angeles, first became inspired to join the Sanctuary movement a­ fter a workshop session or­ga­nized by PADRES at the Mexican American Cultural Center in San Antonio—an influential institution that provided impor­tant cultural and theological education for both Catholics and non-­Catholics interested in theology and Mexican American culture (Chinchilla, Hamilton, and Loucky, 2009, p. 109). Leading and inspiring this revolution, albeit often b­ ehind the scenes, w ­ ere Latino ministers like Jorge Lara-­Braud. In 1975 Lara-­Braud took the lead in a “refugee resettlement” program instituted by the Presbyterian Church, U.S. A Presbyterian pastor, theologian, and lay leader in the Presbyterian Church, Lara-­Braud was integral to the adoption of “The Church and the Asylum Seekers” at the 195th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, U.S. in 1983, which challenged Presbyterians to step up and respond to the refugee crisis. In the 1980s, the notion of defining the American church in a global context spurred many progressive groups to begin making treks to Latin Amer­i­ca known as “third world encounters,” an educational experience that Lara-­Braud helped or­ga­nize. Perhaps Lara-­Braud’s most impor­tant legacy came as a founding member of the Hispanic American Institute in Austin, Texas in 1966. The Institute, which emerged out of a partnership between the Presbyterian Church U.S. (PC U.S.) and the United Presbyterian Church U.S.A. (UPC U.S.A.), served as an ecumenical center for research and religious training for ministry in Mexican American communities across Texas and the Southwest. As director of the Institute, Lara-­Braud worked tirelessly to build bridges between

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Anglo and Mexican American Protestants. He challenged white church leaders to understand Mexican Americans not as a group in need of Americanization, but as a group with impor­tant faith traditions, ­family values, and continued strug­gles ­under the sting of anti-­Mexican racism (Lara-­Braud, 1968, pp. 43–45). Between 1965 and 1976, the Hispanic American Institute was a major advocate for Mexican American Protestants. But its reach, led largely by Lara-­Braud’s vision, also extended into Latin Amer­i­ca and ­shaped church and missional policy across borders. In the 1970s, when many denominations ­were rethinking their strategies and approaches to church missions, Lara-­Braud led the way by drafting policy for Presbyterian mission agencies. One of the most impor­tant was titled “Illusion and Real­ity in Inter-­American Relations,” which helped frame mission policy in the 1970s and 1980s. He also remained closely tied to Latin American religious politics through his engagement with organ­izations like Iglesia y Sociedad en América Latina (Church and Society in Latin Amer­i­ca), which facilitated discussions among evangelicals in Latin America and the United States on theological education and h­ uman rights (Koll, 2000). Progressive Anglos also launched their own religious movements in the 1970s. Speaking out against economic injustice, unbridled capitalism, and militarism, progressive Anglos emerged as a power­ful voice in the “new evangelical left” (Swartz, 2014, p. 1). As historian David Swartz notes, Christian denominations that had previously had tense relations in the postwar period—­Anabaptists, New Left Christians, and Latin Americans—­took center stage and emerged as a countering voice to the conservative Chris­tian­ity of the day. The writings of theologians/sociologists, such as Ron Sider’s book Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, compelled young and middle-­class white youth to commit their lives to social justice as an expression of their faith. While scholars have described at length the rise of the conservative evangelical “moral majority” in the 1970s, a c­ ounter movement quietly flourished in the 1970s that revolutionized how Christians engaged their communities and set the stage for the Sanctuary movement that emerged in the 1980s. In the years between 1980 and 1983, an estimated 1.5 million ­people left their homes in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala to come to the United States. From 1979 through 1980, 100,000 left El Salvador alone (Crittenden, 1988, p. 17). Many who w ­ ere fleeing all three countries w ­ ere farmers, teachers, former military, factory workers, young and old, and church workers who left every­thing in order to escape the vio­lence (Crittenden, 1988, p. xvi). Gaining asylum status, however, proved difficult. The U.S. government categorized immigration from Central Amer­ i­ca as eco­nom­ically motivated rather than a genuine need to escape war and vio­ lence. Between 1983 and 1990, only 3 ­percent of Guatemalan and Salvadoran applications for asylum w ­ ere granted. This low approval rate outraged Sanctuary movement activists, who felt that the federal government was not willing to provide refuge for ­those fleeing the right-­wing governments that it had helped fund.

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Activists argued that the Refugee Act of 1980, which aligned the U.S. definition of refugee with that of the United Nations, did cover refugees from Central Amer­i­ca ­because most, if not all, of ­those refugees had a well-­founded fear of persecution and vio­lence in their home country. Part of the prob­lem with assigning refugee status, however, was that in the United States, officials required that each individual prove specific need, rather than basing an asylum claim merely on the group one belonged to or nation of origin. In her essay on the Sanctuary movement, historian María Cristina García argues that for U.S. officials, granting asylum to Central American refugees signified an admission of guilt and responsibility for the very vio­lence that U.S. foreign policy had helped create and in many cases continued to fund (García, M. C., 2005, p. 162). Throughout much of the 1980s, the Reagan administration also rejected an option for a temporary protected status for refugees. Instead, immigrants filled detention centers along the South Texas border to capacity, in many cases without adequate sanitation, food, or medical attention. Religious and ­human rights groups vocally criticized this policy, accusing detention centers of putting refugees at risk for sexual assault, starvation, illness, and lack of access to ­legal counsel. The inadequate conditions in detention centers prompted lawsuits against the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS), but did not result in any major policy changes. In addition, Sanctuary movement activists had reason to believe that the federal government tapped their phones, intercepted their mail, and kept close tabs on refugees who ­were suspected of working with anti-­American rebel groups (García, M. C., 2005, pp. 162–163). Sanctuary activists believed that members of the church should help defy what they saw as an in­effec­tive immigration system by creating an underground railroad to help refugees avoid detention and deportation. Activists envisioned a network of “safe ­houses” that resembled the underground railroad of the 19th ­century that protected slaves from the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850 and paved a path to freedom for slaves. Jim Corbett, a Quaker, was one of the Sanctuary movement activists who tried to make the “safe ­houses” a real­ity. He brought together networks of support in Nogales, Mexico—­just across the Arizona border—to assist refugees fleeing from wars in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala. In South Texas, activists started organ­izations such as the Border Association for Refugees from Central Amer­i­ca (BARCA) and Proyecto Libertad. The call to identify and assist refugees came just as religious leadership in Central Amer­i­ca publicly criticized U.S. policy in the region and suffered deadly consequences. In 1980, the Archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, addressed a letter to President Jimmy Car­ter. In an appeal to Car­ter’s Christian faith and his supposed commitment to ­human rights, Archbishop Romero pleaded with the president to stop military aid to El Salvador. He wrote that U.S. aid w ­ ill “undoubtedly

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sharpen the injustice and the repression inflicted on the or­ga­nized p­ eople, whose strug­gle has often been for re­spect for their most basic ­human rights” (Romero, 1980). Archbishop Romero was an out­spoken critic of U.S. policy in his home country of El Salvador, and his position as archbishop gave him an impor­tant platform from which to “speak truth to power.” One month ­after writing this letter, he was assassinated while performing Mass in a small chapel called La Divina Providencia in San Salvador. His murder shook the po­liti­cal ground in both Latin Amer­ i­ca and the United States and compelled religious leadership and laity to speak out forcefully against U.S. policy, in addition to assisting ­people seeking refuge.

Churches Or­ga­nize The Sanctuary movement emerged as a way to offer ­people a place to stay, rest, contact a l­awyer, and determine how to petition for asylum in the United States. This type of assistance was not new to churches. In the 1960s, churches and some universities across the country provided sanctuary for men seeking to avoid military ser­vice during the Vietnam War. But sanctuary took on a dif­fer­ent meaning in the early 1980s when, for example, organ­izations like Lutheran Social Ser­vices began encouraging religious groups to declare themselves as “sanctuaries” and thus provide protection for Central American refugees. The push emerged a­ fter an incident in Southern California in which police pursued a refugee and arrested him at a downtown church (Crittenden, 1988, pp. 62–64). In response, the INS director declared that u­ nder no circumstances should border patrol officials cross the lines of protection that are provided in hospitals, schools, and churches. A year ­later, Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona, became the first church to declare itself a sanctuary church in 1982. Prior to this decision, the pastor of Southside Presbyterian, Rev. John Fife, had or­ga­nized the Tucson Ecumenical Council, a co­ali­tion of 60 local churches. Southside Presbyterian made the announcement of its plans to become a sanctuary church on the second anniversary of Archbishop Romero’s assassination: March 24, 1982. That decision was quickly followed by a group of five churches in Berkeley, California, that joined the movement, as well as the First Unitarian Universalist Church in Los Angeles and Luther Place Memorial Church in Washington, D.C. By 1983, the city of Chicago was an impor­tant site of Sanctuary movement activism. The Chicago Religious Task Force distributed newsletters, mailings, and manuals to help churches in their decision to become sanctuary churches. The city of Chicago never declared itself a “sanctuary city” officially, but before his passing, Mayor Harold Washington made it a point to say that no city officials, including police, would assist the INS in its work. The sanctuary work that took place in Chicago differed somewhat from what Rev. Fife was d­ oing at Southside Presbyterian

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in Tucson. Whereas the Tucson movement focused on grass roots activism, Catholic leaders in Chicago ­were invested in courting national support and in making sanctuary a national movement. In 1986, Chicago Catholics, led mainly by nuns, or­ga­nized the Chicago Catholic Sanctuary (CCS), where 100 ­women from 17 religious ­orders joined to defy any church authority that was standing in the way of the Sanctuary movement. CCS emerged out of a diverse network of co­ali­tions and denominations (Catholic and Protestant) that worked across the city of Chicago. Prior to organ­izing CCS, for example, ­women religious admitted that they often attended Sanctuary events hosted by Protestant churches. This makes sense given that in the early years of the Sanctuary movement, “small, homogenous Protestant churches of about one hundred families tend[ed] to be the most successful in declaring sanctuary” (Lorentzen, 1991, p. 27). By the mid to late 1980s, the Sanctuary movement had expanded significantly. Journalist Ann Crittenden noted that “by the mid 1980s sanctuary had become the largest grass roots civil disobedience movement in the U.S. since the 1960s and one of the few moral protests against the Reagan administration’s bellicose crusade in Central Amer­i­ca” (Crittenden, 1988, p. xvi).

Southside Presbyterian Church In 1982, the Southside Presbyterian Church was comprised of a small congregation in south Tucson. It was the first church in the nation to declare itself a Sanctuary church in the midst of the Central American refugee crisis. Between 1982 and 1992, close to 15,000 Central American refugees from El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala came through the church seeking assistance ­after being forced to leave ­because of the vio­lence in their home countries. The church started in 1906 as a missionary outreach to the Pima and Papagos Indian population in nearby Papagoville, located in south Tucson. Throughout most of its history, the church remained a “mission church” ­under the direction and funding of the national Presbyterian Church. Even though it never raised enough money to be self-­sustaining, Southside Presbyterian had a long history of activism and community involvement. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the church was involved in the civil rights strug­gles throughout the city. When Reverend John Fife arrived as minister in the early 1970s, the congregation was made up of a diverse mix of Latinos, African Americans, and Native Americans. Southside Presbyterian continues to be an impor­tant place for immigrants and immigrant activism, and offers refuge and support for undocumented immigrants.

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In Los Angeles, the first church to declare sanctuary was the First Unitarian Church in the Pico Union neighborhood just west of downtown. In 1985, ­Father Luis Olivares, pastor of “La Placita” church in downtown Los Angeles, declared the church a sanctuary for refugees and extended sanctuary to undocumented Mexican immigrants as well, making it the only sanctuary center to do so in the United States (García, M. T., 2015, pp. 1–2). In New Orleans, the Apostolado Latino-­ Americano (Latin American Apostolate) and the Baptist Association of New Orleans ­were critical in helping Central Americans s­ ettle and find refuge in the city. In a conference held t­ here in 1987, religious leaders acknowledged the many p­ eople who formed the Sanctuary movement in the city and who continued New Orleans’s long tradition of being a “gateway to and mediator for Central Amer­i­ca” (Donze, 1987). In some cases, social justice groups simply evolved to meet the new demands of the 1980s. One such example is that of the group Clergy and Laity Concerned. Founded by Jewish and Christian leaders in 1965, the group started as an antiwar group, but by the late 1970s had shifted its focus to the war in Central Amer­i­ca and joined other groups in a co­ali­tion to help change U.S. policy in the region and to stop the war. The group or­ga­nized vigils and educational sessions, and distributed lit­er­a­ture on the conditions in Central Amer­ic­ a, encouraging p­ eople of faith to get involved and speak out against the war and injustices perpetuated by the U.S. government in the region. By 1983, ­there w ­ ere 45 Sanctuary churches and synagogues and 600 supportive groups in the United States. The next year, in 1984, the movement had 150 churches across the country that had declared sanctuary and received the support of 18 national denominations and commissions. By 1987, ­there ­were more than 420 Sanctuary groups that included 305 churches, 41 synagogues, 25 ecumenical religious groups, 24 cities, 15 universities, and 13 secular groups (Chinchilla, Hamilton, and Loucky, 2009, pp. 107–108). The movement utilized a variety of strategies from the local level to the national level. Leaders held educational sessions in churches, screened films and documentaries on U.S. foreign policy, staged theatrical productions, held Bible studies, and hosted returning church workers who gave talks pleading for ­people to get involved. In 1987, the movement received the support of Pope John Paul II: in a homily in San Antonio, he praised the “­great courage and generosity” of Sanctuary leaders who w ­ ere providing aid to Central American refugees. Pope John Paul II offered his support even as he deliberately avoided using the term “sanctuary” and was careful not to endorse religious leaders’ breaking the law in their quest to help refugees (Schanche and Kennedy, 1987). The decision to become a Sanctuary church was not one that churches and religious organ­izations took lightly. Before a congregation deci­ded to become a Sanctuary church, ­there was usually much reflection and discussion, often for months, prior to making a final decision. Testimonials from refugees themselves w ­ ere often

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the biggest motivator for churches to agree to become spaces of sanctuary for refugees. It was clear that if churches made this decision they would receive heavy scrutiny from government officials. In some cases, government officials would plant spies to gather evidence from within the Sanctuary movement. Such was the case with Alberto Palacios, a Salvadoran refugee, who on October 5, 1989, was approached by the FBI to spy on the church in Los Angeles known for its participation in the Sanctuary movement and for helping Central American refugees find asylum. At a press conference held at La Placita church in Los Angeles, Palacios recounted how FBI agents told him that “­things would go better” if he cooperated. Palacios was being asked to spy on the church and then report back to FBI agents who ­were accusing the church of organ­izing subversive activities. ­Father Luis Olivares explained, “The implication has been that our movement was a cover for extreme left po­liti­cal activities aimed at destabilizing the U.S. government” (Wilkinson, 1990). The Justice Department began surveillance of churches and individuals in 1982. They prosecuted church workers with fines of up to $2,000 and imprisonment for five years for harboring and smuggling illegal aliens, and a $10,000 fine and five years for conspiracy to harbor. In 1984, Stacey Lynn Merkt, who served refugees at the Casa Oscar Romero in Brownsville, Texas, was arrested and served 269 days in prison. She was the first person in the Sanctuary movement to be arrested (García, M. C., 2005, p. 167). L ­ ater, the director of Casa Oscar Romero, Jack Elder, was arrested and served 150 days in a halfway h­ ouse. The biggest sting came ­under the FBI’s “Operation Sojourner,” which captured and led to indictment of 16 Sanctuary workers in Arizona. Using in­for­mants who joined the movement as volunteers to help churches in Arizona, Jesus Cruz and Salomon Delgado recorded conversations which led to charges of conspiracy and “transporting/harboring illegal aliens. . . . ​More than eighty other ­people—­refugees and church workers who transported them—­were arrested as coconspirators” (García, M. C., 2005, p. 167). The prosecution claimed that t­hese ­were essentially h­ uman smugglers using religion as a cover to conduct their activities. Defense l­awyers used the constitutionally protected religious rights of Sanctuary workers as a defense. In the end, 8 of the 11 ­were charged with conspiracy, as the government hoped this case would shut down the movement. In fact, the opposite occurred, as the trial dominated radio talk shows and newspaper coverage and during this time more than 200 new Sanctuary sites emerged across the country. In 1986, eight Sanctuary movement leaders from Arizona w ­ ere charged with bringing Central Americans into the country illegally. All eight w ­ ere placed on probation. An appeals court upheld the convictions, saying that they “cannot escape the government’s overriding interest in policing its borders” (Murphy, 1989). Many believed this would make Sanctuary work more difficult, as workers would now

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have to go even further underground to do their work, but it also affirmed the fact that criminal prosecution could not stop a movement that was rooted in biblical notions of justice such as loving one’s neighbor and providing hospitality to the stranger. The charges stemmed from a May 1986 conviction when eight p­ eople (five of them clergy) w ­ ere accused of operating a “modern day underground railroad” (Murphy, 1989). In the end, the Sanctuary movement assisted only a small number of Central American refugees b­ ecause the networks w ­ ere for the most part informal and p­ eople learned of them only by word of mouth. Still, the movement did eventually lead to the changes that gave Central Americans certain rights. Congressional legislation such as the Central American Studies and Temporary Relief Act (1989) and the Nicaraguan Adjustment and Central American Relief Act (1997) gave Central Americans certain protections and eventually the opportunity to become U.S. citizens. In 1991, the case of American Baptist Church v. Thornburgh settled with a federal court ruling that required the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice to review some 150,000 asylum cases of Central Americans. The case, which was first brought to court in 1985, was successful in challenging the U.S. government’s denial of asylum status for Central American refugees. This was a major victory for the movement and helped vindicate much of the work that Sanctuary movement leaders had been ­doing (Chinchilla, Hamilton, and Loucky, 2009, p. 118).

Sanctuary in the 21st ­Century In the 21st ­century, the legacy of the Sanctuary movement remains as impor­tant as ever, particularly as immigrants from Latin Amer­i­ca who are undocumented continue to face hostile circumstances. Anti-­immigrant sentiment has been steadily on the rise in the years since the attacks of September 11, 2001. Amplified by po­liti­cal legislation such as the Sensenbrenner bill (the Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act of 2005) that linked immigration enforcement to anti-­terrorism policy, immigrants are often characterized as a burden and a threat. Yet, even as the Sensenbrenner bill sparked hatred for immigrants among some, the legislation also gave rise to an immigrant rights movement nationwide that has found strength and leadership in ­people like Elvira Arellano. In 2006, Arellano defied deportation ­orders and took sanctuary in the Adalberto United Methodist church in Chicago, where she lived for a year with her son. Her case made national and international headlines and reminded many p­ eople of the Sanctuary movement of the 1980s. It also highlighted the long history of Chicago as a sanctuary city, a designation it has carried since that de­cade. To many, Arellano symbolized the face and the voice of the modern immigrant rights movement.

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The Sanctuary movement is no longer limited to churches and synagogues. Colleges, universities, and major American cities such as Chicago, Denver, and San Francisco have taken on the title as a way to better serve their students and the ­people of their city. While the term sanctuary carries impor­tant po­liti­cal implications, and in some contexts is deemed to be controversial, in regard to cities and universities, sanctuary means that local law enforcement ­will not do the work of the federal government and that undocumented ­people do not have to fear that police ­will ask them for proof of citizenship during a routine traffic stop (Nathanson, 2016). Religion and politics have always had a close relationship in American governance, but the Sanctuary movement became the most vis­i­ble expression of that relationship during a tense moment in American history. The movement joined the long strug­gle for citizenship rights in this country by bringing together multiple religious traditions to challenge U.S. foreign policy, even as they sought to follow the central tenets of their faith by extending hospitality to ­those in need.

Biographies of Notable Figures John Fife (1940–) Reverend John Fife was regarded by many as one of the most vis­i­ble and charismatic leaders of the Sanctuary movement. His church, Southside Presbyterian in Tucson, is considered ground zero for the Sanctuary movement in the United States. Fife was central to expanding the movement: first in Tucson, through the Tucson Ecumenical Council, and ­later across the United States. The son of a conservative Presbyterian minister from western Pennsylvania, Fife moved to Tucson in the early 1970s, where he became heavi­ly involved in movements for social justice across the city. Originally a medical student, Fife abandoned that c­ areer path to return to the church. His most critical decision early on was studying at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, where he learned about the impor­tant role that the church and religious leaders can play in society. Biblical studies prompted his foray into politics and civil rights activism. He was part of the historic civil rights march in Selma in 1965, he spent his summers working on an Indian reservation in Arizona, and he got his first job working in a “ghetto ministry” in the predominantly black neighborhoods of Canton, Ohio. In his early thirties, he became a minister at Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona. His role soon took him to more prominent leadership positions within the Presbyterian Church. In 1973, he was elected as a representative for the Presbyterians of Arizona and New Mexico on the national policy-­making council. Fife would ­later recall that all of his involvement with the denomination served him well

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as his work with refugees took off in the 1980s (Crittenden, 1988, pp. 6–12). In 2002, Fife helped start the Samaritan Patrol along the Mexico-­Arizona border, which gives food and ­water to immigrants and advocates for their rights. He retired in 2005 from Southside Presbyterian Church ­after 35 years of ministry, but continues to serve as Pastor Emeritus at the church.

Luis Olivares (1934–1993) ­ ather Luis Olivares was born in San Antonio, Texas, in 1934. The son of Mexican F immigrants, Olivares was the “heart and soul” of the Sanctuary movement in Los Angeles in the 1980s (García, M. T., 2015). Influenced by the work and activism of César Chávez, Olivares committed his life to working with the poor and marginalized in the city of Los Angeles. He dedicated his ministerial life to fighting against injustice and economic in­equality, and to helping refugees and undocumented immigrants by providing sanctuary. His ministry started at a parish in East Los Angeles, Our Lady of Solitude. In 1981, he was transferred to Our Lady Queen of Angels Church, affectionately known as “La Placita” church, where he continued working on behalf of the most marginalized members of the city. His work and reputation spread quickly and it was not long before refugees from El Salvador and Guatemala began showing up at his church in need of assistance. In the 1980s, La Placita church became a sanctuary for refugees seeking asylum and the center of opposition to U.S. foreign policy in Central Amer­i­ca. In 1985, Olivares officially declared his church a Sanctuary church and asked his parishioners to “disobey the immigration laws ­because ‘the first law is the one of ­human dignity’ ” (Tobar, 1993). His commitment to justice, however, came at a steep price. He was investigated by federal officials, labeled a communist by supporters of the Salvadoran government in Los Angeles, and received numerous death threats for his support of war refugees from Central Amer­i­ca. According to historian Mario García, he also “expanded sanctuary to include undocumented Mexican immigrants, and further defied the Reagan administration and immigration officials who focused on deporting such immigrants” (García, M. T., 2015). ­Father Luis Olivares died of AIDS in March 1993 at Cedars-­Sinai in Los Angeles. He was 59 years old. Soon ­after contracting the AIDS virus, ­Father Olivares left his work at Our Lady Queen of Angels church and lived his final days at a Claretian retreat in Los Angeles where he became an advocate for AIDS awareness.

Elvira Arellano (1975–) Elvira Arellano is an immigration activist who defied deportation ­orders in 2006 by taking sanctuary in the Adalberto United Methodist church in Chicago; she lived

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t­here for a year, along with her son. Before being deported, she worked at Chicago’s O’Hare airport cleaning airplanes. Her case made national and international headlines in 2006 when she refused to comply with a deportation order and instead took sanctuary in the church. That move not only brought attention to Chicago again, which had been a Sanctuary city since the 1980s, but also made Arellano the face and the voice of the immigrant rights movement. In 2006, she received Time magazine’s “Person of the Year” title. She was eventually deported in 2007 to her native Mexico, where she lived and worked for seven years. In Mexico, she continued her activism to keep immigrant families together in the United States. She traveled to Spain, Italy, and Cuba and in 2009 ran for a seat in Mexico’s Congress (Zamudio, 2014). In 2014, Arellano crossed the border again and this time when she was detained she requested asylum in the United States. In March 2017, Arellano was granted a reprieve by federal authorities, who ruled that she could stay in the United States another year. She w ­ ill have to check in with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) again in 2018.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Executive Order on Sanctuary Cities, 2017 On January 25, 2017, President Donald Trump signed an executive order called “Border Security and Immigration Enforcement Improvements,” which sought to cut off federal funding from cities referred to as “Sanctuary cities.” The executive order also calls for the addition of 10,000 enforcement and removal officers. The following is an excerpt from this order. By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of Amer­i­ca, including the Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) (8 U.S.C. 1101 et seq.), and in order to ensure the public safety of the American ­people in communities across the United States as well as to ensure that our Nation’s immigration laws are faithfully executed, I hereby declare the policy of the executive branch to be, and order, as follows: Section 1. Purpose. Interior enforcement of our Nation’s immigration laws is critically impor­tant to the national security and public safety of the United States. Many aliens who illegally enter the United States and t­ hose who overstay or other­wise violate the terms of their visas pres­ent a significant threat to national security and public safety. This is particularly so for aliens who engage in criminal conduct in the United States. Sanctuary jurisdictions across the United States willfully violate Federal law in an attempt to shield aliens from removal from the United States. ­These

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jurisdictions have caused immea­sur­able harm to the American ­people and to the very fabric of our Republic. Tens of thousands of removable aliens have been released into communities across the country, solely b­ ecause their home countries refuse to accept their repatriation. Many of ­these aliens are criminals who have served time in our Federal, State, and local jails. The presence of such individuals in the United States, and the practices of foreign nations that refuse the repatriation of their nationals, are contrary to the national interest. Although Federal immigration law provides a framework for Federal-­State partnerships in enforcing our immigration laws to ensure the removal of aliens who have no right to be in the United States, the Federal Government has failed to discharge this basic sovereign responsibility. We cannot faithfully execute the immigration laws of the United States if we exempt classes or categories of removable aliens from potential enforcement. The purpose of this order is to direct executive departments and agencies (agencies) to employ all lawful means to enforce the immigration laws of the United States. Sec. 2. Policy. It is the policy of the executive branch to: a) Ensure the faithful execution of the immigration laws of the United States, including the INA, against all removable aliens, consistent with Article II, Section 3 of the United States Constitution and section 3331 of title 5, United States Code; b) Make use of all available systems and resources to ensure the efficient and faithful execution of the immigration laws of the United States; c) Ensure that jurisdictions that fail to comply with applicable Federal law do not receive Federal funds, except as mandated by law; d) Ensure that aliens ordered removed from the United States are promptly removed; and e) Support victims, and the families of victims, of crimes committed by removable aliens. Sec. 3. Definitions. The terms of this order, where applicable, ­shall have the meaning provided by section 1101 of title 8, United States Code. Sec. 4. Enforcement of the Immigration Laws in the Interior of the United States. In furtherance of the policy described in section 2 of this order, I hereby direct agencies to employ all lawful means to ensure the faithful execution of the immigration laws of the United States against all removable aliens.

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Sec. 5. Enforcement Priorities. In executing faithfully the immigration laws of the United States, the Secretary of Homeland Security (Secretary) ­shall prioritize for removal ­those aliens described by the Congress in sections 212(a)(2), (a)(3), and (a)(6)(C), 235, and 237(a)(2) and (4) of the INA (8 U.S.C. 1182(a)(2), (a)(3), and (a)(6)(C), 1225, and 1227(a)(2) and (4)), as well as removable aliens who: (a) Have been convicted of any criminal offense; (b) Have been charged with any criminal offense, where such charge has not been resolved; (c) Have committed acts that constitute a chargeable criminal offense; (d) Have engaged in fraud or willful misrepre­sen­ta­tion in connection with any official m ­ atter or application before a governmental agency; (e) Have abused any program related to receipt of public benefits; (f) Are subject to a final order of removal, but who have not complied with their ­legal obligation to depart the United States; or (g) In the judgment of an immigration officer, other­wise pose a risk to public safety or national security. Sec. 6. Civil Fines and Penalties. As soon as practicable, and by no ­later than one year ­after the date of this order, the Secretary ­shall issue guidance and promulgate regulations, where required by law, to ensure the assessment and collection of all fines and penalties that the Secretary is authorized u­ nder the law to assess and collect from aliens unlawfully pres­ent in the United States and from t­ hose who facilitate their presence in the United States. Sec. 7. Additional Enforcement and Removal Officers. The Secretary, through the Director of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, s­ hall, to the extent permitted by law and subject to the availability of appropriations, take all appropriate action to hire 10,000 additional immigration officers, who ­shall complete relevant training and be authorized to perform the law enforcement functions described in section 287 of the INA (8 U.S.C. 1357). Sec. 8. Federal-­State Agreements. It is the policy of the executive branch to empower State and local law enforcement agencies across the country to perform the functions of an immigration officer in the interior of the United States to the maximum extent permitted by law. (a) In furtherance of this policy, the Secretary s­ hall immediately take appropriate action to engage with the Governors of the States, as well as local officials, for

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the purpose of preparing to enter into agreements ­under section 287(g) of the INA (8 U.S.C. 1357(g)). (b) To the extent permitted by law and with the consent of State or local officials, as appropriate, the Secretary ­shall take appropriate action, through agreements ­under section 287(g) of the INA, or other­wise, to authorize State and local law enforcement officials, as the Secretary determines are qualified and appropriate, to perform the functions of immigration officers in relation to the investigation, apprehension, or detention of aliens in the United States u­ nder the direction and the supervision of the Secretary. Such authorization ­shall be in addition to, rather than in place of, Federal per­for­mance of t­hese duties. (c) To the extent permitted by law, the Secretary may structure each agreement ­under section 287(g) of the INA in a manner that provides the most effective model for enforcing Federal immigration laws for that jurisdiction. Sec. 9. Sanctuary Jurisdictions. It is the policy of the executive branch to ensure, to the fullest extent of the law, that a State, or a po­liti­cal subdivision of a State, s­ hall comply with 8 U.S.C. 1373. (a) In furtherance of this policy, the Attorney General and the Secretary, in their discretion and to the extent consistent with law, s­ hall ensure that jurisdictions that willfully refuse to comply with 8 U.S.C. 1373 (sanctuary jurisdictions) are not eligible to receive Federal grants, except as deemed necessary for law enforcement purposes by the Attorney General or the Secretary. The Secretary has the authority to designate, in his discretion and to the extent consistent with law, a jurisdiction as a sanctuary jurisdiction. The Attorney General s­ hall take appropriate enforcement action against any entity that violates 8 U.S.C. 1373, or which has in effect a statute, policy, or practice that prevents or hinders the enforcement of Federal law. (b) To better inform the public regarding the public safety threats associated with sanctuary jurisdictions, the Secretary s­ hall utilize the Declined Detainer Outcome Report or its equivalent and, on a weekly basis, make public a comprehensive list of criminal actions committed by aliens and any jurisdiction that ignored or other­wise failed to honor any detainers with re­spect to such aliens. (c) The Director of the Office of Management and Bud­get is directed to obtain and provide relevant and responsive information on all Federal grant money that currently is received by any sanctuary jurisdiction. Sec. 10. Review of Previous Immigration Actions and Policies. (a) The Secretary ­shall immediately take all appropriate action to terminate the Priority Enforcement Program (PEP) described in the memorandum issued by the Secretary on

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November 20, 2014, and to reinstitute the immigration program known as “Secure Communities” referenced in that memorandum. (b) The Secretary ­shall review agency regulations, policies, and procedures for consistency with this order and, if required, publish for notice and comment proposed regulations rescinding or revising any regulations inconsistent with this order and s­ hall consider ­whether to withdraw or modify any inconsistent policies and procedures, as appropriate and consistent with the law. (c) To protect our communities and better facilitate the identification, detention, and removal of criminal aliens within constitutional and statutory par­ameters, the Secretary ­shall consolidate and revise any applicable forms to more effectively communicate with recipient law enforcement agencies. Sec. 11. Department of Justice Prosecutions of Immigration Violators. The Attorney General and the Secretary s­ hall work together to develop and implement a program that ensures that adequate resources are devoted to the prosecution of criminal immigration offenses in the United States, and to develop cooperative strategies to reduce violent crime and the reach of transnational criminal organ­izations into the United States. Sec. 12. Recalcitrant Countries. The Secretary of Homeland Security and the Secretary of State ­shall cooperate to effectively implement the sanctions provided by section 243(d) of the INA (8 U.S.C. 1253(d)), as appropriate. The Secretary of State ­shall, to the maximum extent permitted by law, ensure that diplomatic efforts and negotiations with foreign states include as a condition pre­ce­dent the ac­cep­tance by t­hose foreign states of their nationals who are subject to removal from the United States. Sec. 13. Office for Victims of Crimes Committed by Removable Aliens. The Secretary ­shall direct the Director of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement to take all appropriate and lawful action to establish within U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement an office to provide proactive, timely, adequate, and professional ser­ vices to victims of crimes committed by removable aliens and the ­family members of such victims. This office s­ hall provide quarterly reports studying the effects of the victimization by criminal aliens pres­ent in the United States. Source: The White House. Retrieved from https://­www​.­whitehouse​.­gov​/­the​-­press​-­office​ /­2017​/­01​/­25​/­presidential​-­executive​-­order​-­enhancing​-­public​-­safety​-­interior​-­united

See also: Central American Civil Wars and Migration; Immigration Reform and Control Act; Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006

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Further Reading Barton, Paul. 2005. “¡Ya Basta!: Latino/a Protestant Activism in the Chicano/a and Farm Worker Movements,” in Gastón Espinosa et al., eds., Latino Religions and Civic Activism in the United States. London: Oxford University Press. Blau, Ignatius. 1985. The Ground Is Holy: Church Sanctuary and Central American Refugees. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. Brett, Edward T. 1994. “The Attempts of Grassroots Religious Groups to Change U.S. Policy ­Towards Central Amer­i­ca: Their Methods, Successes, and Failures.” Journal of Church and State 36 (4, Autumn): 773–794. Burks, Paul. 1986. “This Is Sanctuary: A Reformation in Our Time,” in William K. Tabb, ed., Churches in Strug­gle: Liberation Theologies and Social Change in North Amer­i­ca, 291–300. New York: Monthly Press Review. Byrnes, Timothy A. 2011. Reverse Mission: Transnational Religious Communities and the Making of U.S. Foreign Policy. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Chinchilla, Norma Stoltz, Nora Hamilton, and James Loucky. 2009. “The Sanctuary Movement and Central American Activism in Los Angeles.” Latin American Perspectives, 36 (6, November), 107–108. Coutin, Susan Bibler. 1993. The Culture of Protest: Religious Activism and the U.S. Sanctuary Movement. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Crittenden, Ann. 1988. Sanctuary: A Story of American Conscience and the Law in Collision. New York: Grove Press. Cunningham, Hilary. 1995. God and Caesar at the Rio Grande: Sanctuary and the Politics of Religion. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Donze, Frank.1987. “Central Amer­i­ca, a New Approach,” The Times Picayune (New Orleans, LA), January 28. García, María Christina. 2005. “ ‘Dangerous Times Call for Risky Responses’: Latino Immigration and Sanctuary, 1981–2000,” in Gastón Espinosa, Virgilio Elizondo, and Jesse Miranda, eds., Latino Religions and Civic Activism in the United States, 150–176. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. García, Maria Christina. 2006. Seeking Refuge: Central American Migration to Mexico, the United States, and Canada. Berkeley: University of California Press. García, Mario T. 2015, September 22. “Fr. Luis Olivares: A Better Choice for Sainthood than Serra.” National Catholic Reporter. Retrieved from https://­www​.­ncronline​.­org​/­blogs​ /­ncr​-­today​/­fr​-­luis​-­olivares​-­better​-­choice​-­sainthood​-­serra Golden, Renny. 1986. “Sanctuary and ­Women.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 2 (1): 131–149. Koll, Karla Ann. 2000. “Presbyterians, the United States, and Central Amer­i­ca: Background of the 1980s Debate.” Journal of Presbyterian History 78 (1, Spring): 87–102. Lara-­Braud, Jorge. (1968). “Our Spanish-­American Neighbors,” The Christian ­Century 85, 43–45. Lodder, Ted. 1986. No One But Us: Personal Reflections on Sanctuary. San Diego: Lura Media.

The Sanctuary Movement, 1980s | 753 Lorentzen, Robin. 1991. ­Women in the Sanctuary Movement. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. MacEoin, Gary. 1985. Sanctuary: A Resource Guide for Understanding and Participating in the Central American Refugee Strug­gle. New York: HarperCollins. McConnell, Michael. 1985. “Sanctuary: No Stopping It Now.” Other Side 21 (2): 32–35. Murphy, Kim. 1989. “Conviction of 8 Sanctuary Workers Upheld.” Los Angeles Times, March 31. Nathanson, Rebecca. 2016. “Sanctuary Campuses Vow to Protect Students u­ nder Trump.” Rolling Stone. Retrieved from http://­www​.­rollingstone​.­com​/­politics​/­features​/­sanctuary​ -­campuses​-­vow​-­to​-­protect​-­immigrant​-­students​-­under​-­trump​-­w455882 Nepstad, Sharon Erickson. 2004. Convictions of the Soul: Religion, Culture, and Agency in the Central Amer­ic­ a Solidarity Movement. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Ramírez, Dan. 2015. Migrating Faiths: Pentecostalism in the United States and Mexico in the Twentieth ­Century. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Romero, Archbishop Oscar. 1980, February 17. Letter to President Jimmy Car­ter. Collection 13, Tulane University Archives, New Orleans, LA. Schanche, Don A., and J. Michael Kennedy. 1987. “Sanctuary Movement Encouraged by Pope: He Praises ‘Compassion’ for Refugees.” Los Angeles Times, September 14. Smith, Christian. 1996. Resisting Reagan: The U.S. Central Amer­ic­ a Peace Movement. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Stevens-­Arroyo, Anthony M. 2004. “From Barrios to Barricades,” in David G. Gutiérrez, ed., The Columbia History of Latinos in the United States since 1960, 303–354. New York: Columbia University Press. Swartz, David. 2014. Moral Minority: The Evangelical Left in an Age of Conservatism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Tobar, Hector. 1993. “­Father Luis Olivares, Voice of the Poor, Dies of AIDS,” Los Angeles Times, March 20. Wilkinson, Tracy. 1990. “Priests Accuse FBI of Trying to Force Salvadoran to Spy on Church.” Los Angeles Times, April 11. Yarnold, Barbara M. 1991. “The Role of Religious Organ­izations in the U.S. Sanctuary Movement,” in Barbara M. Yarnold, ed., The Role of Religious Organ­izations in Social Movements, 17–46. New York: Praeger. Yuhas, Alan. 2016. “Latino Immigrants Are Unnoticed Casualties of U.S. ‘War on Terror.’ ” The Guardian, August 21. Retrieved from https://­www​.­theguardian​.­com​/­us​-­news​ /­2016​/­aug​/­21​/­latino​-­immigrants​-­us​-­war​-­on​-­terror​-­study Zamudio, María Inés. 2014. “Elvira Arellano: From Undocumented Immigrant to International Activist,” The Chicago Reporter, January 16. Retrieved from http://­chicagoreporter​ .­com​/­elvira​-­arellano​-­undocumented​-­immigrant​-­international​-­activist/

754 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

Mariel Boatlift, 1980 Mauricio Castro

Chronology 1980, March

On March 17, President Jimmy Car­ter signs the Refugee Act of 1980, authorizing the annual admission of 50,000 refugees with conditional status, stating that they could achieve permanent resident status ­after one year.

1980, April

On April 1, six Cubans commandeer a bus and ram the gates of the Peruvian embassy in Havana in an attempt to enter the property to gain asylum. The death of one of the embassy’s Cuban security detail prompts a standoff between the Cuban and Peruvian governments. On April 4, the Cuban government removes the security forces and gates of the Peruvian Embassy, prompting 2,000 Cubans to enter the embassy grounds seeking asylum. By April 6, the number of asylum seekers on Peruvian embassy grounds reaches almost 11,000. On April 16, the Cuban government briefly implements an airlift of asylum seekers to the United States, Costa Rica, and other nations. Images of the Cuban asylum seekers kissing the ground upon arriving in Costa Rica prompt the Cuban government to stop the airlift. On April 19, hundreds of thousands of Cubans march in front of the Peruvian embassy in Havana in support of the Cuban government. On April 20, the Cuban government announces the opening of the port of Mariel to Cuban exiles living abroad who want to help friends and ­family leave the country. On April 21, two boats chartered by Cuban exiles carry the first 40 refugees of the boatlift to the United States, arriving in Key West, Florida.

1980, May

On May 1, Fidel Castro makes a May Day speech denouncing ­those Cubans seeking asylum as criminals and “limp wristed.” On May 3, President Jimmy Car­ter declares in a speech that refugees from Cuba ­will be welcomed with “an open heart and open arms.” On May 9, the first 128 Mariel refugees arrive in Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, one of several military bases where Cubans could be pro­cessed and investigated for past be­hav­ior and conditions that might exclude them from entry into the United States.

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On May 11, the New York Times publishes an article entitled “Retarded ­People and Criminals Are Included in Cuban Exodus.” The article’s negative portrayal of the Mariel refugees, the marielitos, helps turn public opinion against them. On May 18, the federal government opens another resettlement/pro­ cessing camp at Fort Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania, as the first 326 refugees of a projected 20,000 arrive at the military base. 1980, June

On June  1, hundreds of refugees, frustrated by the slow pace of pro­cessing and release from the camp, rush the gate at the pro­cessing center in Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, pelting police and soldiers with stones. One hundred refugees escape the base, with fifty of them almost reaching neighboring Barling, Arkansas. On June 20, the Car­ter administration paroles all Cubans who entered the country before June 19, 1980, allowing them access to basic welfare ser­vices. The administration also announces that it ­will seek $385 million in federal funds to finance relocation and other ser­vices for Cuban refugees.

1980, July

On July  25, authorities open a temporary “tent city” under­neath Interstate 95 in downtown Miami to ­house up to 800 refugees who had originally been sheltered in the Orange Bowl football stadium. The camp eventually ­houses 1,000 refugees and becomes a symbol of the U.S. government’s response to the boatlift in Miami.

1980, On September 25, the Cuban government closes the Port of Mariel September ­after an estimated 130,000 refugees went to the United States during the four months of the boatlift. 1980, October

On October 9, federal authorities consolidate the remaining populations from the camps at Fort Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania; Eglin Air Force Base, Florida; and Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, at Fort Chaffee (Arkansas). The refugee groups from the dif­fer­ent camps bring the Fort Chaffee population to 8,300.

1980, November

On November 4, a majority of voters in Dade County, Florida, repeal a 1973 ordinance that declared the county bilingual. The mea­sure is largely seen as anti-­Cuban in the wake of the Mariel Boatlift and is opposed by Latinos and African Americans in South Florida.

1981, April

One year ­after the start of the Mariel Boatlift, some 1,800 Cuban refugees are still being held at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas.

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1982, February

The last of the Cuban refugees at Fort Chaffee, held back from being released due to ­mental illness concerns, are resettled.

1995, May

­ fter a crisis in the summer of 1994, during which thousands of A Cubans sought to migrate to the United States on makeshift rafts, the administration of President Bill Clinton fundamentally changes Cuban refugee policy. The administration announces that Cuban refugees who are intercepted at sea w ­ ill be returned to Cuba instead of brought to the United States.

Narrative The influx of Cubans to the United States ­after Fidel Castro’s Communist Revolution in 1959 was generally received with open arms by the American public. The exiles or refugees served an impor­tant po­liti­cal purpose during the Cold War with the Soviet Union: their migration symbolized the triumph of American capitalism and democracy and the rejection of a communist government and economic system. Indeed, from the 1950s through the 1970s, the U.S. government provided a ­great deal of assistance to help Cubans fleeing the island s­ ettle, adjust, and integrate into American society. No other immigrant group in U.S. history has received such preferential treatment, earning Cubans the nickname of “the golden exiles.” In the spring of 1980, however, ­after Fidel Castro had been in power for two de­cades, a new wave of Cubans who ­were dissatisfied with the unfulfilled promises of the revolution sought to leave the island for the United States or elsewhere. This wave of migration, known as the Mariel Boatlift, dramatically changed American public opinion of Cuban defectors, mostly w ­ omen, in a boat en route to the United States during the Mariel Boatlift, 1980. Cuban refugees. For a number of reasons, ­these mi­grants ­were not (U.S. Coast Guard)

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received as warmly, ­were not welcomed, and, in fact, ­were disparaged by many Americans. They w ­ ere characterized in the United States as criminals, mentally ill, and homosexual. The circumstances and aftermath of their migration revealed fractures in the Cuban American population, shifting po­liti­cal views about Cuba, and brought into question the favored position that Cuban refugees had enjoyed vis-­à-­ vis U.S. immigration policy. In 1980, conditions in revolutionary Cuba had caused severe discontent among a sector of the island’s population. While many Cubans expressed loyalty to Castro and the Communist Revolution, some secretly held more negative opinions about their country’s leadership and the society that the revolution had created. On April 1, 1980, six Cubans disaffected with the revolution commandeered a bus and drove it through the gates of the Peruvian embassy in Havana in order to seek po­liti­cal asylum (Thomas, 1980a). As Sanyustiz steered the bus t­oward the embassy gate, they came ­under fire from the Cuban troops assigned to embassy security. Despite the obstacles and the gunfire, the front third of the bus entered the grounds of the embassy, thus allowing the asylum seekers to gain asylum on sovereign Peruvian territory (Ojito, 2005, pp. 68–93). The Peruvian government’s newly liberalized policy regarding Cuban asylum seekers at the embassy was set to take effect that day. This was not the first time Cubans had tried to forcefully enter foreign embassies on Cuban territory. Up to that point, nearly 30 Cubans had crashed vehicles against the gates of the embassies of Peru and Venezuela in attempts to gain asylum (García, 1996, p. 55). This incident differed from previous ones, however, b­ ecause it resulted in a fatality that led to a full-­scale diplomatic incident. When Cuban guards assigned to the Peruvian embassy opened fire on Sanyustiz’s bus, one of the guards was killed. This created a standoff between the guards and the Peruvian embassy staff who ­were providing asylum to the occupants of the bus (Ojito, 2005, pp. 100–101). The Cuban government demanded the return of the asylum seekers, but the Peruvian government refused (Torres, 1999, p. 105). On April 4, the Cuban government sought to punish the Peruvian embassy by removing its protection from the embassy: it took down the compound’s gates and the barricades, and removed the Cuban security guards assigned to the mission. By the following day, 2,000 Cubans had entered the embassy grounds, ­after hearing assurances from Cuban government officials that all but the 25 who had entered initially by force in vari­ous incidents would be allowed to leave the island if they ­were granted visas by foreign nations (Thomas, 1980a). By April 6, the number of Cubans crowding the embassy had grown to 10,800 (García, 1996, p. 55). The desperate asylum seekers refused to leave the embassy grounds for fear they would be arrested and would not be allowed to return. Members of the embassy’s staff, who ­were unequipped and unprepared to provide for this number of

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p­ eople, w ­ ere completely overwhelmed. Cuban security forces provided some food for the asylum seekers, but the nearly 11,000 ­people on the embassy grounds had to subsist on rations meant for 2,500. Unsanitary conditions due to lack of sufficient bathroom facilities compounded the lack of food and w ­ ater and resulted in widespread suffering of dehydration, sunstroke, and gastroenteritis. The international press covered the events at the Peruvian embassy extensively, which embarrassed Castro’s government. In response, the Cuban government went on the offensive against the asylum seekers (Ojito, 2005, pp. 115–117). Cuba’s state newspaper, Granma, soon began to characterize the asylum seekers as “delinquents, social deviants, vagrants, and parasites” (García, 1996, p. 56), discrediting them for wanting to leave Cuba and describing them as escoria, the scum of society (Ojito, 2005, p. 117). The international press, however, soon began to describe the refugees who started to resettle outside of Cuba as ordinary p­ eople simply seeking a better life. From the perspective of the Castro regime, however, refugees ­were disloyal and reflected poorly on Cuba’s image as a successful country (García, 1996, p. 56). The Cuban government came to an agreement with several nations, including the United States and Peru, regarding the fate of the embassy refugees. It was agreed that 3,500 would go to the United States, 3,500 would be dispersed in eight other nations, and the rest would be temporarily taken to Costa Rica to await resettlement to other countries (Bon Tempo, 2008, p. 180). The plan was implemented on April 16. ­After the Cuban government made additional policy changes, it announced plans to allow Cubans living abroad to use boats to pick up ­those wanting to leave the island through the port of Mariel on the outskirts of Havana (Torres, 1999, p. 105). Cuban Americans, some of whom had already been planning to launch a small flotilla with supplies for ­those trapped at the Peruvian embassy, seized this opportunity to bring ­family members from the island to the United States. By April 21, Granma announced that a flotilla of some 50 lobster boats had left Florida to begin the transport of ­those Cubans seeking to leave, and that the first 2 boats had already arrived at Mariel (Associated Press, 1980). The first two boats returned to Key West with some 40 refugees, causing a U.S. State Department official to call the effort “unlawful and unhelpful.” U.S. officials tried to discourage the boatlift, concerned that more Cuban Americans would travel down to Mariel and return with boatloads of new refugees without organ­ization or vetting, causing chaos and leaving the U.S. government with l­ ittle control over the migration (Battaile, 1980). Their concerns turned out to be founded. Within four days, the New York Times described Mariel harbor as “a floating city of more than 1300 boats.” Upon arrival, the crews of ­these boats ­were approached by Cuban immigration officials seeking identification and lists of relatives that the exile boats sought to transport to the United States. In addition to ­family members and friends,

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Cuban authorities enforced a new requirement that each boat had to take on additional passengers as a condition of departure (Thomas, 1980b). As a result, the boatlift took 6,333 new Cuban arrivals to the United States between April 21 and April 30 (Castro, 2015, p. 215). As the boatlift continued, many other Cubans began to express a desire to leave. They received a g­ reat deal of criticism from fellow Cubans who saw them as traitors, and attacked them verbally and physically (García, 1996, p. 63). The Cuban government forced anyone joining the boatlift to sign documents confessing to social deviancy and crimes against the state. This reinforced the Cuban government’s claims that ­those seeking to leave the island ­were criminals and delinquents, and perpetuated the image that Cuba was ridding itself of its most troublesome citizens. In addition, the Cuban government added ­actual convicted criminals to the boatlift population. Altogether, some 26,000 of the Mariel entrants had criminal rec­ ords. Of ­these, only 2,000 had committed serious felonies; many ­others had been jailed u­ nder lesser crimes as determined by Cuba’s ley de peligrosidad, or law of dangerousness (Garcia, 1996, pp. 63–64). Some had been convicted and imprisoned for purchasing food or clothing on the black market, had been convicted of selling items or materials without permission, or had committed offenses such as vagrancy and fighting. In addition to shipping off prison inmates, the Cuban government also sought to rid itself of its gay population, or t­ hose commonly referred to as “homosexuals” during this era. In a speech delivered at Havana’s José Martí Revolution Square on May 1, 1980, Castro affirmed the image of the Mariel exiles as the lowest level of Cuban society and specifically made a derogatory reference to homosexuals by using the term “limp wrists.” Homo­sexuality had technically been decriminalized in 1979, but the ley de peligrosidad left ­people who engaged in same-­sex relations vulnerable to prosecution if they defied the “norms of socialist morality.” This often led to arrests based on perceived effeminacy and congregation with other gay ­people. Cuban homosexuals ­were encouraged to leave the country, with some sources reporting that incarcerated homosexuals w ­ ere threatened with the addition of years to their sentence should they resist joining the boatlift (Capó, 2010, pp. 83–88). Some of the refugees of the Mariel Boatlift also suffered from m ­ ental illness, chronic illnesses, and m ­ ental and physical disabilities. Some 1,500 refugees had ­mental health prob­lems or intellectual disabilities, including 500 who needed institutionalization and 500 who w ­ ere placed in halfway h­ ouses in the United States. Although exact numbers are not available, estimates put the number of refugees with chronic medical prob­lems (including substance abuse, tuberculosis, or cardiovascular disease) at 1,600 (García, 1996, p. 64). As a result, the Mariel Boatlift became a migration not only of the f­ amily and friends of Cuban exiles in the United States, but also of many ­others whom the Cuban government sought to expel as a

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condition of opening its port. In the United States the term marielitos, used to describe Cubans who came on t­hese boatlifts, took on very derogatory connotations and stigma. The Mariel Boatlift presented a dilemma for U.S. officials. President Car­ter had just recently signed the 1980 Refugee Act, declaring the United States to be a country that welcomed refugees, which compelled his administration to demonstrate its commitment by accepting the Mariel mi­grants. However, U.S. officials had no control over this migration and expressed fears that Castro was unburdening the island of criminal, mentally ill, and deviant ­people, and shipping them indiscriminately to American soil. The sheer number of mi­grants coming to the United States from April through September, when the Cuban government fi­nally closed the Mariel port, overwhelmed federal and local Miami officials. Altogether, more than 124,000 Cubans entered the United States during the boatlift. Unlike earlier refugees from the island, Mariel mi­grants ­were less likely to bring social and ­human capital with them—­the professional networks, work experience, and educational profiles of the “golden exiles.” Marielitos had survived Cuba’s hardest economic period to date (Pedraza, 2007, pp. 152–153). Many w ­ ere able to re­unite with f­ amily or friends who sponsored them, as immigration policy requires for t­hose who are not eco­nom­ically self-­ sufficient. However, more than 62,000 refugees (nearly half of all marielitos) ­were sent to military camps at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas; Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania; Eglin Air Force Base, Florida; and Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, to await sponsorship from individuals or organ­izations throughout the country before they could be resettled. Some ­were h­ oused in “tent cities” near Miami’s Cuban enclave, ­Little Havana (García, 1996, p. 68). The needs of the refugees strained local and federal social ser­vice providers, thereby contributing to the negative image that rapidly developed of the marielitos.

The Media’s Portrayal of Marielitos Initially, media outlets like the Chicago Tribune encouraged the arrival of the refugees, embracing them in the way older exiles had been received in the 1960s. Editorials in newspapers throughout the United States, including the Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post, urged the federal government to provide the refugees with humanitarian assistance (García, 1996, p. 65). This welcome was short-­ lived, however. On May 11, 1980, the New York Times ran an article on the boatlift entitled “Retarded P ­ eople and Criminals Are Included in Cuban Exodus.” The article’s author, Edward Schumacher, reported that out of 30,000 refugees, some 9,000 ­were friends and f­ amily of Cuban Americans, and the rest came from among the 10,000 Peruvian embassy refugees and other “undesirable” citizens. The author

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Scarface (1983) The Hollywood feature film Scarface, starring Al Pacino as the notorious drug dealer Tony Montana, gripped the popu­lar imagination of American audiences and developed a very strong following, particularly among young American men. Scarface tells the story of a Mariel refugee, Tony Montana, who rises to the top of Miami’s drug trade before meeting a violent end at the hands of former associates. Directed by Brian De Palma and written by Oliver Stone, the film is a remake of a 1932 gangster film that was loosely based on the life of Al Capone. The 1983 film drew upon popu­lar ste­reo­types of the Mariel immigrants as criminals and perpetuated the notion that Latin American men ­were “machos,” lustful, and violent. Given the negative press that hounded the marielitos as a group, members of the Cuban American community objected vehemently to the portrayal of a Mariel Cuban as a drug lord when they heard about plans for the film to be made. The reaction was so strong that the director’s plans to film in the city of Miami ­were scrapped, and principal filming took place on the West Coast, with Los Angeles serving as a stand-in for southern Florida. Two scenes ­were filmed in Miami’s neighboring city of Miami Beach, whose officials actively courted the production a­ fter Cuban Americans sought to halt the production in Miami. Some Latinos found the depiction of a Cuban refugee as a drug lord offensive for its perpetuation of ste­reo­types in an era when Latinos had few roles as protagonists in Hollywood films and when their appearances w ­ ere often limited to that of drug dealers, gang members, or background characters. Even more troubling for some was the fact that the film only featured one Latino actor, Steven Bauer (born Esteban Ernesto Echevarría Samson), in a leading role. Aside from Bauer, the filmmakers selected Italian American and other white actors to play Latino characters. As of 2017, the film is slated to be remade once again with Mexican actor Diego Luna in the lead role.

claimed that Cuban soldiers w ­ ere loading mi­grants onto the boats “in a major effort, discussed openly by Cuban officials, to rid the country of criminals, mentally retarded ­people, delinquents and ­others the Government calls ‘scum’ ” (Schumacher, 1980). Other publications picked up on this theme, focusing on the criminality of some refugees, particularly t­hose who became engaged in the drug trade in Miami. One Reader’s Digest article, run in December 1982 and entitled “From Cuba with Hate,”

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was a scathing indictment of the newest wave of Cuban refugees, describing them as “wolf packs ­running loose in the streets—­hordes of crazy men with tattooed arms, and loaded guns in their b­ elts.” Though the article’s author, Peter Michelmore, explained that the vast majority of refugees from Cuba ­were “honest and hard-­ working,” the essay opened with a graphic description of the murder of 19-­year-­old Claribel Benitez, a “well-­brought-up Cuban American girl” who was shot during an attempted carjacking (Michelmore, 1982, pp. 222–224). Just three months before, during a visit to Miami, the State Department’s coordinator of refugee affairs, H. Eugene Douglas, said of Cubans that “of all nationalities, they are ranked at the bottom” (Santiago, 1982). The Miami Herald’s editorial section ran a piece on the negative press the Mariel refugees ­were receiving across the country and described how, “like a festering sore, the black legend of Mariel continues to spread across the United States” (Martinez, 1982). ­Because Miami received tens of thousands of the Mariel mi­grants, their arrival also aggravated tensions between Miami’s Cuban and both white and African American communities. At the same time that the United States was receiving the marielitos, Miami’s African American community erupted in riots ­after an all-­white jury acquitted four white police officers and one Cuban American officer ­after an African American motorist was beaten to death by the officers. African Americans expressed anger and frustration to the press and researchers about the fact that they felt they w ­ ere disadvantaged in the job market in comparison to Cuban Americans (Castro, 2015, pp. 242–245). In fact, many in South Florida’s African American community believed that Cuban Americans had excelled and achieved rapid economic success in the region specifically at the expense of African Americans. White Miamians, some of whom had long-­held resentments about the dominance of Cubans and the presence of bilingual signs and businesses in the area, saw the Mariel Boatlift as exacerbating their concerns. ­These anx­i­eties ­were seized upon by a group that called itself Citizens of Dade United, which sought to override a 1973 ordinance that had declared Florida’s Dade county bilingual and bicultural. The mea­sure passed, emboldening a nascent movement that would go on to pass an “En­glish Only” amendment to Florida’s constitution in 1988 on its way to gaining national exposure (Castro, 2015, pp. 258–260). The Mariel Boatlift fundamentally changed the pattern of Cuban migration to the United States that had started ­after the revolution. For government officials at the local, state, and national level, the Mariel episode ­shaped how f­ uture waves of Cuban migration would be received. The established Cuban American community was shocked when their sterling reputation was harmed by the boatlift, and formed multiple community relations groups, including the power­ful Cuban American National Foundation, to protect their social and po­liti­cal status in South Florida and the United States. The boatlift, and the resulting humanitarian crisis, also

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Haitian “Boat ­People” At the same time as the Mariel Boatlift, South Florida also saw a significant influx of asylum-­seeking Haitians traveling to the United States by boat. Between 1957 and 1971, Haiti was ruled by dictator François “Papa Doc” Duvalier. Duvalier’s regime was repressive and it violently silenced dissent among Haiti’s p­ eople, resulting in tens of thousands of deaths. When the elder Duvalier died in 1971, he was succeeded in power by his 19-­year-­old son, Jean-­ Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier. The younger Duvalier instituted some cosmetic reforms, but his continuation of repressive policies and misappropriation of foreign aid funds for the p­ eople of Haiti perpetuated misery instead. ­These terrible conditions led to an increased migration of Haitians to the United States in the 1970s. In addition to 55,000 Haitians who immigrated to the United States legally during this period, an estimated 30,000 additional Haitians fled to the United States without following established immigration procedures. The continued use of seafaring vessels to reach American shores made many refer to the Haitian asylum seekers as “boat ­people.” While the flow of Haitians preceded and overlapped the Mariel Boatlift, Haitian mi­grants did not receive the same welcome from the federal government as their Cuban counter­parts. Federal officials worried about the size, composition, and disorderly nature of the Mariel Boatlift, but they never publicly questioned ­whether refugees from communist Cuba should be given asylum. Duvalier, however, was an anticommunist ally of the United States in the Ca­rib­bean, and t­hose Haitians fleeing his regime ­were deemed economic, rather than po­liti­cal, refugees. Many advocates for the Haitian refugees angrily charged that racial hy­poc­risy also played a role in their poor treatment compared to the reception of the Cuban exodus. African American and Haitian American leaders denounced both the continued support of Duvalier’s regime and a perceived double standard that prioritized Cubans and their well-­being over Haitians.

exacerbated racial divides in Miami for years to come. Ultimately, however, most of the Cubans who came to the United States through Mariel ­were able to build lives in the United States despite the trauma of their journey and their treatment upon arrival. Within 10 years, polling and community studies found that the marielitos had largely integrated into the established Cuban community in Miami and that despite the difficulties they had initially encountered, the vast majority of Mariel Cubans would not return to Cuba if given the chance (Burkett and Balmaseda, 1990).

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Wet Foot, Dry Foot The Mariel Boatlift had a lasting effect on U.S. immigration policy in relation to Cubans, especially during the balsero (“rafter”) crisis of the mid1990s. Cuba lost a primary ally when the Soviet Union declined a­ fter 1989; the U.S.S.R. had been an economic partner, and source of foreign aid. Cuba’s economic trou­bles ­were exacerbated by the passage of the Cuban Democracy Act in the U.S. Congress in 1992. Aimed at accelerating the collapse of Cuba’s economy and ensuring the end of the revolutionary government, this legislation tightened restrictions on American companies trading with Cuba, mostly outlawed travel to Cuba by U.S. citizens, and forbade remittances to Cuba. The practical effect of the Soviet economic collapse and of the Cuban Democracy Act was to encourage desperate Cubans to take to the sea in improvised rafts, or balsas, to reach the United States. In 1994, federal authorities intercepted more than 37,000 Cubans in rafts attempting to reach Florida. Federal officials w ­ ere reminded of the crisis in 1980 and vowed that t­here would be “no more Mariels.” In 1995, the Clinton Administration changed its application of existing Cuban refugee policy and came to an agreement with the Cuban government that the federal government would return Cubans intercepted at sea to the island. This created a new procedure nicknamed the “wet foot, dry foot” policy. ­Those Cubans found at sea (“wet feet”) would be returned to Cuba, whereas ­those who made it to U.S. soil (“dry feet”) would be given the possibility of a path to citizenship through the provisions of the 1966 Cuban Adjustment Act. In the de­cades that followed, some Cubans sought to avoid increased surveillance of the Florida Straits by traveling to South and Central Amer­i­ca and attempting to enter the United States through the land routes used by undocumented mi­grants from other Latin American nations. Unlike ­those other mi­grants, however, Cubans could apply to remain in the United States immediately upon entering its territory. This changed once more on January 12, 2017, when the Obama administration ended the “wet foot, dry foot” policy at the end of President Obama’s presidency, as part of continuing efforts to improve diplomatic relations with Cuba.

Biographies of Notable Figures Mirta Ojito (1964–) Mirta Ojito was 16 years old when her f­ amily left Cuba in the Mariel Boatlift. Ojito’s ­family had long been dissatisfied with Cuba’s revolutionary regime. She wrote,

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de­cades ­later, that her parents “believed a good government was one that stayed out of the way and allowed individuals to work hard and to provide for their families.” Although her parents ­were not fans of Fulgencio Batista, they believed that his government, despite its dictatorial tendencies, had provided that freedom, whereas Fidel Castro’s did not. “Fidel demanded loyalty,” Ojito wrote in her autobiography. Her parents had sought to move up their wedding date to October 1962 in hopes of jointly applying for a visa and joining the thousands of other Cubans moving to the United States in the years a­ fter the revolution. This hope was derailed by the Cuban Missile Crisis that very month and the temporary halt of Cuban exits to the United States (Ojito, 2005, pp. 2–3). In 1965, the Cuban government opened the port of Camarioca to exiles seeking to extract f­ amily from the island. This eventually led to the establishment of an airlift program called the “Freedom Flights,” which transported 270,000 Cubans to the United States from the mid-1960s to the early 1970s (Ojito, 2005, p. 3). Government restrictions related to age and military ser­vice prevented her ­father, Orestes Ojito, from leaving Cuban u­ ntil he was 27 years old. When he turned 27 in 1966, Orestes applied for permission to leave the country. The f­ amily waited for news that they would be allowed to leave the country for years. “From 1966 u­ ntil we left in May 1980,” Ojito recalled, “the main topic of conversation at home and with friends who shared my parents’ obsession was if and when and how we would leave Cuba” (Ojito, 2005, p. 4). When the Cuban government opened the port of Mariel, Ojito’s ­father attempted to contact his ­brother, Oswaldo, who lived in Hialeah. He was told that his b­ rother had already left to get his f­ amily from the Cuban port. For days, Ojito’s f­ amily waited for news that they could leave Cuba, fearing an act of repudiation against them. Their names ­were eventually called up on May 7 and the ­family was forced to leave almost all their possessions ­behind. ­After being pro­cessed for several days, Ojito and her f­ amily ­were fi­nally taken to meet her u­ ncle on the ship he had chartered, the Valley Chief. Her ­uncle was overjoyed to see his f­ amily ­after waiting for 16 days, but he was crestfallen when Cuban officials brought 200 more passengers on board. The extra weight made impossible for the Valley Chief to leave the bay (Ojito, 2005, pp. 163–185). The men who w ­ ere loaded onto the Valley Chief ­were supposedly Cubans who had been living at the Peruvian embassy, but they appeared to have been patients at a ­mental health fa­cil­i­ty before coming to Mariel Harbor. One asked Orestes Ojito if he had a nail clipper; he wanted to use the tool to slice open his own veins (Ojito, 2005, p. 184). The Valley Chief caught the eye of Edward Schumacher, an American journalist working on the boatlift story for the New York Times. Schumacher opened his piece for the Times with a description of a young man aboard the Valley Chief whom he depicted as having limited speech, “apparently from ­mental

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retardation” (Schumacher, 1980). Schumacher’s story, “Retarded P ­ eople and Criminals Are Included in Cuban Exodus,” would ultimately shape how marielitos ­were seen in the United States. Ultimately, Ojito boarded a ship called Mañana, which towed the Valley Chief ­toward Florida. ­After arriving in Key West, Ojito and her ­family w ­ ere taken to her ­uncle’s home in Hialeah. Within days, Ojito’s f­ amily registered with immigration authorities. Two days a­ fter arriving in Hialeah, the Car­ter administration began to take steps ­toward stemming the flow of refugees in the boatlift (Ojito, 2005, pp. 230–239). Ojito graduated with honors from Florida Atlantic University in 1986. In 1987 she began working for the Miami Herald as a journalist. She soon took another job at El Nuevo Herald, the new Knight-­Ridder Spanish-­language publication that had launched in November 1987 (Ojito, 2005, p. 264). Ojito went on to pursue a master of science degree from the Gradu­ate School of Journalism at Columbia University. She l­ater became a staff writer for the New York Times, where she worked for five years. She was part of the team that, in 2001, won a Pulitzer Prize for national reporting for a series entitled “How Race Is Lived in Amer­i­ca.” In 2006, Ojito became an assistant professor at Columbia’s Gradu­ate School of Journalism, where she remained ­until 2014. That year she became director of news standards for Telemundo (Horgan, 2014). Ojito splits her time between New York and Miami and is a member of the Council on Foreign Relations.

Reinaldo Arenas (1943–1990) Reinaldo Arenas Fuentes was born on July 16, 1943, in the village of Perronales, in Oriente, Cuba. His ­family was impoverished and in ­later years he would recount how the lack of food in his home led him, as a young child, to eat dirt (Soto, 1994, p. 2). As a teenager, Arenas engaged in factory work and felt societal pressures to act like a heterosexual, or “straight,” despite his attraction to other men. In 1958, driven by ­factors including “boredom, isolation, and economic want,” young Reinaldo left home to join Fidel Castro’s guerilla fighters in their strug­gle against Fulgencio Batista’s dictatorship. He was 15 years old. Arenas did not participate in combat and in ­later years would disavow Castro’s cause, but at the moment of victory he joined the cele­bration of the end of Batista’s regime (Ocasio, 2003, pp. 13–16). This jubilation was short-­lived, however, as a stint at a boarding school led him to become dissatisfied with Castro’s revolutionary regime due to its highly repressive sexual atmosphere (Ocasio, 2003, p. 17). By the mid-1960s, Arenas abandoned the revolution in response to the open persecutions of homosexuals in Cuba (Soto, 1994, p. 2). As he took steps ­toward becoming a writer, he also became dissatisfied with the conditions in Cuba in relation to literary production. Arenas

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believed that lit­er­at­ ure was, at its core, mysterious—­a game of infusing characters with vitality. It was the mystery of creation. He believed that this put the Cuban government in direct conflict with writers. The mystery of creation was not something that could be manifested u­ nder a dictatorship. “Dictatorships d­ on’t accept mystery,” he said years ­later, “every­thing has to be explicit and clear.” And if lit­er­ a­ture was then used by the state, it ceased to be lit­er­a­ture and became, simply, propaganda (Soto, 1994, p. 153). In 1967, Arenas published his first novel, Celestino antes del alba (published in En­glish as Singing from the Well). Celestino was “a f­ ree flowing narrative that undermines the realistic mode of writing” and it quickly fell out of ­favor with cultural officials who “demanded a lit­er­a­ture that clearly contributed to a revolutionary consciousness” (Soto, 1994, p. 2). Arenas was arrested in 1974 for engaging in sex with other men and was imprisoned in dif­fer­ent facilities ­until 1976. He would ­later write extensively in his autobiography about the ­human rights violations in Cuban prisons, particularly as related to gays, and of his own torture by the Cuban secret police. ­After several torture sessions, he agreed to write a confession and served a two-­year sentence. He spent several years afterward finding ways to survive eco­nom­ically, as his penal rec­ord for a sexual crime prevented him from obtaining official employment (Ocasio, 2003, pp. 42–43). When the Mariel Boatlift began, Arenas saw a chance to leave Cuba. He saw posters near his room that read “QUE SE VAYAN LOS HOMOSEXUALES, QUE SE VAYA LA ESCORIA” (“out with the homosexuals, out with the scum”). Arenas used his previous conviction in order to be categorized as an “undesirable” and be given leave to exit through the port of Mariel. Before he left Cuba, however, he was forced to sign a document declaring that he was leaving the country entirely for personal reasons and ­because he was a person unworthy of living in the glory of the revolution. On the morning of May 4, 1980, Arenas boarded a ship called the San Lázaro headed for Key West (Arenas, 1992, pp. 301–305). In the United States, Arenas became an activist against Castro’s government. He became one of the first writers from Cuba, or from Latin Amer­ic­ a at large, to publicly acknowledge his homo­sexuality, often focusing on the persecution of gay Cubans by the island’s government (Ocasio, 2003, p. 44). Arenas described his conviction in Cuba as an act of po­liti­cal repression. A year ­after arriving in Florida, he moved to New York City, where he worked on revising manuscripts that he had smuggled out of Cuba at vari­ous times and wrote essays indicting the Cuban revolution (Ocasio, 2003, pp. 6–9). Arenas published multiple novels while in the United States, a combination of previously written work and new work, including Celestino antes del alba, El palacio de las blanquisimas mofetas (Palace of the White Skunks), Otra vez el mar (published in En­glish as Farewell to the Sea), El color del verano (Color of Summer), and El asalto (The Assault). He also wrote an autobiographical

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work that would be published only ­after his death, Antes que anochezca (Before Night Falls), which was made into a film in 2000 starring Javier Bardem as Arenas. He was active among organ­izations of former Cuban po­liti­cal prisoners and wrote anti-­Castro articles in Spanish-­language newspapers such as El Miami Herald and Diario Las Amer­i­cas (Ocasio, 2007, p. 10). While living in New York City, Arenas’s health was in decline. He explained in his autobiography that he had experienced terrible bouts of fever for several months. He visited a doctor and was diagnosed with AIDS (Arenas, 1992, p. 9). In 1990, Arenas took his own life. He explained his decision in a letter to several friends, which was included in his autobiography. “My dear friends,” he wrote, “due to the precarious state of my health and to the terrible emotional depression which I feel being unable to continue writing and fighting for Cuba’s freedom, I end my life.” He did not hold any person in his life responsible for his decision. In the letter, he blamed Fidel Castro for his exile, his loneliness, and the disease he was sure he would not have contracted had he been able to live freely in his own country. He declared that his message was not one of defeat, but rather one of strug­gle and hope. “Cuba w ­ ill be f­ ree,” he concluded: “I already am” (Arenas, 1992, p. 343).

Further Readings Arenas, Reinaldo. 1992. Antes Que Anochezca. Barcelona, Spain: Tusquets Editores. Associated Press. 1980. “Miami Exiles Go to Cuba to Bring Back Refugees,” Boston Globe, April 21. Battaile, Janet. 1980. “Cuban Exiles’ Boats Pick up 40 Refugees,” New York Times, April 22. Bon Tempo, Carl J. 2008. Americans at the Gate: The United States and Refugees During the Cold War. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Burkett, Elinor, and Liz Balmaseda. 1980. “Mariel Cubans Melt Into S. Florida,” Miami Herald, April 22. Capó, Jr., Julio. 2010. “Queering Mariel: Meditating Cold War Foreign Policy and U.S. Citizenship among Cuba’s Homosexual Exile Community, 1978–1994.” Journal of American Ethnic History 29 (4): 78–106. Castro, Mauricio. 2015. Casablanca of the Ca­rib­be­an: Cuban Refugees, Local Power, and Cold War Policy in Miami, 1959–­1995 (doctoral dissertation). Purdue University. García, María Cristina. 1996. Havana USA: Cuban Exiles and Cuban Americans in South Florida, 1959–­1994. Berkeley: University of California Press. Horgan, Richard. 2014. “Columbia Journalism Prof Headed to Telemundo,” Adweek, August 5. Retrieved from http://­www​.­adweek​.­com​/­digital​/­mirta​-­ojito​-­columbia​-­university​ -­telemundo/ Martinez, Guillermo. 1982. “Mariel Myths Feed Venom Across Nation” (editorial). Miami Herald, November 18. Michelmore, Peter. 1982. “From Cuba with Hate.” Reader’s Digest (December): 222–248.

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 | 769 Ocasio, Rafael. 2003. Cuba’s Po­liti­cal and Sexual Outlaw: Reinaldo Arenas. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Ocasio, Rafael. 2007. A Gay Cuban Activist in Exile: Reinaldo Arenas. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Ojito, Mirta. 2005. Finding Mañana: A Memoir of a Cuban Exodus. New York: Penguin Press. Pedraza, Silvia. 2007. Po­liti­cal Disaffection in Cuba’s Revolution and Exodus. New York: Cambridge University Press. Santiago, Fabiola. 1982. “Cubans’ Image at a Low in U.S., Official Says.” Miami Herald, August 15. Schumacher, Edward. 1980. “Retarded ­People and Criminals Are Included in Cuban Exodus.” New York Times, May 11. Soto, Francisco. 1994. Reinaldo Arenas: The Pentagonía. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Thomas, Jo. 1980a. “2,000 Who Want to Leave Cuba Crowd Peru’s Embassy in Havana.” New York Times, April 6. Thomas, Jo. 1980b. “Harbor in Cuba a Floating City of 1,300 Boats.” New York Times, April 27. Torres, Maria de los Angeles. 1999. In the Land of Mirrors: Cuban Exile Politics in the United States. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 Lisa Michelle Paulin

Chronology 1789

The United States Constitution is ­adopted. Article 1, Section 8, empowers Congress “To establish a uniform Rule of Naturalization.”

1868

The F ­ ourteenth Amendment is ratified, guaranteeing that all persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to its jurisdiction are citizens. It also guarantees that no state may abridge citizens’ rights without due pro­cess, nor deny them equal protection of the law. The amendment ensures the citizenship rights of the former slaves.

1924

The Immigration Act of 1924 establishes yearly immigration quotas based on national origin. The quota for any country is 2 ­percent of the foreign-­born population from that country, based on the census of 1890. The Western Hemi­sphere (Canada, Mexico, Latin Amer­i­ca, the Ca­rib­bean) is exempt from t­hese quotas.

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1925

Congress establishes the Border Patrol in response to fears of illegal trafficking of alcohol from Mexico during the years of prohibition ­under the Eigh­teenth Amendment.

1942

The Bracero Program begins on August  4 when the United States and Mexico sign the Mexican Farm ­Labor Agreement.

1964

The Bracero Program ends. The termination of the program was negotiated as part of the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965.

1965

The Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965 eliminates the quota system and moves to a system prioritizing ­family reunification and highly skilled workers. The act also establishes a refugee program for ­people fleeing po­liti­cal upheavals, communist aggression, and natu­ral disasters; establishes guidelines for cross-­cultural exchange programs; and defines how p­ eople with criminal histories can be denied visas.

1966

Congress passes the Cuban Adjustment Act, an amendment to the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) that changes Cuban refugees’ status from refugee to ­legal permanent resident.

1978

President Car­ter and Congress set up the Select Commission on Immigration and Refugee Policy (SCIRP).

1980

SCIRP issues its final report on March  1, recommending many changes in policy that form the basis of the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA).

1982

The first bills to reform immigration are introduced in the House and Senate. The Simpson-­Mazzoli bill passes in the Senate, but fails in the House.

1985

Sen. Alan Simpson (R-­WY) reintroduces a bill in the Senate and Rep. Peter Rodino (D-­NJ) introduces a similar bill in the House. ­After much compromise in conference committee, the final bill, known as the Simpson-­Mazzoli-­Rodino bill, passes to become IRCA.

1986

The Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) passes in the House by a vote of 238–172 on October 15, and in the Senate by a vote of 63–24 on October 17. It is signed into law on November 6.

1990

The Immigration Act (IMMACT) of 1990 is enacted on November 29. This is an attempt to address some of the failures of IRCA and aspects of immigration that IRCA had not dealt with.

1993

Congress passes the North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). Proponents of NAFTA argue that its benefits to the Mexican economy ­will reduce Mexican immigration to the United States.

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1996, August

The Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act becomes law on August 22. It restricts federal benefits for illegal aliens, and also makes most ­legal immigrants ineligible for food stamps, Supplemental Security Income, and other means-­tested benefits for five years ­after arriving in the United States.

1996, The Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act September passes on September  30. It contains more than 60 provisions that include increased border security, penalties for document fraud, limits on public benefits, and seizure of assets. 2001, Terrorists attack the World Trade Center twin towers in New York City September and the Pentagon in Arlington, VA, on September 11. 2001, October

The U.S.A. PATRIOT Act passes unanimously on October 24 and with no debate regarding ­whether the act ­will restrict U.S. citizens’ civil liberties. It allows expedited deportation of any noncitizen suspected of being a threat to national security.

2002

The Homeland Security Act passes on November 19. The HSA creates the Department of Homeland Security, which h­ ouses the former Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vices.

2012

Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) is created by President Barack Obama through executive order, and is implemented on June  15 through the Department of Homeland Security. DACA allows young ­people brought to the United States by their parents temporary relief from deportation on a case-­by-­case basis. DACA permits undocumented youth to apply for employment, college authorization documents, and Social Security numbers.

Narrative The 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) was a sweeping immigration bill that was crafted in response to a widely held view in 1970s American society that the country had lost control of its borders, and that rapidly increasing illegal immigration was harmful to the country. Ten years passed from the time that Congress and the president began working on immigration reform to the ­actual signing of the bill. In that de­cade, multiple bills failed, and some passed, but compromised versions could not be settled on. The final version was signed into law on November 6, 1986 by President Ronald Reagan. IRCA consisted of three prongs with the goal of putting an end to illegal immigration, estimated at the time to be between 3 and 5 million p­ eople. First, IRCA made it illegal for employers to knowingly hire

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President Ronald Reagan signs the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986. The act criminalized the hiring of undocumented workers and created a “subcontractor” employment market, which allowed a crew leader with ­legal working status to employ undocumented workers without granting them ­legal protections. (Ronald Reagan Library)

undocumented immigrants. Second, it legalized an estimated 3 million undocumented immigrants who w ­ ere living in the United States at the time and created a path to citizenship for them, commonly referred to as amnesty. Third, it strengthened border security by increasing the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice’s (INS’s) bud­get. The law has left a controversial legacy. ­Because the law’s stated goal was to end illegal immigration, and the undocumented population a­ fter IRCA grew to reach a high of 12.2 million in 2007, it is considered a failure. As of 2014, t­ here w ­ ere an estimated 11.1 million unauthorized immigrants, accounting for 3.5 ­percent of the U.S. population. IRCA was aimed mainly at Mexicans, who made up 52 ­percent of all unauthorized immigrants in 2014 (Krogstad, Passel, and Cohn, 2016). It continues to have implications for immigration reform in the 21st ­century.

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Mexican Immigration and the United States Generally speaking, immigration is driven by “push” and “pull” ­factors. Push ­factors are conditions in home countries that make leaving attractive. ­These may include lack of jobs, war, po­liti­cal instability, and natu­ral disasters. Pull ­factors are conditions in the relocating country that make immigration attractive. ­These include strong employment opportunities, reunion with ­family, and quality-­of-­life considerations. In U.S. history, the G ­ reat Depression (1929–1939) was a time of low immigration b­ ecause t­here w ­ ere few jobs and no demand for workers. ­After World War II (1939–1945), the U.S. economy boomed, and po­liti­cal tensions in parts of Eu­rope created both push and pull ­factors that ­were favorable to immigration. ­There are fierce debates and disagreements concerning the costs versus benefits of immigration to the United States. Some studies claim that immigrants cost the United States by taking jobs away from citizens and using public education, health, and welfare ser­vices. Advocates of immigration contend that the U.S. benefits eco­nom­ically, culturally, and socially ­because more workers are added to the ­labor force, more of them pay taxes, and t­here is increased consumer spending in the country. The debate is not easy to s­ ettle ­because of dif­fer­ent assumptions and sometimes contradictory ways of mea­sur­ing costs and benefits. One of the first agreements with Mexico regarding immigration was the Bracero Program. It began in 1942 when much of the U.S. male population was serving in WWII, or took higher-­paying war­time manufacturing jobs, and the United States needed agricultural workers. ­Under the program, farm workers from Mexico could come to the United States for up to nine months and thereafter return to Mexico. The economic boom a­ fter the war created an ongoing demand for agricultural workers, so the program grew. Immigration was cyclical and temporary during this time, with ­people coming and ­going rather than settling permanently in the United States. It was a popu­lar program, and over its history, approximately 5 million Mexicans ­were employed on U.S. farms. Some say the program ended in 1965 in response to pressure from ­labor ­unions and other groups favoring restrictions, who felt the program was harming employment opportunities for U.S. citizens. ­Others believe that the civil rights movement (1954–1968) and a focus on inhumane working conditions led to the termination of the program. Activists considered it to be exploitative and equated it to sharecropping in the Southern United States (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 2). As part of the bargaining to enact the Immigration Act of 1965, the Bracero Program was dismantled by Congress (Taylor, 1988, p. 13). An unexpected result of the end of the Bracero Program was that about a half-­ million Mexicans who w ­ ere known and trusted by their U.S. employers continued their cyclical migration pattern to work on U.S. farms. The farmers helped them obtain work permits and continued hiring them. Additionally, immigrants shared

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information and set up informal networks to help other workers migrate to the United States (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 3; Taylor, 1988, p. 19). The economic downturn and “stagflation” (increasing unemployment, rising cost of living, and a recession) of the 1970s contributed to a sense of panic among many Americans, confirmed by public opinion polling, that the United States had “lost control of its borders” and that the presence of undocumented immigrants was a “serious danger.” Researchers have confirmed that the news media fueled this perception by using natu­ral disaster terms such as “rising tide,” “tidal wave,” and “flooding” to describe immigration and ­later shifted to more militarized terms such as “invasion,” “defend the border,” and “outgunned” (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 4). INS reports confirm that while about a quarter-­million ­people ­were apprehended at the border in 1970, by 1986 the number had reached almost 2 million. Although the termination of the Bracero Program is noted by many as the single most impor­tant reason for the increase in the undocumented immigrant population of the 1970s and 1980s, ­there ­were other circumstances that experts believe contributed to the issue. The Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965 ended the long-­standing immigration quotas based on nationality for Eu­rope and Asia, but created an annual quota of 180,000 ­people for the entire Western Hemi­sphere for the first time. It also shifted the nation’s immigration policy to one that prioritized and favored f­ amily reunification. This meant that f­ amily members of citizens or ­legal permanent residents, regardless of their country of origin, could come to the United States more easily. During ­these years, the United States also saw a shift in the national origin of arriving immigrants. Prior to the 1970s, approximately 70 ­percent of immigrants came from Eu­rope and Canada. This dropped to about 15 ­percent in the 1980s, whereas the numbers from Asia, Latin Amer­i­ca, and Ca­rib­bean countries increased from 30 ­percent to more than 80 ­percent in the same time frame. ­These immigrants included large numbers of refugees from Cuba a­ fter the Cuban Revolution (1953–1959) and Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War (1955–1975). B ­ ecause ­these refugees ­were able to change their status to ­legal permanent residence and the numbers of immigrants ­were higher than they had been in de­cades, some scholars claim that immigration was more vis­i­ble. However, the Mexican immigrants crossing the border in ­these years ­were dif­ fer­ent from immigrants from Asia or the Ca­rib­bean. ­Because of geographic proximity, they moved back and forth across the border, coming north for work and returning south to spend time with f­ amily. As a group, they w ­ ere largely not interested in becoming a permanent part of U.S. society. ­These farm workers ­were vis­ i­ble, they ­were poor, and they did not speak En­glish, nor did they have a reason to learn En­glish. For many of them, the border represented a “nuisance rather than a barrier” (LeMay, 2007, p. 9).

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As sociologists Douglas Massey and Karen Pren observe, “U.S. immigration policy often has very ­little to do with trends and patterns of immigration. Even when policies respond explic­itly to shifts in immigration, rarely are they grounded in any real understanding of the forces that govern international migration. Instead, over time the relative openness or restrictiveness of U.S. policies is more strongly s­ haped by prevailing economic circumstances and po­liti­cal ideologies” (2012, p. 2).

Crafting IRCA Although President Ronald Reagan signed IRCA into law, the steps ­toward IRCA began when President Jimmy Car­ter and Congress established the Select Commission on Immigration and Refugee Policy (SCIRP) to thoroughly study the issue and propose solutions. SCIRP’s final report, delivered in 1980, ran more than 450 pages. Shortly a­ fter the SCIRP report was issued, Ronald Reagan became the 40th president of the United States. He responded to the findings by creating the Task Force on Immigration and Refugee Policy, headed by Attorney General William French Smith. Members of Congress then used the recommendations of the SCIRP report and the task force to begin working on reform. The first bills w ­ ere introduced in 1982 ­after being crafted by the House and Senate Judiciary Subcommittees on Immigration, chaired by Rep. Romano Mazzoli (D-­KY) and Sen. Alan Simpson (R-­WY). ­After passing in the Senate, the bill failed in the House of Representatives. The second attempt, also crafted by Simpson and Mazzoli, passed in both ­houses of Congress ­after much negotiation and many amendments. ­Because both the Senate and the House of Representatives had changed each bill so much, the bills ­were sent to a House-­Senate conference committee. ­There, a suitable compromise could not be reached, thereby killing the bills. In May 1985, Senator Simpson introduced a new version of his bill, while in the House of Representatives, Rep. Peter Rodino (D-­NJ) introduced one that was similar to the bill that had just failed to pass. Both bills passed, but they ­were quite dif­fer­ent. The White House supported the Republican-­introduced Senate bill, and once again the differing bills strug­gled in conference committee. Although it seemed as though a compromise could not be reached, a small group of legislators deci­ded to work to save it. ­After ironing out some of the differences and inserting some new provisions, they w ­ ere able to secure support for the revised bill. It passed in the House of Representatives by a vote of 238–172 on October 15, 1986, and in the Senate by a vote of 63–24 on October 17, 1986. President Reagan signed the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 into law on November 6, 1986.

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IRCA Provisions ­ nder IRCA, the “employer provision” made it illegal for employers to knowingly U hire undocumented workers. Employers are required to file an I-9 form for all new employees, proving that they have verified the identity of the potential employee. The I-9 requires employers to examine a combination of the following documents: a passport, resident alien card, birth certificate, Social Security card, and/or driver’s license. The punishments for employers that knowingly hire unauthorized workers ranged from fines of $250–­$2,000 for each worker for first offenses to up to six months in prison for a “pattern and practice” of hiring undocumented workers. As IRCA’s goal was to halt illegal immigration, this provision was considered the key. Congress believed when they passed the IRCA that if immigrants could no longer work in the United States, they would stop coming. The second provision, Enhanced Resources for U.S. Border Patrol, provided additional funding for the Border Patrol to slow undocumented immigration by increasing apprehensions at the border. Funding for enforcement activities ­rose from $361 million in 1986 to $541 million in 1989, and patrol personnel increased from 3,687 to 4,919 in the same period (Bean, Espenshade, White, and Dymowski, 1990, p. 112). To soften the blow of the employer sanctions, and b­ ecause the United States values its image of being a country that welcomes immigrants (which was highlighted in the SCIRP report), the “legalization provision” allowed certain undocumented immigrants to become l­egal residents. Although the law established four categories of immigrants who w ­ ere immediately legalized, most research and commentary focus on two other categories: undocumented residents who had arrived in the United States before 1982 and lived h­ ere continuously, called pre-1982 arrivals; and special agricultural workers (SAWs). ­These groups had to meet dif­fer­ent requirements to be eligible for legalization. The pre-1982 arrivals had to apply for temporary permanent residence (TPR), which lasted one year, and then ­legal permanent resident status ­after that. The one-­year temporary status was given to allow p­ eople to prepare for the requirements of attaining l­ egal permanent residence, which included an English-­language test (or proof of enrollment in En­glish classes) and an American history/civics test (or proof of enrollment in a course). ­These requirements could be fulfilled by passing one of four INS-­approved tests, presenting a high school or GED diploma, evidence of one year of study at a state-­accredited college or university, or completing a 40-­hour study course approved by the INS (Pew Charitable Trusts, 2014, p. 16). To assist with the additional educational requirements, the law included State Legalization Impact Assistance Grants to reimburse states for health, welfare, and education ser­vices for the newly legalized residents. Four billion dollars

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Types of U.S. Legalization Programs The United States has three categories of legalization programs: registry, population-­specific, and general programs. Registry: The registry program allows p­ eople who have resided in the United States continuously as of a set date (currently January 1, 1972) and who meet other eligibility criteria to apply for ­legal permanent residence (LPR), other­wise known as a green card. This program began in 1929. Congress passes legislation to advance the date from time to time, but it does not change automatically at specific intervals. Population-­Specific: The United States has regularly offered this status to groups of asylum seekers who can officially be categorized as refugees. They may be residing in the United States or seeking to come to the United States. Refugees are ­people who are unable to return to their country of origin for fear of persecution based on race, religion, nationality, po­liti­cal opinion, or membership in a par­tic­u­lar social group. General: IRCA was a general program. A general program allows LPR for a large percentage of unauthorized persons residing in the United States at a par­tic­u­lar time. The Cuban Adjustment Act of 1966 is another example of a general program. Between 1960 and 2009, more than 1 million Cubans w ­ ere granted LPR.

­ ere bud­geted for four years of funding, allowing for $1 billion per year (Pew w Charitable Trusts, 2014, p. 3). The Special Agricultural Worker (SAW) legalization program was a last-­minute compromise in the legislation to help the agricultural industry. SAWs had to show at least 90 days of qualifying farm work in the year ending May 1, 1986, plus six months’ residency in the United States The SAWs ­were granted TPR status for three years, then allowed to apply for LPR status, but did not have to meet the language and history requirements. The INS also allowed states and community organ­izations to assist residents by reaching out and encouraging them to apply, and helping with determining eligibility and filling out applications. Dif­fer­ent states took dif­fer­ent approaches, but efforts included media campaigns, mass mailings, and cooperation between cities and churches or other community-­based organ­izations (Pew Charitable Trusts, 2014, p. 12). One of the complications that applicants faced was providing documentation of residence in the country since 1982. The best form of documentation was a pay stub, but many ­people had worked in informal arrangements off the books and

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Eligibility Requirements for IRCA General Legalization

Application period

Phase 1: Provisional Status 12 months

Residency requirements

Phase 2: ­Legal Permanent Residence 18 months ­after provisional but within 42 months from receiving provisional Must have remained in United States

Proof of unlawful presence in United States since Jan. 1, 1982 Proof of work history No No Language and No Proof of competency in education requirements En­glish and U.S. civics and history Application fee $185 per adult and $50 $80 per person (­family cap per child (­family cap $240) $420)

SAW (Special Agricultural Worker) Program Application period Residency and age requirements Proof of work history

18 months No 60 days of agricultural work between May 1985 and May 1986 and residence in the United States for at least 6 months during each of ­those 12-­month periods, OR prove at least 90 days of seasonal agricultural work between May 1985 and May 1986 No

Language and education requirements Application fee No

did not have pay stubs. Other acceptable forms of documentation included affidavits from churches, school rec­ords, utility bills, and tax rec­ords (Pew Charitable Trusts, 2014, p. 14). More than 1.7 million formerly undocumented immigrants who had been in the country since 1982 or before ­were granted l­egal status in the 18 months

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following the signing of IRCA. Eighty-­seven ­percent of them ­were Mexican. Around 1.3 million undocumented agricultural workers, approximately 83 ­percent of whom ­were Mexican, w ­ ere legalized u­ nder the SAW program. California and Texas had the most applicants, followed by New York, Illinois, and Florida. The approval rates ­were high, with about nine of ten applicants approved (Rytina, 2002, p. 3). The other legalization provisions addressed Cuban and Haitian immigrants. Between April 15 and October 10 of 1980, approximately 125,000 Cubans, known as los Marielitos, arrived in South Florida ­after Fidel Castro allowed them to leave. They had been given LPR status ­under the Cuban Adjustment Act of 1966. IRCA gave Haitians the same privilege, and also granted it to Cubans who had entered the country illegally (Kerwin, 2010, p. 7). ­After five years of LPR status, ­people may apply to naturalize as U.S. citizens. In the case of the IRCA pre-1982 LPRs, the usual En­glish and U.S. history/civics tests for citizenship ­were not required, ­because applicants had already been tested as part of the pro­cess to move from TPR to LPR status.

Post-­IRCA: Early Years From its inception, t­here was skepticism about w ­ hether IRCA would work. Even Senator Chuck Schumer (D-­NY), one of the legislators who put in extra work to reach the final compromise of the act, said “­There is no guarantee that employer sanctions ­will work or that amnesty w ­ ill work. We are headed into uncharted ­waters” (Pear, 1986). A comprehensive analy­sis by the Rand Corporation and the Urban Institute on the effects of IRCA, published just four years ­after its passage in 1990, posed the question, “Has IRCA worked?” and concluded “yes,” “no,” and “­we’re not sure.” With nearly 3 million ­people granted ­legal status, it certainly reduced the number of undocumented immigrants in the United States They note, however, that only about two-­thirds of eligible immigrants applied, and that IRCA did not stop the flow of new illegal immigration to the country (Woodrow and Passel, 1990, pp. 65–66). Attempts to analyze the INS enforcement provision of IRCA have been challenging b­ ecause of its complexity. One of the difficulties is that apprehension numbers do not indicate how many of ­those apprehended at the border have been apprehended on multiple occasions. For example, someone who has journeyed from the south of Mexico and is caught crossing the border is likely to remain in northern Mexico and make repeated attempts to cross again (Espenshade, 1990, p. 162). Nonetheless, in the years immediately a­ fter the enactment of IRCA, border apprehensions dropped by 47 ­percent between the years 1986 and 1989. Researchers attribute this to the influence of the employer sanctions provision, which may have made border crossing less attractive b­ ecause of the decreased prospect of

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finding employment. During the same years, ­there was an increase in apprehensions of ­women and ­children, possibly attributed to wives and c­ hildren arriving to join recently legalized husbands. Another possibility is that female employment opportunities, frequently working for families in child care or h­ ouse­keeping, and therefore outside of the formal job market, created a situation in which families chose to send females rather than males to the United States for work (Bean, Espenshade, White, and Dymowski, 1990, p. 153). Other scholars question the decrease in apprehensions, noting that newly legalized residents may have circulated between the United States and Mexico regularly, but with their newly acquired residency would no longer be among the undocumented population (Massey, Donato, and Liang, 1990, p. 190). Regardless of the differences in opinion, by 1989, illegal immigration numbers ­were climbing again. Almost immediately a­ fter IRCA was implemented, the employer provision proved problematic. An enormous industry in falsified documents began (and continues to this day) ­because employers need to see documents, but generally do not verify their authenticity. Employers are only fined for knowingly employing undocumented workers, so analysts agree that employers who are willing to hire undocumented workers can easily do so without breaking the law as long as they have seen what they believe to be eligible documents. In many cases, employers do not have the proper training to recognize fraudulent documents (Chisti and Kamasaki, 2014, p. 3).

Long-­Term Impact of IRCA The first group of IRCA legalizations became eligible for citizenship in 1992 (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 10). From 1996 to 2001, approximately 168,500 Mexicans became U.S. citizens per year and from 2002 to 2010, another 99,000 per year (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 11). The INS estimates that by 2001, one-­third of IRCA recipients had become citizens (Rytina, 2002, p. 3). The high numbers of naturalization, however, inadvertently attracted more Mexicans b­ ecause noncitizen spouses, ­children, and parents of U.S. citizens can enter as LPRs without limitation. Even an LPR can petition for entry of ­children and spouse, though they face a long line for a scarce number of visas per year. Critics of IRCA blame this “follow-on” migration for the current backlog and long pro­cessing waits for visas (North, 2013, p. 1). Nearly 3 million immigrants w ­ ere able to legalize their status u­ nder IRCA, resulting in better standards of living for t­ hese residents. The Migration Policy Institute reported, “Wages of ­those legalized increased by as much as 15 ­percent within five years and 20 ­percent over the long run, while educational attainment, occupational status, and homeownership markedly increased, and poverty rates declined”

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(Chisti and Kamasaki, 2014, p. 6). ­These ­legal residents are touted by the Migration Policy Institute as the success story of IRCA. Beginning in the 1990s, the ­labor market and geographies shifted, and many former farm workers moved into other low-­wage jobs that ­were perceived as a step up from working in the fields. Since many had become LPRs ­because of IRCA, they w ­ ere now freer to move within the United States. Immigrant populations grew sometimes by 400 ­percent in southeastern U.S. states such as Georgia and North Carolina, where former farm workers found jobs in poultry pro­cessing, pork pro­ cessing, and factory work (Zúñiga and Hernández-­León, 2001). INS data, from self-­ reporting by immigrants, shows that about 23 ­percent of IRCA LPRs w ­ ere living in a dif­fer­ent state when they naturalized (Rytina, 2002, p. 5). With this upward mobility, t­ here was a new demand for farm workers and other low-­wage and low-­skill workers. In fact, IRCA happened at a strange time in U.S. demographics, occurring right in the years when the United States began to experience a shortage in the entry of young male workers into the workforce. The U.S. Department of ­Labor was predicting in 1986 that the ­percent of male workers between the ages of 16 and 24 would drop from 20 ­percent to 16 ­percent by 2000. Additionally, the Office of L ­ abor Statistics reported that the jobs that would have the greatest demand between 1986 and 2000 included waiters and waitresses, grocery store clerks, cleaners of ­houses/offices, and restaurant cooks—­all occupations that employ more than half the undocumented population (Bustamante, 1990, p. 213). Researchers concluded that the only way the United States could meet the demand for more than 5 million employees in jobs with low salaries and low qualifications would be to import a foreign workforce to fill the shortages (Bustamante, 1990, p. 213). The lack of a plan to deal with f­ uture ­labor needs is seen as one of IRCA’s major failures. The goal of IRCA was to end illegal immigration. Instead, beginning within several years of its implementation, the number of undocumented immigrants began rising to a current estimate of 11.5 million (Chisti and Kamasaki, 2014, p. 2). Additionally, the Center for Migration Studies estimates that in 2013, more than 5 million U.S.-­born ­children w ­ ere living with an undocumented parent (Warren, 2015). In addition to the underground industry of fraudulent documents, the employer practice of using contractors to subcontract workers has become commonplace; that practice ­frees employers from responsibility if it turns out that workers are not authorized to work in the country. Many experts agree that this practice has created unstable and often unsafe working conditions for immigrants, who are threatened if they complain about working conditions, try to join a ­union, or assert their rights. The Border Enforcement provision has also had controversial results. The U.S. Border Patrol experienced a 50 ­percent increase in staffing through IRCA, but

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Notable ­People Who ­Shaped IRCA James E. (Jimmy) Car­ter (1924–) Jimmy Car­ter was the 39th President of the United States, serving from 1977 to 1981. He is from Plains, Georgia. He graduated from the Naval Acad­emy, then served in the U.S. Navy ­until 1953. In 1970, he was elected governor of Georgia. He has been a lifelong progressive and advocate for civil rights. While governor, he called for an end to segregation and increased the number of black officials in state government by 25 ­percent. He continues to be a power­ful advocate for diplomacy and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace in 2002.

Fidel Castro (1926–2016) Fidel Castro was the Cuban dictator who overthrew the Cuban government in 1958. He implemented communist policies and military and economic relations with the Soviet Union. During his dictatorship, thousands of dissidents ­were killed, imprisoned, or died trying to flee the country. He handed over power to his ­brother Raúl Castro in 2008, but continued to wield po­liti­ cal influence u­ ntil his death on November 25, 2016.

Edward M. Kennedy (1932–2009) Sen. Edward (Ted) Kennedy (D-­MA) was the ­brother of President John F. Kennedy and was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1962. He was reelected nine times and was the third longest-­serving member of the Senate in U.S. history. He is regarded as the most influential member of Congress on immigration m ­ atters. From 1965 ­until his death, ­every major bill dealing with immigration was influenced by Kennedy. He was a gradu­ate of Harvard University and the University of ­Virginia Law School.

Douglas S. Massey (1952–) Douglas Massey is the Henry G. Bryant Professor of Sociology and Public Affairs at the Woodrow Wilson School of Public & International Affairs at Prince­ton University. He is an expert on international migration, race and housing, discrimination, education, urban poverty, and Latin Amer­i­ca,

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especially Mexico. He has written extensively about the consequences of IRCA and border issues. He is the founder and co-­director of the Mexican Migration Proj­ect and the Latin American Migration Proj­ect. He was born in Olympia, Washington, and earned his PhD from Prince­ton University.

Romano L. Mazzoli (1932–) Rep. Romano Mazzoli (D-­KY) was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1970, where he served on the Judiciary Committee; Crime and Criminal Justice, Intellectual Property, and Judicial Administration; International Law, Immigration, and Refugees; and Small Business: SBA Legislation and the General Economy committees. From 1981 to 1986, he led the effort on immigration reform, but lost the lead to the chair of the Judiciary Committee, Peter Rodino (D-­NJ) in 1985. He graduated from the University of Notre Dame and University of Louisville Law School and served in the U.S. Army from 1954 to 1956.

Peter W. Rodino, Jr. (1909–2005) Rep. Peter W. Rodino (D-­NJ) served in the House of Representatives from 1949 to 1989, and was assistant majority whip. He served on the Judiciary Committee, including as chair of the Immigration Subcommittee. His most notable role in immigration issues was during the 1982–1986 efforts to pass what became IRCA. He graduated from the University of Newark and the New Jersey Law School (now Rutgers University). He served in the U.S. Army from 1941 to 1946 and was awarded the Bronze Star for military operations.

Charles E. Schumer (1950–) Sen. Charles (Chuck) E. Schumer (D-­NY), now the se­nior senator from New York, served in the U.S. House of Representatives from 1980 to 1998. He was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1998. He was critically impor­tant in crafting compromises enabling the passage of IRCA, and he has continued to play a critical role in all immigration-­related bills since then. He is currently the minority leader and Demo­cratic caucus chairman. He graduated from Harvard University and Harvard Law School.

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Lamar S. Smith (1947–) Rep. Lamar Smith (R-­TX) was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1986. He has been an out­spoken critic of immigration policy and one of the House’s strongest advocates for restricted immigration, reform of legislation on illegal immigration, and strengthening of the Border Patrol, and he has opposed amnesty proposals. He graduated from Yale University and Southern Methodist University School of Law.

William F. Smith (1917–1990) William F. Smith served as the Attorney General of the United States from 1981 to 1985 during the Ronald Reagan administration. He headed the Task Force on Immigration & Refugee Policy, whose report was used to help shape IRCA. He earned degrees from the University of California, Los Angeles, and Harvard Law School.

changes in drug enforcement priorities in the Florida/Ca­rib­bean area changed drug smuggling routes to the U.S.-­Mexico border. So, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, most apprehensions along the border focused on stopping the drug trade and other criminal activities rather than on undocumented immigrants seeking work. This changed ­after the 2001 terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, D.C., when ­there was a surge in deportations facilitated by the PATRIOT ACT (2001) and a crackdown on illegal entry. This enhanced border control and increased deportations in the early 2000s may have restricted the inflows of immigrants, but it also decreased outflows. Prior to this, Mexicans ­were more likely to return to Mexico from time to time to visit ­family. The high costs of trying to return to the United States have made ­people more stationary and created an increase in the permanent undocumented population (Massey and Pren, 2012, p. 13). The bud­get for immigration enforcement increased from $1.2 billion in 1986 to nearly $18 billion in 2012 (Chisti and Kamasaki, 2014, p. 5). The non-­Mexican undocumented population has also grown. U.S. government interventions in Central Amer­i­ca in the 1970s and 1980s are partly to blame, as they destabilized the region. The economies of the region have deteriorated, and vio­ lence has increased, so the numbers of Guatemalans, Salvadorans, Hondurans, and Nicaraguans passing through Mexico to cross into the United States account for some of the undocumented immigrant growth. Nicaraguans have had the highest success rates in obtaining TPR status, b­ ecause they w ­ ere fleeing a leftist regime

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and American po­liti­cal asylum policies have generally favored refugees from leftist governments. Illegal immigration continues to be at the top of the radar for legislators and the executive branch. Proponents of another amnesty point to the better living and working conditions of IRCA beneficiaries as a reason why the United States should legalize current undocumented residents. Opponents of amnesty claim that it only encourages more immigrants to come if they think they w ­ ill also have the opportunity for an amnesty. As of 2017, suggestions for dealing with the employer provision include requiring employers to check documents and verify them through E-­Verify, an Internet system set up in 1996 to check documents by comparing them with data from the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and Social Security Administration rec­ords. Employers in most states can select ­whether to enroll in the system. It is unclear how accurate E-­Verify is or if the system would be able to ­handle the higher volume that mandatory verification would entail. Also in question is w ­ hether a new temporary worker visa program could help reduce illegal immigration. Since IRCA, other immigration reform bills have been introduced, including the Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2006 and the Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2007, neither of which ­were ever brought to a vote. The immigration reform legislation that has been introduced most recently was the Border Security, Economic Opportunity, and Immigration Modernization Act of 2013 (S. 744). It was introduced by Sen. Charles Schumer (D-­NY) and passed the Senate in June 2013. It was not considered by the House of Representatives and died in the 113th Congress.

Biographies of Notable Figures Ronald Reagan (1911–2004) Ronald Wilson Reagan was the 40th president of the United States and served from 1981 to 1989. His contributions to immigration policy center on his establishment of a Task Force on Immigration in his administration, which helped shape the debate over IRCA in 1986. Reelected president in 1984, he signed IRCA into law, establishing the employer-­sanctions approach. As president, he is known for his emphasis on supply-­side economics, popularly known as “Reaganomics.” Reaganomics advocated tax-­rate reduction to induce economic growth, control of the money supply to curb inflation, economic deregulation, and a reduction in government spending. Reagan grew up in small towns of northern Illinois and graduated from Eureka College in 1932. He moved to Hollywood in 1937 ­after winning a contract from Warner Bros. Studios. Reagan was a Demo­crat who changed parties in 1962. He

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served as the governor of California from 1967 to 1975. ­After his first term as president, he won by a landslide in 1984. His second term was dominated by foreign affairs, including the end of the Cold War, the bombing of Libya, and the Iran-­Contra affair. His statement at the signing of IRCA on November 6, 1986, says, “The legalization provisions in this act ­will go far to improve the lives of a class of individuals who now must hide in the shadows, without access to many of the benefits of a ­free and open society. Very soon many of ­these men and ­women ­will be able to step into the sunlight and, ultimately, if they choose, they may become Americans.” About the employer provision, he wrote, “The employer sanctions program is the keystone and major ele­ment. It ­will remove the incentive for illegal immigration by eliminating the job opportunities which draw illegal aliens h­ ere” (https://­www​ .­reaganlibrary​.­archives​.­gov​/­archives​/­speeches​/­1986​/­110686b​.­htm). In 1994, Ronald Reagan penned a letter to the American ­people announcing that he had Alzheimer’s disease. His attendance at the funeral of Richard Nixon in April 1994 was his last public appearance. He died at his home in California on June 5, 2004.

Alan K. Simpson (1931–) Sen. Alan Kooi Simpson (R-­WY) was the most influential member of Congress on immigration m ­ atters ­after Sen. Edward Kennedy. He was the principal architect of IRCA. He graduated from the University of Wyoming and Wyoming Law School. A conservative who opposed government regulation, but fiercely advocated for equality, he served in the Senate from 1979 to 1997. He served on the SCIRP Commission, from which his interest in immigration emerged. In the Senate, he coauthored the bills that became IRCA and played a major role in the IMMACT of 1990. Throughout his tenure in the Senate, he advocated for access to abortion, gay and lesbian rights, and equality for all. He was the Republican Whip from 1985 to 1995 and chaired the Veterans’ Affairs Committee from 1981 to 1987 and 1995 to 1997. ­After leaving the Senate, he taught at Harvard University’s John F. Kennedy School of Government. In 2000, he returned to Wyoming to practice law with his sons. In 2010, he was appointed by President Obama to co-­chair the National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform. He serves as co-­chairman of Americans for Campaign Reform; occasionally teaches at his alma mater, the University of Wyoming at Laramie; still practices law; and engages in public speaking. In 2013, the Washington Post shared a video online about four de­cades of immigration called Immigration: The Path to Now. In part one, Alan Simpson said of IRCA, “The bill ­didn’t work, d­ idn’t work at all.”

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 | 787

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 This document is an abridged version of IRCA. The full document is available on the usa​.­gov website. Title I: Control of Illegal Immigration—­Part A: Employment—­Amends the Immigration and Nationality Act to make it unlawful for a person or other entity to: (1) hire (including through subcontractors), recruit, or refer for a fee for U.S. employment any alien knowing that such person is unauthorized to work, or any person without verifying his or her work status; or (2) continue to employ an alien knowing of such person’s unauthorized work status. Makes verification compliance (including the use of State employment agency documentation) an affirmative defense to any hiring or referral violation. Establishes an employment verification system. Requires: (1) the employer to attest, on a form developed by the Attorney General, that the employee’s work status has been verified by examination of a passport, birth certificate, social security card, alien documentation papers, or other proof; (2) the worker to similarly attest that he or she is a U.S. citizen or national, or authorized alien; and (3) the employer to keep such rec­ords for three years in the case of referral or recruitment, or the ­later of three years or one year ­after employment termination in the case of hiring. Directs the Attorney General to establish complaint and investigation procedures which ­shall provide for: (1) individuals and entities to file written, signed complaints regarding potential hiring violations; (2) INS investigations of complaints with substantial probability of validity; (3) Department of Justice-­initiated investigations; and (4) designation of a specific INS unit to prosecute such violations. Sets forth employer sanction provisions. Provides for a six-­month period of public education during which no employment violation penalties ­shall be imposed. Provides for a subsequent 12-­month period during which violators s­ hall be issued warning citations. Defers enforcement for seasonal agricultural ser­vices. Provides, at the end of such citation period, for graduated first and subsequent-­ offense civil penalties, injunctive remedies, or criminal penalties (for pattern or practice violations). Subjects violators to graduated civil penalties for related paperwork violations. Makes it an unfair immigration-­related employment practice for an employer of three or more persons to discriminate against any individual (other than an unauthorized alien) with re­spect to hiring, recruitment, firing, or referral for fee, b­ ecause of such individual’s origin or citizenship (or intended citizenship) status. States that it is not an unfair immigration-­related employment practice to hire a U.S. citizen or national over an equally qualified alien.

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Requires that complaints of violations of an immigration-­related employment practice be filed with the Special Counsel for Immigration-­Related Unfair Employment Practices (established by this Act) within the Department of Justice. Prohibits the overlap of immigration-­related discrimination complaints and discrimination complaints filed with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Part B: Improvement of Enforcement and Services—­States that essential ele­ ments of the immigration control and reform program established by this Act are increased enforcement and administrative activities of the Border Patrol, the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS), and other appropriate Federal agencies. Authorizes increased FY 1987 and 1988 appropriations for: (1) INS; and (2) the Executive Office of Immigration Review. Obligates increased funding in FY 1987 and 1988 for the Border Patrol. Directs the Attorney General, from funds appropriated to the Department of Justice for INS, to provide for improved immigration and naturalization ser­vices and for enhanced community outreach and in-­service personnel training. Authorizes a $35,000,000 immigration emergency fund to be established in the Trea­sury for necessary enforcement activities and related State and local reimbursements. Title II: Legalization—­Directs the Attorney General to adjust to temporary resident status t­hose aliens who: (1) apply within 18 months; (2) establish that they entered the United States before January 1, 1982, and have resided h­ ere continuously in an unlawful status (including Cuban/Haitian entrants) since such date; and (3) are other­wise admissible. Authorizes similar status adjustment for specified aliens who entered legally as nonimmigrants but whose period of authorized stay ended before January 1, 1982. (States that in the case of exchange visitors the two-­year foreign residence requirement must have been met or waived.) Prohibits the legalization of persons: (1) convicted of a felony or three or more misdemeanors in the United States; or (2) who have taken part in po­liti­cal, religious, or racial persecution. Requires an alien applying for temporary resident status to register u­ nder the Military Selective Ser­vice Act, if such Act so requires. Directs the Attorney General to adjust the status of temporary resident aliens to permanent resident if the alien: (1) applies during the one-­year period beginning with the 19th month following the grant of temporary resident status; (2) has established continuous residence in the United States since the grant of temporary resident status; (3) is other­wise admissible and has not been convicted of a felony or three or more misdemeanors committed in the United States; and (4) e­ ither meets the minimum requirements for an understanding of En­glish and a knowledge of American history and government, or demonstrates the satisfactory pursuit of a

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 | 789

course of study in ­these subjects. (Authorizes an exemption from such language and history requirement for individuals 65 years of age or older.) Authorizes the filing of status adjustment applications with the Attorney General or designated voluntary or governmental agencies. Directs the Attorney General to work with such agencies to: (1) disseminate program information; and (2) pro­cess aliens. Provides for the confidential treatment of application rec­ords. Establishes criminal penalties (fines, imprisonment, or both) for: (1) violations of such confidentiality; and (2) false application statements. Provides for application fees. Requires the Attorney General to provide an alien other­wise eligible but unregistered who is apprehended before the end of the application period, an opportunity to apply for the legalization program before deportation or exclusion proceedings are begun. States that such alien ­shall be authorized to work in the United States pending disposition of the case. Makes legalized aliens (other than Cuban/Haitian entrants) ineligible for Federal financial assistance, Medicaid (with certain exceptions), or food stamps for five years following a grant of temporary resident status and for five years following a grant of permanent resident status (permits aid to the aged, blind, or disabled). Requires the Attorney General to disseminate information regarding the legalization program. Establishes procedures for the status adjustment to permanent resident of certain Cuban and Haitian entrants who arrived in the United States before January 1, 1982. Authorizes FY 1988 through 1991 appropriations for State legalization impact assistance grants. Permits States to spend unused funds through FY 1994. Bases State amounts on the number of legalized aliens and related expenditures. Permits States to use such funds to reimburse public assistance, health, and education costs. Limits reimbursement to a­ ctual costs. Title III: Reform of L ­ egal Immigration—­Part A: Temporary Agricultural Workers—­Separates temporary agricultural l­abor from other temporary l­abor for purposes of nonimmigrant (H-2A visa) worker provisions. Requires an employer H-2A visa petition to certify that: (1) t­ here are not enough local U.S. workers for the job; and (2) similarly employed U.S. workers’ wages and working conditions ­will not be adversely affected. Authorizes the Secretary of ­Labor to charge application fees. Provides that for three years, ­labor certifications for specified employers ­shall require such an employer to hire qualified U.S. workers who apply ­until the end of 50 ­percent of the H-2A workers’ contract work period. Requires the Secretary, six months before the end of such period, to consider the advisability of continuing such requirement and to issue regulations (in the absence of enacting legislation) three months before the end of such period.

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Authorizes permanent appropriations beginning with FY 1987 for the purposes of: (1) recruiting domestic workers for temporary ­labor and ser­vices which might other­wise be performed by nonimmigrants and agricultural transition workers; and (2) monitoring terms and conditions u­ nder which such individuals are employed. Authorizes permanent appropriations beginning in FY 1987 to enable the Secretary to make determinations and certifications. Expresses the sense of the Congress that the President should establish an advisory commission to consult with Mexico and other appropriate countries and advise the Attorney General regarding the temporary worker program. Establishes a special agricultural worker adjustment program. Provides for permanent resident adjustment for aliens who: (1) apply during a specified 18-­month period; (2) have performed at least 90 man-­days of seasonal agricultural work during the 12-­month period ending May 1, 1986; and (3) are admissible as immigrants. Sets forth adjustment dates based upon periods of work performed in the United States. Authorizes travel and employment during such temporary residence period. Provides for a temporary stay of exclusion or deportation (and authority to work) for apprehended aliens who are able to establish a nonfrivolous claim for status adjustment. Defines “seasonal agricultural ser­vices” as the per­for­mance of field work related to growing fruits and vegetables of e­ very kind and other perishable commodities as defined in regulations by the Secretary of Agriculture. Source: Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 (S.1200, 99th Congress). U.S. Statutes at Large. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1986.

See also: Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965; The Sanctuary Movement; Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006

Further Reading Bean, Frank D., Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey S. Passel. 1990. “Introduction,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 1–10. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press. Bean, Frank D., Thomas J. Espenshade, Michael J. White, and Robert F. Dymowski. 1990. “Post-­IRCA Changes in the Volume and Composition of Undocumented Migration to the United States: An Assessment Based on Apprehensions Data,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey  S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 111–152. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press. Bustamante, Jorge A. 1990. “Undocumented Migration from Mexico to the United States: Preliminary Findings of the Zapata Canyon Proj­ect,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 211–226. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press.

Immigration Reform and Control Act, 1986 | 791 Chisti, Muzaffar, and Charles Kamasaki. 2014. “IRCA in Retrospect: Guideposts for ­Today’s Immigration Reform.” Migration Policy Institute Issue Brief, January. Retrieved from http://­www​.­migrationpolicy​.­org​/­research​/­irca​-­retrospect​-­immigration​-­reform Espenshade, Thomas J. 1990. “Undocumented Migration to the United States: Evidence from a Repeated ­Trials Model,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 159–181. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press. Kerwin, Donald M. 2010. “More than IRCA: US Legalization Programs and the Current Policy Debate.” Migration Policy Institute Policy Brief, December. Retrieved from http://­ www​.­migrationpolicy​.­org​/­research​/­us​-­legalization​-­programs​-­by​-­the​-­numbers Krogstad, Jens Manuel, Jeffrey S. Passel, and D’Vera Cohn. 2016. “5 Facts about Illegal Immigration in the U.S.” Pew Research Center, November 3. Retrieved from http://­www​ .­pewresearch​.­org​/­fact​-­tank​/­2016​/­11​/­03​/­5​-­facts​-­about​-­illegal​-­immigration​-­in​-­the​-­u​-­s/ LeMay, Michael C. 2007. Illegal Immigration. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-­CLIO. Massey, Douglas S., Katherine M. Donato, and Zai Liang. 1990. “Effects of the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986: Preliminary Data from Mexico,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey  S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 183–210. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press. Massey, Douglas S., and Karen A. Pren. 2012. “Unintended Consequences of U.S. Immigration Policy: Explaining the Post-1965 Surge from Latin Amer­i­ca.” National Institutes of Health Public Access Author Manuscript, July 30. Retrieved from https://­www​.­ncbi​ .­nlm​.­nih​.­gov​/­pmc​/­articles​/­PMC3407978/ North, David. 2013. “Before Considering Another Amnesty, Look at IRCA’s Lessons.” Center for Immigration Studies, January. Retrieved from http://­cis​.­org​/­before​-­considering​ -­another​-­amnesty​-­look​-­at​-­ircas​-­lessons Pear, Robert. 1986. “President Signs Landmark Bill on Immigration,” New York Times, November 7. Retrieved from www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1986​/­11​/­07​/­us​/­president​-­signs​-­landmark​ -­bill​-­on​-­immigration​.­html Pew Charitable Trusts. 2014. Immigration and Legalization: Roles and Responsibilities of States and Localities (report, April 30). Retrieved from http://­www​.­pewtrusts​.­org​/­en​ /­research​-­and​-­analysis​/­reports​/­2014​/­04​/­30​/­immigration​-­and​-­legalization​-­roles​-­and​ -­responsibilities​-­of​-­states​-­and​-­localities Rytina, Nancy. 2002. “IRCA Legalization Effects: Lawful Permanent Residence and Naturalization through 2001.” Paper presented at The Effects of Immigrant Legalization Programs on the United States: Scientific Evidence on Immigrant Adaptation and Impacts of U.S. Economy and Society, The Cloister, Mary Woodward Lasker Center, NIH Main Campus, October  25. Retrieved from https://­www​.­dhs​.­gov​/­xlibrary​/­assets​/­statistics​ /­publications​/­irca0114int​.­pdf Taylor, J. Edward. 1988. U.S. Immigration Policy and the Mexican Economy. Washington, DC: Urban Institute. Tumulty, Karen. 2013. “Part 1: “It ­didn’t work at all” | Immigration: Path to Now.” Washington Post video series on YouTube, 4:17. Retrieved from https://­www​.­youtube​.­com​ /­watch​?­v​=d­ rLehQVA1Ww

792 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 Warren, Robert. 2015. “U.S.-­Born C ­ hildren of Undocumented Residents: Numbers and Characteristics in 2015.” Center for Migration Studies, September 28. Retrieved from http://­cmsny​.­org​/­publications​/­warren​-­usbornchildren/ Woodrow, Karen A., and Jeffrey S. Passel. 1990. “Post-­IRCA Undocumented Immigration to the United States: An Assessment Based on the June 1988 CPS,” in Frank D. Bean, Barry Edmonston, and Jeffrey S. Passel, eds., Undocumented Migration to the United States: IRCA and the Experience of the 1980s, 33–76. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Press. Zúñiga, Victor, and Rubén Hernández-­León. 2001. “A New Destination for an Old Migration: Origins, Trajectories, and ­Labor Market Incorporation of Latinos in Dalton, Georgia,” in Arthur D. Murphy, Colleen Blanchard, and Jennifer A. Hill, eds., Latino Workers in the Con­temporary South, 126–137. Athens: University of Georgia Press.

Founding of Univision, 1987 Jillian M. Báez

Chronology 1961 The Spanish International Network is established and acquires KWEX­TV channel in San Antonio. 1962 The Spanish International Network acquires KMEX-­TV channel in Los Angeles. 1978 For the first time on U.S. tele­vi­sion, Univision televises the World Cup ­soccer (fútbol) matches. 1979 The Galavisión Network is launched as the first Spanish-­language cable network in the United States. 1986 The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) finds the Spanish International Communications Corporation (SICC) in violation of the foreign owner­ship rule that allows only 25 ­percent of a broadcasting com­pany to be owned by foreigners. 1987 The Spanish International Network and the Spanish International Communications Corporation are consolidated and Univision is launched. 1988 Hallmark purchases Univision. 1992 Hallmark sells part of Univision to entrepreneur Jerrold Perenchio and Venezuela’s Venevisión’s ­owners Ricardo and Gustavo Cisneros. The Azcárraga ­family continued to own 51 ­percent of Univision.

Founding of Univision, 1987 | 793

1999 Univision launches its website. 2002 Univision acquires the Hispanic Broadcasting Corporation—­the largest group of Spanish-­language radio stations—­and the cable network UniMás (formerly Telefutura) is launched. 2003 Univision launches Univision Móvil in collaboration with T-­Mobile to offer international cell phone ser­vice between the United States and Latin Amer­i­ca. 2005 Univision joins the Nielsen Tele­vi­sion Index, a tele­vi­sion audience mea­ sure­ment that is used in media industries to estimate viewership. 2006 Broadcasting Media Partners acquires Univision, and the network subsequently becomes a private com­pany. 2007 The FCC fines Univision $24 million for not complying with the C ­ hildren’s Tele­vi­sion Act. 2009 Univision launches Univision Studios in Miami, Florida. 2012 The Root (a top African American news site) acquires Bounce TV, a cable network that distributes content for African American audiences. 2013 Univision launches La Flama, a website with original content targeted to young, bilingual Latina/os. In concert with Disney’s ABC News, Univision launches Fusion, a cable tele­vi­sion network that produces and distributes English-­language content catering to millennials. 2015 Univision acquires the website The Root. 2016 Univision acquires the satirical news organ­ization The Onion, and media news and gossip website Gawker​.­com.

Narrative Univision is the largest Spanish-­language tele­vi­sion network in the United States and the fifth largest among all networks in the country. It launched in 1987 ­after a consolidation of the two Spanish-­language tele­vi­sion channels airing in the United States. For the first 25 years of operation, Univision was strongly tied to the Mexican broadcasting industry ­because it was financed and operated by Televisa, a Mexican media com­pany. As a U.S. subsidiary of Televisa, Univision became the largest Spanish-­language media conglomerate in the world (Rodriguez, 1999). In fact, in July 2013, Univision claimed the number-­one spot in all U.S. tele­vi­sion’s prime time ratings.

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The tele­vi­sion network Univision is a highly successful network aimed at Spanish-­speaking viewers. The network has consistently gained popularity due to growing Spanish-­speaking communities throughout the United States. (Ken Wolter/Dreamstime)

Univision is an early and significant example of transnational media b­ ecause it reversed the traditional flow of tele­vi­sion content. In early tele­vi­sion history, U.S. programming was usually exported to the rest of the world unidirectionally. In Univision’s case, however, Latin American media was imported to the United States. Univision’s programming includes telenovelas, game shows, pageants, variety shows, sports, and local, national, and international news. As the Latina/o population has grown in the United States since the 1980s, so have Univision’s holdings. In 2016, it owned and operated 23 tele­vi­sion stations alongside nearly 40 affiliate stations. In addition to its prominence in tele­vi­sion, Univision also holds considerable owner­ship of radio and digital platforms. Univision emerged from a consolidation of Mexican tycoon Emilio Azcárraga Vidaurreta’s Spanish International Communications Corporation (SICC) in 1987 and the Spanish International Network (SIN). SICC owned a number of tele­vi­sion stations and SIN provided programming which was then distributed to the stations. In the mid-20th ­century, Azcárraga Vidaurreta’s success in the Mexican broadcasting industry fueled his desire to expand Spanish-­language markets outside of Mexico. Azcárraga Vidaurreta tried to persuade Anglo broadcast station man­ag­ ers to air Spanish-­language content in order to appeal to the growing Mexican population in the United States. ­After U.S. station man­ag­ers showed l­ ittle interest

Founding of Univision, 1987 | 795

in broadcasting Mexican programming, Azcárraga Vidaurreta established his own tele­vi­sion network—­the Spanish International Network (SIN)—in 1961. SIN acquired the tele­vi­sion stations KMEX in Los Angeles and KWEX-­TV in San Antonio, and subsequently imported programming from Mexico’s Televisa com­pany. SIN did not hold any broadcast licenses, due to the Federal Communication Commission’s (FCC’s) limits on foreign owner­ship established in the Communications Act of 1934. The FCC only permits 25 ­percent foreign owner­ship of a broadcast network. However, SIN operated in spite of this regulation b­ ecause it  named U.S. ­owners of individual stations. Despite technically owning only 25 ­percent of SIN, Mexican broadcasting dominated the supply of programming and advertising, and hence greatly influenced the tone of the network (Rodriguez, 1999). In the mid-1960s to early 1970s, SIN grew to nine U.S. stations, which included four stations on the Mexican side of the border that broadcast into the United States. In 1981, SIN launched a U.S.-­based national news network to provide local news and public affairs programming for Latina/os. This endeavor marked a small departure from the largely Mexican-­produced programming offered on the network u­ ntil then. In 1986, the FCC investigated SIN and found that it was, in fact, in violation of the foreign owner­ship regulations. As a result, the FCC ordered Televisa to divest from SIN. In response, Televisa appointed a U.S. Latino titular head, Jaime Davila, to SICC in order to sidestep the Federal Communications Commission’s foreign owner­ship rules. Subsequently, Hallmark purchased the network in 1988, although it never recovered its investment. In 1992, Hallmark sold part of the network to entrepreneur Jerrold Perenchio and Venezuela’s Venevisión’s ­owners Ricardo and Gustavo Cisneros. From the 1960s to the 1980s, Univision strug­gled to attract advertisers. Initially, mainstream advertising executives and their clients perceived Latina/o audiences as a small and poor market. SIN argued that specialized advertising through Spanish-­ language content was necessary to reach a growing and lucrative Latina/o market. Latina/os are a very heterogeneous group, however, spanning dif­fer­ent national origins, dialects, regional cultures, and religions. Univision cut across t­hese differences, constructing a cohesive, national Latina/o identity that is unified through the Spanish language (Levine, 2001; Chavez, 2015; Rodriguez, 1999). The implementation of “Walter Cronkite” Spanish on SIN, and ­later Univision, was key to the creation of a national Latina/o market. “Walter Cronkite” Spanish is a neutral way of speaking Spanish that is devoid of regional or class accents (Rodriguez, 1999). Numerous media scholars (e.g., Chavez, 2015; Dávila, 2012; Levine, 2001; Rodriguez, 1999) argue that Univision’s construction of a pan-­ethnic Hispanic audience flattens impor­tant differences amongst Latina/os, such as national origin, race, class, immigration histories, and religion. In addition, the predominance of the Spanish

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language in programming excludes second-­, third-­, and fourth-­generation Latina/o viewers whose dominant language is En­glish. Anthropologist Arlene Dávila (2012) documents that some Latina/o viewers have expressed frustration with Spanish-­ language tele­vi­sion, as it does not take into account the heterogeneity of the Latina/o audience. Nonetheless, the network has enjoyed enormous commercial success. Univision also has been an industry leader in technological innovation. As Kenton Wilkinson (2015) illustrates, Univision made numerous major technological inroads. First, in 1976, SIN was the first network to regularly distribute programming via satellite. In 1972, a de­cade before cable tele­vi­sion mogul Ted Turner coined the term “superstation,” SIN began using cable to increase the reach of the stations’ signal. That year, it also “used micro­wave technology to interconnect its five western stations,” which afforded SIN the opportunity to “sell regional audiences to advertisers” (Rodriguez, 1999, p. 37). Univision employed the highly underutilized UHF tele­vi­sion band (as opposed to the favored VHF band). Use of UHF cost the network less per viewer than the VHF band used largely by the mainstream English-­ language networks. Lastly, Univision utilized repeater stations that use radio transmitters to amplify weak radio signals. Univision also is marked by a history of consolidation and conglomeration. For example, consider Univision’s strong ties to the Mexican broadcasting industry vis-­ à-­vis Televisa. Although Televisa no longer owns part of Univision, the Mexican tele­vi­sion ­giant still provides a large amount of the content for the network and its cable subsidiaries, UniMás and Galavision. Owner­ship of Univision has passed through several hands over the years. As mentioned earlier, Hallmark purchased the network in 1988. Four years l­ ater, Hallmark sold Univision to Televisa and Venevisíon. Latina/o media advocacy groups, including the National Hispanic Media Co­ali­tion, protested both sales b­ ecause owner­ship went to a large media conglomerate instead of minority-­owned, U.S.-­based Latina/o individuals or small companies. In addition, the sale ensured that programming on Univision would largely come from Mexico, rather than U.S.-­produced content that could be more relevant to Latina/os living in the United States. In 2006, Broadcast Media Partners purchased Univision. During the short time that Hallmark owned Univision, more entertainment and news programming was produced in the United States geared t­ oward Latina/os. This production was facilitated by Univision moving its headquarters from California to Miami, Florida in 1991. Production in Miami also marked a shift in programming away from largely Mexican-­centric content, expanding to Cuban content as well. For the first time, Univision was capitalized not primarily from Mexico, but instead from the United States. However, immediately ­after Hallmark sold Univision in 1992, one-­third of the Miami staff was fired and Univision canceled most

Founding of Univision, 1987 | 797

of the U.S.-­produced programs. Instead, Televisa once again provided the majority of content for the network. As a result, Mexican-­inflected Spanish and Mexican culture still remain dominant in Univision’s programming. The deregulation in media policy also influenced Univision’s trajectory. For example, the Telecommunications Act of 1996 lifted limitations on the percentage of an industry that corporations could acquire. As a result, it became more difficult for smaller broadcast companies to compete. Univision acquired most Spanish-­ language radio stations in the United States, consolidating them into Univision Radio. This move expanded Univision’s media empire from tele­vi­sion to radio. Media scholars and media advocacy groups have been critical of Univision, like other large media conglomerates, for limiting competition and thereby narrowing the amount and variety of content available for and about Latina/os in U.S. broadcast media. In addition, critics note that the network’s current chief executive officer, Randy Falco, is Anglo and does not speak Spanish. Media studies scholar Christopher Chavez (2015) contends that Univision (and Telemundo) exploit Spanish-­speaking audiences, but do not necessarily reflect the Latina/o communities’ interests. Experts also question Univision’s lack of innovation in creating U.S.-­produced programming about Latina/o issues. Historically, Univision has been averse to risk-­ taking in creating new kinds of content ­because of its exclusive programming contract with Televisa. The network has a longstanding reliance on importing programming from Latin Amer­i­ca, and when it does create new programming the shows are largely Spanish-­language adaptations of English-­language formulas (e.g., game and talent shows). The Radio Act of 1927 demands that broadcast stations create programming in the public interest; owner­ship can be revoked if they do not meet this requirement. Latina/o media policy reformers argue that Univision does not comply with this regulation b­ ecause its programming, apart from its local and national news, still looks heavi­ly ­toward Latin American culture instead of reflecting the experiences of Latina/os in the United States. In fact, Chief Executive Officer Joaquín Blaya left Univision for Telemundo in 1992 ­because of Univision’s lack of commitment to producing U.S.-­based content. In 2015, however, Univision developed a website with print and video content geared more ­toward bilingual, second­and third-­generation Latina/os, called La Flama. In addition, experts have charged that Univision’s content is often mired in racism, sexism, and homophobia (Báez, 2015). For example, in 2015, the host of the Univision show El gordo y la flaca commented that Michelle Obama looked like “something from the cast of the Planet of the Apes” (Báez, 2015). Univision fired the host not long ­after the episode aired. However, the comment gained mainstream media attention and shed light on the network’s long track rec­ord of racial insensitivity and bias. Indigenous and Afro-­Latina/os, when represented, tend to play

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Telemundo Univision’s competitor is Telemundo. Launched in 1986 by Reliance Capital Corporation, Telemundo sought to fill Univision’s gap in creating content that addresses Latina/os in the United States. Unlike Univision, which relied on imported programming from Latin Amer­i­ca, Telemundo produced some content domestically, with production centers in Hialeah, Florida (outside of Miami) and Puerto Rico, in addition to Mexico and Bogotá, Colombia. Like Televisa and Univision, its programming is exported throughout the world. Telemundo emerged out of Puerto Rico’s WKAQ-­TV station, Telemundo Canal 2. In 1987, Reliance Capital Corporation consolidated WKAQ-­TV with stations in Los Angeles and Miami into the Telemundo Group and bought WNJU (Channel 47) in Linden, New Jersey (airing to New York City). ­Later that year, Telemundo acquired stations in San Francisco, Houston, and San Antonio. Telemundo expanded to other regions (including Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, and Washington, D.C.) through acquisition of new stations or affiliates. In 1997, Telemundo launched Noticiero Telemundo, a longstanding national daily eve­ning news program produced in Miami, Florida. L ­ ater that same year, Telemundo premiered Deportes Telemundo, a weekly two-­hour program featuring sports coverage from around the world. Telemundo paved the way for U.S.-­produced Spanish-­language programming. The network aired the first Spanish-­language cooking show, telenovela, talk show, and tabloid news program filmed in the United States in Spanish. By 1991, more than half of its content was produced in the United States. Starting in 1992, ­under the leadership of Joaquin F. Blaya, Telemundo focused its attention on capturing young and second-­generation Latina/o audiences. Blaya was the former chief executive officer (CEO) of Univision and resigned ­after learning of Jerrold Perenchio’s acquisition of Univision. Blaya knew the shift in owner­ship would restore Televisa’s grip over Univision’s programming and curtail U.S.-­produced content. However, Telemundo’s focus on U.S. Latina/os did not initially pan out, due to financial bankruptcy in 1993. Telemundo was restructured in the mid-1990s and Roland A. Hernandez was named the new president and CEO. A Los Angeles native, Hernandez opened Telemundo’s first studio on the West Coast. In 1998, Liberty Media and Sony Pictures Entertainment acquired Telemundo. They removed telenovelas from the primetime lineup in order to air new bilingual programming to appeal to younger viewers. This effort failed and the network returned to airing telenovelas during prime-­time hours. In 2002,

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NBCUniversal purchased Telemundo. That year, Telemundo launched a ­sister cable network, mun2, to feature content for younger, bilingual viewers. A year ­later, Vivendi Universal acquired NBC, and by extension Telemundo. In 2012, Comcast gained a controlling share in NBCUniversal. In 2014, Telemundo rebranded mun2 to NBCUniverso and shifted to airing more Spanish-­ language programming. Telemundo continues to be the second largest Spanish-­language broadcast tele­vi­sion network in the United States. In 2016, Telemundo fi­nally beat Univision in the ratings for nine consecutive weeks. Historically, Telemundo had trailed b­ ehind Univision, due to major financial prob­lems ­every few years, but now seems to be leading the way in innovative programming for Latina/o viewers.

buffoon or servant characters in entertainment programming. In news programming, darker-­skinned Latina/os are seldom represented. Univision has also been accused of ignoring the needs of its youn­gest viewers. In 2007, the FCC fined the com­pany for not complying with the ­Children’s Tele­vi­ sion Act, which mandates that broadcast networks air three hours per week of educational c­ hildren’s programming. The complaint was filed by the United Church of Christ’s media advocacy division in Cleveland, in conjunction with pioneer Latina/o media scholar Federico Subervi-­Velez. Univision paid a $24 million fine, the largest fine ever imposed by the FCC. Univision now offers c­ hildren’s programming on Saturday mornings, mostly dubbed, syndicated cartoons from Nick Jr. Despite criticism and FCC violations, Univision maintains high ratings. In the early 1990s, Univision and its competitor, Telemundo, convinced Nielsen (the premiere audience mea­sure­ment com­pany in the tele­vi­sion industry) to create the Hispanic Nielsen Survey. Prior to this survey, Latina/o viewers ­were not considered large enough to count. The Hispanic Nielsen Survey found that the audience was 30 ­percent to 40 ­percent larger than expected (Rodriguez, 1999). In 2013, Univision had the highest prime-­time ratings of all networks. Nielsen ratings consistently place Univision in the top 10 prime time slots. This feat garnered the network’s inclusion in the Nielsen Tele­vi­sion Index. In September, 2015, Telemundo’s ratings fi­nally beat Univision’s. The increase in Telemundo’s ratings may have been due to its station’s more diverse programming, especially telenovelas made outside of Mexico, in Miami, Colombia, and Brazil. ­Today, Univision continues to expand its empire. In par­tic­u­lar, Univision seeks to widen its audiences from Spanish-­dominant Latina/os to younger and nonimmigrant audiences. In 2009, Univision launched Univision Studios in Miami to

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create more original programming and depart from its mainstay of imported programming from Latin Amer­i­ca. In 2012, Univision acquired Bounce TV, the second most-­watched network among African Americans. This acquisition is Univision’s first foray into African American content. In 2013, in partnership with Disney and ABC News, Univision launched Fusion, a cable network geared ­toward millennials. In 2016, Univision bought Gawker (shut down ­later that year) and The Onion, both of which attracted millennial online audiences.

Biographies of Notable Figures Emilio Azcárraga Vidaurreta (1895–1973) Emilio Azcárraga Vidaurreta was born in Tampico, Tamaulipas, in Mexico in 1895 to Basque immigrants. Although he spent his early childhood in Mexico, he attended m ­ iddle school and high school in San Antonio and Austin, Texas. Azcárraga Vidaurreta was a prominent Mexican radio and tele­vi­sion owner and producer who laid the groundwork for Univision. In the early 1920s, he became the sole Mexican agent for RCA Victor Rec­ords, which gave him access to popu­ lar musicians and actors of that time. According to Amer­i­ca Rodriguez (1999), Azcárraga Vidaurreta represented 90 ­percent of the Mexican musical and acting talent at the time, enabling him to manage a successful radio station and create demand for RCA rec­ords. He also owned several thriving movie theaters in Mexico. Building on this success, Azcárraga Vidaurreta built a broadcasting empire in Mexico in the 1930s. ­After he created the first Mexican radio station (XEW) in 1930 in Mexico City, Azcárraga Vidaurreta negotiated with NBC and the Mexican government to develop a network of Mexican radio stations. His radio network was based in Mexico, but the broadcast signals could reach Mexicans living in the United States. He ­later replicated this strategy with tele­vi­sion. In 1951, he established the first tele­vi­sion station in Mexico (which would l­ ater be called Televisa), employing talent he already had ­under contract for radio, theater, and ­music recording. Azcárraga Vidaurreta would acquire new stations as vehicles for programming that he produced, and then cultivate new markets for this same programming. This strategy ensured low production costs in Mexico, but also tapped into markets outside of Mexico, thereby increasing profits on each show he produced. In the late 1950s, Televisa imported dubbed programming from the United States to Mexican homes, but he soon reversed this flow by broadcasting Spanish-­language content to the United States. Azcárraga Vidaurreta’s success in broadcasting can be attributed to two ­factors. First, the content appealed to Mexicans both at home and abroad b­ ecause he

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constructed an idyllic repre­sen­ta­tion of Mexico. Communication scholar Amer­ i­ca Rodriguez notes: “His genius was packaging the nationalistic nostalgia of Mexican popu­lar culture” (1999, pp.  31–32). Second, in 1946, Azcárraga Vidaurreta partnered with other Latin American tele­vi­sion moguls to pressure their national governments to adopt the U.S. model for tele­ vi­ sion licensing and regulation. The U.S. commercial model was preferred over that of the Eu­ro­pean noncommercial model ­because the latter relied on government support and, thus, was committed to public ser­vice programming (Rodriguez, 1997). Mexico ultimately ­adopted the U.S. commercial broadcasting model, relying on advertising for profits without being encumbered by public ser­vice programming expectations. Mexico’s broadcasting system still remains largely un­regu­la­ted. In the 1950s, Spanish-­language tele­vi­sion viewership in the United States was small and poor. Indeed, Spanish-­language audiences in the United States ­were not seen as a lucrative market at all by U.S. advertisers—­but from a Mexican perspective, Mexican immigrants ­were one of the largest and wealthiest Spanish-­speaking markets in the world. In other words, compared to viewers in Mexico, Mexican immigrants in the United States made much higher incomes despite their poor and working-­class status. As his network grew in popularity along border towns in the United States, Azcárraga Vidaurreta approached U.S. broadcasters about syndication possibilities. In the mid-20th ­century, Anglo station man­ag­ers showed l­ittle interest in broadcasting Mexican programming, which consisted mostly of telenovelas and movies, so he established his own tele­vi­sion network, the Spanish International Network (SIN) in 1961. To overcome the Federal Communication Commission’s limitations on foreign owner­ship established in the Communications Act of 1934, Azcárraga Vidaurreta became partners with American investors. ­These partners included Frank Fouce Sr., Julian Kaufman, and Rene Anselmo. With the launching of SIN, Azcárraga Vidaurreta bought two tele­vi­sion stations: KMEX in Los Angeles and KWEX in San Antonio, Texas. The network also acquired five stations in Mexico located on the border. SIN expanded into the East Coast through acquisition of stations in New York and Miami following waves of Puerto Rican migration in the 1950s and 1960s in ­these regions. Expanding to ­these non-­Mexican regional markets pushed Azcárraga Vidaurreta to reconfigure the network’s audience as “Hispanic,” rather than Mexican, following the government’s recent categorization of ­people of Latin American descent. Azcárraga Vidaurreta passed away in 1973. ­Under the leadership of his son, Emilio Azcárraga Milmo, SIN would ­later evolve into what we now know as Univision. Upon Azcárraga Vidaurreta’s death, his son became heir to Televisa. ­Today, Azcárraga Vidaurreta’s grand­son, Emilio Azcárraga Jean, is the owner of Televisa.

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Emilio Azcárraga Milmo (1930–1997) Emilio Azcárraga Milmo was born in 1930  in San Antonio, Texas. He attended Culver Military Acad­emy in Indiana for high school. At 21, he began working for his ­father, Emilio Azcárraga Vidaurreta, a broadcasting media mogul. Azcárraga Vidaurreta established the first tele­vi­sion network in Mexico and upon his death in 1973 Azcárraga Milmo became heir to his empire. ­Under Azcárraga Milmo’s leadership, the network was named Televisa and became the largest producer of Spanish-­language tele­vi­sion content in the world. Known in the Mexican press as “El Tigre,” due equally to the white streak in his hair and his aggressive business practices, Azcárraga’s Televisa held a mono­poly on Mexican tele­vi­sion for 30 years, u­ ntil the advent of Azteca TV in 1993. As the head of Televisa’s U.S. subsidiary, the Spanish International Network (SIN), Azcárraga Milmo pioneered the use of several technological innovations, such as satellite and cable tele­vi­sion networks, as he sought to expand Televisa’s programming to the United States and other global markets. Deploying t­ hese technologies in the 1960s and 1970s increased SIN’s viewership, and in 1982, SIN claimed that it reached 90 ­percent of Spanish-­speaking ­house­holds in the United States. During Azcárraga Milmo’s tenure at SIN, he also spearheaded production in the United States, namely Noticiero Univision, a nightly newscast that covered stories in the United States and Latin Amer­i­ca. SIN also aired locally produced news and public affairs programming. In 1986, the Federal Communications Commission forced Azcárraga Milmo to relinquish his owner­ship of the Spanish International Network (which would ­later become Univision) due to violations of foreign owner­ship rules. At the time, SIN largely functioned as a subsidiary of Televisa. Despite the sale of Univision to Hallmark, Azcárraga Milmo remained influential in Univision’s profile b­ ecause Televisa continued to own 20 ­percent to 25 ­percent of Univision. His partial owner­ship, alongside Univision’s programming contract with Televisa, ensured that the majority of Univision’s content reflected Televisa’s vision. Milmo was a staunch supporter of Mexico’s Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI); hence, Televisa’s newscasts supported PRI candidates and rarely challenged the Mexican government. Azcárraga Milmo also served as the Chairman of Galavision, a cable subsidiary of Univision. In 1990 he launched The National, a U.S. English-­language newspaper centered on sports. The National was the first daily sports newspaper published in the United States. The publication folded the following year due to distribution issues. Azcárraga Milmo also diversified his holdings by buying the largest stadium in the Amer­i­cas, several sports teams, and vast real estate properties. He was featured on the cover of Fortune magazine’s 1994 issue on the world’s richest men. In 1996, Forbes reported Azcárraga Milmo’s net worth as $2 billion.

Founding of Univision, 1987 | 803

In 1997, Azcárraga Milmo retired and named his son, Emilio Azcárraga Jean, as the new chairman of the board. Azcárraga Milmo died of cancer at 66 years of age in Miami, Florida. Emilio Azcárraga Jean is still the owner of Televisa. According to Forbes 2016, Azcárraga Jean’s net worth is $2.6 billion.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT FCC Univision News Release, 2007 ­ here is a trea­sure trove of primary-­source documents from the Federal CommuniT cations Commission regarding Univision. The following is a press release from the Federal Communications Commission that details the outcomes of the 2007 fine on Univision for violation of the ­Children’s Tele­vi­sion Act. For Immediate Release: March 27, 2007

FCC Approves Transfer of Univision Communications Inc., and Enters into $24 Million Consent Decree with Univision Concerning ­ Children’s Programming Requirements Washington, DC—­The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) ­today approved the transfer of control of Univision Communications Inc. (“Univision”), from its current shareholders to Broadcasting Media Partners, Inc. The FCC and Univision have also entered into a $24 million Consent Decree to resolve pending license renewal applications where petitioners allege that certain Univision stations failed to comply with the c­ hildren’s programming requirements set forth in the C ­ hildren’s Tele­vi­sion Act of 1990 and Section 73.671 of the Commission’s rules. In pending license renewal proceedings for Station WQHS-­TV, Cleveland, Ohio, and Station KDTV, San Francisco, California, the Office of Communication of the United Church of Christ, Inc. (“UCC”) and the National Hispanic Media Co­ali­tion (“NHMC”) argue that, by relying on the Spanish-­language telenovelas Complices Al Rescate, Vivan Los Ninos, and Amy, La Nina de la Mochila Azul, certain Univision stations failed to provide sufficient programming specifically designed to serve the educational and informational needs of c­ hildren (core programming) throughout significant periods during their most recent license terms. In 1996, the Commission established specific criteria for evaluating ­whether a program qualifies as “core programming,” and a pro­cessing guideline of three hours of core programming a week. Univision owns and controls 24 broadcast tele­vi­sion stations, including WQHS-­TV and KDTV(TV), that aired the Spanish-­language telenovelas cited by UCC and NHMC.

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Not only have the FCC and Univision negotiated the terms of a Consent Decree that resolves the ­children’s programming issues raised in both proceedings, but Univision has further agreed to a detailed plan that w ­ ill ensure f­ uture compliance with the ­Children’s Tele­vi­sion Act and Section 73.617 of the Commission’s rules. Source: The Federal Communications Documents. Retrieved from https://­www​.­fcc​.­gov​ /­document​/­fcc​-­approves​-­transfer​-­univision​-­communications​-­inc​-­and​-­enters

See also: Birth of Latin Jazz; Latin Explosion in Popu­lar ­Music; Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway

Further Readings Amaya, Hector, and Allison Perlman. 2013. “Owning a Voice: Broadcasting Policy, Media Owner­ship, and Latina/o Speech Rights.” Communication, Culture, & Critique 6.1 (March): 142–160. Báez, Jillian. 2015. “Caution and Skepticism About Univision—­The Root Merger.” All Digitocracy, June 3. Retrieved from http://­alldigitocracy​.­org​/­caution​-­and​-­skepticism​-­about​ -­univision​-­theroot​-­merger. Báez, Jillian, and Manuel Gerardo Avilés-­Santiago. 2016. “Spanish-­Language Tele­vi­sion,” in Krin Gabbard, ed., Oxford Biblio­graphies in Cinema and Media Studies, . New York: Oxford University Press. Retrieved from http://­www​.­oxfordbibliographies​.­com​/­view​ /­d ocument​ /­o bo​ -­9 780199791286​ /­o bo​ -­9 780199791286​ -­0 209​ .­x ml​ ?­r skey​= ­9 xZw5o​ &result​=1­ 93 Castañeda, Mari. 2008. “The Importance of Spanish-­Language and Latina/o Media,” in Angharad N. Valdivia, ed., Latina/o Communication Studies ­Today, 51–68. New York: Peter Lang. Chavez, Christopher. 2015. Reinventing the Latina/o Tele­vi­sion Viewer: Language, Ideology, and Practice. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Coffey, Amy Jo, and Amy Kristin Sanders. 2009. “Defining a Product Market for Spanish Language Broadcast Media: Lessons from United States v. Univision Communications, Inc. and Hispanic Broadcasting.” Communication Law and Policy 15 (1): 55–89. Davila, Arlene. 2012. Latinos, Inc.: The Marketing and Making of a ­People (2d ed.). Berkeley: University of California Press. Esparza, Moreno, and Gabriel Alberto. 2011. “Televisa and Univision, 50 Years of Media Post-­ Nationalism.” Global Media and Communication 7 (1): 62–68. Gibens, Guillermo. 2009. “Univision and Telemundo: Spanish Language Tele­vi­sion Leaders in the United States,” in Alan Albarran, ed., The Handbook of Spanish Language Media, 237–244. New York: Routledge. Gonzalez, Juan, and Joseph Torres. 2011. News for All the P ­ eople: The Epic Story of Race and the American Media. Brooklyn, NY: Verso. Levine, Elana. 2001. “Constructing a Market, Constructing an Ethnicity: U.S. Spanish Language Media and the Formation of a Latina/o Identity.” Studies in Latin American Popu­lar Culture 20: 33–50.

North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 1994 | 805 Rodriguez, Amer­i­ca. 1997. “Creating an Audience and Remapping a Nation: A Brief History of US Spanish Language Broadcasting 1930–1980.” Quarterly Review of Film and Video 16 (3–4): 357–374. Rodriguez, Amer­i­ca. 1999. Making Latina/o News: Race, Language, Class. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wilkinson, Kenton T. 2015. Spanish-­Language Tele­vi­sion in the United States: Fifty Years of Development. New York: Routledge.

North American F­ ree Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 1994 Lilia Fernández

Chronology 1944, July

At Bretton Woods, New Hampshire, representatives from participating countries, including the United States, agree to the creation of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund to help set global financial and monetary policy between nations.

1947

The General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) is established ­after World War II to reduce tariffs on trade among 23 participating countries from around the world, including the United States.

1948

The GATT takes effect on January 1.

1979–1980

Ronald Reagan promotes a “North American Accord” as a central part of his foreign policy platform while ­running for president of the United States.

1986

Mexico joins the GATT in a shift away from its decades-­long nationalist or protectionist policy t­ oward trade liberalization. The United States and Canada begin negotiations over trade liberalization between the two countries.

1987

Canada and the United States sign the Canada-­United States ­Free Trade Agreement (CUFTA) on October 4.

1989

The Canada-­United States ­Free Trade Agreement takes effect on January 1.

1992, August

On August 12, the U.S., Canadian, and Mexican governments conclude negotiations for a North American F ­ ree Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and seek approval from each country’s legislative body.

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1992, December

On December 17, U.S. President George H.W. Bush, Mexican President Carlos Salinas de Gortari, and Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney sign the North American F ­ ree Trade Agreement to promote trade relations among the three countries.

1993, The U.S. Border Patrol begins “Operation Blockade” in the El Paso, September Texas-­Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico area to deter unauthorized migration from Mexico. 1993, October

The Border Patrol changes the name of Operation Blockade to “Operation Hold the Line” ­after the Mexican government objects that the “Blockade” name suggests that the United States is at war with Mexico. The initiative continues unchanged, however.

1994

The U.S. Border Patrol begins “Operation Gatekeeper” at San Diego-­ Tijuana border region to deter unauthorized migration from Mexico.

1994, January

NAFTA takes effect.

1994, April

The countries participating in the GATT agree to create a World Trade Organ­ization (WTO) to implement ­future trade agreements.

1994, December

Mexico experiences a national currency crisis, as the peso depreciates 55  ­percent within 10 days. Analysts believe this is due to the rapid withdrawal of foreign capital from the country a­ fter investment conditions improve elsewhere.

Zapatistas in the Mexican state of Chiapas announce their movement and declare their opposition to ­free trade and the Mexican government’s land reform policies.

The United States and 33 other countries meet to negotiate the F ­ ree Trade Area of the Amer­i­cas (FTAA). The FTAA would include Central American, South American, and Ca­rib­bean nations. Ultimately, negotiations fail and the FTAA never comes into being. 1995

The  U.S. Border Patrol begins “Operation Safeguard” to deter unauthorized migration from Mexico through Arizona.

1995, January

The World Trade Organ­ization begins to operate, effectively replacing the GATT. Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay establish their own economic agreement called MERCOSUR (Southern Cone Common Market).

1997

The  U.S. Border Patrol begins “Operation Rio Grande” in South Texas to deter unauthorized migration from Mexico in that part of the border region.

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1999

Thousands convene in Seattle, Washington, to protest the World Trade Organ­ization’s meeting and “globalization” more generally, which critics believe ­favors industrialized nations and disadvantages developing nations.

2004

The Central American and Dominican Republic F ­ ree Trade Agreement (CAFTA-­DR) is signed on May 27 among the United States and Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and the Dominican Republic.

2005

The U.S. Congress approves CAFTA-­DR on July 27.

2007

The United States-­Panama Trade Promotion Agreement is signed on June 28.

2009

The United States-­Peru Trade Promotion Agreement (PTPA) takes effect on February 1. This and ­future agreements no longer use the phrase “­free trade,” but rather “trade promotion.”

2012, May

The United States-­Colombia Trade Promotion Agreement (TPA) takes effect on May 15.

2012, October

The United States-­Panama Trade Promotion Agreement takes effect on October 31.

Narrative The United States, Mexico, and Canada have a long history of close economic ties due to their geographic proximity as neighbors in the Western Hemi­sphere. Trade relations among the countries date back to the colonial period when Eu­ro­pean powers controlled each territory. As each nation achieved in­de­pen­dence in the 18th and 19th centuries, however, they continued to seek each other out for commercial trade, extracting and exchanging raw materials, crops, and manufactured goods. In the 20th ­century, the United States in par­tic­u­lar depended on mineral resources, petroleum, and other raw materials from Mexico, while it exported manufactured consumer goods to its southern neighbor. In the 1980s, the United States and Canada entered into a ­free trade agreement meant to open each country to the other in terms of commercial activity. F ­ ree trade agreements are generally considered “trade liberalization,” or policies meant to reduce barriers to countries conducting business with one another. ­After the United States and Canada successfully established an accord, Mexican officials soon realized the potential benefits of formalized trade agreements with its two northern neighbors. Indeed, by 1995, more than half the world’s trade followed some type of official trade agreement between nations or regions (Wise, 1998, p. 1).

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U.S. president Bill Clinton signs NAFTA, December 8, 1993. (Jeffrey Markowitz/Sygma via Getty Images)

By the early 1990s, the three North American governments sought to formalize their trade partnerships through a tripartite f­ ree trade agreement. ­After much deliberation and negotiation, on December  17, 1992, the leaders of the three nations signed the North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). Scholars have described it as “one of the most expensive and intensive lobbying campaigns in U.S. legislative history, featuring unusually strong inter-­corporate cohesion and po­liti­cal pressure on the American state” (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 184). Although NAFTA received both praise and criticism at the time of its passage and implementation, it has continued to be a sore point for many observers, particularly in the United States and Mexico. Many citizens on both sides of the border blame NAFTA for job loss, the decline in some economic sectors, and lowered wages. Certainly, the economic changes wrought by NAFTA have had a lasting impact on the populations in both countries, making it the target of criticism. Many scholars agree that NAFTA was particularly impor­tant in unleashing a massive influx of migration from Mexico, as p­ eople felt the effects of land loss and

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unemployment as a consequence of the agreement and other simultaneous ­factors. In the United States, Americans have pointed to NAFTA as the principal cause of the decline in high-­paying manufacturing jobs. ­Because trade between Mexico and Canada has not increased dramatically since the signing of NAFTA, and the United States and Mexico remain each other’s most significant trading partners, most scholarship has focused on the relations and effects between ­these two countries. For the history of Latinos in the United States, NAFTA is significant b­ ecause of the dramatic impact it had on Mexico’s economy, which (along with other ­factors) contributed to an enormous influx of Mexican immigrants to the United States. Indeed, the number of Mexican-­born ­people in the United States doubled from 4.5 million to 9.4 million from 1990 to 2000, then grew even further to 12.6 million by 2009 (Weisbrot, Lefebvre, and Sammut, 2014, p. 2). As a result of this increased migration, the number of Mexican Americans, specifically, and Latinos more generally, increased significantly at the start of the 21st ­century, to an estimated 57 million ­people in 2015 (www​.­pewhispanic​.­org).

Background Modern international trade policies can be traced back to the period of World War II. At Bretton Woods, New Hampshire, in July 1944, leaders of the Allied nations convened to discuss international monetary policy in order to help stabilize the global economy ­after the war. The conference created the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. The intention of the conference was to create a third institution, the International Trade Organ­ization (ITO), as part of the United Nations, to help regulate international trade policy. Despite attempted negotiations, however, the ITO never materialized. At the same, 15 nations had begun separate discussions to establish rules for international trade policy in the aftermath of the economic devastation of the war. By 1947, the group had grown to 23 countries, including the United States, Brazil, Cuba, China, Czecho­slo­va­kia, France, and many ­others that signed onto an agreement known as the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT). The GATT promoted trade “liberalization,” meaning its princi­ples advocated robust economic exchange and the elimination of trade barriers between participating nations. This contrasts sharply with what are known as “protectionist” or “nationalist” economic policies, which f­avor high tariffs (taxes) for imports to a nation in order to protect national industries and production. The GATT governed international trade in the de­cades ­after World War II. Although the ITO was never established, participating nations eventually hoped to create a global trade group, which they eventually did in 1995: the World Trade Organ­ization or WTO (www​ .­wto​.­org).

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By the 1980s, however, the United States and Canada began discussions to create a bilateral trade agreement between themselves, to promote economic relations between t­ hese two North American neighbors. Ronald Reagan had in fact proposed a “North American Accord” during his presidential campaign in 1979 and 1980. In subsequent years, the United States and Canada negotiated the details for the Canada-­United States F ­ ree Trade Agreement (CUFTA), which took effect on January 1, 1989. Mexico, which had pursued nationalist economic policies that had successfully improved its economy in the de­cades ­after World War II, soon became interested in establishing its own trade agreement with the United States. Canadian officials, however, favored a tripartite agreement so that all three North American nations would share the same regulations and standards. President George H.W. Bush expressed support for a f­ ree trade zone for the entire Western Hemi­sphere in 1990. Within two years, the United States, Canada, and Mexico had successfully negotiated an agreement that they then forwarded to their respective legislative bodies for approval. ­After much debate and discussion, the North American F ­ ree Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was approved and scheduled to take effect on January 1, 1994.

Debates over the Anticipated Effects of NAFTA Advocates of NAFTA argued that trade liberalization would create economic benefits for all parties involved, drawing on classical economic theories to support their claims. In par­tic­u­lar, they claimed it would provide the greatest benefits for the least developed of the three countries, Mexico. As Mexico’s economy developed through more vigorous trade with its northern neighbors, they argued, Mexican wages would rise, the economy would grow, and the wage gap between the United States and Mexico would diminish, thereby reducing incentives for migration (Acevedo and Espenshade, 1992, p. 734; Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 185; Sears, 2014, p. 170). In fact, some advocates claimed that this was the only way to solve the prob­lem of ongoing illegal immigration (Acevedo and Espenshade, 1992, p. 734). U.S. President Bill Clinton, for example, stated at the signing ceremony of the agreement that NAFTA would provide Mexican workers “more disposable income to buy more American products and t­here w ­ ill be less illegal immigration b­ ecause more Mexicans ­will be able to support their c­ hildren by staying home.” Mexico’s President Carlos Salinas de Gortari expressed the same optimism about an expected decline in immigration. The U.S.-­Mexican Chamber of Commerce similarly championed the enormous impact that f­ ree trade would have in reducing illegal immigration (Manning and Butera, 2000, pp. 184–187). In contrast to the ­free trade advocates, critics of NAFTA raised a number of concerns, both before and a­ fter its approval. U.S. l­ abor ­unions feared that opening up the U.S.-­Mexico border for trade would result in “manufacturing flight”—­the

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movement of industrial plants to lower-­wage regions (e.g., Mexico). This would mean a loss of manufacturing jobs, especially in the nation’s Northeast and Upper Midwest. They also feared that competition from Mexican workers would lower wages and ­labor standards, as manufacturers would choose lower paid and less regulated Mexican workers over more highly paid American workers who enjoy greater benefits and better work conditions. Environmental activists expressed concern about the ecological impact that runaway growth would have along the U.S.-­Mexican border and in both countries, without strict regulations. In terms of immigration, some scholars argued that NAFTA would in fact create greater pressures for migration in Mexico, as peasants from small farms would be displaced by the shift to large-­scale commercial farming and thus be unable to find work (Acevedo and Espenshade, 1992; Sears, 2014, p. 670). This, in fact, has historically been the cause of migration across much of the world for at least the last ­century and a half: Eu­ro­pe­ans, Asians, Latin Americans, and ­others have left their home countries when the pressures of industrialization and modernization have dislocated them from local agricultural and wage l­ abor markets. At least one skeptic also pointed out that “the relatively small size of Mexico’s economy would make it difficult for Mexico to adjust to international shocks” (Sears, 2014, p. 670). Indeed, other scholars pointed out that the hy­po­thet­i­cal projections and models that economists made about the positive impact of NAFTA did not take Mexico’s real-­life po­liti­cal and economic circumstances into account, but rather w ­ ere ­imagined in the abstract. They did not take into consideration demographic changes, for example. While the fertility rate among Mexican ­women had declined significantly in the second half of the 20th ­century, the number of ­women entering the workforce had also increased dramatically. Faulty calculations also failed to estimate accurately the number of new ­people who would be entering the ­labor market. Nor did projections take into consideration other ­factors, such as the devaluation of the Mexican peso, recession, and other ­factors (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 189). ­Until the 1982 peso crisis, Mexico had enjoyed greater economic growth than most of its Latin American neighbors. As economists and ­free trade advocates promoted the benefits of trade liberalization in the 1980s, however, Mexico deci­ded to open up its economy to foreign capital. The de­cade of financial liberalization that Mexico undertook from the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s proved just how volatile and dangerous foreign investment can be for developing nations. Analysts point out that in the years ­after Mexico’s 1982 peso crisis and ­after joining the GATT in 1986, Mexico’s economy had rebounded successfully ­because of a huge influx of foreign “portfolio” investment—­capital invested primarily in financial instruments. Portfolio investments are much more liquid, or easy to withdraw at any time, than foreign direct investment (FDI)—­money invested in tangible ­things like factories, buildings, and businesses. Mexico had become an attractive location for foreign

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portfolio investment when the economies and markets of other countries declined. By the early 1990s, when economic conditions in other countries improved and they began offering more lucrative investment opportunities, however, investors retracted billions of dollars of foreign capital from Mexico (Audley, Papademetriou, Polaski, and Vaughan, 2004, p. 19). This massive capital flight had an enormous financial impact on Mexico and prompted the Mexican government to devalue the peso to stabilize the economy, resulting in a second peso crisis in December 1994, less than one year ­after NAFTA took effect. This crisis reverberated throughout the country and led to more pronounced economic hardship for the average Mexican citizen.

Analy­sis of the Effects of NAFTA Assessing the economic impact of NAFTA can be very complicated, as t­here are vari­ous other simultaneous f­actors and policies that must be taken into consideration. Shortly a­ fter the enactment of the agreement, analysts began to assess and proj­ect short-­term, mid-­term, and long-­term effects. In the short term, many observers expected some job loss in both the United States and Mexico, as some manufacturers relocated U.S. operations to Mexico and as large-­scale commercial farming in Mexico displaced some rural workers. Analysts estimated approximately 1 million jobs lost in the United States from 1994 to 2005 (Sears, 2014, p. 672). Maquiladoras, or assembly plants, had operated in the border region since the mid-1960s. One anticipated benefit of the elimination of trade barriers was an increase in FDI, the capital that foreign corporations inject into a nation. Although Mexico did see its FDI increase dramatically a­ fter 1994, particularly in the expansion of maquiladoras, it did not produce the expected long-­term job growth. On the contrary, the number of ­people employed in maquiladoras actually declined. From 1993 to 2000, for example, although the number of maquiladora plants grew from 2,166 to 3,687, the number of maquiladora employees diminished from 540,900 to 130,680 (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 194). At the same time, however, production and the value of manufactured goods increased significantly in Mexico. This was due primarily to automation. Although the country has been able to produce more goods, technological innovations have reduced the amount of l­abor required to produce ­those goods. The competition from even lower-­wage l­ abor in Asia, specifically China, contributed to manufacturing job loss in Mexico as well—­a f­ actor that proponents of NAFTA had not considered or projected. In 2002, for example, l­abor compensation costs in Mexico ­were $5.59 per hour, in U.S. dollars, compared to only $0.73 per hour in China (Weisbrot et al., 2014, p. 15). By 2009, that difference was still significant: $1.74 per hour in China compared to $6.36 per hour in Mexico. Thus, even ­after considering shipping and other transportation costs, China became a

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much more attractive ­labor market for manufacturers, leaving Mexico to experience job loss. In addition, changes in Mexico’s agricultural sector ­after NAFTA also resulted in significant job loss. Small farmers ­were the hardest hit. Although from 1992 to 2004, Mexico saw an increase of 500,000 jobs in manufacturing, it lost 1.3 million agricultural jobs (Audley et al., 2004, p. 6). Part of this was the result of NAFTA’s agricultural import and export provisions, as well as domestic agriculture policies that Mexico pursued to liberalize the industry, as ­free trade agreements encourage. In 1992, Mexico passed an amendment to its constitution, privatizing ejidos (communal farmlands) as part of broader agrarian reforms. The policy shift eliminated state subsidy payments to eliminate “inefficiencies of small-­farming” and “facilitate the transfer of small subsistence units to large agri-­producers and increase the productivity of Mexican agriculture through economies of scale, mechanized technologies, and access to scarce sources of commercial credit” (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 199). This had negative consequences for rural farming communities, where communal landholders often sold off their plots of land and stopped farming, particularly when it became unprofitable to compete with government-­subsidized agricultural products being imported from the United States. Maize, or corn, which originated in Mexico and is a staple of Mexican cuisine, was the most impor­tant crop affected in this way. Mexican maize production grew rapidly a­ fter 2000, g­ oing from about 17.5 million metric tons in 2000 to more than 20 million in 2002. This was largely produced by an increasing number of large-­ scale commercial farms, however, not small-­scale subsistence farmers (Audley et al., 2004, p. 22). This was also accompanied by a dramatic increase in imported corn, ­going from about 1 million metric tons in 1991 to more than 6 million tons 10 years ­later (Audley et al., 2004, p. 22). Small corn producers thus experienced extremely negative impacts as a result of cheaper American corn flooding into Mexican markets. Many small farmers who saw themselves forced out of agriculture migrated e­ ither to urban areas in Mexico or to the United States. Mexico’s fresh fruit and vegetable sector actually did profit dramatically as a result of f­ ree trade. Within 10 years of NAFTA’s passage, fresh vegetable exports increased by 80 ­percent, and fresh fruit exports grew by 90 ­percent (Audley et al., 2004, p. 63). Particularly with the increase in demand for avocados in the United States, as American consumers developed a taste for it, the avocado industry has fared well. Tomatoes, strawberries, and limes are other crops that have been imported to the United States in high numbers. The increased production of fresh fruits and vegetables in Mexico has had significant environmental impacts, particularly b­ ecause commercial-­scale production of fruit and vegetable crops demands intensive w ­ ater usage. As one analyst noted, “Mexico is one of the most water-­stressed countries in the Western Hemi­sphere”

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Did NAFTA Deliver Its Promised Economic Benefits for Mexico? Economic Mea­sures of NAFTA’s Impact on Mexico Growth of Mexican real gross domestic product (GDP) per person Poverty rate in Mexico (based on consumption mea­sures)

1960–1980 98.7% 1994 52.4%

1994–2014 18.6% 2012 52.3%

Poverty rate in comparison to rest of Latin Amer­i­ca (according to UN Economic Commission on Latin Amer­i­ca)

Mexico 1994 45.1% 2012 37.1% Mexico 2000–2013 0.6% 1994 4.0% Mexico 1994 7.3% 2012 13.0%

Latin Amer­i­ca 1994 46.0% 2012 26.0% Latin Amer­i­ca 2000–2013 2.0% 2013 5.0% China 1994 6.3% 2012 22.8%

Average annual real per capita GDP growth

Mexican unemployment rate Percentage of total U.S. nonpetroleum imports

Source: Weisbrot et al., 2014.

(Audley et al., 2004, p. 63). Mexico’s export of tomatoes, for example, exacerbates the situation. Growing the thousands of tons of tomatoes that Mexico sends to the United States yearly is “the equivalent transfer of approximately 162 million gallons of freshwater . . . ​each year since 1993” (Audley et al., 2004, p. 63). Other environmental impacts have included deforestation, as small farmers have cleared forested areas to grow more crops or as a source of fuel for homes (p. 64). Overall, though the value of agricultural products in Mexico increased ­after NAFTA, the number of ­people employed in Mexico’s agricultural sector actually declined, from 8.1 million in 1993 to 6.8 million in 2001 (Audley et al., 2004, p. 52). As with manufacturing, this has been the result of mechanization and technological efficiencies. The use of commercial farming methods (including extensive use of pesticides and fertilizer) has yielded greater crops while relying less on manual l­ abor.

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The introduction of foreign retailers, ser­vice providers, and other companies into Mexico also had detrimental effects on small business ­owners and mid-­level merchants. Just as “big box” stores like Walmart and Home Depot seem to drive small store ­owners in the United States out of business b­ ecause they cannot compete with the lower prices of high-­volume retailers, business o­ wners in Mexico have been squeezed out of local markets (Sears, 2014, p. 673). Fi­nally, Mexican wages actually declined a­ fter the signing of NAFTA, from a daily minimum wage of $4.62 (in U.S. dollars) in 1993, down to $3.91 (U.S. dollars) in 2000 (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 194). ­These realities exacerbated the U.S.-­Mexico wage gap rather than reducing it. As observers have noted, the U.S.-­ Mexico wage gap in the mid-1990s was about 10 to 1. Forecasting annual increases in Mexican wages of about 3 ­percent and in U.S. wages of about 1 ­percent, scholars note that it would take approximately 100 years to eliminate t­hese disparities (Zamora, 2014, p. 32). Clearly, NAFTA did not improve this situation as champions had predicted. Neither did it improve the gap in gross domestic product (GDP) per capita. In 1993, Mexico had a 34.9 ­percent gap in GDP per capita compared to the United States. By 2013, that figure had dropped only to 31.7 ­percent (Zamora, 2014, p. 35).

Post-­NAFTA Migration Both U.S. and Mexican presidents boasted that NAFTA’s economic benefits would reduce Mexican immigration to its northern neighbor, and used this argument as the basis for getting legislative support for the agreement. Yet, significantly, NAFTA did not address immigration policy at all, as the creators simply assumed that immigration would decline on its own. Proponents did not take into consideration existing U.S. immigration policies that might encourage migration of ­family members or demographic or social conditions in Mexico that might influence migration ­after NAFTA. Instead, the United States increased its regulation of the U.S.-­Mexico border. In the mid-1990s, the federal government supported a “prevention through deterrence” strategy to discourage illegal immigration. The U.S. Border Patrol initiated several campaigns at the southern border: Operation Blockade (1993, renamed Operation Hold-­the-­Line), Operation Gatekeeper (1994), Operation Safeguard (1995), and Operation Rio Grande (1997). ­These initiatives ­were meant to reduce illegal immigration by putting more Border Patrol agents in place to stop potential unauthorized entrants (Andreas, 1999). Nevertheless, some scholars pointed out the serious contradiction between increasing economic integration between the two nations—­the opening of borders for capital and goods—­and more restrictive immigration policies and tighter border control for the movement of p­ eople (Duran and Massey, 2003; Delgado Wise

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and Ortega, 2006; Andreas, 1999; Viano, 2010). Increased capital mobility (or open borders for trade and investment) naturally produces increased ­human mobility (migration), they argued. Liberal trade policies accompanied by restrictive immigration policies, they noted, resulted in the severe immigration crisis the United States witnessed by the late 1990s and early 2000s (Andreas, 1999; Durand and Massey, 2003). In 1996, t­ here ­were about 2.5 million undocumented Mexican immigrants in the United States. By 2006, that number had grown to 8 million (Sears, 2014, p. 670). At the U.S.-­Mexico border, the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS), the pre­de­ces­sor to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, reported a near-­doubling in apprehensions, from 700,000 in 1994 to more than 1.3 million in 2001 (Audley et al., 2004, p. 48). As opponents of NAFTA had predicted, within five years a­ fter its passage, “NAFTA ha[d] not generated enough jobs at sufficient wages to significantly deter the ever-­expanding pool of Mexican mi­grant workers from seeking employment in the United States” (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 204). Even several years l­ater, policy analysts observed that “NAFTA has not stemmed the flow of poor Mexicans into the United States in search of jobs” (Audley et al., 2004, p. 7). During the presidency of Mexico’s Vicente Fox, for example, from 2000 to 2006, approximately 575,000 Mexicans left the country each year, totaling a population loss of more than 3 million p­ eople (Zamora, 2014, p. 37). Immigration became pronounced during Fox’s time in office, and he became a vocal advocate of some sort of guest worker program or immigration reforms that would allow Mexicans to migrate to the United States legally. As a result of Mexico’s post-­NAFTA economic conditions, migration has continued to be an impor­tant option for many Mexican workers. In par­tic­u­lar, migration from Mexico’s rural areas increased by 452 ­percent from 1980 to 2002, with that increase accelerating ­after 1994 (Audley et al., 2004, p. 51). One scholar cites United Nations figures that show “the annual average number of Mexicans who left their country to establish residence in the United States in 2004 was estimated at 400,000 . . . ​mak[ing] Mexico the main source of migration in the world” (Delgado Wise and Ortega, 2006, p. 36). Not every­one agrees on the c­ auses of this migration. Some policy analysts claim that other economic and social ­factors in Mexico, in­de­pen­dent of trade policy, have led to continuing h­ uman mobility (Hornbeck, 2005, p. 5; Audley et al., 2004, p. 52). Yet, as has been true throughout the 20th ­century, Mexican migration to the United States has also been fueled by American ­labor market demands. From 1994 to 2000, the United States saw its unemployment rate decline from 6.1 to 4.0 ­percent, its lowest rate since 1969 (Audley et al., 2004, p. 50). As scholars point out, when unemployment rates are low, demand for immigrant l­ abor tends to be higher, especially in certain sectors. Thus, Mexican immigrants (and to a lesser extent Central

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The Zapatista Movement On the day that NAFTA went into effect (January  1, 1994), indigenous ­people in the state of Chiapas, Mexico, took over four villages and announced themselves as the Ejercito Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (the Zapatista National Liberation Army or EZLN). Named in honor of the Mexican Revolution hero, Emiliano Zapata, the Zapatistas declared their adamant opposition to the f­ ree trade agreement and to President Carlos Salinas de Gortari’s 1992 land reform, both of which would have a devastating impact on indigenous ­people, their land rights, and their economic survival. Chiapas has a primarily Mayan population and is one of the country’s poorest states, with high rates of poverty, illiteracy, and infant mortality. Its Mayan ­people trace their ancestry in the region back hundreds of years. Yet Chiapas also has enormous wealth in its natu­ral resources: oil, gas, and fertile land. The state’s farmlands ­were controlled by an elite few families who owned coffee plantations and c­ attle ranches and depended on indigenous ­labor. The ranchers and plantation ­owners have maintained control of local and state politics through the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI, the Institutional Revolutionary Party) ever since the end of the Mexican Revolution. The Zapatistas called for protection of the rights of the indigenous population and an end to their exploitation by local elites and a corrupt po­liti­cal system. The Zapatistas are believed to have been or­ga­nized by outside leaders, including Subcomandante Marcos, a university professor, and o­ thers connected to the country’s student movements in the 1960s and 1970s. The indigenous population has also been influenced by the teachings of liberation theology, religious doctrine that emphasizes social justice and the rights of the poor. The EZLN received international support from po­liti­cally progressive allies in the United States and elsewhere, including some who traveled to Chiapas to join the movement. Although President Salinas initially responded to the EZLN with brutal military repression in 1994, public outcry soon forced him to negotiate with the rebels. Since then, the EZLN has gotten some of its demands met and has been able to successfully establish autonomous indigenous communities in Chiapas, although they still face threats of military and paramilitary vio­lence.

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and South Americans) have continued to provide the majority of ­labor in American agriculture, food pro­cessing, and meat pro­cessing. The demand for Mexican immigrant l­abor, however, has not been matched by social tolerance among Americans. The enormous influx of Mexican mi­grants from the mid-1990s ­until the global economic crisis of 2008 created enormous backlash against immigration, particularly illegal immigration, in the United States. Po­liti­ cal candidates campaigned on the promise to address the illegal immigration prob­ lem and tighten the nation’s borders. Nonetheless, Mexican migration to the United States has become essential to Mexico’s economy. Many Mexican families, particularly in rural areas, have becoming increasingly dependent on the remittances, or financial support, that immigrant ­family members in the United States and elsewhere send back home (Manning and Butera, 2000, p. 199; Audley et al., 2004, p. 7). In 1993, remittances from the United States to Mexico w ­ ere estimated at $5 billion. In 2004, they w ­ ere estimated at approximately $16.6 billion. By 2006, they had peaked at $26 billion (Zamora, 2014, p. 36; Delgado Wise and Ortega, 2006, p. 36). Thus, while NAFTA has promoted and highlighted the economic interdependence and integration of the United States and Mexico, through capital, manufacturing, and agricultural production, it has also revealed the mobility of workers and their earnings as a necessary ele­ment of that integration.

Conclusion Since the passage of NAFTA, the United States has pursued f­ ree trade agreements with vari­ous other countries around the world. It ­adopted the Central American ­Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA) in 2005, and has established similar treaties with Colombia, Panama, and Peru. In 2016, President Barack Obama failed to get approval for the Trans-­Pacific Partnership (TPP), which would have formalized stronger trade relations with vari­ous Asian countries. Many p­ eople around the globe t­oday, from both the left and right of the po­liti­cal spectrum, have become quite critical of ­free trade policies. While it is clear that some corporations, investors, and government leaders have profited enormously from ­free trade deals, most average citizens do not seem to feel that they have benefited significantly. As the United States and other nations continue to expand their trade relations, ordinary citizens are watching with a critical eye to gauge the effects of such policies. Certainly, NAFTA had a variety of impacts that, together with other domestic and international ­factors, contributed to an enormous migration of ­people from Mexico to the United States. The large population of undocumented Mexican immigrants in the United States t­ oday, including ­those who came as c­ hildren, is evidence of the unanticipated and unfavorable consequences that ­free trade agreements can have when developing nations partner with more power­ful industrialized ones.

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Biographies of Notable Figures Subcomandante Marcos (1957–) Although for years his identity was unknown, Mexican government officials claim that the spokesman of the Ejercito Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (the EZLN) is a former university professor, Rafael Sebastian Guillen Vicente. He became famous as “Subcomandante Marcos,” the masked leader of a movement of indigenous ­people in the state of Chiapas’s Lacandon Jungle in southern Mexico. Marcos came to the public eye on January 1, 1994, when he, along with fellow rebels, announced their movement against NAFTA and “globalization” or global capitalism more broadly. The EZLN also declared its opposition to President Carlos Salinas de Gortari’s regressive land reforms that would dispossess indigenous p­ eople of their communal farmlands. Marcos was born in 1957 in Tampico, Tamaulipas, Mexico. The son of schoolteachers, he lived a fairly comfortable life. He attended a Jesuit high school and went to college at the UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico), Mexico’s most prestigious university. He also pursued gradu­ate studies and taught at the Autonoma Universidad de Mexico. Marcos was influenced by and studied leftist po­liti­cal ideology, including the works of Karl Marx and Mao Tse-­Tung. In the 1980s, he joined a leftist guerilla group called the Frente Liberación Nacional (FLN), which was created in the late 1960s and operated in northern Mexico. In 1974, the FLN relocated to the state of Chiapas and began working with indigenous Mayan ­people t­ here. In 1983, it joined with indigenous activists and renamed itself the EZLN. Marcos came to represent the leadership of the EZLN when he became its spokesperson in January 1994. Although all Zapatistas conceal their identities with masks, Marcos’s masked face, along with a pipe, became the iconic symbol of the rebel movement. In 1995, Marcos was charged with sedition, terrorism, and illegal firearms possession. ­After 20 years, a Mexican federal judge announced that ­those charges and the accompanying arrest order had expired. In late May 2014, Marcos retired his identity and renamed himself Subcomandante Galeano, in honor of Jose Luis Solís López Galeano, a schoolteacher killed by a paramilitary group earlier that month. He retained his leadership position with the Zapatistas, and is currently living freely.

Vicente Fox Quesada (1942–) Mexican President Vicente Fox Quesada was born in Mexico City in 1942, but spent his childhood on an 11,000 acre ranch in Guanajuato, Mexico. His f­ ather, a man of Irish descent, and his ­mother, born in Spain, farmed the land. Fox was the second

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of nine ­children. ­After his secondary education, he devoted himself to the study of business, first at the Iberoamerican University in Mexico City and then at Harvard Business School. Fox worked for many years for Coca-­Cola Mexico (the Mexican subsidiary), working his way up from route supervisor to eventually become the com­pany’s president. In the 1980s, he entered politics, joining the Partido de Acción Nacional (PAN, National Action Party). He was prompted by his frustration with the country’s po­liti­ cal corruption, particularly within the country’s long-­standing, dominant Partido Revolucionario Institucional (Institutional Revolutionary Party) or PRI. In fact, many Mexicans had become increasingly impatient with the PRI’s one-­party rule and widespread corruption. Fox ran for governor of Guanajuato as a PAN candidate in 1991 but was defeated. On his second attempt in 1995, he won the election. In 2000, Fox ran for president of Mexico, promising to end po­liti­cal corruption and improve the economy. He won, ending 71 years of PRI domination in national politics. Many observers anticipated that this signaled the end of business as usual and an end to the PRI’s stranglehold on the country’s po­liti­cal institutions. Fox faced numerous challenges immediately ­after entering office. Mexico’s economy continued to strug­gle six years a­ fter the implementation of NAFTA. The country’s participation in the hemi­sphere’s drug trade had accelerated, especially ­after successful U.S. efforts to crush the cocaine industry in Colombia had redirected its distribution to Mexico. Also, the Zapatista rebellion in Chiapas maintained its vocal opposition to government policies, including f­ ree trade. In addition, ongoing unauthorized migration of Mexicans to the United States continued to strain relations between the two nations. Fox was particularly vocal in promoting cooperation with the U.S. government and with American President George W. Bush. In addressing the ongoing illegal immigration crisis, he supported President Bush’s proposal for an expanded guest worker program. He also publicly advocated for the rights of Mexican immigrants, regardless of ­legal status, in the United States. Domestically, Fox faced the crisis of small Mexican farmers who w ­ ere protesting trade and agricultural policies that w ­ ere squeezing them out of their livelihoods and contributing to ongoing outflow of workers across the U.S.-­Mexico border. ­Because Fox’s party, the PAN, did not have a majority in the Mexican Congress, Fox found it hard to gain widespread support for his policies and get his proposed legislative reforms passed. Like all Mexican presidents, he was limited to a single six-­year term, serving in the office ­until 2006. ­After his time in office, Fox toured Mexico and the United States promoting his autobiography, Revolution of Hope: The Life, Faith, and Dreams of a Mexican President, and a think tank that he established, Centro Fox. Despite having come to office on a campaign to end po­liti­cal corruption, Fox’s presidency was ultimately

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marred by such charges and a Mexican congressional investigation ­after he left office. Critics accused him and his wife of taking gifts of cars from businessmen and of lavishly remodeling their ranch in Guanajuato, allegedly through ill-­gotten means. Fox refuted the charges, claiming that his successor, President Felipe Calderon, was simply trying to discredit his legacy and reassert the dominance of the PRI. Although many Mexicans continued to view Fox favorably, some became disillusioned and protested his alleged corruption. Most recently, Fox has become known for his rather vocal opposition to U.S. President Donald Trump’s proposals that the United States ­will build a wall between itself and Mexico and that the Mexican government ­will pay for it.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Excerpt from the North American ­Free Trade Agreement, 1993 The North American ­Free Trade Agreement aimed to eliminate barriers to trade between the United States, Canada, and Mexico. It and other ­free trade agreements are considered trade “liberalization,” as opposed to “protectionism” or “nationalist” economic policies that impose high tariffs, or taxes on the importation of foreign goods. NAFTA’s passage created a ­great deal of controversy and debate, as lawmakers and the American public had divided opinions about what effect the agreement would have on Americans. ­Labor ­unions in par­tic­u­lar believed it would mean a loss of high-­paying manufacturing jobs to Mexico, while environmentalists expressed concern over the impact that rapid industrialization would have in Mexico and along the U.S.-­Mexico border. Since 1994, the United States has negotiated several other ­free trade deals with other countries with which it hopes to expand business. The most recent, the Trans-­Pacific Partnership, which was aimed at giving the United States an advantage over China in trading with countries in Asia, met with defeat.

Preamble The Government of Canada, the Government of the United Mexican States and the Government of the United States of Amer­i­ca, resolved to: Strengthen the special bonds of friendship and cooperation among their nations; Contribute to the harmonious development and expansion of world trade and provide a catalyst to broader international cooperation; Create an expanded and secure market for the goods and ser­vices produced in their territories;

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Reduce distortions to trade; Establish clear and mutually advantageous rules governing their trade; Ensure a predictable commercial framework for business planning and investment; Build on their respective rights and obligations u­ nder the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade and other multilateral and bilateral instruments of cooperation; Enhance the competitiveness of their firms in global markets; Foster creativity and innovation, and promote trade in goods and ser­vices that are the subject of intellectual property rights; Create new employment opportunities and improve working conditions and living standards in their respective territories; Undertake each of the preceding in a manner consistent with environmental protection and conservation; Preserve their flexibility to safeguard the public welfare; Promote sustainable development; Strengthen the development and enforcement of environmental laws and regulations; and Protect, enhance and enforce basic workers’ rights; Have agreed as follows: Part One: General Part Chapter One: Objectives Article 101: Establishment of the F ­ ree Trade Area The Parties to this Agreement, consistent with Article XXIV of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, hereby establish a f­ ree trade area. Article 102: Objectives 1. The objectives of this Agreement, as elaborated more specifically through its princi­ples and rules, including national treatment, most-­favored-­nation treatment and transparency, are to: (a) eliminate barriers to trade in, and facilitate the cross-­border movement of, goods and ser­vices between the territories of the Parties; (b) promote conditions of fair competition in the ­free trade area; (c) increase substantially investment opportunities in the territories of the Parties; (d) provide adequate and effective protection and enforcement of intellectual property rights in each Party’s territory;

North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 1994 | 823

(e) create effective procedures for the implementation and application of this Agreement, for its joint administration and for the resolution of disputes; and (f) establish a framework for further trilateral, regional and multilateral cooperation to expand and enhance the benefits of this Agreement. 2. The Parties ­shall interpret and apply the provisions of this Agreement in the light of its objectives set out in paragraph 1 and in accordance with applicable rules of international law. Source: NAFTA Secretariat. Retrieved from https://­www​.­nafta​-­sec​-­alena​.­org​/­Home​/­Texts​ -­of​-­the​-­Agreement​/­North​-­American​-­Free​-­Trade​-­Agreement​?­mvid​=­2

See also: Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st ­Century; Immigration Reform and Control Act

Further Reading Acevedo, Dolores, and Thomas J. Espenshade. 1992. “Implications of a North American ­Free Trade Agreement for Mexican Migration into the United States.” Population and Development Review 18 (4): 729–744. Andreas, P. 1999. “The Escalation of US Immigration Control in the Post-­NAFTA Era.” Po­liti­cal Science Quarterly 113 (4): 591–615. Audley, John J., Demetrios Papademetriou, Sandra Polaski, and Scott Vaughan. 2004. NAFTA’s Promise and Real­ity: Lessons from Mexico for the Hemi­sphere. Washington, DC: Car­ne­gie Endowment for International Peace. Delgado Wise, Raúl, and Breña Mariana Ortega. 2006. “Migration and Imperialism: The Mexican Workforce in the Context of NAFTA.” Latin American Perspectives 33 (2): 33–45. Durand, J., and D. Massey. 2003. “The Costs of Contradiction: US Border Policy, 1986–2000.” Latino Studies 1 (2): 233–252. Hornbeck, J. F. (2005). NAFTA at Ten: Lesson from Recent Studies. Washington, DC, Library of Congress, Congressional Research Ser­vice. Manning, R. D., and A. C. Butera. 2000. “Global Restructuring and U. S.-­Mexican Economic Integration: Rhe­toric and Real­ity of Mexican Immigration Five Years ­After NAFTA.” American Studies 41 (2/3): 183–209. Sears, Natalie. 2014. “NAFTA and Its Twenty-­Year Effect on Immigration.” Law and Business Review of the Amer­i­cas 20 (4): 669–676. Viano, Emilio C. 2010. “American Dilemma: The Flow of Trade Versus the Flow of P ­ eople in NAFTA.” Denning Law Journal 22: 87–115. Weisbrot, Mark, Stephan Lefebvre, and Joseph Sammut. 2014, February. “Did NAFTA Help Mexico? An Assessment ­after 20 Years.” CEPR Reports and Issue Briefs. Washington, DC: Center for Economic and Policy Research (CEPR). Wise, Carol, ed. 1998. The Post-­NAFTA Po­liti­cal Economy: Mexico and the Western Hemi­ sphere. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press.

824 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 Womack, John, ed. 1999. Rebellion in Chiapas: An Historical Reader. New York: New Press. World Trade Organ­ization. n.d. “The GATT Years: From Havana to Marrakesh.” Retrieved from https://­www​.­wto​.­org​/­english​/­thewto​_­e​/­whatis​_­e​/­tif​_­e​/­fact4​_­e​.­htm Zamora, R. G. 2014. “Crisis, NAFTA, and International Migration.” International Journal of Po­liti­cal Economy 43 (2): 27–46.

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 Justin D. García

Chronology 1986, November

On November  4, California voters approve Proposition 63 by a 3-­to-1 margin; this mea­sure declares En­glish to be the state’s official language. President Ronald Reagan signs the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) into law on November 6. The law offers amnesty to undocumented immigrants and establishes penalties for employers who hire undocumented workers.

1987–1989

The number of Border Patrol apprehensions along the U.S.-­Mexico border decreases annually following implementation of IRCA.

1990–1995

Illegal immigration to California begins to increase substantially, even while the state enters a deep economic recession and a period of rising unemployment.

1990

Anti-­illegal immigration activists stage monthly “light up the border” protests along the San Diego-­Tijuana border, sparking counter-­protests.

1990, November

Pete Wilson, California’s Republican U.S. Senator, is elected the state’s 36th governor.

1993

Amid low public approval ratings, Governor Wilson abandons his moderate views on immigration and publicly adopts a hardline stance ­toward undocumented immigrants.

1994, October

Approximately 70,000 protestors march against Proposition 187 in Los Angeles on October 16. On October 18, California State Senator William Craven, a Republican, suggests that “all persons of Hispanic descent” be required to carry special identification to verify l­egal residency in the United States.

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 825

1994, November

California voters approve Proposition 187 by a 59-­to-41 ­percent margin on November 8; Governor Wilson is also reelected, receiving 55 ­percent of the vote. Three days ­after the vote, on November 11, federal judge Matthew Byrne issues a temporary injunction against Proposition 187, blocking implementation of the referendum.

1996, February

A Proposition 187-­like referendum, nicknamed “SOS-2,” fails to qualify for the California ballot due to insufficient signatures before the electoral deadline.

1996, July

Supporters and opponents of Proposition 187 stage counter-­protests against one another along Wilshire Boulevard in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Westwood on July 4. Protests turn violent as demonstrators insult, punch, kick, and hit one another with signs, b­ ottles, and flagpoles. Approximately 150 law enforcement agents restore order.

1996, Shortly before the presidential election, President Bill Clinton signs September into law the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA), which increases the federal government’s deportation powers. 1996, November

In Orange County, a Republican stronghold, Demo­cratic challenger Loretta Sanchez defeats Republican incumbent and Proposition 187 supporter, Robert Dornan. The upset demonstrates the growing strength of the Latino vote in California.

1998, March

U.S. District Judge Mariana Pfaelzer rules most of Proposition 187 unconstitutional, allowing only the provisions regarding fraudulent identification to stand.

1998, November

Demo­cratic candidate Gray Davis, an opponent of Proposition 187, is elected the 37th governor of California.

1999

In July, Governor Davis withdraws the State of California’s appeal of Judge Pfaelzer’s ruling that Proposition 187 is unconstitutional, thus terminating the referendum.

2004

In April, an immigration proposal that contains several provisions from the 1994 referendum, nicknamed “Son of 187,” fails to qualify for the California ballot due to lack of sufficient signatures.

2017, March

In an interview with the Los Angeles Times published on March 23, former Governor Wilson reiterates his support for Proposition 187 and denies that anti-­Latino sentiments influenced his views on illegal immigration.

826 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

Narrative The introduction of Proposition 187, a 1994 California voter referendum that sought to crack down on undocumented immigrants living in the Golden State, was one of the most significant events in Latino history and the history of U.S. immigration policy. Specifically, Proposition 187 attempted to deter illegal immigration and punish undocumented mi­grants already living in the state by denying them access to public education and medical care, among other provisions. California voters approved the controversial mea­sure by a margin of 59 to 41 ­percent; however, a federal court quickly blocked its implementation, and Proposition 187 never actually went into effect. Nevertheless, the reverberations of Proposition 187 w ­ ere felt nationwide, and the debate surrounding this controversial mea­ sure continues to affect immigration policy discourse to the pres­ ent day, despite the fact that Proposition 187 was ruled unconstitutional  and never officially became C ­ alifornia law. In fact, other state laws, such as Arizona’s SB 1070  in 2010 and Alabama’s HB 56  in 2011, copied some of the provisions of Proposition 187 even two de­cades ­later. The 1994 ballot referendum, nicknamed the “Save Our State” initiative by its proponents, foreshadowed the rise of grassroots-­ based immigration activism on both sides of the nation’s divisive immigration debate that has p­ ersisted well into the 21st ­century.  Furthermore, the contentious nature of Proposition 187 rekindled Mexican American (and, more broadly, Latino) social activism. The introduction of the proposition bolstered Latino Students rally during a demonstration against po­liti­cal participation through Proposition 187 in Los Angeles, California, 1994. higher voter registration, The bill called for screening suspected undocumented immigrants attempting to use increased voting engagement, and California’s public resources, such as schools and inspiration of a larger number of healthcare services. (Getty Images)

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 827

Latino candidates to run for elected public office at the local, state, and federal levels (Burt, 2007; Schneider, 1996).

Background Illegal immigration has been a controversial topic in American society ever since the late 1910s and early 1920s, when the nation established strict immigration control policies designed to limit the annual number of foreigners allowed to legally ­settle in the United States (Schrag, 2010, pp. 117–122). The U.S. Border Patrol was established in May 1924, in part to curtail the unauthorized entry of foreigners into the United States who attempted to enter the nation from Canada and Mexico. Although undocumented immigrants come from all six continents, national concern over illegal immigration has long focused primarily on that from Mexico. This is due to the facts that Mexico shares a 1,954-­mile-­long border with the United States, the U.S.-­Mexico border is the most frequently crossed international border in the world t­oday, and Mexicans have historically constituted the single largest national group of undocumented immigrants residing in the United States. Thus, illegal immigration is often perceived by many Americans, if simplistically and erroneously, as solely a “Mexican prob­lem.” Although illegal immigration from many countries existed in earlier de­cades, it began to rise sharply in the mid-­to late 1970s, particularly from Mexico, as the value of the Mexican peso declined and Mexico faced rising unemployment and a deepening economic crisis. By the mid-1980s, illegal immigration had emerged as a major po­liti­cal concern; both the Republican and Demo­cratic parties put forth legislative proposals in Congress that attempted to resolve the issue. This ultimately culminated in the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA), which was signed into law by President Ronald Reagan on November 6, 1986. IRCA contained two major provisions regarding illegal immigration. First, it offered amnesty, an official governmental ­pardon for a past offense, to undocumented immigrants who could prove that they had lived and worked in the United States since 1982. ­Those who w ­ ere eligible w ­ ere given the opportunity to apply for l­egal residency, an official classification known as permanent alien resident status (permanent alien residents are sometimes referred to as “green card” holders; a green card is a permanent resident’s official work permit that allows the person to seek employment in the United States). IRCA’s second major provision made it a federal crime for employers to hire undocumented immigrants and established criminal penalties, in the form of fines, for employers who ­were found to be violating this policy. IRCA represented a prominent example of bipartisan congressional legislation, as it was sponsored by Republican Senator Alan Simpson of Wyoming and Demo­ cratic Representative Romano Mazzoli of Kentucky. The rationale for IRCA’s

828 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

employer sanctions provision given by the law’s supporters was the idea that the economic opportunity to find work and earn a living in the United States serves as the primary ­factor that attracts illegal immigration from Mexico and other nations; once prospective undocumented immigrants learned that they would be unable to obtain work in the United States, it was believed, they would effectively be deterred from entering the country and illegal immigration would decline substantially. ­Under IRCA’s amnesty provision, 2.9 million undocumented immigrants obtained permanent residency (“A Reagan Legacy,” 2010), approximately three-­quarters of whom ­were Mexican nationals. During the first few years ­after its enactment, IRCA initially showed some success, as the number of Border Patrol arrests along the U.S.-­ Mexico border decreased from 1987 through 1989 (McDonnell, 1989). However, by the early 1990s, illegal immigration began to increase, with approximately 40  ­percent of undocumented immigrants settling in California (Kadetsky, 1994, p. 416). Furthermore, lax enforcement of IRCA’s employer sanctions rendered the law largely in­effec­tive in halting the hiring of undocumented workers. At the same time, California experienced a sharp economic downturn during the early to mid-1990s. This was largely the result of the federal government’s reduced levels of defense spending following the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the subsequent end of the Cold War, which devastated California’s aerospace industry (Kadetsky, 1994, pp.  416–418). Additionally, the entire nation entered its worst economic recession since the G ­ reat Depression amid a period of rising unemployment during the early 1990s. Faced with their own harsh economic realities, many California citizens began to view undocumented immigrants as competition for employment in a shrinking job market and as a drain on taxpayer-­ funded public ser­vices such as education and health care. During the previous de­cade, Californians had already expressed their unease with the state’s changing demographics by voting overwhelmingly to approve Proposition 63, a referendum declaring En­glish the state’s official language, in 1986 (Chambers, 1986). In 1990, anti-­illegal immigration activists in Southern California began holding nocturnal monthly protests, called “Light Up the Border” campaigns. ­These protests took place along the U.S.-­Mexico border in San Diego, and entailed activists positioning their vehicles to shine their high beams ­toward Mexico in order to expose immigrants attempting to cross into the United States (McDonnell, 1990). By the summer of 1993, California’s Republican Governor Pete Wilson had emerged as a national spokesman against illegal immigration. Wilson had been a U.S. senator in the 1980s, and held moderate views on immigration policy. In the 1990s, though, Wilson expressed his intense opposition to undocumented immigrants in a famous speech in which he declared, “We do not exaggerate when we say that illegal immigration is eroding the quality of life for l­egal residents of California” (Murr, 1993). His position was based largely on the grounds that undocumented

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 829

immigrants posed an economic burden on the state through the $2.3 billion the state spent annually on their medical treatment and K-12 public education for undocumented ­children. Facing a tough gubernatorial reelection in 1994, Wilson’s rhe­ toric made illegal immigration a central focus of the campaign.

1994 Ballot Referendum A referendum is a proposed law that is voted on not by elected politicians, but directly by the voters themselves. U ­ nder California law, a referendum must first obtain a designated number of signatures to appear on the ballot in an upcoming election. A referendum that has qualified to appear on the California ballot then becomes law if the majority of voters approve it. California State Assemblyman Richard Mountjoy, a conservative Republican from suburban Los Angeles and an out­spoken critic of illegal immigration, took the leading role in crafting the text of Proposition 187. He worked to ensure that the proposed referendum acquired enough signatures of registered voters to appear on the 1994 ballot (Oltman, 2011–2012). Prior to authoring Proposition 187, Mountjoy had introduced bills in the California legislature that called for denying driver’s licenses to undocumented immigrants and denying U.S. citizenship to c­ hildren born in the United States to undocumented parents. Mountjoy was assisted in his efforts to get Proposition 187 passed by the former commissioner of the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice (INS) Alan Nelson, former director of the INS Western Regional Office Harold Ezell, former Chief U.S. Border Patrol Agent Bill King, and former U.S. attorney Pete Nunez (Oltman, 2011–2012). Vari­ous grassroots immigration control organ­izations in California, such as Glenn Spencer’s Voice of Citizens Together (VCT) and Barbara Coe’s California Co­ali­tion for Immigration Reform (CCIR), also worked tirelessly to bolster public support for Proposition 187. The text of Proposition 187 outlined several procedures for cracking down on illegal immigration. It called for undocumented ­children to be prohibited from attending public schools within the state, and required teachers and school administrators to verify the citizenship or immigration status of students. The referendum also called for undocumented immigrants to be excluded from nonemergency medical treatment at public hospitals, with medical administrators mandated to verify patients’ l­ egal status. Proposition 187 also sought to increase penalties for the manufacturing, distribution, and use of fraudulent identity documents (such as fake Social Security cards and birth certificates) and encouraged U.S. citizens and ­legal residents alike to report persons whom they “reasonably suspected” w ­ ere residing in California illegally to federal immigration authorities. The mea­sure also required law enforcement officers to report undocumented immigrants to the Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice, while also demanding that other public employees report

Illegal Immigration throughout U.S. History For most of its history, the United States has maintained a fairly open immigration policy. The first major restrictive policy was instituted in 1882, when President Chester  A. Arthur approved the Chinese Exclusion Act, which barred Chinese nationals from settling in the nation. In 1917, the U.S. government enacted the “Asiatic Barred Zone,” which effectively cut off nearly all immigration from most Asian socie­ties. Furthermore, national-­origin immigration quotas implemented in 1921 and 1924 severely limited the number of immigrants permitted to enter the United States from Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean nations. At the time, the large numbers of Asian and Southern and Eastern Eu­ro­pean mi­grants w ­ ere characterized by both Republican and Demo­ cratic politicians and the media as “racially inferior” and alleged “threats” to U.S. identity as an Anglo-­Protestant society. The federal government established the U.S. Border Patrol in 1924 to help enforce the nation’s newly restrictive immigration and Prohibition policies along the northern and southern borders. During the Border Patrol’s first few years of operation, agents primarily focused on preventing the entry of Chinese and Italian mi­grants from Mexico and Canada, as well as preventing the smuggling of alcohol. Not u­ ntil the 1930s did the Border Patrol devote most of its attention to stemming the flow of Mexicans entering the country. From 1942 through 1964, the United States maintained an agricultural guest worker program with Mexico known as the Bracero Program, through which U.S. employers recruited Mexican mi­grants as temporary contract workers for a specified length of time while providing the mi­grant laborers with food and shelter. However, immigration historians attribute a large-­ scale rise in illegal immigration from Mexico in the mid-­to late 20th ­century and early 21st ­century to the Bracero Program. U.S. employers found it much more profitable to hire undocumented immigrants who lacked ­legal protection, could be paid lower wages, and to whom employers had no obligation to provide housing or the barest living conditions. Although illegal immigration is often portrayed in the American media and U.S. po­liti­cal discourse as stemming almost entirely from Mexico and Latin Amer­i­ca, undocumented immigrants come from many nations—­including Canada, Ireland, Australia, the United Kingdom, Italy, Germany, and vari­ous Asian, M ­ iddle Eastern, African, and Ca­rib­bean nations. Approximately half of all undocumented immigrants residing in the United States ­today did not illegally cross the Mexican or Canadian border, but rather entered the nation legally as ­either students or tourists and simply remained in the nation a­ fter their visas expired.

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 831

to proper authorities the names and addresses of individuals who ­were unable to provide proof of l­egal immigration status and residency. Governor Wilson ­wholeheartedly embraced Proposition 187 and immediately made his support for the referendum the centerpiece of his 1994 reelection campaign. Wilson and other supporters of Proposition 187 argued in f­ avor of the mea­ sure by claiming that it would save the state billions of dollars in revenue by removing undocumented mi­grants from schools and hospitals, relieving overcrowding in the pro­cess. Proponents further argued that providing taxpayer-­funded social ser­vices to undocumented immigrants served as an alleged “magnetic lure” that encouraged and rewarded illegal immigration. ­Those favoring Proposition 187 also frequently framed their support in terms of “deserving” and “undeserving” members of society by arguing that during tough economic times, U.S. citizens and ­legal immigrants should receive priority for education, medical care, and other publicly funded social ser­vices (Jacobson, 2008, pp. 71–73). Certain anti-­immigrant and nativist grassroots organ­izations, however, also expressed support for Proposition 187 in more stark racial and demographic terms. Both Voice of Citizens Together and the California Co­ali­tion for Immigration Reform, for example, promoted conspiracy theories of an alleged Reconquista (reconquest). ­These theories claimed that the Mexican government was purposefully sending undocumented Mexican immigrants to the Southwest border states in order to take back the territory it had ceded to the United States at the conclusion of the U.S.-­Mexico War in 1848. Glenn Spencer, founder of Voice of Citizens Together, ominously declared, “It boils down to this: Do we want to retain control of the Southwest more than the Mexicans want to take it from us?” Ron Prince, a high-­profile Proposition 187 supporter, told a crowd at a rally in f­ avor of the referendum, “You are the posse, and S.O.S. [in reference to Proposition 187, the “Save Our State” initiative] is the rope” (Chavez, 1998, pp. 192–193). Barbara Coe, one of Proposition 187’s most ardent supporters and the founder of the California Co­ali­ tion for Immigration Reform, openly admitted that her staunch opposition to Mexican illegal immigration stemmed from the cultural anxiety she experienced during a trip to an Orange County, California, public office in 1991. Speaking of this experience, Coe acknowledged, “I walked into this monstrous room full of ­people, babies, and ­little ­children all over the place, and I realized nobody was speaking En­glish. I was overwhelmed with this feeling: ‘Where am I? What’s happened ­here?’ ” (Woo, 2013). However, the most explicit expression of support for Proposition 187 as motivated by anti-­Mexican fears came from Linda Hayes, a media director for the referendum, who argued in an op-ed piece published in the October 15, 1994, edition of the New York Times that the growing numbers of Spanish-­ speaking Mexican Americans in California might maintain allegiance to Mexico rather than the United States. Hayes ominously speculated that California’s Mexican

832 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

American population might vote to establish Spanish as the state’s official language and seek to return California to Mexican rule (Chavez, 1998, p. 193). Such sentiments reveal that support for Proposition 187 stemmed from more than just economic concerns and rising unemployment in California. Clearly, anti-­ Mexican nativism and anxiety over the shifting demographic composition of the state and the accompanying increase in linguistic and cultural diversity also played a prominent role in galvanizing public attitudes in ­favor of the referendum. Although “illegal immigration” is often conflated negatively with “Mexico” and “Mexicans” in po­liti­cal and media discourses, which in turn shape public opinion, California’s estimated 1.7 million undocumented immigrants in 1994 (Kadetsky, 1994, p. 416) also included Canadians, Australians, Eu­ro­pe­ans, Chinese, and Filipinos residing ­there without proper authorization. Nevertheless, arguments in f­avor of Proposition 187 that alluded to racial, ethnic, and/or cultural themes specifically targeted Mexicans and Latinos more broadly. Scholars such as po­liti­cal scientist Robin Dale Jacobson and linguist Otto Santa Ana have argued extensively that paranoia about an alleged imminent “Mexican takeover” of the Southwest, along with subtle and overt anti-­Mexican/Latino prejudice, helped propel Proposition 187 to victory in the 1994 election.

Opposition to Proposition 187 Opponents of Proposition 187 included immigrants’ rights advocates, Chicano/ Latino civil rights organ­izations, and many church-­based and religious organ­ izations, as well as health care, educational, and law enforcement officials. ­Those who opposed the referendum raised numerous criticisms. One of the biggest critiques of Proposition 187 pertained to ­whether the mea­sure was even constitutional, as the U.S. Supreme Court had previously ruled in its little-­known but historically significant 1982 decision in Plyler v. Doe that all school-­age ­children, regardless of citizenship or immigration status, have the l­egal right to obtain a public education. The Plyler case stemmed from an attempt by the school district in Tyler, Texas, to charge the parents of undocumented students tuition and to exclude such ­children from attending public schools if their parents did not pay (Olivas, 2012). In a landmark 5-4 decision, the nation’s high Court struck down the Texas policy and ruled that punishing c­ hildren for the actions of their parents violates the spirit of the law and is excessively punitive. The Court’s majority also declared that ensuring all ­children the right to a public education was in the best national interest of the United States. Critics of Proposition 187 contended that the referendum’s efforts to exclude undocumented c­ hildren from public school thus ­violated the Plyler v. Doe ruling. Other arguments against Proposition 187 abounded. Critics asserted that all undocumented immigrants do, in fact, pay taxes in the form of sales taxes when

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 833

they purchase consumer goods. Additionally, undocumented mi­grants who work using fraudulent identity documents have Social Security, local, state, and federal taxes deducted from their wages. Other opponents of Proposition 187 also maintained that the referendum did not address the root ­causes of illegal immigration, by avoiding any discussion of enforcing sanctions against employers that hire and take advantage of undocumented workers. Critics further asserted that the referendum would ultimately prove counterproductive, as banning ­children from schools would likely result in increased juvenile delinquency, gangs, and crime, while banning undocumented mi­grants from hospitals and clinics would pose greater risks to public health, increase the transmission of communicable diseases, and therefore drive up the costs associated with health care in the long run (Kadetsky, 1994, pp. 416–421). Another argument against Proposition 187, articulated primarily by immigrants’ rights and Chicano/Latino civil rights organ­izations, was that the referendum encouraged racial profiling of “Mexican-­looking” and “foreign-­looking” persons and would increase racial and ethnic tensions. ­Those who made t­ hese arguments found the referendum’s text that encouraged citizens to report suspected undocumented immigrants to authorities particularly troubling, as Proposition 187 did not specify what criteria should be used in determining “reasonable suspicion” regarding a person’s immigration status. Thus, concerns mounted that citizens would base a person’s presumed undocumented status on characteristics such as having a Spanish surname, speaking Spanish or speaking En­glish with a Spanish accent, and/or having a darker complexion that resembled a ste­reo­typical “Mexican appearance” in the public consciousness. On October 16, 1994, three weeks before the election, approximately 70,000 protestors marched against Proposition 187 in one of the largest rallies in Los Angeles history (McDonnell and Lopez, 1994). Despite the massive public display of opposition to the referendum, however, some observers and po­liti­cal pundits claimed that this protest actually had the unintended effect of increasing voter support for Proposition 187, as a result of the ethnic composition of the demonstrators and the tactics they utilized to express their anger at Governor Wilson and the referendum. Although persons of vari­ous ages and racial/ethnic backgrounds participated in the anti-187 rally, Mexican/Latino teen­agers and young adults comprised the majority of the protestors. Many carried placards written in Spanish, conducted chants in Spanish, and defiantly waved Mexican flags as they condemned Proposition 187, nativist attitudes t­oward undocumented immigrants, and anti-­Mexican/ anti-­Latino bigotry. Televised images of the angry crowd reinforced nativist conspiracy theories of an impending Mexican Reconquista of California, thus providing immigration control organ­izations and Proposition 187 advocates with power­ful alarmist photographic and video footage to pres­ent to voters who had not yet formed a firm opinion on the referendum.

834 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

Sports and Immigration Politics One week ­after the passage of Proposition 187, the World Boxing Council (WBC, the largest international professional boxing governing authority, headquartered in Mexico City) announced that it would not sanction championship title fights in California between November 22, 1994 and March 30, 1995. The WBC instituted its four-­month boycott as a protest against the referendum. Mexicans, Mexican Americans, and other Latinos comprise a substantial portion of amateur and professional boxers. In addition to refusing to schedule title matches in California, the Mexican-­based boxing council also stated that it would penalize any Mexican prizefighters who fought in the Golden State during the boycott, even if they engaged in a non-­title bout. WBC president José Sulaiman defended his council’s decision on the grounds that the WBC had upheld a decades-­long boycott against matches in South Africa during the apartheid era, and that “[w]hat the government of California is d­ oing is the same t­hing (as South Africa’s government)—­ racism” (Dufresne, 1994). Sulaiman’s comparison of Proposition 187 to the apartheid regime sparked controversy among boxing fans and sports journalists regarding its appropriateness, but the WBC’s stance foreshadowed other professional athletic organ­izations taking public positions on immigration policies. In 2010, the Major League Baseball (MLB) Players Association openly expressed its disapproval of Arizona’s S.B. 1070, while the league considered relocating its 2011 All-­Star Game from Phoenix to another city in protest of the law. On May 5, 2010, the National Basketball Association’s Phoenix Suns wore jerseys reading “Los Suns” to honor their Latino fans while si­mul­ ta­neously expressing opposition to S.B. 1070.

The controversy surrounding Proposition 187 and its harsh penalties for undocumented immigrants prompted numerous high-­profile po­liti­cal figures from both major po­liti­cal parties to take public stances on the issue. Georgia Congressman Newt Gingrich, who emerged as the Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives following the Republican Party’s historic takeover of the House in the 1994 midterm elections, expressed strong support for the referendum. In 1995, Gingrich created a House task force on illegal immigration. Likewise, former Reagan speechwriter and Republican presidential candidate in 1992 and 1996 Patrick J. Buchanan indicated his approval of Proposition 187. In contrast, Demo­cratic President Bill Clinton and Vice President Al Gore expressed criticism of the ballot initiative and encouraged Californians to vote against the mea­sure. Texas Governor

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 835

George W. Bush, the conservative Republican governor of another border state (with the second-­largest number of Latino residents, a­ fter California) also declared his opposition to Proposition 187-­type immigration policies. He said that immigration enforcement needed to remain in the hands of the federal government (“Texas Gov-­ Elect,” 1994). On November 8, 1994, Californians voted to approve Proposition 187 by a margin of 59 to 41  ­percent (“Prop 187,” 1994). All but 8 of the state’s 58 counties voted in f­ avor of the referendum, with all 8 of the dissenting counties located in or near the San Francisco-­Oakland-­San Jose Bay Area. Postelection analy­sis revealed a sharp racial divide in voting patterns: whites voted in ­favor of Proposition 187 by a 64-36 ­percent margin, whereas 57 ­percent of Asian American and 56 ­percent of African American voters approved the mea­sure. In stark contrast, 69  ­percent of Latinos voted against the mea­sure (“Prop. 187,” 1994). Governor Wilson won his reelection campaign against Demo­cratic challenger Kathleen Brown with 55 ­percent of the vote (“Prop. 187,” 1994).

Aftermath and Legacy Proposition 187 was set to become California law on January 1, 1995. However, a few days ­after its passage, a federal district court issued an injunction that blocked the referendum from being implemented on the grounds that it might be unconstitutional, pending a thorough ­legal analy­sis (American Civil Liberties Union [ACLU], 1999). The ACLU and two Latino civil rights organ­izations, the Mexican American ­Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF) and the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), spearheaded the ­legal challenges against the referendum. On March 18, 1998, federal judge Mariana Pfaelzer officially ruled Proposition 187 unconstitutional on the grounds that immigration policy is a federal issue that is regulated and enforced by the federal government, and that states do not have the authority to establish their own immigration policies (ACLU, 1999). In July 1999, California’s newly elected Demo­cratic Governor Gray Davis, an opponent of Proposition 187, withdrew the State of California’s appeal of Judge Pfaelzer’s ruling from the federal court system, thus rendering the anti-­illegal immigration referendum legally dead. Although it never became law, Proposition 187 nevertheless holds a significant legacy in both U.S. and Latino immigration and po­liti­cal history. The controversial referendum foreshadowed the rise of grassroots, local-­and state-­based immigration control legislative mea­sures across the nation in subsequent years. Frustrated with the federal government’s inability to effectively resolve the illegal immigration situation, numerous local communities and states began to attempt to implement their own restrictive policies to crack down on undocumented immigrants.

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­ hese policies drew inspiration from Proposition 187, although most ­were also ultiT mately struck down as unconstitutional in federal court. Examples of t­hese state-­ and local-­based illegal immigration laws and ordinances include Arizona’s S.B. 1070 (signed into law by Governor Jan Brewer in April 2010), which attempted to elevate undocumented presence within the state to a criminal offense (from a civil infraction) and require law enforcement agents to verify the citizenship or immigration status of individuals questioned during routine traffic stops. The town of Hazleton, Pennsylvania’s 2006 “Illegal Immigration Relief Act” attempted to prohibit landlords from renting their properties to tenants who could not provide proof of citizenship or l­egal residency. Proposition 187 also marks a watershed moment in the history of California Latinos. The fervent po­liti­cal discourse surrounding illegal immigration in the 1994 campaign, combined with the overtly anti-­Mexican rhe­toric embodied in nativist Reconquista conspiracy theories, inspired many younger Latinos to register to vote and seek po­liti­cal office themselves. Once a reliably Republican state, po­liti­cal scientists credit Proposition 187 with playing a key role in shifting California to a solidly Demo­cratic stronghold by the 2010s, given the state’s rapidly growing Latino population, increased voting rates of Latinos, and the tendency for Latino voters to identify with the Demo­cratic Party. In this regard, the alienation that many younger Latinos felt during the divisive campaign for Proposition 187 fueled a po­liti­cal awakening that persists to the pres­ent day. In one of the first displays of the growing po­liti­cal clout of Latino voters in the post-­Proposition 187 era, Loretta Sanchez (a financial analyst from Orange County, California, and the d­ aughter of Mexican immigrants) challenged and narrowly defeated 10-­term U.S. Congressman Robert Dornan. Dornan was a conservative Republican and out­spoken critic of illegal immigration during the 1996 election. In the 1998 electoral rematch between Sanchez and Dornan, Sanchez easily defeated her Republican challenger. In 2005, California Latinos’ growing po­liti­cal power at the ballot box helped Antonio Villaraigosa, also the son of Mexican immigrants, become the first Latino mayor of Los Angeles since the mid-1800s.

Biographies of Notable Figures Pete Wilson (1933–) Pete Wilson is one of the central figures in the legacy of Proposition 187. He served as California’s 36th governor from 1991 ­until 1999. As governor of California, the nation’s largest state by population, Wilson emerged as one of the leading critics of illegal immigration during the 1990s. Although he had espoused relatively moderate views on immigration policy during his early po­liti­cal c­ areer as the mayor of

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San Diego and as a U.S. senator during the 1970s and 1980s, respectively, mounting public opposition t­ oward illegal immigration in California during the mid-1990s influenced Wilson to shift his position on this pressing issue. Wilson was born on August 23, 1933, in the Chicago suburb of Lake Forest, Illinois. He earned a bachelor’s degree in En­glish lit­er­a­ture from Yale University in 1955. Following graduation, he served three years in the United States Marine Corps infantry. ­After his military ser­vice, Wilson earned a law degree from the University of California at Berkeley in 1962. He was elected to the California State Assembly in 1966 and served for nearly five years before he ran for, and won, election as the mayor of San Diego in 1971. Wilson was elected mayor for three terms, and in 1982 he successfully ran for California’s U.S. Senate seat, which had been vacated by the retiring incumbent Senator S. I. Hayakawa. Wilson won reelection as senator in 1988. In 1990, two years into his second term in the Senate, Wilson defeated former San Francisco Demo­cratic Mayor Dianne Feinstein to become governor of California. Wilson’s tenure as governor occurred during some of California’s most troubled social and economic times. During late April and early May 1992, Los Angeles experienced the most costly and destructive riots in the nation’s history, as civil rebellion erupted throughout the city following the acquittal of four police officers on trial for the videotaped beating of black motorist Rodney King at the conclusion of a high-­speed chase. Racial tensions in Southern California, and throughout the nation as a w ­ hole, also escalated following the polarizing “not guilty” verdict in the 1995 trial of O.J. Simpson, a famed African American football star, who had been charged with murdering his white estranged wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her white companion, Ronald Goldman. During the early to mid-1990s, Wilson also confronted increases in crime and gang vio­lence, controversy over racial profiling and police brutality, a backlash among white Californians against affirmative action policies, rising unemployment, and a deepening economic recession in California. Wilson sharply criticized affirmative action in employment hiring and university admissions policies in 1995; that same year, the Regents of the University of California voted to eliminate affirmative action. The following year, California voters approved Proposition 209, which ended affirmative action policies in public employment and higher education at public institutions in the state. Wilson is best known for his out­spoken opposition to illegal immigration that emerged near the end of his first term as governor. During the summer of 1993, Wilson demanded that the Clinton administration reimburse California for the costs associated with educating undocumented ­children in public schools, treating undocumented immigrants at public hospitals and clinics, and incarcerating undocumented immigrants convicted of crimes in California prisons. Wilson also expressed support for amending the U.S. Constitution to deny citizenship to ­children born in

838 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

the United States to undocumented parents. In the spring of 1994, Wilson filed a lawsuit to force the federal government to reimburse California for its failure to adequately enforce the nation’s immigration laws. During his 1994 reelection campaign, Wilson became the leading spokesman in f­ avor of Proposition 187 and made the controversial referendum a central focus of his po­liti­cal message. Wilson continually insisted that his support for Proposition 187 was not motivated by anti-­ Mexican or anti-­Latino nativism, as many of his critics asserted; instead, he claimed, his fierce opposition to illegal immigration stemmed from his belief in the rule of law out of fairness to ­legal immigrants and the high costs to public ser­vices imposed by undocumented immigrants. Although he trailed his Demo­cratic opponent, Kathleen Brown, by double digits in po­liti­cal polls in early 1994, Wilson’s tough-­on-­ crime and tough-­on-­illegal immigration campaign message ultimately proved successful, as he captured 55 ­percent of the vote to win reelection on the same day that 59 ­percent of Californians voted to approve Proposition 187. During the spring of 1995, Wilson declared himself a candidate for the Republican Party’s nomination in the 1996 presidential race. Initially considered a frontrunner by po­liti­cal experts, given the nationwide attention he had accrued during the debate over Proposition 187 and his staunch opposition to illegal immigration, Wilson’s campaign was ultimately short-­lived. He acknowledged in May 1995 that he had employed an undocumented ­house­keeper in the late 1970s and failed to pay Social Security taxes on his employee, although he claimed he was unaware of his ­house­keeper’s immigration status at the time he hired her (Lesher, 1995). Marred by this admission, his campaign faltered during the summer and fall of 1995, and he ultimately withdrew from the presidential race on September  9, 1995 (Skelton, 1995).

Loretta Sanchez (1960–) Loretta Sanchez served as a Congresswoman in the United States House of Representatives from 1997 through 2017. During her time in office, she represented California’s 46th Congressional District, which covers part of Orange County, including the urban areas of Anaheim and Santa Ana. Sanchez was born in Lynwood, California, to Mexican immigrant parents on January 7, 1960. While growing up, she spoke Spanish more proficiently than En­glish. She earned a bachelor’s degree in economics from Chapman College in 1982, and went on to gradu­ate from American University with a Master’s of Business Administration degree in 1984. Sanchez worked primarily as a financial advisor and analyst throughout the 1980s and 1990s before deciding to run for po­liti­cal office in 1996. That year she challenged Republican incumbent Congressman Robert Dornan, a right-­wing Republican known for issuing several controversial statements on social issues such

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as immigration and other topics. Sanchez dropped her married surname at the time (Brixey), and opted to run ­under her maiden name of Sanchez in order to accentuate her Latina identity. In a closely contested election, Sanchez defeated Dornan by a mere 984 votes in a major po­liti­cal upset that drew national attention (Koszczuk, 1998). Shocked by his defeat, Dornan contested the results of the election by claiming that large numbers of noncitizens had voted illegally in the election, benefiting Sanchez. Dornan remarked ­after the election results ­were announced, “You ­can’t have non-­citizens voting into office someone who gives them welfare benefits, or raises the taxes on the rest of us, and they w ­ ere voted in by non-­Americans” (Schneider, 1996). However, an 18-­month-­long investigation into ­these allegations revealed no evidence for Dornan’s claims (Koszczuk, 1998), and in a 1998 rematch between Sanchez and Dornan, Sanchez easily defeated her challenger by 17 points. Her surprising victory in 1996 demonstrated the growing po­liti­cal power of Latino voters in California, a bloc that had been stirred to po­liti­cal activism in the wake of Proposition 187, anti-­immigration legislative proposals, and in some cases overt nativist and anti-­Mexican/Latino rhe­toric. Latino voter registration in California increased by 50 ­percent in the two years a­ fter the passage of Proposition 187 (Schneider, 1996), which helped propel Sanchez to her upset victory over Dornan. Following her victory in 1996, Sanchez thanked Latino voters for their strong level of support, declaring, “[My election is] about p­ eople ­here and p­ eople who wanted a voice for a very, very long time. Thanks to the Latino community for coming out, for becoming part of our society h­ ere in the true sense” (Schneider, 1996).

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Proposition 187, 1994 The following is a selected excerpt of the text of Proposition 187 (the “Save Our State” Initiative), presented to California voters as a proposed law in 1994.

Section 1. Findings and Declaration The ­People of California find and declare as follows: • That they have suffered and are suffering economic hardship caused by the presence of illegal aliens in this state. • That they have suffered and are suffering personal injury and damage caused by the criminal conduct of illegal aliens in this state. • That they have a right to the protection of their government from any person or persons entering this country unlawfully.

840 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

Therefore, the P ­ eople of California declare their intention to provide for cooperation between their agencies of state and local government with the federal government, and to establish a system of required notification by and between such agencies to prevent illegal aliens in the United States from receiving benefits or public ser­ vices in the State of California.

Section 2. Manufacture, Distribution or Sale of False Citizenship or Resident Alien Documents: Crime and Punishment Section 113 is added to the Penal Code, to read: Any person who manufactures, distributes or sells false documents to conceal the true citizenship or resident alien status of another person is guilty of a felony, and s­ hall be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for five years or by a fine of seventy-­five thousand dollars ($75,000).

Section 3. Use of False Citizenship or Resident Alien Documents: Crime and Punishment Section 114 is added to the Penal Code, to read: Any person who uses false documents to conceal his or her true citizenship or resident alien status is guilty of a felony, and ­shall be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for five years or by a fine of twenty-­five thousand dollars ($25,000).

Section 4. Law Enforcement Cooperation with INS Section 834b is added to the Penal Code, to read: (a) ­Every law enforcement agency in California s­ hall fully cooperate with the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice regarding any person who is arrested if he or she is suspected of being pres­ent in the United States in violation of federal immigration laws. (b) With re­spect to any such person who is arrested, and suspected of being pres­ent in the United States in violation of federal immigration laws, e­ very law enforcement agency ­shall do the following: 1. Attempt to verify the l­egal status of such person as a citizen of the United States, an alien lawfully admitted as a permanent resident, an alien lawfully

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 841

admitted for a temporary period of time or as an alien who is pres­ent in the United States in violation of immigration laws. The verification pro­cess may include, but ­shall not be limited to, questioning the person regarding his or her date and place of birth, and entry into the United States, and demanding documentation to indicate his or her l­egal status. 2. Notify the person of his or her apparent status as an alien who is pres­ent in the United States in violation of federal immigration laws and inform him or her that, apart from any criminal justice proceedings, he or she must ­either obtain ­legal status or leave the United States. 3. Notify the Attorney General of California and the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice of the apparent illegal status and provide any additional information that may be requested by any other public entity. (c) Any legislative, administrative, or other action by a city, county, or other legally authorized local governmental entity with jurisdictional bound­aries, or by a law enforcement agency, to prevent or limit the cooperation required by subdivision (a) is expressly prohibited.

Section 5. Exclusion of Illegal Aliens from Public Social Ser­vices Section 10001.5 is added to the Welfare and Institutions Code, to read: (a) In order to carry out the intention of the ­People of California that only citizens of the United States and aliens lawfully admitted to the United States may receive the benefits of public social ser­vices and to ensure that all persons employed in the providing of ­those ser­vices ­shall diligently protect public funds from misuse, the provisions of this section are a­ dopted. (b) A person ­shall not receive any public social ser­vices to which he or she may be other­wise entitled u­ ntil the ­legal status of that person has been verified as one of the following: 1. A citizen of the United States. 2. An alien lawfully admitted as a permanent resident. 3. An alien lawfully admitted for a temporary period of time. (c) If any public entity in this state to whom a person has applied for public social ser­vices determines or reasonably suspects, based upon the information provided

842 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

to it, that the person is an alien in the United States in violation of federal law, the following procedures s­ hall be followed by the public entity: 1. The entity s­ hall not provide the person with benefits or ser­vices. 2. The entity ­shall, in writing, notify the person of his or her apparent illegal immigration status, and that the person must ­either obtain l­egal status or leave the United States. 3. The entity ­shall also notify the State Director of Social Ser­vices, the Attorney General of California, and the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice of the apparent illegal status, and ­shall provide any additional information that may be requested by any other public entity.

Section 6. Exclusion of Illegal Aliens from Publicly Funded Health Care Chapter 1.3 (commencing with Section 130) is added to Part 1 of Division 1 of the Health and Safety Code, to read: Chapter 1.3. Publicly-­Funded Health Care Ser­vices (a) In order to carry out the intention of the ­People of California that, excepting emergency medical care as required by federal law, only citizens of the United States and aliens lawfully admitted to the United States may receive the benefits of publicly-­ funded health care, and to ensure that all persons employed in the providing of ­those ser­vices s­ hall diligently protect public funds from misuse, the provisions of this section are ­adopted. (b) A person ­shall not receive any health care ser­vices from a publicly-­funded health care fa­cil­i­ty, to which he or she is other­wise entitled ­until the ­legal status of that person has been verified as one of the following: 1. A citizen of the United States. 2. An alien lawfully admitted as a permanent resident. 3. An alien lawfully admitted for a temporary period of time. (c) If any publicly-­funded health care fa­cil­i­ty in this state from whom a person seeks health care ser­vices, other than emergency medical care as required by federal law, determines or reasonably suspects, based upon the information provided to it, that the person is an alien in the United States in violation of federal law, the following procedures ­shall be followed by the fa­cil­it­y:

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 843

1. The fa­cil­i­ty ­shall not provide the person with ser­vices. 2. The fa­cil­i­ty ­shall, in writing, notify the person of his or her apparent illegal immigration status, and that the person must ­either obtain l­egal status or leave the United States. 3. The fa­cil­i­ty ­shall also notify the State Director of Health Ser­vices, the Attorney General of California, and the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice of the apparent illegal status, and ­shall provide any additional information that may be requested by any other public entity. (d) For purposes of this section, “publicly-­funded health care fa­cil­i­ty” ­shall be defined as specified in Sections 1200 and 1250 of this code as of January 1, 1993.

Section 7. Exclusion of Illegal Aliens from Public Elementary and Secondary Schools Section 48215 is added to the Education Code, to read: (a) No public elementary or secondary school ­shall admit, or permit the attendance of, any child who is not a citizen of the United States, an alien lawfully admitted as a permanent resident, or a person who is other­wise authorized u­ nder federal law to be pres­ent in the United States. (b) Commencing January 1, 1995, each school district ­shall verify the ­legal status of each child enrolling in the school district for the first time in order to ensure the enrollment or attendance only of citizens, aliens lawfully admitted as permanent residents, or persons who are other­wise authorized to be pres­ent in the United States. (c) By January 1, 1996, each school district ­shall have verified the ­legal status of each child already enrolled and in attendance in the school district in order to ensure the enrollment or attendance only of citizens, aliens lawfully admitted as permanent residents, or persons who are other­wise authorized ­under federal law to be pres­ ent in the United States. (d) By January 1, 1996, each school district s­ hall also have verified the l­ egal status of each parent or guardian of each child referred to in subdivisions (b) and (c), to determine ­whether such parent or guardian is one of the following: 1. A citizen of the United States. 2. An alien lawfully admitted as a permanent resident. 3. An alien admitted lawfully for a temporary period of time.

844 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000

(e) Each school district s­ hall provide information to the State Superintendent of Public Instruction, the Attorney General of California, and the United States Immigration and Naturalization Ser­vice regarding any enrollee or pupil, or parent or guardian, attending a public elementary or secondary school in the school district determined or reasonably suspected to be in violation of federal immigration laws within forty-­five days a­ fter becoming aware of an apparent violation. The notice ­shall also be provided to the parent or ­legal guardian of the enrollee or pupil, and ­shall state that an existing pupil may not continue to attend the school a­ fter ninety calendar days from the date of the notice, u­ nless ­legal status is established. (f) For each child who cannot establish ­legal status in the United States, each school district ­shall continue to provide education for a period of ninety days from the date of the notice. Such ninety day period s­ hall be utilized to accomplish an orderly transition to a school in the child’s country of origin. Each school district s­ hall fully cooperate in this transition effort to ensure that the educational needs of the child are best served for that period of time. Source: California Proposition 187, 1994. California Legislature. Illegal Aliens. Ineligibility for Public Ser­vices. Verification and Reporting. Proposition 187. Text available at the Hastings Law Library California Ballot Propositions Database, https://­repository​.­uchastings​ .­edu​/­cgi​/­viewcontent​.­cgi​?­referer​=­&httpsredir​=1­ &article​=2­ 103&context​=c­ a​_­ballot​_­props

Further Reading American Civil Liberties Union. 1999. “CA’s Anti-­Immigrant Proposition 187 Is Voided, Ending State’s Five-­Year ­Battle with ACLU, Rights Groups.” ACLU​.­org, July  29. Retrieved from https://­www​.­aclu​.­org​/­news​/­cas​-­anti​-­immigrant​-­proposition​-­187​-­voided​ -­ending​-­states​-­five​-­year​-­battle​-­aclu​-­rights​-­groups Barabak, Mark Z. 2017. “Pete Wilson Looks Back on Proposition 187 and Says, Heck Yeah, He’d Support It All Over Again.” Los Angeles Times, March 23. Retrieved from http://­ www​.­latimes​.­com​/­politics​/­la​-­me​-­on​-­politics​-­column​-­20170323​-­story​.­html Burt, Kenneth C. 2007. The Search for a Civic Voice: California Latino Politics. Claremont, CA: Regina Books. Chambers, Marcia. 1986. “California Braces for Change with En­glish as Official Language.” New York Times, November 26. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1986​/­11​/­26​/­us​ /­california​-­braces​-­for​-­change​-­with​-­english​-­as​-­official​-­language​.­html Chavez, Leo R. 1998. Shadowed Lives: Undocumented Immigrants in American Society (2d ed.). Orlando, FL: Harcourt-­Brace. Chavez, Leo R. 2013. The Latino Threat: Constructing Immigrants, Citizens, and the Nation (2d ed.). Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Dufresne, Chris. 1994. “Proposition 187 Prompts WBC to Ban Title Fights in California.” Los Angeles Times, November 16. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1994​-­11​ -­16​/­sports​/­sp​-­63437​_­1​_­title​-­fights

California’s Proposition 187, 1994 | 845 HoSang, Daniel Martinez. 2010. Racial Propositions: Ballot Initiatives and the Making of Postwar California. Berkeley: University of California Press. Jacobson, Robin Dale. 2008. The New Nativism: Proposition 187 and the Debate over Immigration. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Kadetsky, Elizabeth. 1994. “Bashing Illegals in California.” The Nation 144 (16, October 17): 416–422. Koszczuk, Jackie. 1998. “Proof of Illegal Voters Falls Short, Keeping Sanchez in House.” CNN​.­com, February 7. Retrieved from http://­www​.­cnn​.­com​/­ALLPOLITICS​/­1998​/­02​/­13​ /­cq​/­sanchez​.­html Lesher, Dave. 1995. “Wilson Hiring of Illegal Immigrant Is Reported.” Los Angeles Times, May 4. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1995​-­05​-­04​/­news​/­mn​-­62357​_­1​_­illegal​ -­immigrants McDonnell, Patrick J. 1989. “Do Numbers Add Up on Illegal Entry?” Los Angeles Times, November 12. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1989​-­11​-­12​/­local​/­me​-­2035​_­1​ _­illegal​-­immigrants​/­3 McDonnell, Patrick J. 1990. “Protestors Light Up the Border Again.” Los Angeles Times, August  24. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1990​-­08​-­24​/­local​/­me​-­1050​_­1​ _­border​-­fence McDonnell, Patrick J. 1996. “Follow-­Up to Prop. 187 Dies.” Los Angeles Times, February 22. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1996​-­02​-­22​/­news​/­mn​-­38763​_­1​_­ron​ -­prince McDonnell, Patrick J., and Robert J. Lopez. 1994. “L.A. March Against Prop. 187 Draws 70,000.” Los Angeles Times, October 17. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1994​ -­10​-­17​/­news​/­mn​-­51339​_­1​_­illegal​-­immigrants Murr, Andrew. 1993. “A Nasty Turn on Immigrants.” Newsweek, August 22. Retrieved from http://­www​.­newsweek​.­com​/­nasty​-­turn​-­immigrants​-­192716​?­amp​=­1 Olivas, Michael A. 2012. No Undocumented Child Left B ­ ehind: Plyler v. Doe and the Education of Undocumented Schoolchildren. New York: New York University Press. Oltman, Rick. 2011–2012. “Save Our State—­Dick Mountjoy and California’s Proposition 187.” The Social Contract Journal 22 (2, Winter). http://­www​.­thesocialcontract​.­com​ /­artman2​/­publish​/­tsc​_­22​_­2​/­tsc​_­22​_­2​_­oltman​.­shtml Ono, Kent A., and John M. Sloop. 2002. Shifting Borders: Rhe­toric, Immigration, and Prop 187. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. “Prop. 187 Approved in California.” 1994. Migration News 1 (11, December). Retrieved from https://­migration​.­ucdavis​.­edu​/­mn​/­more​.­php​?­id​=­492 “A Reagan Legacy: Amnesty for Illegal Immigrants.” 2010. NPR​.­org, July 4. Retrieved from http://­www​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​/­story​/­story​.­php​?­storyId​=­128303672 Santa Ana, Otto. 2002. Brown Tide Rising: Meta­phors of Latinos in Con­temporary American Public Discourse. Austin: University of Texas Press. Schneider, Bill. 1996. “Latino Voter Turnout More Than Doubles.” CNN​.­com, November 21. Retrieved from http://­www​.­cnn​.­com​/­ALLPOLITICS​/­1996​/­news​/­9611​/­21​/­1latino​.­ip/ Schrag, Peter. 2010. Not Fit for Our Society: Immigration and Nativism in Amer­i­ca. Berkeley: University of California Press.

846 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 Skelton, George. 1995. “Looking for the Lazarus in Pete Wilson.” Los Angeles Times, October  2. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­1995​-­10​-­02​/­news​/­mn​-­52451​_­1​_­pete​ -­wilson “ ‘Son of Prop 187’ in California Would Limit Matricular Consular Cards.” 2004. Credit Union Times, April 21. Retrieved from http://­www​.­cutimes​.­com​/­2004​/­04​/­21​/­son​-­of​-­prop​ -­187​-­in​-­california​-­would​-­limit​-­matricular​-­consular​-­cards “Texas Gov-­Elect Just Says No to Prop 187.” 1994. Time​.­com, December 2. Retrieved from http://­content​.­time​.­com​/­time​/­nation​/­article​/­0,8599,2482,00​.­html Vinton, Nathaniel. 2010. “Citing MLB’s Large Foreign Population, Players’ Union Exec Blasts Arizona’s New Law.” New York Daily News, April 30. Retrieved from http://­www​ .­nydailynews​.­com​/­sports​/­baseball​/­citing​-­mlb​-­large​-­foreign​-­population​-­players​-­union​ -­exec​-­blasts​-­arizona​-­new​-­immigration​-­law​-­article​-­1​.­169947 Woo, Elaine. 2013. “Barbara Coe Dies at 79; Foe of Ser­vices for ­Those in U.S. Illegally.” Los Angeles Times, September 4. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­2013​/­sep​/­04​ /­local​/­la​-­me​-­barbara​-­coe​-­20130905 Wroe, Andrew. 2008. The Republican Party and Immigration Politics: From Proposition 187 to George W. Bush. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Latin Explosion in Popu­lar ­Music, 1990s Jillian M. Báez and Michelle M. Rivera

Chronology 1975 Emilio Estefan forms the band The Miami Latin Boys, which is ­later renamed Miami Sound Machine. Gloria Maria Milagrosa Fajardo (­later known as Gloria Estefan) also joins the group. 1978 Gloria and Emilio Estefan marry and come to be known years ­later as the musical “power ­couple” of the Latin m ­ usic industry, the Estefans. 1984 Miami Sound Machine features singer Gloria Estefan as the band’s front ­woman on the release of its English-­language studio ­album, Eyes of Innocence, and it produces a top dance song, “Dr. Beat.” 1985 Miami Sound Machine, featuring Gloria Estefan, releases the ­album Primitive Love, with the breakthrough song “Conga” that launches the group into mainstream pop success. This song charts across Billboard magazine’s pop, Latin, dance, and soul categories. 1987 Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine release the English-­language ­album, Let It Loose, with hit songs such as “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You,” and “Anything for You.”

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1989 Gloria Estefan takes top billing on the studio a­ lbum titled Cuts Both Ways, featuring the popu­lar title track “Cuts Both Ways,” as well as “Get on Your Feet,” and both Spanish-­and English-­language versions of the songs, “Oye Mi Canto” and “­Don’t Want to Lose You.” EMI-­Latin, a subsidiary of EMI Rec­ords, launches and releases Selena’s debut ­album, Selena. 1990 Selena releases her second a­ lbum, Ven Conmigo. 1991 Gloria Estefan releases her Into the Light ­album ­after a year-­long hiatus spent recovering from a near-­fatal car crash. This ­album features the song “Coming Out of the Dark,” with a Spanish version of the song titled “Desde la Oscuridad.” 1992 Gloria Estefan performs “Live for Loving You” and “Get on Your Feet” during the Superbowl Halftime Show. Selena releases her third ­album, Entre Conmigo, featuring the hit “Como La Flor.” Barrio Boyzz’s first ­album, Crazy Coolin’, is released. 1993 Gloria Estefan releases a Spanish-­language ­album, Mi Tierra, which ­later wins her first Grammy Award for Best Tropical Latin ­Album. Selena’s ­album Live is released and ­later wins a Grammy Award for Best Mexican/American ­Album. 1994 Selena’s Amor Prohibido ­album is released and goes triple-­platinum. Amor Prohibido features the hits “Amor Prohibido” and “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom.” The ­album is nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Mexican/American a­ lbum. Selena also launches a fashion line called Selena, Etc., sold at two boutiques in Corpus Christi and San Antonio, Texas. Emilio Estefan opens Crescent Moon Studios in Miami, Florida, and negotiates for his Sony-­backed recording label Crescent Moon. 1995 Gloria Estefan releases her second Spanish-­language ­album, Abriendo Puertas, for which she l­ater receives her second Grammy Award for Best Tropical Latin ­Album. Ricky Martin releases a Spanish-­language ­album, A Medio Vivir. On this ­album, the song “Maria” is a major hit song, particularly with audiences across Latin Amer­i­ca. Columbia Pictures releases the film I Like It Like That, starring Lauren Velez and Jon Seda. It features the ­music of Latina/o entertainers, including Marc Anthony and Barrio Boyzz, among o­ thers.

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Selena is shot and killed by Yolanda Saldivar, her fan club and boutique man­ ag­er. ­People magazine releases a special tribute issue on Selena. Selena’s first English-­language ­album, Dreaming of You, is released ­later that year. Miami Sound Machine performs during the Superbowl Halftime Show. 1997 The biopic Selena, directed by Gregory Nava and starring Jennifer Lopez, is released in theaters nationwide. The Mirador de la Flor memorial, dedicated to Selena, is unveiled in Corpus Christi. 1998 Ricky Martin releases his Spanish-­language a­ lbum, Vuelve, which features ballads and danceable tracks such as “Por Arriba, Por Abajo” and “La Copa de la Vida”—­the official se­lection of the 1998 World Cup (soccer). He performs the song at the closing ceremonies in Paris for an audience of 2 billion tele­vi­sion viewers around the globe. Marc Anthony stars in the Broadway musical The Capeman alongside singers Ednita Nazario and Ruben Blades. 1999 Gloria Estefan performs the songs “Oye” and “Turn the Beat Around” at the Superbowl Halftime Show. Pop singer Ricky Martin wins a Grammy Award for Best Latin Pop ­Album for Vuelve. He pres­ents the song “The Cup of Life” at the Grammys for the first time. L ­ ater this same year, he releases his first solo English-­ language ­album, titled Ricky Martin, featuring the number-­one hit “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” Marc Anthony releases his first pop English-­language ­album, titled Marc Anthony, featuring the hit “I Need to Know.” Jennifer Lopez releases her debut a­ lbum, titled On the 6. Enrique Iglesias releases his first English-­language a­ lbum, Enrique. Christina Aguilera releases her first ­album, Christina Aguilera. 2000 Christina Aguilera and Enrique Iglesias perform in a Disney-­produced Superbowl Halftime Show, narrated by Edward James Olmos. The theater production Selena Forever tours nationwide. Selena Forever is the first nationally touring Latina/o production. Christina Aguilera releases her second ­album, Mi Reflejo. This ­album is her first rec­ord in Spanish. Champion boxer Oscar de la Hoya releases his first and only a­ lbum, Oscar de la Hoya. The ­album is nominated for a Grammy.

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2001 HBO airs the special Marc Anthony: The Concert from Madison Square Garden. Shakira releases her first English-­language a­ lbum, called Laundry Ser­vice. Shakira also becomes a celebrity endorser for Pepsi, joining the ranks of Britney Spears and Beyoncé. 2002 Paulina Rubio releases her first English-­language ­album, titled Border Girl. 2003 Thalia releases her first English-­language ­album, titled Thalia. 2004 Pitbull releases his debut ­album, M.I.A.M.I. 2015 Pitbull’s New Year’s Revolution, a concert starring Pitbull that airs live from Miami, is televised on FOX on New Year’s Eve.

Narrative In the late 1990s, Latinos gained more visibility in mainstream popu­lar culture, particularly in m ­ usic. Mainstream popu­lar culture, sometimes also referred to as general market popu­lar culture, includes commercial forms of culture (e.g., ­music, film, tele­vi­ sion, comics, fashion, ­etc.) that are circulated widely across society and accessible to most ordinary p­ eople. They differ from alternative or in­de­pen­dent popu­ lar culture, forms of which might not be as available to the public and tend to contain more progressive, specialized, or radical content. Mainstream popu­ lar culture is usually produced and circulated by large commercial media corporations, while alternative or in­de­pen­dent popu­lar culture is usually created by individuals and small organ­izations with modest bud­gets. Colombian pop star Shakira has achieved Historically, Latinos’ visibil- international success though a c­ areer highlighted by ity in U.S. mainstream popu­lar numerous awards and critical acclaim. (Shutterstock)

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culture has waxed and waned. For example, several Hollywood Latina/o stars enjoyed ­great popularity in the 1940s, such as Lupe Velez, Dolores Rio, and Carmen Miranda. In the 1950s, the mambo craze swept over the nation, and actor and musician Desi Arnaz, who starred as Lucille Ball’s husband in the tele­vi­sion series I Love Lucy, gained popularity among mainstream audiences. However, this mainstream fascination with Latin ­music was short-­lived. Latinos ­were less prominent in mainstream popu­lar culture from the 1960s through the 1980s. Certainly, ­there are exceptions, such as Gloria Estefan, who paved the way in the 1980s for other Latino artists a de­cade ­later. The late 1990s w ­ ere labeled the “Latin Explosion” by the ­music industry and mainstream media; during that de­cade, several Latino artists gained national and global attention, including Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Marc Anthony, Enrique Iglesias, and Shakira, among o­ thers.

Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine Gloria Estefan is often praised as one of the most successful Latin crossover performers in the m ­ usic industry, winning a total of 7 Grammy Awards, and selling 100 million a­ lbums worldwide, including 31.5 million in the United States. Estefan entered the mainstream m ­ usic scene with heavi­ly percussive and conga-­driven songs that became international hits, like “Conga” or “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You.” It was the Miami Sound Machine’s upbeat infusion of a Latin pop sound with corresponding English-­language lyr­ics that ultimately resonated with audiences around the globe. This differed from previous artists who enjoyed mainstream popularity but who ­adopted stage names that obscured their Latino or Latin American identity. For example, during the 1960s and 1970s, when the appetite for Latin mambo waned and rock m ­ usic became more popu­lar, several artists from Latino backgrounds became popu­lar by performing u­ nder assumed names. Some of ­these performers included Sam the Sham (Domingo Samudio) and the Pha­raohs, Question Mark and the Mysterians (Rudy Martinez, Frank Rodriguez, Frank Lugo, Bobby Balderamma, Eddie Serrato), Cannibal and the Headhunters (Richard Lopez, Joe Jaramillo, Robert Jaramillo, Frankie Garcia), and Freddy Fender (Baldemar Garza Huerta) (Alpert and O’Neill, 2015). As disco became popu­lar in the late 1970s and early 1980s, audiences became more receptive to dance-­friendly tracks infused with Latin rhythms. Thus, Estefan and Miami Sound Machine ­were able to hook ­these audiences with catchy beats and kitschy pop-­flavored ­music videos. By 1989, Estefan assumed top billing on Cuts Both Ways and subsequent ­albums, which led to the production of more ballads with romantic themes for her work as a solo artist. In addition, her Cuts Both Ways ­album included Spanish-­language versions of her hit songs “Oye Mi Canto” and “­Don’t Want to Lose You.” From a marketing perspective, some ­music industry

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professionals might see this as a strategic maneuver that allowed Estefan to expand her reach to Spanish-­dominant audiences, while si­mul­ta­neously introducing her existing mainstream audiences to her broader musical and linguistic repertoire. The strategy of producing both English-­and Spanish-­language versions of top hit songs for bilingual artists, such as Gloria Estefan, Ricky Martin, Shakira, and a host of other Latin breakthrough artists, would serve as a blueprint that the m ­ usic industry would replicate time and time again to expand profitability and marketability for Latin-­branded artists. Between 1993 and 2015, the Estefans produced several commercially popu­lar Spanish-­language a­ lbums (e.g., Mi Tierra, 1993; Abriendo Puertas, 1995; Alma Caribeña, 2000; Amor y Suerte, 2004; Oye Mi Canto: Los Exitos, 2006; 90 Millas, 2007; and Soy Mujer, 2015) that garnered multiple Grammy Award wins for Gloria and Emilio across production, songwriting, and per­for­mance categories. Another tried-­and-­true strategy a­ dopted by the Estefans was to resuscitate radio-­ friendly cover songs that had a previous life as hit songs in the U.S. market (Alpert and O’Neill, 2015). This strategy followed in the footsteps of Latino breakout pre­ de­ces­sors such as legendary guitarist Carlos Santana or Jose Feliciano, who was the first Latino artist to receive a Grammy Award in the Best New Artist category (Alpert and O’Neill, 2015). Carlos Santana revived Tito Puente’s “Oye Como Va” and Jose Feliciano produced a compelling guitar arrangement of the Doors’ “Light My Fire.” Similarly, Estefan released an entire ­album (1994) of cover songs, titled Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, which included her interpretation of Vicki Sue Robinson’s disco hit “Turn the Beat Around.” In 1999, she was invited to perform her popu­lar rendition of “Turn the Beat Around” at the 33rd Superbowl halftime show. Thus, over a long c­ areer, Estefan is also distinguished within the m ­ usic industry for her ability to sustain popularity among both Spanish-­language and English-­ language audiences, which has bolstered her popularity on an international scale over time.

The Rise of Selena Quintanilla Most experts agree that the death of the singer Selena Quintanilla Perez in 1995 ignited the most recent Latin m ­ usic boom. Known primarily by her first name, Selena was a popu­lar singer of Tejano ­music, a hybrid genre of Texan and Mexican ­music. At the time of her death, Selena was also completing her first English-­ language ­album. As a third-­generation Mexican American born and raised in Texas, Selena’s first language was En­glish, though she had difficulty getting a com­pany to let her rec­ord in En­glish. Instead, Selena’s ­father encouraged her to rec­ord Tejano ­music in Spanish, to appeal to a local Mexican American market.

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Prior to Selena’s death, mainstream media largely underestimated the Latino market and generally ignored it. The outpouring of Selena’s mostly Latino fans a­ fter her death caught the attention of mainstream media across the nation. Selena’s ­music, per­for­mance style, and fashion attracted a range of fans including girls and young ­women, working-­class Mexican Americans, and LGBT communities, particularly drag queens. Lourdes Portillo’s documentary Corpus: A Home Movie for Selena (1998) captures the multiple fans who w ­ ere touched by Selena’s death. Her large and broad fandom brought attention to Latino audiences as a lucrative market. A month ­after Selena’s death, the magazine ­People published a special tribute issue to the singer, selling 1 million copies on the day of its release. Due to the success of the tribute issue, the publisher ­later released ­People en Español, a Spanish-­ language version of the magazine aimed at Latino readers. The sale of the ­People tribute issue, along with the attention to Selena’s death from other mainstream media outlets and the outpouring of fans nationwide, created awareness of the growing Latina market. Selena’s first English-­language a­ lbum, Dreaming of You, was released posthumously by EMI-­Latin Rec­ords in late 1995. The ­music industry labeled Dreaming of You a crossover ­album, given Selena’s prior success singing and recording in Spanish. In general, crossover ­albums or artists move from one language market to another, such as an artist who rec­ords in Spanish and l­ater rec­ords an a­ lbum in

­People Tribute to Selena On April 17, 1995, ­People Magazine released a special tribute issue to Selena to commemorate the singer’s death. The issue featured exclusive photos and interviews with Selena’s f­amily. This was the first time that ­People had dedicated an issue to a Latino entertainer. One million copies of the commemorative issue sold on the day it was released. The immediate success of the issue stunned mainstream media, much of which assumed that Latinos ­were a very small and poor market. Following the success of the issue, ­People launched ­People en Español to capitalize on the Latino market. Other major media outlets and advertisers, such as Cosmopolitan and CNN, followed suit and launched Spanish-­language subsidiaries to target Latina/os. More recently, ­Woman’s Day and Cosmopolitan launched special quarterly issues dedicated to English-­speaking, young Latinas. Selena’s impact still reverberates in larger popu­lar culture, as evident in MAC Cosmetics’ 2016 release of a makeup line inspired by the singer: The line was sold out within one day of its release.

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En­glish. The crossover designation of Dreaming of You subsequently led to other crossovers at the end of the 20th ­century, including successful artists in the Spanish-­ language market such as Ricky Martin, Marc Anthony, Shakira, and Enrique Iglesias. Although some performers, such as Anthony, contested the designation of “crossover” artist, the ­music industry used ­these performers to promote and market the “Latin explosion” of the late 1990s and early 2000s. Some journalists and scholars believe that the industry’s treatment of “crossover” recording artists as if they ­were newly discovered talent ignores their longstanding international ­careers. The notion of “crossover” also suggests that ­these artists are foreign, and obscures the fact that some of them, like Selena, Marc Anthony, and Jennifer Lopez, w ­ ere born and raised in the United States. The film based on Selena’s life, titled Selena and directed by Gregory Nava, unleashed even more media attention. Released in 1997, the film also played an impor­tant role in Latinos’ increased visibility in popu­lar culture. A national casting call for the lead role lured thousands of girls and young w ­ omen to the auditions. The marketing strategy proved extremely effective, as it increased enthusiasm and anticipation for the film. In the end, Puerto Rican actress, singer, and dancer Jennifer Lopez received the star role. The casting as Selena proved to be Lopez’s breakthrough into Hollywood. Lopez became the highest paid Latina actress, receiving $1 million for her role in the movie. Selena’s presence (and Lopez’s per­for­ mance as Selena) in mainstream popu­lar culture paved the way for other Latina stars such as Eva Longoria, Eva Mendes, Sofia Vergara, and more recently, Selena Gomez, who was named ­after the Tejana singer. Overall, Selena’s visibility was pivotal in turning mainstream media’s attention t­oward Latinos—­particularly bicultural and bilingual Latina/o audiences and consumers—­and establishing Latinos as a market force. Moreover, ­these musical artists did not just break through mainstream popu­lar culture in the United States, but became global icons of Latina/o culture.

Promoting Crossover Performers The potential breakthrough success of Latino pop m ­ usic stars is often projected and mea­sured against previous Latin ­music sales. Artists such as Selena and Ricky Martin demonstrated a strong and stable track rec­ord of Spanish-­language a­ lbum sales prior to receiving the promotional backing they needed from their respective recording labels to support English-­language ­album releases. Ricky Martin’s crossover success unfolded with ­music industry support from major recording label Sony, as it did for Gloria Estefan, Marc Anthony, Jennifer Lopez, and Shakira. Out of ­these artists, Estefan had the longest relationship with Sony (formerly CBS), since the Miami Sound Machine and Estefan released their first studio a­ lbums in the early 1980s. The second most longstanding contractual relationship with Sony was Ricky

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Martin’s in 1990. Martin’s proven ability to sell back-­to-­back commercially successful Spanish-­language a­ lbums u­ nder Sony’s Latin m ­ usic imprint boosted the label’s confidence in his ability to attain global popularity as a bilingual performer. In the mid-1990s, head ­music industry executives devised a list of Latin-­branded performers with bicultural and bilingual crossover appeal to mainstream and potentially global audiences (Cobo, 2006a, p. 44). ­These executives included Tommy Mottola (former chairman/CEO of Sony ­Music), Jerry Blair (then vice president of Columbia Rec­ords, a subsidiary of Sony ­Music Holdings, Inc.), Frank Welzer (former chairman of Sony Latin Amer­i­ca), and Luana Pagani (then vice president of Global Marketing Latin at Sony). Previously, Tommy Mottola had experienced phenomenal success promoting Gloria Estefan’s bilingual entree into pop m ­ usic. He was confident in Ricky Martin’s abilities to follow suit as a seasoned performer on the rise in the Latin ­music market, with bilingual talent, handsome looks, and a good voice (Alpert and O’Neill, 2015). When Ricky Martin released his Spanish-­language a­ lbum titled A Medio Vivir (1995), it produced a major hit song, “María,” particularly popu­lar among audiences in Latin Amer­i­ca. Based on the popularity of the original Spanish version of the song, Jerry Blair authorized production of a bilingual version of the song. Martin was then sent out to promote the bilingual single, “María,” to radio in heavi­ly concentrated Latin markets, and a year l­ ater it became a top 10 song across 20 markets (Cobo, 2006a, p. 44). Martin’s subsequent a­ lbum release in 1998, Vuelve, featured the song “La Copa de la Vida,” which he translated into a highly energetic and bilingual per­for­mance of “The Cup of Life” at the Grammy Awards in 1999. Ricky’s 1999 Grammy per­for­mance was a pinnacle of his m ­ usic c­ areer that received prominent mainstream media attention as well as international press. His per­for­mance also set the stage for the Latin Wave of talent that would break through to mainstream and global crossovers alongside him. Within weeks of his Grammy per­for­mance, Sony released Ricky’s self-­titled En­glish language a­ lbum (Ricky Martin, 1999), which went on to sell 7 million copies in the United States and 15 million copies worldwide (Cobo, 2006a, p. 40). U ­ nder the direction of Tommy Mottola, the label followed up Ricky’s English-­language debut with similarly marketed Latin/ pop releases from Marc Anthony (Marc Anthony, 1999) and Jennifer Lopez (On the 6, 1999). ­These commercially successful ­albums contributed to record-­breaking profits for Sony M ­ usic and the Latin m ­ usic industry as a w ­ hole, to the extent that first-­quarter profits from 1999 revealed a significant 46 ­percent increase in Latin ­music sales (Zimmerman, 2000, p. 17). Emilio Estefan is another key figure, known for having worked with, developed talent for, and/or produced ­music for “almost ­every major crossover act” (Gurza, 2004). In 1994, Emilio negotiated for his own subsidiary m ­ usic label ­under Sony named Crescent Moon. That same year, Emilio and Gloria Estefan also opened

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Crescent Moon Studios in Miami, Florida, and have since proclaimed it “the epicenter of the Latin ­music boom” (Crescent Moon, 2017). Emilio Estefan’s work at Crescent Moon Studios garnered a host of production and/or songwriting credits on the ­albums of Gloria Estefan, Jon Secada, Ricky Martin, Thalia, Carlos Vives, Carlos Ponce, Paulina Rubio, Shakira, and numerous o­ thers. In all, he received more than 30 Grammy nominations and 19 Grammy wins, including a Latin Grammy for “Producer of the Year” in 2000 and induction into the “Songwriters Hall of Fame” in 2001. Estefan was the executive producer for Shakira’s Spanish-­language ­album release, Dónde Están los Ladrones? (1998), which integrated a heavy rock guitar sound and a Latin/Arabic dance track, “Ojos Asi.” ­These drew from Shakira’s Lebanese heritage and inspired aspects that would come to be recognized as signature ele­ments of her stage per­for­mance, such as belly dancing. Gloria and Emilio Estefan both worked with Shakira on her En­glish crossover ­album, Laundry Ser­vice (2001). In par­tic­u­lar, Gloria Estefan helped Shakira with En­glish translations for the ­album, including translating one of Shakira’s most popu­lar songs in Spanish, “Suerte,” which took on new life as “Whenever, Wherever,” in En­glish and became the crossover single that propelled Shakira to international pop star status. Leading into the early 2000s, several other artists and recording labels sought to follow the blueprint that Sony had pioneered for commercial Latin crossover stars. One journalist described Sony’s method in the following way: “The formula: Play down the polyrhythms, play up the ‘hot and sexy’ ste­reo­type, and keep the lyr­ics generic, and mostly in En­glish” (Gurza, 2004). Thus, Interscope/Universal signed artist Enrique Iglesias (son of Spanish crossover icon Julio Iglesias), and by 2001 Enrique released his own ­album in En­glish, titled Escape, which included both Spanish-­and English-­language versions of his three principal tracks. This ­album sold more than 3.5 million copies in the U.S. market alone, ultimately bolstered by the song “Hero,” which was a­ dopted as an anthem for heroes and survivors of the historic September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States (Cobo, 2015). Subsequent ­album releases for Enrique Iglesias followed a familiar pattern ­adopted by Ricky Martin during his post-­crossover moment, as both artists continued releasing new ­music in both languages and targeting their marketing strategies across the Latin ­music market as well as to mainstream and global ­music audiences. This strategy has proven successful over time, and resulted in Iglesias selling more than 100 million ­albums worldwide (Cobo, 2015). In the latter part of 2015, Enrique left his long-­time label Interscope/Universal and signed with Sony M ­ usic for an even more lucrative contract (Cobo, 2015). In addition to typical crossover attempts from Spanish to En­glish that w ­ ere commonplace during the initial “Latin Wave” in the 1990s, ­there ­were also a number of reverse crossover attempts in the early 2000s, with English-­language artists and/or

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celebrities debuting m ­ usic in Spanish. In 2000, Mexican American professional boxing champion Oscar De La Hoya worked with top m ­ usic producers and songwriters to launch his attempt at crossover into the arena of Latin pop m ­ usic. De La Hoya released a Spanish-­language ­album (with two En­glish tracks) on EMI Latin. The ­album was in honor of his ­mother Cecilia, who was a former singer and had passed away a­ fter a b­ attle with cancer. This was De La Hoya’s only m ­ usic ­album. It peaked at the 121 spot on the Billboard 200 and was nominated for a Grammy Award in 2001. Former CEO of EMI Latin, Jose Behar, who previously worked b­ ehind the scenes on Selena’s 1995 crossover ­album, explained his strategy with De La Hoya’s ­album: “This w ­ ill appeal to the Latin, bicultural and Anglo consumers—­there is enough value in the a­ lbum content-­wise to allow us to go a­ fter Luis Miguel and Alejandro Fernandez fan bases” (Zimmerman, 2000, p. 19). Conversely, some m ­ usic critics gauged this crossover attempt as grasping at straws to capitalize on any bilingual Latino talent who could potentially make the ­music industry a profit. Some critics also raised skepticism about strategies to market mainstream pop artists more heavi­ly, such as Christina Aguilera, of Ec­ua­dor­ian heritage, as a Latin/(a) artist precisely during the “Latin Explosion,” as she too released a Spanish-­language ­album in 2000, titled Mi Reflejo (BMG). Production on the ­album required extra attention to Christina’s phonetic pronunciation of Spanish, as she was not a native speaker. The ­album charted in top spots across Latin Billboard and pop categories, but most m ­ usic critics panned the a­ lbum for lacking originality, as it recycled songs from her debut English-­language ­album (Christina Aguilera, 1999) and translated them into Spanish. One m ­ usic critic explained that “it’s enjoyable as it spins, but it ­doesn’t add anything new to her m ­ usic, since it’s just the old m ­ usic in new clothing” (Erlewine, 2000). In all, reverse crossover efforts during the Latin Wave ­were often met with lukewarm reception from ­music fans and critics alike.

The Decline of the Latin Explosion The second wave of Latin-­branded artists that attempted to enter the mainstream ­music market ­after 2001 encountered a noticeably less favorable climate. At this point, ­there ­were indications of fatigue setting in from consumers a­ fter years of media hype surrounding the Latin Explosion. In part, this could have been a reaction to the public’s increased awareness that the Latin Explosion was part of a larger marketing plan driven directly by the ­music and entertainment industries. In fact, Tommy Mottola publicly admitted that the Latin Explosion was “a mirage”—­a term developed by the media and specifically utilized by recording labels like Sony to market Latin acts to mainstream and global audiences (Cobo, 2004, 14). Thus, most ­music critics, journalists, and scholars agree that the rise and fall of the Latin Explosion—­and thereby, Latin crossovers or breakthroughs—­hinged on profits. For

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instance, ­there ­were many a­ lbum releases during the Latin Wave that w ­ ere considered commercial flops and inspired mainstream media headlines trumpeting that the Latin boom had gone bust. In 2002, for example, Mexican pop star Paulina Rubio (also known as la chica dorada [“the golden girl”]) released her En­glish debut, Border Girl, on Universal’s label. This ­album delivered an upbeat dance club sound that was already recognizable to Paulina’s core audiences, but the ­album did not capture the attention or sales of English-­dominant audiences, selling only 270,000 copies (Cobo, 2004, p. 14). Another less profitable English-­language release that entered the mainstream ­music market during the early 2000s was the self-­titled ­album Thalia (2003) from Thalia, a Mexican soap opera star and Tommy Mottola’s wife. It sold only 184,000 copies with her former recording label, EMI Latin (Cobo, 2004, p. 14). Despite the media hype surrounding the Latin Explosion in the 1990s, ­albums released in the early 2000s did not sell as expected. The Latin Explosion of the 1990s did, however, usher in industry interest in reggaetón, a hybrid musical genre that fuses reggae, rap, and pop that became very popu­lar in the early 2000s. Most journalists, ­music critics, and scholars express overarching ambivalence about the success of the Latin ­music boom of the 1990s and early 2000s. However, the Latin Explosion did more than bring attention to Latin ­music and artists. While mainstream popu­lar culture was more inclusive of Latino artists and Latin genres of ­music, the Latin Explosion occurred at the same time as mainstream media’s coverage of what it portrayed as the “Latin Invasion” of Latino immigrants in the same time period. In other words, the Latin Explosion ushered in both a cele­ bration of Latino culture and a fear of growing immigration. The usage of both “Latin Explosion” (to refer to m ­ usic) and “Latin Invasion” (to refer to p­ eople) suggested mainstream ac­cep­tance of Latin popu­lar culture into the United States, but si­mul­ta­neously reflected a tension and backlash against Latinos, and especially against immigrants in the United States.

Biographies of Notable Figures Selena Quintanilla Pérez (1971–1995) Known in her musical c­ areer solely by her first name and often referred to by the press as the “Queen of Tejano ­music,” Selena Quintanilla Pérez was born in Lake Jackson, Texas, in 1971 to Abraham and Marcella Quintanilla. Selena was the youn­ gest of three ­children. A third-­generation Mexican American, Selena’s first language was En­glish and she grew up speaking ­little Spanish. Her ­father, who was formerly in a doo-­wop band called the Dinos, recognized Selena’s talent at a young age. In 1980, Selena’s parents opened up a Tex-­Mex restaurant in Lake Jackson

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where Selena, at age nine, and her siblings, Abraham (nicknamed A.B.) and Suzette, performed for live audiences as the band Selena y los Dinos. The restaurant closed two years ­later during a recession. Due to financial hardship, the ­family subsequently moved to Corpus Christi, Texas. Once settled in Corpus Christi, the ­family tried to make a living off the band by touring Texas on a bus. Mr. Quintanilla removed Selena from school in the eighth grade in order to tour the state. Selena received her high school diploma via correspondence from The American School in Chicago in 1989. She was accepted into Louisiana State University, but did not enroll. Selena was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, but ­later distanced herself from the church especially as she began to wear provocative outfits on stage, which conflicted with the church’s traditional gender norms of modesty. Although Selena and her siblings preferred English-­language genres such as disco, rock and roll, and pop, their ­father made them perform Tejano ­music. ­Because Mr. Quintanilla’s doo-­wop band, Los Dinos, faced discrimination among Anglo club ­owners and promoters and attracted ­little interest among Mexican American audiences, Selena’s ­father encouraged his c­ hildren to pursue their musical c­ areers in the local Tejano genre. Selena’s success is significant ­because Tejano m ­ usic has historically been a male-­dominated field. In addition, Selena did not speak Spanish fluently. As her stage man­ag­er, Quintanilla groomed his ­daughter to be a star. Her ­brother A.B. became her ­music producer and songwriter. Selena recorded her first a­ lbum, Selena y los Dinos, in 1984 for Freddie Rec­ords. She won the Tejano M ­ usic Award for Female Vocalist of Year in 1986. She would continue to win this award nine consecutive times. She released five more LP rec­ords before Jose Behar, president of EMI Latin (a newly formed subsidiary label of EMI Rec­ords) recruited her as the label’s first artist in 1989. She released her namesake ­album, Selena, with EMI Latin that year. She also became a spokesperson for Coca-­ Cola and continued in this role ­until her death. Next, she released Ven Conmigo in 1990. Her third a­ lbum with EMI Latin, Entre Mi Mundo, was released in 1992 and ranked number one on Billboard Regional Mexican ­Albums for 19 nonconsecutive weeks. One of the singles on this ­album, “Como La Flor,” became her signature song in concerts and among fans. Selena also married her guitarist, Chris Pérez, in 1992. In 1993, the star recorded her a­ lbum Selena Live at the Memorial Coliseum in Corpus Christi. She won a Grammy for “Best Mexican American Per­for­mance” for that ­album. ­After duets with Spanish-­language pop singer Alvaro Torres and the bilingual boy band Barrio Boyzz, Selena was able to tour nationally and in Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean, thereby expanding her exposure to audiences outside the Southwest. In 1994, Selena released the ­album Amor Prohibido, which went triple-­platinum in rec­ord sales. Amor Prohibido marked a shift from her previous ­albums in its more overt fusion of regional Mexican, pan-­Latin American cumbia,

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disco, pop, and funk. While her m ­ usic, and especially her dancing style, drew from a number of U.S. and Latin American genres, Amor Prohibido had a more hybrid, pop sound than her previous rec­ords. Following the success of Amor Prohibido, in 1994 Selena also opened two boutiques that included beauty salons and sold her Selena, Etc. fashion line. During this period, she also began recording her crossover ­album in En­glish. On March 31, 1995, at the age of 23, Selena was gunned down by her employee, Yolanda Saldivar, who managed the singer’s boutiques and her fan club. An outpouring from fans in Texas and throughout the country captured the attention of mainstream media outlets. As a result, ­People magazine released a special “Tribute” issue to Selena and most broadcast networks covered her death and fans’ reactions on the eve­ning news. ­There was also controversy over what fans viewed as Howard Stern’s offensive treatment of Selena’s death, ­music, and fans on an episode of his popu­lar talk radio show. Stern l­ater issued an apology a­ fter many fans complained publicly. In garnering so much media attention, Selena crossed over into mainstream popu­lar culture posthumously. The governor of Texas at the time, George W. Bush, declared her birthday, April 16, “Selena Day” two weeks ­after her death. Her crossover ­album, Dreaming of You, was released in late 1995 and made the top of the Billboard 200 charts—­the first time for a Latin artist. In 1997, Warner ­Brothers released the film Selena, directed by Gregory Nava and starring Jennifer Lopez. The film depicted Selena’s life and rise to stardom. Selena drew the largest casting call since the search for Gone With the Wind’s Scarlett O’Hara, with 24,000 young w ­ omen auditioning. In 2000, the theater production Selena Forever, ­later titled Selena: A Musical Cele­ bration of Life, launched and toured. Overall, Selena made a lasting impact on mainstream popu­lar culture, selling over 60 million ­albums worldwide.

Ricky Martin (1971–) Ricky Martin (Enrique Martin Morales) is a globally recognized Puerto Rican singer who has maintained a commercially successful c­ areer spanning nearly four de­cades in the ­music and entertainment industries. Billboard magazine recognized Martin as “Latin m ­ usic’s global ambassador” and dedicated an issue to his breakthrough achievements in the m ­ usic industry and his philanthropic and humanitarian efforts around the globe (Cobo, 2006a, p. 39). Born in Hato Rey, Puerto Rico, to Nereida Morales and his namesake f­ather Enrique Martin Negroni, Martin’s childhood nicknames included Quiquito and Kiki (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004, p. 247). Martin first entered the media spotlight at the age of six, when he began modeling and acting in tele­vi­sion commercials in Puerto Rico. Before the age of 10, Martin took singing and acting lessons, which prepared

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him to audition for the Puerto Rican boy band Menudo. Martin auditioned three times and was rejected twice due to his short stature (Cobo, 2006a, p. 42). However, his per­sis­tence paid off and at 14 Martin replaced an aging Ricky Melendez. His fellow Menudo group members gave him the nickname “New Ricky.” Martin remained with Menudo through his teen years, and learned discipline from constantly rehearsing and recording for five years. He reflected on t­ hose days, recounting, “One day we played for 250,000 p­ eople, and two years l­ ater we played for 15 p­ eople. You can have it all and you can have nothing, in a heartbeat” (Wild, 1999, p. 38). Martin traveled the world throughout ­those years, performing in stadiums across Latin Amer­i­ca, the United States, Asia, and Eu­rope. He and the other Menudo members also served as global ambassadors for UNICEF. ­After rotating out of Menudo, Ricky completed high school in Puerto Rico and retreated to New York on a one-­year sabbatical. ­After this hiatus, Martin accepted offers for acting roles in Mexico that allowed him to integrate his singing talent and establish a fan base as a solo artist. He joined the cast of the musical “Mama Ama El Rock,” a Mexican telenovela (soap opera) Alcanzar Una Estrella, and a part in a feature film titled “Mas Que Alcanzar Una Estrella,” which earned him a Heraldo award (akin to an Oscar award in the United States). In 1990, Martin signed a contract with Sony and released back-­to-­back Spanish-­ language ­albums (Ricky Martin, 1991; Me Amaras, 1992) with multiple ballads and love songs that garnered top-­rank spots on the Latin charts, as well as recognition for Martin as one of Billboard magazine’s top “New Latin Artists” of 1993. In an effort to capitalize on ­these accolades while also expanding his reach to U.S. audiences, Martin moved to Los Angeles to pursue both singing and acting. By 1994, he landed a spot on the U.S. soap opera General Hospital, playing the role of Miguel Morez, which helped strengthen his En­glish skills and also exposed him to daytime tele­vi­sion audiences in the United States on a weekly basis for nearly two years. Martin’s next acting and singing role took him to New York to play the part of Marius in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Broadway show Les Miserables. Throughout ­these years, Martin remained dedicated to building up his reputation as a versatile artist. Label executives at Sony ­were excited about his potential to attract global recognition as a bilingual artist (Adams, 2006, p. 66). Martin’s next two a­ lbums (A Medio Vivir, 1995; Vuelve, 1998) solidified his Spanish-­language core audiences across Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean. The popularity of major hit songs, such as “Maria” (1995), which charted in the Billboard top 100, and “La Copa de la Vida” (1998) expanded Martin’s fan base into Eu­rope. The song “La Copa de la Vida” was chosen for the 1998 World Cup, recorded in multiple languages, and became a major hit across Latin Amer­i­ca and Eu­rope at

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the time (Cobo, 2006a, p. 44). Subsequently, Martin’s larger a­ lbum, Vuelve, went on to sell almost 1 million copies in the United States and 7 million copies worldwide (Cobo, 2006a, p. 40). Nevertheless, it was Martin’s per­for­mance of the mostly English-­language version of the song “The Cup of Life” at the 1999 Grammy Awards in Los Angeles that drew the attention of U.S. mainstream media: thereafter his per­for­mance was referred to as what “put a match to the tinder of the pop-­music world” and made him “the symbol of Latin culture’s new mainstream status in the United States” (Watrous, 1999). Ironically, the producers of the 1999 Grammys ­were hesitant to broadcast Martin’s Spanish-­language per­for­mance during prime time. It actually required the coaxing of Emilio Estefan to convince then Grammy award president, Michael Greene, to allow Martin to perform (Cobo, 2006a, p. 44). In the end, Martin did perform a bilingual version (with some chorus parts in Spanish), surrounded by batucada drummers and Brazilian dancers. Within months, Sony released Martin’s self-­titled ­album in En­glish, which produced his greatest hit song to date, “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” Martin’s robust commercial success in 1999 prompted Sony to release ­albums from Marc Anthony, Jennifer Lopez, and ­later Shakira—­all of whom they also considered to be “crossover acts,” given their potential to break linguistic bound­aries and attract international audiences with their Latin-­tinged sound. Time magazine’s cover story on Martin proclaimed the headline, “Latin Goes Pop” in homage to the seemingly pivotal moment in which Martin’s version of Latin ­music resonated with English-­dominant audiences in the United States and abroad (Farley, 1999). Facing the pressure to maintain the attention of both English-­and Spanish-­dominant audiences, Martin released another mostly En­glish ­album, titled Sound Loaded, in 2000, which yielded another hit song, “She Bangs,” followed by a “greatest hits” ­album in 2001 and a return to recording in Spanish for his 2003 production, Almas del Silencio. When asked about his contribution to the ­careers of other Latin-­branded acts that followed his lead, Martin responded: “That’s a big responsibility [for one to assume]. The timing was perfect, and a lot of work had been done for a long time. I agree that the work I did helped to interest the non-­Latin world in my culture. And I love that” (Cobo, 2006b, p. 56). See also: Birth of Latin Jazz; Founding of Univision; Gay Rights Movement; Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway

Further Reading Adams, Steve. 2006. “Martin’s World View: Why Fans from Japan to Finland Love Ricky.” Billboard, 64–66. Alpert, Jon, and Matthew O’Neill. 2015. The Latin Explosion: A New Amer­i­ca. Miami: Home Box Office (HBO).

862 | The Conservative Tide and Pro­gress amid Backlash, 1980–2000 Beltrán, Mary C. 2009. Latina/o Stars in U.S. Eyes: The Making and Meanings of Film and TV Stardom. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Bosch, Adriana. 2009. “Latin M ­ usic USA,” in Daniel McCabe, ed., Latin ­Music USA (PBS). Retrieved from http://­www​.­pbs​.­org​/­wgbh​/­latinmusicusa​/­index​.­html#​/­en​/­wat​/­04​/­05 Ceisel, Christina. 2011. “El Rock Star Perfecto?: Theorizing Juanes and New Directions in Crossover Celebrity.” Communication Theory 21 (4): 413–435. Cepeda, Maria Elena. 2000. “Mucho Loco for Ricky Martin; or the Politics of Chronology, Crossover, and Language within the Latin(o) M ­ usic ‘Boom’.” Popu­lar ­Music and Society 24 (3): 55–71. Cepeda, Maria Elena. 2001. “ ‘Columbus Effect(s)’: Chronology and Crossover in the Latin(o) ­Music ‘Boom’.” Discourse 23 (1): 63–81. Cepeda, Maria Elena. 2003. “Shakira as the Idealized, Transnational Citizen: A Case Study of Colombianidad in Transition.” Latino Studies 1: 211–232. Cepeda, Maria Elena. 2010. Musical ImagiNation: U.S.-­Colombian Identity and the Latin ­Music Boom. New York: New York University Press. Cobo, Leila. 2004. “Latin Acts Tread Carefully with Crossover Bids.” Billboard, January 24, 11–14. Cobo, Leila. 2006a. “The Latin Spark: How Ricky Martin Ignited a New Era for Latin ­Music.” Billboard, November 4, 40–46. Cobo, Leila. 2006b. “Living La Vida Plena: Honored by the Latin Recording Acad­emy as Person of the Year, Martin Reflects on a Life of Achievement.” Billboard, November 4, 48–56. Cobo, Leila. 2013. “Juanes Aside, Upsets Dominate Among Latin Grammy Winners.” Billboard, February 11. Retrieved from http://­www​.­billboard​.­com​/­articles​/­columns​/­latin​ -­notas​/­1538723​/­juanes​-­aside​-­upsets​-­dominate​-­among​-­latin​-­grammy​-­winners Cobo, Leila. 2015. “Enrique Iglesias Signs with Sony ­Music: Exclusive”. Billboard, July 25, 1–7. Retrieved from http://­www​.­billboard​.­com​/­articles​/­columns​/­latin​/­6642014​/­enrique​ -­iglesias​-­signs​-­with​-­sony​-­music Crescent Moon. 2017. “About Us.” Retrieved from http://­www​.­crescentmoon​.­com​/­about​-­us​ .­html Erlewine, Stephen Thomas. 2000. “AllMusic Review.” allmusic​.­com​.­ Retrieved from http://­ www​.­allmusic​.­com​/­album​/­mi​-­reflejo​-­mw0000088462 Farley, Christopher John. 1999. “Latin ­Music Pops: We’ve Seen the ­Future. It Looks like Ricky Martin. It Sings like Marc Anthony. It Dances like Jennifer Lopez. Que Bueno!” Time, May  24. Retrieved from http://­content​.­time​.­com​/­time​/­magazine​/­article​ /­0,9171,991039,00​.­html Fiol​-­Matta, Licia. 2002. “Pop Latinidad: Puerto Ricans in the Latin Explosion.” Centro: Journal of the Center for Puerto Rican Studies 14 (2): 27–51. Gurza, Agustin. 2004. “1999 Was the Year of the Latin Explosion. Ricky. Enrique. J. Lo. But the high-­gloss boom went bust—­with lessons for the next wave.” Los Angeles Times, August  15. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​/­2004​/­aug​/­15​/­entertainment​/­ca​ -­gurza15

Latin Explosion in Popu­lar ­Music, 1990s | 863 Martínez, Katynka Z. 2003. The “Latin Explosion,” Media Audiences and the Marketing of Latino Panethnicity: “Latina” Magazine and the Latin Grammys in a Post-­Selena Amer­i­ca (doctoral dissertation). University of California, San Diego, CA. Molina-­Gúzman, Isabel. 2010. Dangerous Curves: Latina Bodies in the Media. New York: New York University Press. Negrón-­Muntaner, Frances. 2004. Boricua Pop: Puerto Ricans and the Latinization of American Culture. New York: New York University Press. Paredez, Deborah. 2009. Selenidad: Selena, Latinos, and the Per­for­mance of Memory. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Portillo, Lourdes. 1999. Corpus: A Home Movie for Selena. San Francisco: ­Women Make Movies, Xochitl Productions. Valdivia, Angharad N. 2010. Latina/os and the Media. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Vargas, Deborah. 2002. “Cruzando frontejas: Remapping Selena’s Tejano M ­ usic ‘Crossover,’ ” in Norma E. Cantú and Olga Nájera-­Ramírez, eds., Chicana Traditions: Continuities and Change, 224–236. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Vargas, Deborah. 2012. Dissonant Divas in Chicana ­Music: The Limits of La Onda. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Watrous, Peter. 1999. “For Latin M ­ usic, New Worlds to Conquer; English-­Speaking Fans Discover a Spanish Voice.” New York Times, May 24. Retrieved from http://­www​.n­ ytimes​ .­com​/­1999​/­05​/­24​/­arts​/­for​-­latin​-­music​-­new​-­worlds​-­conquer​-­english​-­speaking​-­fans​ -­discover​-­spanish​-­voice​.­html​?­pagewanted​=­all Wild, David. 1999. “Q & A: Ricky Martin.” Rolling Stone, June 10: 38. Zimmerman, Kevin. 2000. “More Expansion Expected in Emerging Latino Genres.” ­Music Business International 10 (3, June): 17–19.

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9 Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present

Election and Appointment of Latinos in the 21st ­Century, 2000–­Present Walter Wilson

Chronology 1967

President Lyndon B. Johnson appoints Mexican American Vicente T.  Ximenes to chair the President’s Cabinet Committee on Mexican American Affairs. This is the first Mexican American or Hispanic appointed to a presidential cabinet.

1976

U.S. Representative Ed Roybal helps create the National Association of Latino Demo­cratic Officials (NALDO) alongside the Congressional Hispanic Caucus (CHC).

1978

NALDO changes its name to National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed (NALEO) to signal nonpartisan membership.

1973

Mauricio Ferre is elected the first Latino mayor of Miami.

1981

Henry Cisneros is elected the first Mexican American mayor of San Antonio, Texas, since 1842.

1983

Federico Peña becomes the first Latino mayor of Denver.

1988

Lauro Cavazos is named as the first Hispanic Secretary of Education at the end of President Ronald Reagan’s administration. President George H.W. Bush retains him in that position and also appoints Republican Manuel Lujan, Jr., as Secretary of the Interior.

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1989

Ileana Ros-­Lehtinen is elected the first Cuban American and first Latina to the U.S. Congress.

1990

Antonia Novello, of Puerto Rican descent, becomes the first Latino appointed as U.S. Surgeon General. She is appointed by George H.W. Bush.

1993

Former San Antonio mayor, Henry Cisneros, becomes the first Hispanic to serve as Secretary of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). President Bill Clinton appoints him in that role. Former Denver mayor Federico Peña becomes the first Hispanic Secretary of Transportation, also ­under President Clinton.

1997–­1998 Federico Peña becomes the first Hispanic Secretary of Energy, also for the Clinton administration. He is followed by former New Mexico governor Bill Richardson in that position. 2000

The NALEO directory lists 4,060 Latinos in local, state, and national level positions. No governor or U.S. senator in the country is Latino, just 19 members of Congress are Latino, and Latinos hold only 8 statewide executive positions.

2001

Mel Martinez is appointed Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. He is the second Latino to hold the position (Henry Cisneros occupied the office from 1993 to 1997), and the sixth Latino member of a presidential cabinet. Martinez’s other Latino cabinet pre­de­ces­sors include Lauro Cavazos (Secretary of Education, 1988–1990), Manuel Lujan (Secretary of the Interior, 1989–1993), Federico Peña (Secretary of Transportation, 1993–1997; Secretary of Energy, 1997–1998), and Bill Richardson (Secretary of Energy, 1998–2001). Edward Garza is elected mayor of San Antonio, Texas. At age 32, he is the youn­gest person ever to serve in that position.

2002

Bill Richardson is elected governor of New Mexico. He is the ninth Latino governor in U.S. history, and the first Mexican American governor in New Mexico since Toney Anaya, who served from 1983 to 1987.

2004

Mel Martinez (R-­FL) and Ken Salazar (D-­CO) become the first Latinos elected to the U.S. Senate since Jose Montoya, who served New Mexico from 1964 to 1977. A rec­ord 23 Latinos are elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. The number of Latino elected officials in the United States reaches 5,041.

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2005

Alberto Gonzales, former White House Council to President George W. Bush, becomes the first Latino to serve as U.S. Attorney General. Antonio Villaraigosa is elected mayor of Los Angeles, California, becoming the first Latino to serve in the position since Cristobal Aguilar in 1872.

2007

Alberto Gonzales resigns from the office of U.S. Attorney General ­after bipartisan calls for his removal and the introduction of a bill to authorize a congressional impeachment investigation due to suspicions about a number of pos­si­ble ethical and ­legal breaches.

2008

New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson runs unsuccessfully for the Demo­cratic presidential nomination, and endorses Senator Barack Obama following his withdrawal from the race.

2009

Former  U.S. Representative Hilda Solis (D-­CA) becomes the first Latina to serve as Secretary of ­Labor, and the first Latina member of a presidential cabinet. Julian Castro is elected mayor of San Antonio, Texas.

2010

Brian Sandoval (R-­NV) and Susana Martinez (R-­NM) are elected governor in their states. This marks the first time two Latinos served as governors concurrently since 1977, and the first time two Latino Republican governors ever served concurrently. A rec­ord 24 Latinos are elected to the U.S. House of Representatives.

2012

The number of Latino elected officials in the United States reaches 6,011, and a rec­ord 28 Latinos are elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. Ted Cruz (R-­TX) joins Marco Rubio (R-­FL) and Robert Menendez (D-­NJ) in the U.S. Senate. It is the first time three Latinos have ever served in the Senate concurrently.

2014

Julian Castro is appointed the 16th United States Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.

2015

A rec­ord 32 Latinos are serving in the U.S. Congress. The number of Latino elected officials in the United States reaches 6,124.

2016

Senators Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio compete for the Republican presidential nomination. It is the first race in ­either major po­liti­cal party to feature two Latino candidates among the top contenders for the nomination.

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Narrative Though Latinos made ­great strides in the last de­cades of the 20th  ­century in securing greater po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion through the election and appointment of Latinos in local, state, and national government, the number of Latinos in public office increased dramatically during the first 15 years of the 21st ­century. Despite t­ hese increases, their numbers have still lagged far ­behind what is necessary to achieve proportional repre­sen­ta­tion of the Latino population in the American po­liti­cal system. According to directories supplied by the National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials (NALEO), the number of Latino elected and appointed officials, including numbers of Latinos serving in Congress, in state legislatures, and on school boards, increased by more than 50 ­percent between 2000 and 2015. The number of Latinos serving in elected and appointed judicial and law enforcement positions, as well as in special district positions, nearly doubled during that period. Growth in the number of Latino municipal and county officials was far more limited. In fact, numbers of Latino county officials actually diminished slightly between 2010 and 2015. Overall, the NALEO data suggest that while Latinos are making impor­tant strides ­toward greater repre­sen­ta­tion in public office, impor­tant obstacles continue to limit Latino po­ liti­ cal inclusion and influence in the early 21st ­century. Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in major federal and state office was quite limited during the 20th  ­ century. At the national level, the number of Latinos in Congress did not hit double digits u­ ntil 1983. ­There was never more than one Latino in the U.S. Senate between 1935 and 1978, and ­ there ­ were none between 1979 and 2005. Nationwide, the Justice Sonia Sotomayor has been a member of the Supreme Court of the United States since August 8, number of Latino elected and 2009. She is the third w ­ oman and first Latina to appointed officials did not reach hold the position. (Steve Petteway, Collection of the 4,000 ­until 1990. By the turn of Supreme Court of the United States)

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the ­century, NALEO listed 4,060 Latino officials in its national membership directory (NALEO Educational Fund, 2016). Nineteen Congress members ­were Latino, and ­there ­were no Latino U.S. senators or governors in the United States. Just 8 Latinos held statewide executive positions, and only 190 state legislators in the United States w ­ ere Latino. The vast majority of Latino officials served ­either in municipal positions (1,469) or on school boards (1,392). Fifteen years ­later, Latinos occupied 6,124 elected and appointed offices. The number of Latino members of Congress increased to 32. Latinos occupied 12 state-­wide executive positions, including 2 governorships and 305 state legislative seats.

Major Trends in Latino Office Holding Patterns of office holding by Latino officials at the state and federal levels illustrate dynamics that both assist and limit the election of Latinos. Foremost, and consistent with earlier research, t­ hese patterns indicate that the election of Latino officials to high offices is strongly related to the presence of large Latino constituencies (Casellas, 2010). During the 110th Congress (2007–2008), for example, Rep. John Salazar (D-­CO), was the only Latino member of the U.S. House of Representatives who served a district that was less than 40 ­percent Latino. On average, Latino House members served districts that w ­ ere approximately 60 ­percent Latino. The strong relationship between Latino population size and Latino electoral success in the U.S. House helps to explain why the biggest increases in numbers of Latinos elected to the U.S. House occurred ­after the 2002 and 2012 elections. ­These elections followed decennial (10-­year-­long) redistricting pro­cesses that increased the number of Latino-­ majority congressional districts. Latinos in ­those districts exercised their collective influence by electing larger numbers of Latino representatives. In 2002, the number of Latino U.S. Representatives increased by 3, from 19 to 22. In 2012, the number increased by 4, from 24 to 28. The numbers of Latinos elected to Congress in other elections during the period between 2002 and 2012 remained relatively steady, never increasing or decreasing by more than one seat. Numbers of Latino governors, state executives, and U.S. senators remained relatively steady between 2000 and 2015, further illustrating the difficulty Latinos have winning elections in jurisdictions where Latinos comprise a minority. ­After the 2004 elections, the number of Latino governors serving at any given time fluctuated between one and three. Numbers of statewide executives in other positions diminished from 8 in 2000 to 5 in 2007 before rebounding to 10 in 2015. To the extent that Latinos are gaining greater electoral traction in Latino minority districts, Latino Republicans appear to be having the greatest initial success. For example, the 2010 elections of Rep. Jaime Herrera Beutler (R-­WA) and Rep. Raúl Labrador (R-­ID), and the 2014 election of Rep. Alex Mooney (R-­WV), occurred in congressional districts

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Redistricting Dampens Latino Influence in Texas In addition to passing voter identification legislation designed to dampen Latino turnout, the Texas legislature has ­adopted redistricting schemes that threaten to dilute Latino influence at the polls. In 2004, the new Republican majority in the state legislature redrew district lines to increase the number of Republicans elected to Congress from 15 to 21. To evade ­legal challenges ­under the Voting Rights Act, the plan avoided retrogression by ensuring that all six districts that had previously elected Latino representatives would be likely to return their incumbents to Washington. The plan also increased the number of districts likely to elect African American candidates from two to three. By “packing” Latino and black voters into a small number of districts where they would cast the overwhelming majority of votes, the Republican gerrymandering ensured that Latinos and blacks would exercise l­ittle influence in surrounding districts, diminishing the overall influence of minority communities. Although Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in Texas was relatively unscathed by the 2004 redistricting, b­ ecause majority/minority districts proved useful to the Republican gerrymandering, the same cannot be said of the 2011 redistricting. In the de­cade since 2000, the population of the state grew by more than 4.3 million p­ eople. Latinos accounted for 65 ­percent of the population increase, blacks for more than 13 ­percent, and Asian Americans for approximately 10 ­percent. The state was thus awarded four additional congressional seats, expanding the overall size of its House del­e­ga­tion to 36. However, despite the fact that minority groups collectively comprised approximately 90 ­percent of population growth, not one of the new congressional districts was drawn to enable the election of a minority candidate of choice (Berman, 2013). A federal court in San Antonio agreed with a ­legal challenge claiming that the plan diluted minority voting strength in Dallas and Tarrant Counties, and ordered an interim plan be used as a substitute. The U.S. Supreme Court ­later vacated the district court order, and implemented a dif­fer­ent interim plan, which the legislature ­adopted in 2013 (Texas Legislative Council, 2015). By the 114th Congress, 5 Latinos (4 Demo­crats and 1 Republican) and 5 African Americans (4 Demo­crats and 1 Republican) ­were among the 36-­member del­e­ ga­tion. It was the largest number of black representatives ever in the Texas del­e­ga­tion, and smallest number of Latino representatives to represent Texas in two de­cades.

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where Latinos comprised a proportion of the population that was smaller than the national average. The elections of Gov. Brian Sandoval (R-­NV) and Sen. Ted Cruz (R-­TX) in 2012 by mostly Anglo supporters also provide evidence that Latino Republicans can achieve high office without relying disproportionately on Latino supporters. By contrast, Sen. Robert Menendez (D-­NJ) and former Sen. Ken Salazar (D-­CO) are the only Latino Demo­crats who have been elected statewide by majority non-­Hispanic electorates. Trends at the state legislative level echo t­hose at the congressional level in some ways. The steepest increase in the number of Latino state representatives and assembly members occurred a­ fter the 2012 election, when the number jumped from 188 to 209. By 2015, t­ here ­were 231. The number of Latinos elected to state ­houses and assemblies also increased relatively steadily following the 2002 election (from 148 in 2000 to 160 in 2002; 172 in 2004; 177 in 2006; and 189 in 2008, before declining temporarily). At the state senate level, numbers of Latinos elected increased appreciably following the 2002 election, moving from 52 to 61. Subsequent increases have been relatively steady, but modest. Since 2002, numbers of Latinos elected to state senates have increased by just over 2 per election cycle, topping out at 74 in 2015. The most dramatic growth in the number of elected and appointed Latino officials has come at the local level. This has been the case especially with regard to Latino repre­sen­ta­tion on school boards. In 2000, t­here w ­ ere more Latino municipal officials (1,469) than Latino school board members (1,392) in the United States. By 2015, the number of Latino school board members had grown by 68 ­percent, to 2,342. By contrast, the number of Latino municipal officials grew by only 22 ­percent, to 1,800. Latinos have also had rapidly increasing success in elected and appointed positions associated with local judiciaries and law enforcement, and special districts (often associated with utilities). Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in judicial and law enforcement positions grew by 85 ­percent between 2000 and 2015, from 465 positions to 860 positions. Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in special districts doubled from 119 to 239. As was the case with municipal offices, the growth of Latino repre­sen­ta­tion was relatively slow in county positions. From 2000 to 2015, the number of Latino county officials grew by 34 ­percent, from 398 to 534. The fact that Latino repre­sen­ta­tion has grown most dramatically in relatively low-­profile positions is not necessarily surprising. Such races are often run in relatively small districts where Latino candidates are likely to draw strong support from local Latino communities. In larger districts and jurisdictions, where populations are more heterogeneous, the growth of Latino repre­sen­ta­tion has been substantial, but less dramatic. Such trends support the idea that although Latino candidates are

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increasing their electoral appeal outside the Latino community, their electoral success continues to depend primarily on strong Latino voter influence.

­Women Outpace Men in the 21st ­Century Between 2000 and 2015, the number of Latino men in elected or appointed office increased by one-­third, from 2,963 to 3,938. During the same time period, however, the number of Latinas in elected or appointed office increased by 99 ­percent, from 1,097 to 2,186. Although Latinos continue to outnumber Latinas in ­every public office category, the gap is narrowing, especially with regard to lower-­profile offices like county, municipal, and school board positions. The number of Latinas in Congress increased from 5 in 2000 to 9 in 2015. Additionally, Susana Martinez (R-­NM) became the first Latina governor in U.S. history in 2011. The most dramatic gains for Latinas in elected office occurred in state ­houses and assemblies, and in judicial, law enforcement, school board, and special district positions. Numbers of Latina state representatives more than doubled, from 35 in 2000 to 73 in 2015. The number of Latinas in judicial or law enforcement increased 184  ­percent, from 93 to 264. The number of Latinas on school boards increased 116 ­percent, from 441 to 954, and the number of Latinas in special district positions increased nearly threefold, from 20 to 59. ­There is one very prominent office where Latinas achieved repre­sen­ta­tion before Latinos did: the U.S. Supreme Court. In 2009, Sonia Sotomayor became the first Latina Supreme Court Justice ­after being nominated by President Obama and confirmed by the U.S. Senate with a 68–31 vote. Born in 1954 to working-­class parents from Puerto Rico, Sotomayor grew up in the Bronx borough of New York City. She graduated from Prince­ton University and Yale University Law School and was a U.S. District Judge and ­later a U.S. Appeals Court Judge for the Second Cir­cuit before being elevated to the Supreme Court. Sotomayor, who once said “The Latina in me is an ember that blazes forever,” appears to embrace her symbolic role as the nation’s most power­ful Latina (MacGillis, Goldstein, and Barnes, 2009). Although Latinas continue to lag b­ ehind Latinos in terms of overall numbers in public office, the dramatic increases in rates of Latina po­liti­cal success raise in­ter­ est­ing questions about w ­ hether female gender—­which has long been assumed to place candidates of color at a double disadvantage politically—­may increasingly be seen as a po­liti­cal asset, as some suggest (Bejarano, 2013). If current growth rates continue, Latinas w ­ ill eclipse Latinos in terms of numbers in public office sometime around 2030.

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Party Trends Po­liti­cal scientists have long associated Latino voters with support for the Demo­ cratic Party (Cain, Kiewiet, and Uhlaner, 1991). Prominent Latino politicians have typically been Demo­crats. It is not surprising, then, that far more Latino office holders between 2000 and 2015 w ­ ere Demo­crats than Republicans. Still, trends in the party affiliation of Latino office holders are somewhat surprising. For example, the number of Latino Demo­crats in public office fell from 1,578 in the year 2000 as low as 1,207 in 2009 before rebounding to 1,364 in 2015. The number of Latino Republicans in public office increased from 135 to 201 during the same period. The vast majority of Latino office holders claimed no partisan affiliation, or served in nonpartisan positions (local posts such as city councils and school boards). Furthermore, the number of Latino officials without party affiliations nearly doubled, from 2,331 in 2000 to 4,553 in 2015. The growth of Latino leadership in local po­liti­ cal offices that are often nonpartisan—­municipalities, school boards, judicial and law enforcement offices, counties, and special districts—­helps to explain ­these trends. The fact that Latinos have increased their presence in e­ very category of public office, but the number of Demo­crat Latino officials decreased by more than 200 in 2015 compared to 2000 raises impor­tant questions about the partisan f­uture of Latino repre­sen­ta­tion. Current trends suggest that Latino leadership in Amer­i­ca is becoming increasingly heterogeneous with regard to po­liti­cal party affiliation. The importance of candidate ethnicity to Latino voter mobilization also suggests that Demo­crats are losing ground, and Republicans are gaining ground, when it comes to putting forth candidates who can attract Latino voters (Barreto, 2010).

Texas Leads the Way? Between 2000 and 2015, Texas consistently outpaced ­every other state with regard to numbers of Latino elected and appointed officials. In fact, nearly 43 ­percent of all Latino officials in office annually, on average, ­were in Texas. More populous California, by contrast, was home to 22  ­percent of Latino office holders, on average, during the period between 2000 and 2015. But while t­ hese two mega-­states accounted for the vast majority of Latino officials in Amer­i­ca, New Mexico easily outpaced all other states in numbers of Latino public officials per capita. On average, nearly 13 ­percent of Latino officeholders in recent years ­were from New Mexico, a state with fewer than 2.1 million residents, or less than 1 ­percent of the U.S. population. A number of ­factors appear to contribute to the prominence of Texas as a hotbed of Latino po­liti­cal leadership. First, Texas’s diffuse governmental organ­ ization, and large number of elective offices, offers substantial po­liti­cal opportunity to aspiring Latino politicians. Texas has 254 counties—­far more than any other state.

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New Voter ID Laws Erect Barriers to Latino Participation ­ ecause Latino elected officials tend to win largely on the strength of Latino B votes, rules governing elections can have a profound impact on Latino office-­ holding. In 2000, just 14 states required some form of voter identification at the polls. By 2016, that number had increased to 33 (National Council of State Legislatures, 2016a). An increasing number of states have imposed especially strict requirements that voters show certain kinds of photo identification. Such laws have the potential to disproportionately shape the influence of Latino voters in elections ­because low-­income demographics are less likely to be in possession of state-­issued identification cards. The U.S. Supreme Court decision in Shelby County v. Holder (2013) was a major development that enabled the imposition of stricter voter requirements. The Court invalidated the formula used to identify jurisdictions required to seek preclearance from the U.S. Justice Department in order to change their election laws. This meant that states with a history of voter discrimination against minorities—­mostly in the South—­could adopt and implement new election laws without federal interference. The move unleashed a torrent of potentially discriminatory election laws. By 2014, eight states imposed very strict photo identification (ID) requirements, up from two in 2010 (National Council of State Legislatures, 2016b). A court challenge forced Texas to moderate its ID requirements for the 2016 election by allowing voters to cast provisional ballots if they could produce a nonphoto ID, such as a utility bill. Preliminary evidence suggests that Latino voter turnout in 2014 was dampened by the Texas voter ID law. The study, which examined voter be­hav­ ior in Texas’s only competitive congressional district, the 23rd, reported that nearly 3 ­percent of nonvoters did not possess one of the seven forms of ID accepted at polling stations, and 6 ­percent of nonvoters cited a lack of appropriate identification as the principal reason they did not vote. Although Latinos account for approximately 66 ­percent of the population in the 23rd congressional district, they made up approximately 73  ­percent of nonvoters in that district, and approximately 77 ­percent of ­those who both identified the lack of appropriate identification as the principal reason they did not vote, and in fact lacked a valid ID (Hobby, Jones, Granato, and Cross, 2015). Texas also has 1,209 subcounty municipal governments, more than California (478) and Florida (411) combined (National League of Cities, 2013). In 2010, Texas had a total of 2,776 limited or general jurisdiction courts, far more than California (2,022) or Florida (921). Also, Texas’s 181-­seat legislature is the 11th largest in the

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nation. Second, Latinos, including Latino public officials, are more heterogeneous with regard to party affiliation in Texas than in some other states. Indeed, the popularity of the Republican Party among Latinos ­there appears to be growing relative to the popularity of the Demo­cratic Party. Latino politicians in Texas therefore enjoy increasing opportunities to compete as candidates in both major parties and in districts spanning the ideological spectrum from liberal to conservative. In 2000, Latino Demo­cratic officials in Texas outnumbered Latino Republican officials 623 to 16. In 2015, however, the number of Latino Demo­cratic officials in Texas had diminished to 536, while the number of Latino Republicans grew to 48. By comparison, Florida boasted 18 Latino Demo­cratic officials in 2000, but just 10 in 2015, while Latino Republican officials increased slightly from 31 to 35. In California, the number of Latino Demo­cratic officials dropped from 226 in 2000 to 179 in 2015, while the number of Latino Republican officials dropped from 35 to 16. Like non-­Latinos, Latino candidates occasionally run and win campaigns as in­de­pen­dents or third-­party nominees. During the 1970s, Chicanos in Texas and other Southwestern states even formed their own party: La Raza Unida Party. Although La Raza Unida enjoyed some early local success in places like Crystal City, Texas, sustaining successful third-­party candidacies over time is difficult. The dominance of the two-­party system in the United States is due in large part to the way most U.S. elections are conducted. For most seats (including the presidency, congressional, gubernatorial, and state legislative seats), only one candidate can win. The best strategy for most candidates is therefore to join one of the two big parties, each of which has a realistic chance of winning in any given election. The fact that Latinos have achieved such po­liti­cal success in Texas, a state with a conservative po­liti­cal culture and a history of discrimination against Mexican Americans, signals that ­there is ­great potential for ­future gains in Latino repre­sen­ ta­tion. It also suggests that the ­future of Latino po­liti­cal leadership is not tied to the Demo­cratic Party; instead, Latinos are likely to enjoy increasing influence and repre­ sen­ta­tion in both major parties.

Biographies of Notable Figures The Castro B ­ rothers (1974–) Prob­ably no politicians in Amer­i­ca better symbolize Latino po­liti­cal potential and aspiration than Julian and Joaquin Castro. Twin sons of Chicana activist Rosi Castro—­who raised them in a single-­parent h­ ouse­hold, Julian and Joaquin personify the strug­gles of many Latinos in the United States and also possess the educational pedigree of con­temporary po­liti­cal insiders. Both went on to gradu­ate from Stanford University and Harvard Law School. Their meteoric rise to national

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prominence sprang from the confluence of compelling personal narrative, po­liti­cal skill, effective networking, tenacity, and timing. ­After graduating with law degrees and returning to San Antonio, Texas, the ­brothers wasted no time in pursuing electoral office. Julian won election to the San Antonio city council in May 2001, becoming the youn­gest councilman in city history. Joaquin was elected to the Texas State House of Representatives a year and a half ­later. Joaquin Castro’s tenure in the Texas House began just as Republicans seized control of the chamber for the first time in more than a ­century. In spite of the somewhat inhospitable legislative climate, he became a prolific bill author, and saw an impressive number of his legislative initiatives signed into law. Joaquin Castro’s most noteworthy accomplishments in the state legislature ­were related to education, juvenile justice, and the regulation of Internet crimes. In 2005, he authored laws relating to public university tuition and fee exemptions for military ser­vice members, the incorporation of financial literacy training into workforce development programs, and mi­grant l­abor housing. In 2009, he authored laws relating to juvenile court adjudication; the sealing of juvenile rec­ords; punishment for sexual misconduct; the availability of defibrillators in public buildings; prohibition of online harassment; and reporting requirements for the Texas emerging technology fund, a program spearheaded by former Governor Rick Perry (R) that was designed to spur investment in high-­tech industries, and whose expenditures ­were criticized by some for a lack of transparency. In 2011, Joaquin Castro authored laws related to offering financial literacy training at academic teaching institutions, student assessment, and the prosecution of online impersonation (Texas State Legislature Online, n.d.). In 2012, Joaquin Castro made an easy transition to the U.S. House Representatives ­after long-­time San Antonio Congressman Charles Gonzalez (son of former Rep. Henry B. Gonzalez) retired from Congress. As representative of the 20th Congressional District, he serves on the House Armed Ser­vices and House Foreign Affairs Committees, and as the Vice-­Chair of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus (Congress Collection, 2016). Julian Castro’s short po­liti­cal c­ areer has been more volatile, but also arguably even more impressive than his ­brother’s. As councilman from the heavi­ly Latino seventh council district on San Antonio’s West side, he began his c­ areer by positioning himself as an activist and populist, championing the ­causes of ser­vice industry workers, and opposing a major development associated with the Professional Golf Association. In 2005, he lost a mayoral election to former Judge Phil Hardberger by approximately 4,000 votes (Bexar County Election Results, 2016). His contentious relationship with the business community during his tenure on the council likely undermined his appeal to many establishment figures, and created

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a hurdle to winning a low-­turnout election in which the voting demographic tends to be relatively old, white, and conservative compared with the demographic of the city. Julian Castro projected a more moderate image in 2009, and won the mayor’s race with 56 ­percent of the vote and substantial backing from business interests and establishment Demo­crats (Bexar County Election Results, 2016). As mayor, Julian Castro was particularly aggressive about pursuing initiatives to aid the educational aspirations of disadvantaged youth in the city, and revitalizing San Antonio’s urban center. Castro’s educational initiatives included the establishment of “Café College,” a one-­stop college preparatory institution for underserved city youth, and Pre-­K for SA, a pre-­kindergarten program for eco­nom­ically disadvantaged families. The latter passed in a city-­wide referendum, handing Mayor Castro a major po­liti­cal victory and demonstrating his ability to win on an issue that required raising taxes. During the 2012 Demo­cratic National Convention, Julian Castro gained nationwide attention when he delivered the keynote speech. President Obama had given the keynote speech at the 2004 Demo­cratic National Convention when he was campaigning for a seat in the U.S. Senate, and many saw parallels between the talented politician who had become the first black president and the talented politician who might someday contend to be the first Latino elected nationwide. In May 2014, President Obama nominated Julian Castro to be the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. Many speculated that national po­liti­cal experience would make him a contender for the 2016 Demo­cratic vice presidential nomination, although Hillary Clinton ultimately chose U.S. Senator Tim Kaine (D-­VA) as her r­ unning mate.

Marco Rubio (1971–­) and Ted Cruz (1970–­) The abrupt rise to prominence of Republican U.S. Senators Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz constitutes a somewhat surprising development among Latino office holders. Both of Cuban descent, Rubio and Cruz followed dif­fer­ent paths to the U.S. Senate and practice dif­fer­ent po­liti­cal styles. Both claim to be staunch conservatives and associate themselves with the Tea Party movement, but Rubio has emerged as a standard b­ earer for establishment Republicanism, whereas Cruz is increasingly identified as a leading conservative activist, “constitutionalist,” and critic of the GOP establishment. Nevertheless, each has been embraced as a conservative darling, and both became serious contenders for the 2016 Republican presidential nomination before completing their first terms in the U.S. Senate. What remains to be seen is ­whether t­ hese politicians represent the vanguard of a growing trend ­toward Latino prominence in the GOP, or a spectacular but brief deviation from more conventional, Demo­cratic pathways to Latino po­liti­cal power.

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Marco Rubio was born in Miami in 1971. The son of Cuban immigrants, he grew up in a working-­class home. His ­father supported the ­family as a bartender, street vendor, and crossing guard, while his m ­ other worked as a h­ ouse­keeper in a ­hotel and a sales clerk. The immigrant narrative has been an impor­tant part of Rubio’s po­liti­cal persona, although he has been forced to clarify claims that his ­family fled communist Cuba (they actually emigrated two years prior to the 1959 revolution). Rubio followed a relatively conventional pathway to higher office. He began his po­liti­cal ­career as a city commissioner in West Miami in 1998. In January 2000, he won a special election to the Florida House of Representatives, where he would serve as whip and majority leader, and become the first Cuban American speaker of the Florida House. Rubio’s rapid rise in legislative leadership was due at least in part to a 1992 state constitutional amendment that limited state representatives to eight years of ser­vice. The departure of term-­limited state legislators in 2000 yielded a crop of ambitious freshman with just eight years in which to ascend the leadership ladder. Rubio enjoyed a leg up on his competitors by virtue of his early election. Rubio was passed over for the majority leadership job when it opened in 2001, but his successful leadership on legislative redistricting won admiration from his Republican colleagues, and he won the majority leadership position in 2002. Prior to and during his speakership, Rubio’s reputation was that of a relationship builder and conciliator who was e­ ager to win the support of his partisan colleagues, to delegate responsibilities (especially po­liti­cally difficult ones), and willing to tolerate the participation and criticism of his partisan opponents. Rubio had a rocky relationship as speaker with moderate Republican Governor Charlie Crist, whom he eventually defeated twice in the 2010 race for U.S. Senate—­once in the Republican primary, and again in the general election when Crist ran as an in­de­ pen­dent. Rubio’s legislative legacy as speaker is mixed. His tenure was not associated with major policy shake-­ups—he lost on a signature effort to eliminate the property tax—­but he did manage to effectively gut a climate change initiative supported by Crist. Also, his “bottom-up” strategy of pursuing a set of 100 policy proposals developed in consultation with Floridians was widely viewed as po­liti­cally savvy (Mishak, 2015). Rubio’s ­career in the U.S. Senate illustrates the challenges of representing conservative and Latino po­liti­cal constituencies si­mul­ta­neously. For example, in the spring of 2013 he worked with seven other senators from both parties to craft and pass a bipartisan immigration reform bill that included a pathway to citizenship for undocumented immigrants. The bill passed the Senate, but died in the House of Representatives. Rather than boosting his presidential aspirations, Rubio’s pragmatic immigration positioning was lambasted in the conservative press (Peters and

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Parker, 2015). By October, he disavowed support for comprehensive immigration reform, and pivoted to support the piecemeal approach advocated by GOP leaders (Saenz, 2013). In spite of common familial histories, Ted Cruz’s pathway to power—­not to mention his po­liti­cal style as a U.S. senator—­contrasts markedly with ­those of Rubio. Like Rubio, Cruz’s ­father was also a Cuban immigrant who emigrated from Cuba prior to the completion of the revolution. The se­nior Cruz worked his way through the University of Texas by washing dishes in an Austin restaurant. Ted Cruz was born in 1970 in Calgary, Canada, where his parents w ­ ere working in the oil industry. He grew up in the Houston area (Weiner, 2012; Congress Collection, 2016). Unlike Rubio, Cruz’s pathway to the U.S. Senate was paved almost exclusively through ­legal work. In fact, his 2012 Senate run was his first po­liti­cal campaign. Cruz earned a reputation as an orator and debater as an undergraduate at Prince­ton, and graduated from Harvard Law School in 1995. The next year, he clerked for Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist. His early ­legal work included advocacy for the National ­Rifle Association and George W. Bush’s presidential campaign. In 2003, Cruz was appointed Texas Solicitor General by then-­Attorney General Greg Abbot. During his tenure as solicitor, Cruz championed a variety of conservative ­causes, including defense of the display of the Ten Commandments on state capitol-­ building grounds, the constitutionality of the words “­under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance, and partisan redistricting plans. In 2012, Cruz’s conservative l­egal rec­ord and appeals to “constitutionalism” helped make him a Tea Party favorite on the campaign trail. Although he began the race in relative obscurity, Cruz’s campaign picked up steam throughout the primary as the volatile Republican electorate in Texas expressed increasing hostility t­ oward “establishment” Republicanism. In spite of being outspent, Cruz forced and ­later won a primary runoff against presumptive nominee David Dewhurst, and then went on to handily defeat underfunded Demo­crat Paul Sadler in the general election. As a senator, Cruz is perhaps best known for bucking his own party. Taking a strong anti-­establishment approach, Cruz opposes “politics as usual” and bipartisan compromise, trades barbs with fellow Republicans and Demo­crats alike, and has shown a willingness to pursue daring and potentially damaging legislative brinksmanship when he thinks it serves his po­liti­cal purposes. For example, Cruz joined a March 2013 filibuster that temporarily delayed the confirmation of CIA Director John Brennan over objections to the Obama administration’s use of drones in counterterrorism missions. Fellow Senator John McCain (R-­AZ) called Cruz and other obstructers “wacko birds” (Weiner, 2013). L ­ ater that year, Cruz helped engineer a government shutdown when Demo­crats refused to cave in to Republican bud­get demands that would defund the Affordable Care Act (Raju, 2013). Cruz threatened shutdown once again in 2015, this time over funding for Planned

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Parenthood, but garnered few congressional followers (Kim, 2015). Cruz has also shown a willingness to insult fellow politicians. He insinuated that former Republican Senator Chuck Hagel took money from North K ­ orea, encouraged conservative activists to harass GOP colleagues who opposed his 2013 shutdown efforts, and called GOP Majority Leader Sen. Mitch McConnell a liar during a speech on the Senate floor. Cruz’s lack of comity made him unpop­u­lar with his colleagues, but his confrontational style appears to resonate with some conservative voters (Steinhauer, 2015). Rubio and Cruz have contrasting styles, but they w ­ ere oriented t­ oward the same goal in 2016: securing the Republican Party’s presidential nomination. Rubio attempted to cultivate conservative support while enabling himself to appeal to moderates. Cruz staked out a strategy that relied exclusively upon a conservative base of support, and the hope that he could expand that base by linking ideological purity and confrontational style with voter anger at establishment politics. An early debate stumble by Rubio prior to the New Hampshire primary prevented his campaign from getting off the ground, but he did not exit the race before being drawn into responding to Donald Trump’s attacks against him with his own low blows. Cruz’s campaign, in contrast, lasted deep into the primary season. Ironically, on his way to eventual defeat, the combative Cruz was also the victim of insults issued by Trump, including debunked accusations that Cruz’s f­ather assisted in the assassination of John F. Kennedy and a cringe-­worthy comparison of the candidates’ wives. At the Republican National Convention, Cruz drew boos for urging delegates to vote their conscience (and presumably against Trump), but he ­later endorsed the eventual nominee in spite of Trump’s incivility.

DOCUMENT EXCERPT Shelby County v. Holder, 570 U.S. 2 (2013) The Supreme Court’s majority opinion in Shelby County v. Holder (2013) upended years of pre­ce­dent by effectively removing the ability of the U.S. Justice Department to prevent the implementation of discriminatory election policies by states and local governments. A number of jurisdictions with large Latino populations subsequently implemented laws, such as strict voter identification requirements, that may reduce Latino participation and influence in elections. The electoral success of Latino candidates is strongly related to Latino influence at the ballot box. ­Until Congress makes changes to section 4 of the Voting Rights Act (VRA) that update the formula used to identify jurisdictions that require preclearance from the U.S. Justice Department before implementing new election laws, ­these developments may hinder continued pro­gress ­toward greater Latino repre­sen­ta­tion in elective office.

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June 25, 2013 Justice Roberts Delivered the Opinion of the Court. . . . ​Inspired to action by the civil rights movement, Congress responded in 1965 with the Voting Rights Act. Section 2 was enacted to forbid, in all 50 States, any “standard, practice, or procedure . . . ​imposed or applied . . . ​to deny or abridge the right of any citizen of the United States to vote on account of race or color.” The current version forbids any “standard, practice, or procedure” that “results in a denial or abridgement of the right of any citizen of the United States to vote on account of race or color.” . . . ​Section 2 is permanent, applies nationwide, and is not at issue in this case. Other sections targeted only some parts of the country. At the time of the Act’s passage, ­these “covered” jurisdictions w ­ ere ­those States or po­liti­cal subdivisions that had maintained a test or device as a prerequisite to voting as of November 1, 1964, and had less than 50 ­percent voter registration or turnout in the 1964 Presidential election. . . . ​Such tests or devices included literacy and knowledge tests, good moral character requirements, the need for vouchers from registered voters, and the like. . . . In 1970, Congress reauthorized the Act for another five years, and extended the coverage formula in [Section] 4(b) to jurisdictions that had a voting test and less than 50 ­percent voter registration or turnout as of 1968. . . . ​In 1975, Congress reauthorized the Act for seven more years, and extended its coverage to jurisdictions that had a voting test and less than 50 ­percent voter registration or turnout as of 1972. . . . ​Congress also amended the definition of “test or device” to include the practice of providing English-­only voting materials in places where over five ­percent of voting-­age citizens spoke a single language other than En­glish. . . . ​As a result of ­these amendments, the States of Alaska, Arizona, and Texas, as well as several counties in California, Florida, Michigan, New York, North Carolina, and South Dakota, became covered jurisdictions. . . . ​In 1982, Congress reauthorized the Act for 25 years, but did not alter its coverage formula. . . . ​In 2006, Congress again reauthorized the Voting Rights Act for 25 years, again without change to its coverage formula. . . . Shelby County is located in Alabama, a covered jurisdiction. . . . ​[I]n 2010, the county sued the Attorney General in Federal District Court in Washington, D.C., seeking a declaratory judgment that sections 4(b) and 5 of the Voting Rights Act are facially unconstitutional. . . . In Northwest Austin, we stated that “the Act imposes current burdens and must be justified by current needs.” . . . ​And we concluded that “a departure from the fundamental princi­ple of equal sovereignty requires a showing that a statute’s disparate geographic coverage is sufficiently related to the prob­lem that it targets. . . . ​ The Voting Rights Act sharply departs from t­hese basic princi­ples. It suspends “all

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changes to state election law—­however innocuous—­until they have been precleared by federal authorities in Washington, D.C.” When upholding the constitutionality of the coverage formula in 1966, we concluded that it was “rational in both practice and theory.” . . . ​By 2009, however, we concluded that the “coverage formula raise[d] serious constitutional questions.” . . . ​ Coverage ­today is based on decades-­old data and eradicated practices. . . . ​The Fifteenth Amendment . . . ​is not designed to punish for the past; its purpose is to ensure a better ­future. . . . ​To serve that purpose, Congress—if it is to divide the States—­ must identify t­hose jurisdictions to be singled out on a basis that makes sense in light of current conditions. It cannot rely simply on the past. . . . ​The dissent relies on “second-­generation barriers,” which are not impediments to the casting of ballots, but rather electoral arrangements that affect the weight of minority votes. That does not cure the prob­lem. Viewing the preclearance requirements as targeting such efforts simply highlights the irrationality of continued reliance on the [Section] 4 coverage formula, which is based on voting tests and access to the ballot, not vote dilution. . . . ​The dissent treats the Act as if it w ­ ere just like any other piece of legislation, but this Court has made clear that the Act was “uncommon” and “not other­wise appropriate,” but was justified by “exceptional” and “unique” conditions. . . . Congress could have updated the coverage formula . . . ​but did not do so. Its failure to act leaves us t­ oday with no choice but to declare [Section] 4(b) unconstitutional. . . . ​Our decision in no way affects the permanent, nation-­wide ban on racial discrimination in voting found in [Section] 2. We issue no holding on [Section] 5 itself, only on the coverage formula. Congress may draft another formula based on current conditions. Such a formula is an initial prerequisite to a determination that exceptional conditions still exist justifying such an “extraordinary departure from the traditional course of relations between the States and the Federal Government.” Justice Ginsburg, with whom Justice Breyer, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Kagan join, dissenting. . . . ​With overwhelming support in both Houses, Congress concluded that, for two prime reasons, [Section] 5 should continue in force, unabated. First, continuance would facilitate completion of the impressive gains thus far made; and second, continuance would guard against back-­sliding. ­Those assessments ­were well within Congress’ province to make and should elicit this Court’s unstinting approbation . . . . . . . ​Jurisdictions covered by the preclearance requirement continued to submit, in large numbers, proposed changes to voting laws that the Attorney General declined to approve, auguring that barriers to minority voting would quickly resurface ­were the preclearance remedy eliminated. . . . ​Congress also found that as “registration and voting of minority citizens increas[ed], other mea­sures may be resorted to which

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would dilute increasing minority voting strength.” . . . ​Efforts to reduce the impact of minority votes, in contrast to direct attempts to block access to the ballot, are aptly described as “second-­generation barriers” to minority voting. Second-­generation barriers come in vari­ous forms. One of the blockages is racial gerrymandering, the redrawing of legislative districts in an “effort to segregate the races for purposes of voting.” . . . ​Another is adoption of a system of at-­large voting in lieu of district-­ by-­district voting in a city with a sizable black minority. By switching to at-­large voting, the overall majority could control the election of each city council member, effectively eliminating the potency of the minority’s votes . . . . What­ever the device employed, this Court has long recognized that vote dilution, when ­adopted with a discriminatory purpose, cuts down the right to vote as certainly as denial of access to the ballot . . . . . . . ​The House and Senate Judiciary Committees held 21 hearings, heard from scores of witnesses, received a number of investigative reports and other written documentation of continuing discrimination in covered jurisdictions. In all, the legislative rec­ord Congress compiled filled more than 15,000 pages. . . . ​Congress made the following findings: The VRA has directly caused significant pro­gress in eliminating first-­generation barriers to ballot access. . . . ​But despite this pro­gress, “second generation barriers constructed to prevent minority voters from fully participating in the electoral pro­cess” continued to exist, as well as racially polarized voting in the covered jurisdictions, which increased the po­liti­cal vulnerability of racial and language minorities in ­those jurisdictions. . . . ​Extensive “[e]vidence of continued discrimination,” Congress concluded, “clearly show[ed] the continued need for Federal oversight” in covered jurisdictions. . . . ​It is well established that Congress’ judgment regarding exercise of its power to enforce the ­Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments warrants substantial deference. . . . ​The Fifteenth Amendment, which targets precisely and only racial discrimination in voting rights, states that, in this domain, “Congress s­ hall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.” Source: Shelby County, Alabama v. Holder, et al., 570 U.S. 2 (2013). Retrieved from https://­ www​.­supremecourt​.­gov​/­opinions​/­12pdf​/­12​-­96​_­6k47​.­pdf

See also: California’s Proposition 187; Founding of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus

Further Reading Barreto, Matt A. 2010. Ethnic Cues: The Role of Shared Ethnicity in Latino Po­liti­cal Participation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bejarano, Christina E. 2013. The Latina Advantage: Gender, Race, and Po­liti­cal Success. Austin: University of Texas Press.

884 | Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present Berman, Ari. 2013. “Texas Redistricting Fight Shows Why Voting Rights Act Still Needed.” The Nation, June 5. Retrieved from http://­www​.­thenation​.­com​/­article​/­texas​-­redistricting​ -­fight​-­shows​-­why​-­voting​-­rights​-­act​-­still​-­needed Bexar County Election Results. 2016. Retrieved from http://­home​.­bexar​.­org​/­elections​/­reports​ /­reports​.­html Cain, Bruce E., D. Roderick Kiewiet, and Carole J. Uhlaner. 1991. “The Acquisition of Partisanship by Latinos and Asian Americans.” American Journal of Po­liti­cal Science: 390–422. Casellas, Jason P. 2010. Latino Repre­sen­ta­tion in State Houses and Congress. New York: Cambridge University Press. Congress Collection. 2016. CQ Press. Retrieved from http://­library​.­cqpress​.­com​/­congress​ /­memberanalysis​.­php Hobby, Bill, Mark P. Jones, Jim Granato, and Renee Cross. 2015. The Texas Voter ID Law and the 2014 Election: A Study of Texas’s 23d Congressional District. Houston: The Hobby Center for Public Policy, University of Houston; Rice University’s Baker Institute for Public Policy. Kim, Seung Min. 2015. “Senate Easily Advances Bill to Avoid Shutdown.” Politico, September  28.Retrieved from http://­www​.­politico​.­com​/­story​/­2015​/­09​/­senate​-­shutdown​ -­planned​-­parenthood​-­214173 MacGillis, Alec, Amy Goldstein, and Robert Barnes. 2009. “Ethnicity and Gender Play Prominent Roles in Sotomayor’s Speeches.” Washington Post, June 5. Retrieved from http://­w ww​.­w ashingtonpost​ .­c om​ /­w p​ -­d yn​ /­c ontent​ /­a rticle​ /­2 009​ /­0 6​ /­0 4​ /­A R20090​ 60403265​.­html Mishak, Michael J. 2015. “What Kind of Leader Is Marco Rubio? An Investigation.” National Journal, July 10. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nationaljournal​.­com​/­s​/­24397​/­what​-­kind​ -­leader​-­is​-­marco​-­rubio​-­investigation NALEO Educational Fund. 2016. National Directory of Latino Elected Officials. n.p.: National Association of Elected and Appointed Officials. Retrieved from https://­ d3n8a8pro7vhmx​.­cloudfront​.­net​/­naleo​/­pages​/­188​/­attachments​/­original​/­1474060157​ /­2016​_­National​_­Directory​_­of​_­Latino​_­Elected​_­Officials​.­pdf National Council of State Legislatures. 2016a, May 31. “History of Voter ID.” Retrieved from http://­www​.­ncsl​.­org​/­research​/­elections​-­and​-­campaigns​/­voter​-­id​-­history​.­aspx National Council of State Legislatures. 2016b, June 5. “Voter Identification Requirements/ Voter ID Laws.” Retrieved from http://­www​.­ncsl​.­org​/­research​/­elections​-­and​-­campaigns​ /­voter​-­id​.­aspx National League of Cities. 2013. “Number of Municipal Governments and Population Distribution.” http://www.nlc.org/build-skills-and-networks/resources/cities-101/citystruc​ tures​/number-of-municipal-governments-and-population-distribution Peters, Jeremy W., and Ashley Parker. 2015. “Marco Rubio’s History on Immigration Leaves Conservatives Distrustful of Shift.” New York Times, November 14. Retrieved from http://­ www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2015​/­11​/­15​/­us​/­politics​/­despite​-­shift​-­rubios​-­work​-­on​-­immigration​ -­creates​-­conservative​-­unease​.­html​?­​_­r​=1­

Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006 | 885 Raju, Manu. 2013. “Some Colleagues Angry with Cruz.” Politico, October 2. Retrieved from http://­www​.­politico​.­com​/­story​/­2013​/­10​/­ted​-­cruz​-­blasted​-­by​-­angry​-­gop​-­colleagues​ -­government​-­shutdown​-­097753 Saenz, Arlette. 2013. “Marco Rubio’s Flip Flop on Comprehensive Immigration Reform Explained.” World News, October 28. Retrieved from http://­abcnews​.­go​.­com​/­blogs​/­politics​ /­2013​/­10​/­marco​-­rubios​-­flip​-­flop​-­on​-­comprehensive​-­immigration​-­reform​-­explained/ Shelby County, Alabama v. Holder, 570 U.S. 2 (2013). Steinhauer, Jennifer. 2015. “Ted Cruz, Shunned in the Senate, Plays Unpopularity to His Advantage.” New York Times, December 17. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​ /­2015​/­12​/­18​/­us​/­politics​/­ted​-­cruz​-­shunned​-­in​-­the​-­senate​-­plays​-­unpopularity​ -­to​-­his​ -­advantage​.­html​?­​_­r​=0­ Texas Legislative Council. 2015. “Texas Redistricting.” Retrieved from http://­www​.t­ lc​.s­ tate​ .­tx​.­us​/­redist​/­history​/­2010s​.­html Texas State Legislature Online. n.d. Retrieved from http://­www​.­capitol​.­state​.­tx​.­us Weiner, Rachel. 2012. “Who Is Ted Cruz?” Washington Post, August 1. Retrieved from https://­w ww​.­washingtonpost​ .­c om​ /­b logs​ /­t he​ -­fix​ /­p ost​ /­who​ -­i s​ -­t ed​ -­c ruz​ /­2 012​ /­0 8​ /­0 1​ /­gJQAqql8OX​_­blog​.­html Weiner, Rachel. 2013. “McCain Calls Paul, Cruz, Amash ‘Wacko Birds.’ ” Washington Post, March 8. Retrieved from https://­www​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­news​/­post​-­politics​/­wp​/­2013​ /­03​/­08​/­mccain​-­calls​-­paul​-­cruz​-­amash​-­wacko​-­birds/

Immigrant Rights Marches of 2006 Amalia Pallares

Chronology 1986

The Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) is passed during the Ronald Reagan administration. IRCA is the only and last bill to allow the naturalization of millions of immigrants who had arrived in the United States before 1982. It also requires employers to document the ­legal status of their workers, criminalizes the hiring of immigrants, and bolsters enforcement on the border.

1993

Operation Hold the Line increases border enforcement in Texas.

1994

Proposition 187, a ballot initiative in California that seeks to deny undocumented immigrants social ser­vices and increase enforcement and deportation, is passed. The initiative is ­later ruled unconstitutional, and is never implemented.

1995

Operation Gatekeeper expands the fence along the Tijuana-­San Diego border, creates an immigration court to hold expedited deportations on

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the border, and increases surveillance. Operation Safeguard increases surveillance in Tucson, Arizona. 1996

The Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) is passed. This bill restricts documented and undocumented immigrants (with few exceptions) from receiving federal assistance such as Social Security, food stamps, and Medicaid. The Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) is passed. This bill eases the deportation of undocumented immigrants via expedited removal, which does not require a hearing by a judge. It also expands the categories of criminal be­hav­ior ­under which noncitizens can be deported, expands its definition of aggravated felony, and facilitates the increase of mass detentions and deportations.

2002

The Homeland Security Act is passed, leading to sweeping changes in immigration pro­cessing and enforcement. Immigration and immigration enforcement become a national security issue, leading to a dramatic expansion of detentions and deportations and the recruitment of local law enforcement agencies to assist the Immigration and Custom Enforcement division (ICE).

2005, The Border Protection, Antiterrorism and Illegal Immigration Control December Act (HR 4437), also knows as the Sensenbrenner Bill, is passed in the House of Representatives on December 5. It did not become law; if it had, this bill would have made undocumented status a felony and criminalized any person who provided assistance to undocumented immigrants. 2006, February

Six hundred organizers from several cities meet in Riverside, California, to plan a national strategy to hold marches in many cities in order to protest the Sensenbrenner Bill. They commit to set aside differences and work jointly to stage marches.

2006, March

On March 8, 40,000 p­ eople march for immigrant rights in Washington, D.C. On March 10, the first mega-­march is held in Chicago, with 100,000 to 300,000 participating. On March 24, 20,000 march in Phoenix and students walk out of five schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District. On March 25, more than 500,000 march in Los Angeles. Called La Gran Marcha (the big march), it is the largest immigrant march ever held in the country.

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On March 27, 50,000 ­people march to the McNamara Federal Building in Detroit. On that day, also known as “Black Monday,” about 40,000 students walk out of their schools to the City Council. On March  29, 9,000 march from the Coliseum to the Legislative Plaza in Nashville, Tennessee. On March 31, 3,000 students stage a walkout in Las Vegas, Nevada, schools and 6,000 students walk out in San Diego, California, in support of immigrant rights. 2006, April

On April 1, 10,000 ­people march in New York. On April 9, marches take place in San Diego, Des Moines, Dallas, and St. Paul. On April 10, the National Day of Action, marches take place in multiple cities, including Atlanta, Boston, Charleston, Fort Myers, Las Vegas, New York, Oakland, Salt Lake City, San Jose, San Antonio, and Seattle, among o­ thers. On April 11, 2,000 to 4,000 march in Reno from the University of Nevada to the Meadowood Center.

2006, May

In the spirit of the traditional recognition of May 1 as a day for workers/ labor, activists participate in “The ­Great American Boycott,” staging massive marches in Chicago, Los Angeles, Modesto, Orange County, the Bay Area, Las Vegas, Denver, Austin, and Santa Barbara, among ­others. Many participants miss work and many restaurants and businesses support workers’ participation in the march.

2006, October

The Secure Fence Act adds 700 miles of fencing along the U.S.-­ Mexico border.

2007

Two comprehensive reform bills are debated, but the parties are unable to reach a compromise and comprehensive immigration reform fails.

2010

The Federal DREAM Act, which would have granted a path to citizenship to undocumented immigrants who arrived in the United States before age 16, passes in the House but fails to reach the 60 votes necessary to achieve cloture in the Senate. The Act had previously been introduced in 2001, 2007, and 2008 but had not reached debate.

2012

The Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program is created by President Barack Obama. This program allows undocumented immigrants who entered the country before age 16 and before June 2007 to be exempt from deportation and receive a two-­year renewable work permit.

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2013

The Border Security, Economic Opportunity and Immigration Modernization bill passes in the Senate. This bill would have enabled the legalization of many undocumented immigrants and increased border militarization and enforcement. The House of Representatives fails to take up the bill, so it never becomes law.

2014

President Obama announces the Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents (DAPA) program, which would allow qualified parents of U.S. citizens to be eligible for a renewable work permit and be exempt from deportation. It is challenged by several states and a federal court stops its implementation.

Narrative In the spring of 2006, hundreds of thousands of p­ eople marched in dozens of cities across the United States to defend the rights of immigrants. The marches w ­ ere both a response to the threat of a controversial congressional bill that was strongly opposed by immigrants and their supporters, and a vivid demonstration of the po­liti­ cal presence and power of immigrant communities. While undocumented immigrants originate from many regions of the world, Latino communities are disproportionally affected and most likely to be targeted by discriminatory legislation, and have therefore played a central role in the creation of immigrant rights organ­izations and activism, including the 2006 marches. ­These marches w ­ ere the largest recorded in U.S. immigrant rights history. They ­were called the “mega-­marches” b­ ecause 16 of them had 50,000 or more participants, and another 31 had between 10,000 and 50,000 participants. Between 3.5 to 5 million ­people took to the streets between the months of March and May of that year (Bada, Fox, Zazueta, and Garcia, 2006). Although several marches have been held in subsequent years, they have not had the dimension and breadth of the marches in the spring of 2006. ­These mass mobilizations across the country had a tremendous impact on the visibility of immigrant rights in the United States and exerted significant social and po­liti­cal pressure on elected officials with regard to immigrant rights issues. The trigger for the marches began on December 5, 2005, when the House of Representatives passed the Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act (H.R. 4437). Also known as the Sensenbrenner Bill (­because it was introduced by Rep. James Sensenbrenner), this bill would have made undocumented status a felony in the United States and would have criminalized anyone who provided assistance to an undocumented immigrant, including health care and social ser­vice providers. Immigrant advocates developed a sense of urgency to stop

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­ oman holds an American flag during an immigration rally in Los Angeles, May 1, 2006. W (Shutterstock)

this bill before it went for a vote in the U.S. Senate. In mid-­February, more than 500 immigrant rights advocates from many cities, grouped in a co­ali­tion called The National Alliance for ­Human Rights, met in Riverside, California, to develop a strategy of social justice and po­liti­cal empowerment. Participants agreed to protest the Sensenbrenner Bill and call for immigration reform (“Pro Immigration Forces to March,” 2006). The first march in opposition to the bill was held on March 10, 2006, followed by multiple marches nationwide in April and May, with most of them held on April 10 or May 1. Although the desire to stop the Sensenbrenner Bill was the immediate spark for the marches, they w ­ ere made pos­si­ble by the cooperation of established civic, community, religious, immigrant advocacy, and l­ abor organ­izations that networked with each other. Hometown clubs, federations, u­ nions, and local Catholic churches all worked together with community leaders and immigrant-­serving organ­izations (both advocacy and social ser­vice groups) to urge p­ eople to participate. They appealed not only to immigrants and their families, but also to the broader Latino and Asian American communities, as well as members of vari­ous religious groups (Jewish, ecumenical, and Protestant). In some cities, many of ­these organ­izations

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had been working with immigrant communities and on immigrant rights for years. However, in other cities that lacked a large number of immigrant-­serving or immigrant advocacy organ­izations, the few organ­izations that existed reached out to their own constituencies and allies to join forces in order to pool their resources and enhance their capacity to stage a collective march. The organizers w ­ ere pleasantly surprised that, in many cases, the number of participants far surpassed the crowds they ­were anticipating. Spanish-­language media, especially radio stations, played a key role in promoting the marches (Pallares and Flores-­González, 2010; Bada, Fox, and Selee, 2006; Ayón, 2009).

The ­People Who Marched ­ here ­were many immigrants among the marchers, including undocumented and T naturalized immigrants. ­There ­were also many native-­born citizens, including second­and third-­generation youth, thousands of whom had walked out of their schools to participate. Although Latinos made up the majority of marchers, ­there w ­ ere also Asian, African, African American, and white participants. Korean, Irish, Chinese, and Polish immigrant organ­izations participated in some cities. White marchers also represented their ­unions, community organ­izations, and churches (Bada, Fox, and Selee, 2006; Pallares and Flores-­González, 2010). The size of ­these mega-­marches was unpre­ce­dented, as was their occurrence in cities of all sizes and in e­ very region of the nation. Observers documented a total of 263 marches between March 10 and May 1 (Bada, Fox, Zazueta, and Garcia, 2006). Large cities with a long history of receiving immigrants, such as Los Angeles and Chicago, had the biggest marches, but medium-­sized cities such as Fort Myers, Florida, and San Jose, California, also raised substantial numbers. Dozens of marches took place in smaller cities that had never seen immigrant marches before, such as Yakima, Washington; Lincoln, Nebraska; and Anchorage, Alaska. Though mega-­marches continued to be held in a few cities in 2007 and 2008, the size and breadth of the 2006 marches was unique and has not been repeated.

Goals and Ideologies of ­Those Marching The main goal of ­those marching in March and April was to stop the Sensenbrenner Bill from passing into law. Even before May 1, however, it was clear that the Senate would not consider the bill. Hence, organizers of May Day marches focused on advocating for comprehensive immigration reform that would enable the legalization of millions of undocumented p­ eople. As in any mass mobilization, participants shared goals, but had dif­fer­ent ideas about how to achieve them. In many cities, some of ­these groups had never worked together, and organ­izing for a joint event

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Illegal or Undocumented? The terminology used to describe ­people who have entered the United States unlawfully or who are pres­ent within the country’s borders without proper authorization (a visa, work permit, or “green card”) has been quite contentious. While the l­egal term is illegal alien, and the term illegal immigrant is commonly used in public discourse, many immigrant rights’ advocates object to ­these labels. They argue that this language dehumanizes ­people who have entered the United States just as other immigrants have done historically in the nation’s past. The only difference, they claim, is that U.S. immigration laws have become much stricter and more exclusionary in the past c­ entury. In fact, “unlawful entry” to the United States was not in­ven­ted u­ ntil 1929, when Congress passed a law making it a crime. Immigrant rights’ activists also object to the adjective illegal ­because it assigns an inherent criminality to this type of immigrant. ­Those who oppose this terminology prefer to use terms such as undocumented, emphasizing that individuals do not have the proper paperwork or documents to be in the country. ­Others refer to ­people being “out of status,” meaning they do not have the proper l­egal status in the country. Some advocates also ­favor the label “unauthorized immigrant.” Regardless of this, hardline anti-­immigrant advocates who strongly object to the unlawful presence of immigrants in the United States insist that immigrants who enter without authorization have v­ iolated U.S. law. Few Americans are aware of what it takes to immigrate legally, what criteria are preferred, what kinds of quotas currently exist, and how long the pro­cess takes. Still, immigration restrictionists contend that if a person has v­ iolated an immigration law, they are essentially criminals. Some even use the terms illegal or illegals as a noun to refer to this population. Immigrant rights’ activists find this practice even more objectionable, disparaging, and offensive. They maintain that a ­human being cannot be “illegal.” He or she may be “out of status,” “undocumented,” or “unlawfully” pres­ent in the country.

presented several challenges. An impor­tant difference existed between ­those who wanted to combine marches with boycotts, encouraging all sympathizers to miss work and school and not purchase anything in order to demonstrate the economic impact of immigrants; and t­hose who believed a boycott would be counterproductive and could harm immigrant workers. This led to the staging of two separate marches in some cities such as Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

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The marches succeeded in stopping the Sensenbrenner Bill from advancing to the Senate and becoming law. Once the bill had been stopped, immigrant communities began advocating for a new bill that would legalize the millions of undocumented immigrants already living in the United States. In subsequent months, organizers worked to naturalize more l­egal immigrants and register more naturalized immigrants, reaching rec­ord numbers of ­people. Additionally, t­here was a coordinated effort by many organ­izations to vote more Demo­cratic representatives into Congress, in the hopes of getting comprehensive immigration reform passed. The November 2006 elections resulted in Demo­cratic majorities in the House and Senate, and this facilitated a congressional attempt to pass a comprehensive reform bill in 2007. However, the bill, which had passed the Senate, did not receive cloture in the House, primarily due to opposition from most Republicans and some moderate Demo­crats. Despite a second attempt at immigration reform in the Senate “Gang of 8” bill in 2013, Congress has not passed a comprehensive immigration bill that allows legalization. This, and the surge of restrictive local ordinances and state legislation suppressing the rights of undocumented immigrants, ­were evidence of the long road ahead for immigrant rights. Taken together, t­ hese facts also served as a sobering reminder that the marches had not accomplished their most impor­tant policy goal: comprehensive immigration reform and a pathway to citizenship for the undocumented. The marches did, however, accomplish one impor­tant goal. They made the potential of immigrant power vis­i­ble, launching a wave of activism that has continued for more than a de­cade. Many organizers and participants have continued to mobilize in other ways. Many ­people active in immigrant activism ­today trace their first po­liti­cal action to their participation in one or more of the 2006 marches. For young ­people in par­tic­u­lar, it was a rite of initiation that led them to envision more long-­term po­liti­cal participation. Moreover, many of the relationships and alliances established during the organ­ization of ­those marches continued through subsequent campaigns and mobilizations (Fox, 2010; Pallares, 2014). As scholars have argued, however, local context m ­ atters: in some cities, civic engagement regarding immigrant rights increased, whereas in other cities, such as Charlotte and Omaha, the marches unleashed an escalation of federal enforcement, repression, and fear. In ­those two cities, the total number of unauthorized removals increased by 27 ­percent in the following two years (Bada, Fox, Donnelly, and Selee, 2010). For mainstream national Latino organ­izations such as the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and the National Council of La Raza (NCLR), the marches signaled the need to listen to the voices of community organizers who ­were pressing for immigration reform. For several l­ abor u­ nions, the marches cemented their new relationship with immigrants and their new policy positions in support of undocumented immigrant rights. The staging of t­hese marches on May 1

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in many cities also held symbolic significance. It reaffirmed May Day as a historically impor­tant date in the history of ­labor activism and re­sis­tance. For ­labor organ­izations that participated the marches, this reaffirmed the new support that ­unions w ­ ere providing to immigrant workers and their concerns, a major shift in ­union politics initiated in the early 2000s. ­Until this shift, most ­unions had viewed undocumented immigrant l­abor as a major obstacle to improving wages and conditions for documented workers and citizens. By the early 2000s, however, ­unions had not only started to include more immigrants in their organ­izations, but also changed their analy­sis (Fink, 2010). Unions participating in the marches included the SEIU, UNITE, and the AFL-­CIO. For religious parishes and leaders who participated, the marches further solidified their relationship with their immigrant members and led to subsequent campaigns to support immigrant rights. Additionally, Latino support for immigration reform grew significantly; thus, immigration now has become a po­liti­cal issue shared by civic, community, l­ abor, immigrant, and religious organ­izations and plays a significant role in informing the Latino vote. The marches also challenged pre-­existing scholarship that had characterized Latinos as less likely to be po­liti­cally engaged than most other groups. Immigrants in par­tic­u­lar had not been considered po­liti­cal and civic actors in their own right (Fox, 2010). The massive Latino participation was a result of years of l­abor, community, and religious organ­izing—­all of which are types of active Latino po­liti­cal participation that continue to play an impor­tant role in Latino activism t­ oday. Since 2006, the mega-­marches have declined, although they have been replaced by new strategies as immigrant communities continue to strug­gle for their rights. Between 2006 and 2009, for example, immigrant rights advocates focused primarily on organ­izing for immigration reform and supporting the election of President Barack Obama in hopes that he would support a comprehensive immigration reform bill in Congress. During ­these years ­there w ­ ere several impor­tant marches, as well as rallies, protests, vigils, and electoral efforts in support of comprehensive immigration reform. In addition, undocumented youth organizers began to stage “Coming Out of the Shadows” rallies, announcing that they ­were “undocumented and unafraid” and advocating for the rights of undocumented youth. In 2009 and 2010 t­ here was a turn away from comprehensive immigration reform and a new focus on a federal DREAM Act, an initiative spearheaded by undocumented youth organizers who began questioning the viability of comprehensive immigration reform. Although many immigrant rights organ­izations ­were initially reluctant to support this new goal, eventually most sectors of the immigrant rights movement supported it. Despite passing in the House, however, the DREAM bill did not pass in the Senate. By 2011, the movement had become more bifurcated, as many youth-­led organ­ izations focused on executive presidential action as a main goal, while ­others continued to focus on Congress and comprehensive immigration reform. The former

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Ten Largest Immigrant Rights Marches in the Spring of 2006 Los Angeles Los Angeles Chicago Dallas Chicago Washington Phoenix New York San Jose Atlanta

5/1/06 3/25/06 5/1/06 4/9/06 3/10/06 4/10/06 4/10/06 4/10/06 5/1/06 3/25/06

400,000 to 700,000 500,000 400,000 to 750,000 350,000 to 500,000 100,000 to 300,000 180,000 100,000 to 250,000 100,000 100,000 80,000

Source: Bada, Fox, Zazueta, and Garcia, 2006.

engaged in tactics of civil disobedience to pressure the president for relief for undocumented youth. ­These efforts seem to have paid off. In June 2012, months before his reelection, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) Program, which allowed immigrants who arrived in the United States before age 16 to obtain a renewable work permit and be protected from deportation. This program has been in place since August 2012 and has enabled more than half a million immigrant youths to legally remain and work in the country. In 2013, a Senate-­sponsored comprehensive immigration reform bill failed to be considered by the House. Organ­izations linked through Not One More, a national anti-­ deportation campaign initiated by the National Day Laborers’ Networks (NDLN), continued to pressure the president for executive action for adults, blazing a trail for other organ­izations that had previously hoped for comprehensive immigration reform to also advocate for executive action. By November 2014, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents (DAPA) program, which would grant ­those eligible a renewable work permit and exemption from deportation. However, this mea­sure has not been implemented successfully, as several Republican governors filed a motion to stop it and implementation has been blocked by federal courts. In June 2016, the Supreme Court heard the case, but deadlocked in a 4–4 tie, effectively ending DAPA. The 2006 marches w ­ ere the first and most dramatic mobilization strategy launched by the immigrant rights movement, but certainly not the last. Their greatest accomplishment was helping immigrant communities realize their shared

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strug­gles and their own mobilizing potential. They also brought the issue of immigrant rights and the plight of the undocumented to the forefront of public attention. Although the marches did not get as much coverage in English-­language media as they did in Spanish-­language media, they raised awareness of the widespread support for immigrant rights. In some cases the marches got negative press, as conservative media and websites questioned immigrants’ rights to march, express their views, and articulate their contributions to the United States. This backlash may have had a negative impact in states such as Arizona and South Carolina, where anti-­immigrant sentiment following the marches eventually led to state efforts to create restrictive anti-­immigrant legislation.

Los Angeles The City of Los Angeles, California, held two mega-­marches: one on March 25 (the National Day of Action) and one on May 1. The event on March 25 was the largest mega-­march of any that had ever taken place, with at least 700,000 to 750,000 ­people. Many participants wore white shirts as a sign of peace as they walked along Spring Street, then Broadway and Main Street, ending at City Hall. The march stretched for 26 blocks and shut down traffic for hours. It was or­ga­nized by the March 25 Co­ali­tion, which consisted of immigrant advocacy organ­izations, ­labor ­unions, and Catholic groups. Key participant organ­izations included the Co­ali­tion for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles (CHIRLA), the Mexican American Po­liti­cal Association, local MEChA chapters, Hermandad Mexicana, and Amigos Orange, among ­others. Three days ­later, 11,000 youth walked out of classrooms and into the streets. They walked for miles and held a rally outside of City Hall. On May 1, two additional marches took place in Los Angeles: 200,000 walked to City Hall in the morning, and 400,000 marched along Wilshire Boulevard in the eve­ning. ­Those who marched in the morning ­were supporting the ­Great American Boycott, also known as “A Day Without an Immigrant,” or­ga­nized by grassroots organ­izations that called for boycotting commerce, work, and school. The eve­ning march was or­ga­nized by community leaders who believed the boycott was not feasible for many workers who nevertheless wanted to march (Watanabe and Becerra, 2006; Gonzales, 2009). Elite supporters included Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and Cardinal Roger Mahoney, who spoke at the eve­ning march. Additionally, DJ Eddie “El Piolín” Sotelo played a key role in mobilizing ­people and encouraging other disk jockeys to do so as well (Ayón, 2009). In 2007, another march occurred in Los Angeles, this time with 35,000 ­people.

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Las Vegas Unlike Los Angeles and Chicago, which had much older immigrant networks and histories, Las Vegas did not have a vast network of immigrant organ­izations. The main organizers of local marches w ­ ere youth; hometown associations that had previously focused exclusively on their countries of origin; and the Culinary Union Local 226, which represented 50,000 workers, 40 ­percent of whom w ­ ere Latino (Lazos, 2008; Tuman, 2009). The marches played a key role in bringing together dif­fer­ent civil society actors who had never before or­ga­nized jointly. High school students ­were the first to mobilize, staging a walkout of 1,000 ­middle and high school students from their schools onto major thoroughfares on March 28 (César Chávez Day). On March 31, 2,800 students walked out of 19 area schools and marched to the court­house (Lazos, 2008). On April 10, the National Day of Action, 3,500 p­ eople participated in a march or­ga­nized by a student-­worker co­ali­tion called the United Co­ali­tion for Immigrant Rights. Marchers walked two miles from Jaycee Park to the federal court­house. On May 1, t­here w ­ ere two more marches: one in the morning, supported by students; and one in the eve­ning, supported by the Culinary Union. The eve­ning march was the largest in Las Vegas history. Between 35,000 and 75,000 ­people held a rally at the Fremont Street Experience, a local attraction, and then walked five miles to the New York New York ­hotel, ending in front of the miniature Statue of Liberty at the beginning of the city’s main strip. They did so a­ fter reaching an agreement with employers that they would not boycott work but would be able to leave early and march a­ fter work. Some corporate employers helped the effort by also organ­izing a petition drive for immigration reform in workplaces. A few of them personally joined workers at the rally and l­ ater lobbied for immigrant rights in Washington, D.C. The two marches on May 1 reflect the differences in perspective between ­those who supported a boycott and ­those who opted to negotiate with employers in order to both work and march (Lazos, 2008).

Chicago Chicago was the site of two large marches, which occurred on March 10 and May 1. The size and visibility of the marches inspired many to realize the potential for  mobilization in other cities. The March  10 event was or­ga­nized by the March 10th Committee, a co­ali­tion of immigrant advocacy, l­abor, and religious groups. The march started in Union Park, a site of historic ­labor activism in Chicago’s past, and ended at Federal Plaza. Between 400,000 to 750,000 p­ eople occupied downtown streets for the first time (previous marches had occurred in predominantly Latino neighborhoods). This co­ali­tion of organizers strug­gled over differences regarding the participation of politicians and the repre­sen­ta­tion of

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dif­fer­ent organ­izations in the march, but they ­were able to maintain unity that day as well as on May 1. One of the challenges during the march on May 1 was the fact that organizers anticipated a larger crowd and switched the route to end in Grant Park. Between 400,000 and 700,000 ­people participated, making this the largest march in Chicago’s history, and one of the largest in the nation’s history. Traffic was jammed for hours, and trains had to be rerouted. Approximately 2,500 students walked out of their schools to join the march. Organ­izations involved in the planning of both marches included the March 10th Co­ali­tion, the Ser­vice Employees International Union (SEIU), Centro Sin Fronteras, the Illinois Co­ali­tion for Immigrants and Refugees (ICIRR), the Federation of Michoacan Clubs (FEDECMI), and many churches and religious co­ali­tions. Elite supporters included Senator Dick Durbin, Mayor Richard M. Daley, and Governor Rod Blagojevich. Univision DJ Rafael Pulido (“El Pistolero”) played a key role in promoting the marches. A University of Illinois survey of the Chicago marchers revealed that 75 ­percent ­were Latinos. Among t­hose born outside of the United States, 81 ­percent ­were born in Mexico, and 10 ­percent in other Latin American countries. More than 51 ­percent of the marchers ­were youth between 15 and 28 years of age (Pallares and Flores-­González, 2010). Chicago had another very large march (150,000 participants) in 2007. The 2008 May Day march drew 15,000 p­ eople (Pallares and Flores-­González, 2010). Subsequent May 1 marches have been smaller. See also: Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965; Immigration Reform and Control Act; The Sanctuary Movement

Further Reading Ávila, Oscar, and Antonio Olivo. 2006. “A Show of Strength; Thousands March to Loop for Immigrants’ Rights; Workers, Students Unite in Opposition to Toughening of Law.” Chicago Tribune, March 11. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­2006​-­03​ -­11​/­news​/­0603110130​_­1​_­immigration​-­debate​-­pro​-­immigrant​-­illegal​-­immigrants Ayón, David. 2009. Mobilizing Latino Immigrant Integration: From IRCA to the Ya es Hora Citizenship Campaign, 1987–2007 (Research Paper Series on Latino Immigrant Civic and Po­liti­cal Participation, no. 1). Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Mexico Institute. Bada, Xóchitl, Jonathan A. Fox, Robert Donnelly, and Andrew Dan Selee, eds. 2010. Context ­Matters: Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement in Nine US Cities, Reports on Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement. Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. Bada, Xóchitl, Jonathan A. Fox, and Andrew Selee, eds. 2006. Invisible No More: Mexican Mi­grant Civic Participation in the United States. Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.

898 | Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present Bada, Xóchitl, Jonathan A. Fox, Elvia Zazueta, and Ingrid Garcia. 2006. “Immigrant Rights Marches, Spring 2006” (database). Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. Retrieved from https://­www​.­researchgate​.­net​/­publication​/­283643551​ _­2006​_­Immigrant​_­Marches​_­Database Beltrán, Cristina. 2009. “­Going Public: Hanna Arendt, Immigrant Action, and the Space of Appearance.” Po­liti­cal Theory 37 (5): 595–622. Del Barco, Mandalit. 2006. “Students Abandon Schools for Immigration Protests.” National Public Radio, Morning Edition, March 29. Retrieved from http://­www​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​ /­story​/­story​.­php​?­storyId​=­5308394 Engeman, Cassandra. 2015. “Social Movement Unionism in Practice: Orga­nizational Dimensions of Union Mobilization in the Los Angeles Immigrant Rights Marches.” Work, Employment and Society 29 (3): 444–461. Fink, Leon. 2010. “­Labor Joins la Marcha: How New Immigrant Activists Restored the Meaning of May Day,” Amalia Pallares and Nilda Flores-­González, eds., Marcha: Latino Chicago and the Immigrant Rights Movement, 109–122. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Fox, Jonathan. 2010. “Understanding Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement,” in Xóchitl Bada, Jonathan A. Fox, Robert Donnelly, and Andrew Dan Selee, eds., Context ­Matters: Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement in Nine U.S. Cities, Reports on Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement, 7–12. Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. Gonzales, Alfonso. 2009. “The 2006 Mega Marchas in Greater Los Angeles: Counter-­ Hegemonic Moment and the ­Future of El Migrante Strug­gle.” Latino Studies 7 (1): 30–59. Gorman, Anna, Marjorie Miller, and Mitchell Landsberg. 2006. “Marchers Fill  L.A.’s Streets.” Los Angeles Times, May 2. Retrieved from http://­www​.­latimes​.­com​/­news​/­la​-­me​ -­march2may02​-­story​.­html Lazos, Sylvia R. 2008. “The Immigrant Rights Marches (Las Marchas): Did the ‘Gigante’ (­Giant) Wake Up or Does it Still Sleep To­night?” Nevada Law Journal 7 (3):780–825. Monforti, Jessica L. 2008. “The Awakening of the Sleeping ­Giant? Latino Po­liti­cal Participation and the 2006 Immigrant Rights Protests.” Paper presented March 20 at the annual meeting of the Western Po­liti­cal Science Association, Manchester Hyatt, San Diego, California. Pallares, Amalia. 2014. ­Family Activism: Immigrant Strug­gles and the Politics of Non-­ Citizenship. Prince­ton, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Pallares, Amalia, and Nilda Flores-­González, eds. 2010. Marcha: Latino Chicago and the Immigrant Rights Movement. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Pulido, Laura. 2007. “A Day Without Immigrants: The Racial and Class Politics of Immigrant Exclusion.” Antipode 39 (1): 1–7. Tuman, John. 2009. Latin American Immigrants in the Las Vegas Valley: Civic Engagement and Po­liti­cal Participation (Series on Latino Immigrant Civic Engagement, Report 4). Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.

Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway, 2008–2015 | 899 Voss, Kim, and Irene Bloemraad, eds. 2011. Rallying for Immigrant Rights: The Fight for Inclusion in 21st ­Century Amer­i­ca. Berkeley: University of California Press. Watanabe, Teresa, and Hector Becerra. 2006. “500,000 Pack Streets to Protest Immigration Bills.” Los Angeles Times, March 26, A1. Retrieved from http://­articles​.­latimes​.­com​ /­2006​/­mar​/­26​/­local​/­me​-­immig26

Lin​-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway, 2008–2015 Gabriel Mayora

Chronology 1933

Following U.S. military interventions in Latin Amer­i­ca during the early 1900s, President Roo­se­velt declares a commitment to foster a stronger relationship between the United States and Latin American countries through what becomes known as the Good Neighbor Policy. Hollywood and Broadway become a key site for the promotion of Latin American culture as both alluring and exotic.

1939–1941 A series of Broadway shows incorporates Latin American performers, dance, and settings, including Panama Hattie (1940), Mexican Hayride (1941), and Sons o’ Fun (1941). In 1939, Brazilian singer Carmen Miranda and Cuban American actor Desi Arnaz make their Broadway debuts and quickly rise to Hollywood stardom, becoming key representatives of the Good Neighbor Policy. 1957

The musical West Side Story opens on Broadway. Written by white Jewish men, it centers on the rivalry between a gang of white Americans and a gang of Puerto Ricans in New York City. Chita Rivera—­ playing the role of Anita—is the only Puerto Rican actress cast in a main role.

1975

A Chorus Line, co-­written by Puerto Rican actor and dancer Nicholas Dante, becomes the biggest hit Broadway has ever seen up to that point. The show features two Puerto Rican characters, one of them played by Puerto Rican actress and dancer Priscilla López, who goes on to originate the role of Camila in the show In the Heights.

1979

The musical Evita, about Argentinean first lady Eva Perón, comes to Broadway from London. Despite featuring Latino characters, the musical has no Latino actors in the main roles.

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1980

Playwright Lin-­Manuel Miranda is born in New York City on January 16, 1980.

1993

Kiss of the Spider ­Woman, a musical adaptation of Argentinean author Michael Puig’s novel, stars Chita Rivera, who once again is the only Latina in a cast of white actors playing Latin American characters.

1996

The show Rent becomes an instant phenomenon. Latino actors Wilson Jermaine Heredia and Daphne Rubin-­Vega play two of the main characters.

1998–2002 Lin-­Manuel Miranda attends college at Wesleyan University. ­There, he co-­founds the improvisational group Freestyle Love Supreme, and writes the first drafts of the play In the Heights. 1998

The Capeman, conceived and co-­written by singer/songwriter Paul Simon, opens on Broadway. Popu­lar Latin American singers Ruben Blades, Ednita Nazario, and Marc Anthony are cast as the leads. ­After overwhelmingly negative reviews, the production closes, losing all of its $11 million investment in the process—­the largest commercial flop in the history of Broadway at the time.

2005

Thomas Kail directs the first version of In the Heights as part of the National Musical Theater Conference in Connecticut.

2007–2008 A revised version of In the Heights opens at the 37 Arts theater off-­ Broadway. ­After further revisions, the show opens on Broadway a year ­later to positive reviews. At the Tony Awards, it wins Best Score and Best Musical, thus turning into a hit. 2008

Miranda goes to Mexico on a scheduled vacation from his initial run in In the Heights. ­There, he reads Ron Chernow’s biography of Alexander Hamilton and comes up with the idea to write a hip-­hop ­album about Hamilton’s life titled The Hamilton Mixtape.

2009

Miranda is invited to an event at the White House called “An Eve­ning of Poetry, ­Music and the Spoken Word.” He chooses to rap a song that narrates the first 19 years of the life of Alexander Hamilton. The per­ for­mance receives a standing ovation from President Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and the entire audience.

2010–2012 The 2010 Broadway revival of West Side Story and the 2012 Broadway revival of Evita, with Argentinean actress Elena Roger as Eva Perón and Puerto Rican pop star Ricky Martin as Ché, are the first Broadway productions of t­hese two musicals about Latinos to star multiple Latino actors in the main roles.

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2010

The musical Bring It On, with a score co-­written by Miranda, opens on Broadway. The same year, the first bilingual Broadway production of West Side Story debuts, featuring songs translated into Spanish by Miranda.

2011–2012 Miranda chooses to perform a second song from The Hamilton Mixtape, “My Shot,” at a benefit concert in June 2011. ­After seeing the per­for­mance, Kail suggests setting up a six-­month timeline for Miranda to write new material for the proj­ect. 2012

In January 2012, Miranda performs 12 numbers from The Hamilton Mixtape as part of the Lincoln Center’s “American Songbook” concert series. Broadway producer Jeffrey Seller, who is in the audience, convinces Miranda and Kail that The Hamilton Mixtape should be a Broadway musical, not an a­ lbum. Seller joins the proj­ect as the musical’s producer.

2013

A reading of the first act of Hamilton, then titled The Hamilton Mixtape, is presented at Vassar College.

2015

Hamilton has its world premiere at the Public Theater in New York in January. The production, starring Miranda and directed by Kail, receives rave reviews and sells out its entire run at the Public. The show opens on Broadway in July.

2016

Hamilton wins the Pulitzer Prize and the Tony Award for Best Musical. The ­album has the best debut on the Billboard Top 200 chart for a musical theater ­album since 1963. The show sells out for a year, and breaks the rec­ord for highest grossing week for a Broadway show when it grosses more than $3 million in late November. A sit-­down production opens in Chicago and a national tour is announced for 2017.

Narrative Lin-­Manuel Miranda and Latinos on Broadway In his review of the Broadway musical Hamilton, The New York Times chief theater critic Ben Brantley characterized the show as “proof that the American musical is not only surviving, but also evolving in ways that should allow it to thrive and transmogrify in years to come” (Brantley, 2015). Brantley’s review draws attention to the parallel between Alexander Hamilton, the subject of the musical, and the playwright himself, New York-­born, Puerto Rican author Lin-­Manuel Miranda. The Founding F ­ ather Alexander Hamilton was an immigrant born in poverty and out of wedlock. He established the United States’ financial system and played a key role

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in the fight for in­ de­ pen­ dence against G ­ reat Britain, leaving an indelible mark on the development of the United States as a nation. Indeed, Lin-­Manuel Miranda does draw some parallels with Hamilton, having forever changed the evolution of the American musical. The show Hamilton uses rap, hip-­hop, and rhythm and blues (R&B) to tell the story of the rise and fall of Alexander Hamilton. Using ­these genres of m ­ usic has helped redefine what a Broadway musical should sound like, especially one about a historical figure. Also, by casting actors of color to play white American historical figures such as Thomas Jefferson and George Washington, Hamilton has expanded audience’s perspectives on the kind of stories ­people Lin​-­Manuel Miranda attends the premiere of Moana in Los Angeles, California, on November 14, 2016. of color are allowed to tell and Miranda, who composed songs for Moana, is best perform. In order to understand known for his work on Broadway, including writing the enormous commercial sucand starring in the groundbreaking Hamilton. (Starstock​/­Dreamstime​.­com) cess, critical attention, and cultural impact of Hamilton and the lesser-­known In the Heights, it is necessary to understand the history of Latino characters, performers, m ­ usic, and stories in Broadway musicals.

Latin Amer­i­ca and Broadway Musicals in the Early 20th ­Century Since the late 19th ­century, Broadway has served as a major site to expose white American audiences to Latin American culture, and its treatment of Latin American individuals and cultures has often reflected United States’ attitude t­ oward Latin Americans. As Latin American ­music started to make its way into the United States in the mid-19th ­century, Broadway composers began to incorporate Latin American-­ inspired sounds and rhythms into their scores. An early example was Victor Herbert and Harry B. Smith’s 1897 musical The Idol’s Eye. Though it was set in India, the

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show featured a song titled “Cuban Song,” suggesting that Latin American m ­ usic was used to indicate a nonspecific foreignness regardless of how l­ittle the musical’s setting had to do with Latin Amer­ic­ a (Roberts, 1999). In the 1910s and 1920s, Latin Amer­i­ca continued to influence Broadway musicals and American culture at large. The 1913 musical The Sunshine Girl is considered to have turned tango, the traditional Argentinean dance, into a national phenomenon for American audiences. By the late 1920s, the Cuban population that migrated to New York City ­after the Spanish-­American War of 1898 had come to represent a significant community of immigrants in the city. Similarly, the aftermath of World War I and the Jones Act of 1917, which declared that Puerto Ricans w ­ ere U.S. citizens, led to an increase in the number of Puerto Rican communities in New York City (Rodríguez, 2004). The emergence of t­hese Latin American groups as a prominent minority in New York City was reflected on Broadway, as musicals started to incorporate au­then­tic Latin sounds and instruments in their scores (Roberts, 1999). Despite the early influence of Latin American culture on Broadway, it was not ­until the late 1930s and the 1940s that Latin Americans themselves burst onto the Broadway scene. In 1939, Brazilian singer Carmen Miranda and Cuban American actor and dancer Desi Arnaz made their Broadway debuts only a few months apart. The triumphant introduction and ensuing success of Miranda’s and Arnaz’s ­careers ­were a direct result of President Franklin Roo­se­velt’s Good Neighbor Policy. In his 1933 inauguration speech, Roo­se­velt declared the United States’ commitment to “the policy of good neighbor . . . ​the neighbor who re­spects his obligations and re­spects the sanctity of his agreements in and with a world of neighbors” (Roo­se­velt, 1933). This po­liti­cal strategy emphasized the need for unity among countries in the Amer­i­cas in light of potential threats of invasion from the Nazi regime. Propagation of the Good Neighbor Policy in Latin Amer­i­ca, however, posed a challenge given the constant military interventions and invasions the United States had conducted in Latin American countries prior to 1933. Therefore, the United States made a conscious effort both to change its negative image in Latin Amer­i­ca and to change Americans’ perception of Latin Americans. Hollywood and Broadway became impor­tant channels through which the government could maintain and showcase the success of the Good Neighbor Policy (Sandoval-­ Sánchez, 1999). The Broadway debuts of Carmen Miranda and Desi Arnaz in 1939 w ­ ere significant events. The actors ­were the first Latin American performers to gain Hollywood stardom based on their per­for­mance in a Broadway musical, a success attributed to the viewers’ belief that they added authenticity to Latin stories and songs (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 1999). Whereas In the Heights and Hamilton depict the strug­gles of Latinos and p­ eople of color in the United States, Carmen Miranda’s and Desi Arnaz’s “charismatic and electrifying performances”—as critics described

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them—­perpetuated the idea that Latin American ­people ­were always musical, happy, and irresistible (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 1999; Rodríguez, 2004). While Miranda and Arnaz played a key role in helping audiences embrace Latin American performers, they also contributed to ste­reo­types of Latinos as fun and carefree, overly sexual, unintelligent, and loud. ­These ste­reo­types would plague Broadway musicals, as well as American films and TV shows, for de­cades to come.

Puerto Ricans on Broadway: West Side Story and The Capeman ­ ntil Lin-­Manuel Miranda burst onto the scene with In the Heights, no Broadway U musical about Latinos had been written by Latinos. From the 1950s through the end of the 20th ­century, shows written by non-­Latino script and songwriters—­like Bye Bye Birdie (1960), A Chorus Line (1975), Evita (1979), Kiss of the Spider ­Woman (1993), and Rent (1996)—­featured characters and/or actors from Puerto Rico, Argentina, and Panama. Evita and Kiss of the Spider ­Woman ­were set in Argentina and used Latin-­inspired scores, yet, with the exception of Chita Rivera’s star turn in Spider ­Woman, the Latin American characters in t­hese musicals w ­ ere played by white and African American actors. Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s cultural significance can best be understood in relationship to two shows about Puerto Ricans in New York: West Side Story (1957) and The Capeman (1998). West Side Story is a loose adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, set in New York City in the late 1950s. The musical centers on the romance that emerges between Tony, the former leader of a gang of white Americans; and Maria, the ­sister of the leader of a rival gang of Puerto Rican mi­grants. The original idea for West Side Story centered on a romance between two lovers, one Jewish and one Catholic, but the creators abandoned it, considering the rivalry no longer relevant. The storyline changed course when Arthur Laurents and Leonard Bern­stein, two of the show’s creators, read a newspaper headline about gang wars while at a pool in Los Angeles (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 1999). Inspired by the idea, they deci­ded to write a musical about the rivalry of a white gang and an ethnic gang. Some accounts of the musical’s origins claim that ­there ­were discussions about ­whether the ethnic gang would consist of Chicanos, African Americans, or Puerto Ricans (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 1999). In other accounts, Laurents and Bern­stein immediately knew the rival gang would be Puerto Rican given the visibility of Puerto Ricans in New York and in the national consciousness during that era (Negrón-­ Muntaner, 2004). Following its premiere on Broadway in 1957, and a film adaptation that won the Acad­emy Award for Best Picture in 1961, West Side Story became one of the most famous and popu­lar musicals in the history of Broadway. Musical theater experts have praised both the musical and the film’s aesthetic ele­ments, such as

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Leonard Bern­stein’s score and Jerome Robbins’s seamless choreography. The musical has also received praise for its depiction of social issues that very few Broadway musicals had tackled before, such as gang vio­lence, immigration, and racial discrimination (Stempel, 2010). However, Puerto Rican and Latino scholars have consistently criticized the musical’s casting of white actors in “brownface”—­a practice in which actors’ skin is darkened with makeup—to play Puerto Rican characters (mostly in the original Broadway production and the film adaptation). They have also criticized its failed attempt to capture the energy and complexity of mambo and au­then­tic Puerto Rican m ­ usic in songs like “Amer­i­ca” and “Dance at the Gym,” and its depiction of New York Puerto Rican men as criminals and Puerto Rican ­women as e­ ither virginal victims or Latina “spitfires” (Roberts, 1999; Sandoval-­ Sánchez, 1999; Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004). Despite the criticism, West Side Story occupies an impor­tant and unique place in the history of Puerto Ricans’ repre­sen­ ta­tion in the United States as “the earliest—­and arguably the only—­widely disseminated American mass culture product to construe Puerto Ricans as a specific, and hence dif­fer­ent, U.S. ethnic group” (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004, p. 60). Though produced de­cades ­later, The Capeman is the only other Broadway musical to date that is exclusively about Puerto Ricans in New York. Its main contradiction lies in the fact that it was created as an “au­then­tic” Puerto Rican musical to counteract West Side Story, yet it bears many similarities to that musical. As in the case of West Side Story, The Capeman was conceived of by a white American artist: famous folk rock singer-­songwriter Paul Simon. Simon had never written a musical before, and collaborated with Derek Walcott, a renowned poet from Saint Lucia who had recently won a Nobel Prize in Lit­er­at­ure, in an effort to add “Ca­rib­bean authenticity” to the story (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 2002). Simon insisted on maintaining full creative and financial control, leaving some to question the extent of Walcott’s input (Dubner, 1997). In another parallel to West Side Story, The Capeman deals with vio­ lence and Puerto Ricans in 1950s New York. Its plot centers on the real-­life story of Salvador Agrón, a 16-­year-­old Puerto Rican who murdered two white teen­agers. The Capeman represented the first time that a Broadway musical was targeted directly to Latino and, even more specifically, Puerto Rican audiences—an ele­ment that defined the show’s marketing leading up to its premiere. The cast was filled with internationally renowned Latin American m ­ usic stars, such as Puerto Rican singer Ednita Nazario, Panamanian singer Rubén Blades, and New York-­born Puerto Rican singer Marc Anthony. The advertisement of the show prominently used the colors of the Puerto Rican flag along with the ­faces of its stars, all of whom ­were far more famous among Latin American and Latino audiences than among Anglo-­ American audiences. Moreover, when promoting the show on Hispanic tele­vi­sion, the cast highlighted the presence of “au­then­tic” Puerto Rican ­music in the show (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 2002).

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A Temporarily Bilingual West Side Story ­ fter hearing his romantic life partner Tom Hatcher rave about a production A of West Side Story that he saw in Bogotá, Colombia, the musical’s book writer Arthur Laurents had the idea to direct a bilingual revival of the show on Broadway. While promoting the revival, which opened on Broadway in 2009, Laurents, the producers, and the cast repeatedly mentioned how this approach would make the story more realistic and would make the then-40-­year-­old musical feel more relatable to modern audiences (Cohen, 2009). The idea was that the Puerto Rican characters would mostly speak and sing in Spanish. Lin-­Manuel Miranda, who had recently won the Tony for In the Heights, was hired to write the new translations. Laurents also insisted that the Puerto Rican characters be played by Latino actors, saying that the actors could not speak “high school Spanish” (Cohen, 2009). When the production premiered in Washington, D.C., prior to its Broadway debut, subtitles ­were used for the Spanish sections; however, the subtitles w ­ ere quickly dropped. By the time the show reached Broadway, the decision was made to use less Spanish and integrate some En­glish dialogue to help English-­speaking audiences understand what was happening (Cohen, 2009). The show opened in March 2009 to mixed reviews; by August of the same year, the producers released a statement announcing that most of the En­glish dialogue and lyr­ics had been reinstated. In par­tic­u­lar, two of the most recognized and beloved songs from the musical that had been translated to Spanish—­“I Feel Pretty” and “A Boy Like That”—­were switched back to their original En­glish version (Itzkoff, 2009). No reason was given for the change.

­After The Capeman premiered, it quickly became a financial and critical failure. New York critics, mostly consisting of white American men, found l­ittle to praise about the show. Puerto Rican scholar Alberto Sandoval-­Sánchez described ­these reviews as “savage,” “devastating,” and “hyperbolic” in their negativity (2002, p. 148). Many Puerto Rican critics believed that the show presented an au­then­tic portrayal of Puerto Ricans, and saw the overwhelmingly negative critical reception as a sign of racism. Other Puerto Rican scholars, like Sandoval-­Sánchez and Frances Negrón-­Muntaner, thought that Paul Simon replicated some of the same ste­reo­types about Puerto Ricans presented in West Side Story (Sandoval-­Sánchez, 2002). Ultimately, The Capeman closed a­ fter only 68 per­for­mances. By comparison, the original Broadway production of West Side Story closed ­after 732 per­for­mances, and In the Heights closed a­ fter 1,184 per­for­mances. The show

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“Brownface” in the Broadway Musical In the Heights featured Latino actors from vari­ous races and ethnicities without relying on makeup to convey to the audience a par­tic­u­lar character’s ethnicity or national origin, a choice that was largely unpre­ce­dented on Broadway. Historically, Broadway musicals featuring Latino characters have mainly cast non-­Latino actors to play t­hose characters. In turn, the skin complexion of ­these non-­Latino actors, who are typically white, has been darkened through makeup, a practice commonly known as “brownface.” Most famously, the original production of West Side Story in 1957 and its 1961 film adaptation featured Anglo actors in “brownface” so they could pass as Puerto Rican. Surprisingly, even productions that have cast Puerto Rican actors as Puerto Rican characters have relied on “brownface” to portray ­these actors as “au­then­tic” Puerto Ricans in cases when the actors at hand are light-­skinned. For instance, light-­skinned Puerto Rican actress Josie De Guzmán was initially appalled when her skin and hair w ­ ere darkened to play the role of Maria in the 1980 Broadway revival of West Side Story (Negrón-­Muntaner, 2004). Similarly, “white-­skinned, blue-­eyed, and blonde” native Puerto Rican singer Ednita Nazario darkened her hair “in order to authenticate Puerto Ricanness on the stage” when she was cast as a Puerto Rican ­mother in The Capeman (Sandoval-­ Sánchez, 2002). This history of darkening an actor’s features to mark a character as Latino and Puerto Rican highlights the originality in the casting and lack of “brownface” in In the Heights.

also lost all of its $11 million investment, making it one of the biggest financial failures on Broadway (Rohter, 2010).

In the Heights and Hamilton Ten years ­after the monumental failure of The Capeman, the first musical written about and by Latinos reached Broadway. The show was In the Heights, with a script (referred to as a “book” in musical theater terms) by Puerto Rican and Jewish American playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes and m ­ usic and lyr­ics by Lin-­Manuel Miranda. The show was conceived by Lin-­Manuel Miranda in 1999 when he was a sophomore at Wesleyan University (Broadway Bullet, 2007). In 2002, Miranda’s fellow Wesleyan alum Thomas Kail became involved as the show’s director, and he recruited playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes to provide structure and focus to the narrative (Broadway Bullet, 2007). Prior to its Broadway debut, a public reading

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of In the Heights was presented in Connecticut at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center’s ­Music Theater Conference in 2005. Two years l­ater, a revised version of the show opened off-­Broadway at 37 Arts in New York. Based on the success of the production, the producers deci­ded to bring the show to Broadway. In July 2008, In the Heights opened at the Richard Rod­gers Theater with Lin-­ Manuel Miranda in the lead role of Usnavi. The production received mostly positive reviews from critics, who praised Miranda’s work as a songwriter and as the show’s star. ­These reviews did not immediately lead to large audiences, however; the show strug­gled at the box office with an average weekly intake of $521,065 from its debut in February through the second week of June (Broadway League, 2008). As the average weekly cost of a musical on Broadway is approximately $590,000, the earnings of In the Heights indicate that the show was losing money or barely breaking even each week. The show’s commercial prospects took a dramatic turn when it won four Tony Awards on June 15, 2008, including awards for Best Score and Best Musical. The following week, the show made $902,866 and officially became a hit, g­ oing on to recoup all of its $10 million investment in 10 months and r­ unning through 2011. It eventually spawned international productions in countries like Panama, Japan, and ­England. Miranda intended In the Heights to reflect what he wanted to see in a musical: “You know, Latinos, not wielding knives, but you know being in love and having business and having families” (Broadway Bullet, 2007). The plot centers on the intersecting stories of a con­temporary intergenerational community of Latino characters, and takes place over the course of three days in July. The Latino characters in the musical, of which ­there are many, are the protagonists, and their conflicts are rooted in their daily strug­gles. Unlike Broadway musicals from the first half of the 20th ­century, In the Heights does not use Latin American culture to suggest exoticism. Moreover, it is not based on newspaper headlines, like West Side Story or The Capeman, or larger-­than-­life Latin American figures and characters, like Evita or Kiss of the Spider ­Woman. Its integration of Latin American ­music like rap, hip-­ hop, salsa, and merengue reflects the heterogeneity of Latinos in the United States. While taking a vacation from performing in In the Heights during August 2008, Miranda went to Mexico, where he read historian Ron Chernow’s 2004 best-­selling book Alexander Hamilton. In reading about the rivalry between Alexander Hamilton and po­liti­cal figure Aaron Burr, who eventually murdered Hamilton, Miranda saw what he called a “hip-­hop story.” For Miranda, the tension between Hamilton and Burr recalled the legendary rivalry between late rappers Biggie Smalls and Tupac Shakur (Horwitz, 2016). Miranda was also attracted to Hamilton’s story as an immigrant from the Ca­rib­bean who arrived in New York in search of opportunity (Horwitz, 2016). Miranda deci­ded to write songs inspired by the book for an ­album he would call The Hamilton Mixtape. In 2009, Miranda was invited to

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perform at the White House as part of “An Eve­ning of Poetry, ­Music, and the Spoken Word” for President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and their guests. Despite the fact he was asked to perform a song from In the Heights, Miranda deci­ ded to perform the only song he had written for The Hamilton Mixtape, a song he had never performed in public (Miranda and McCarter, 2016). The song, which narrated the first 19 years of Hamilton’s life, received a standing ovation; a video of his per­for­mance made its way to the streaming site YouTube, where it received wide attention and praise. Miranda deci­ded this would be his next show (Horwitz, 2016). ­After working on the show for several years, Hamilton fi­nally opened on February 17, 2015, at the Public Theater in New York ­under the direction of Thomas Kail, with whom Miranda had collaborated on the proj­ect since its early stages. The reviews ­were overwhelmingly positive, including a review in the New York Times declaring that the show’s seamless use of rap and R&B represented a “historic” moment in the development of the American musical (Brantley, 2015). ­After a sold-­out run at the Public, the show moved to the Richard Rod­gers Theater on Broadway, where it opened on August 6, 2015, with an outstanding (and rare) $27.6 million in advance ticket sales. Hamilton continued to break rec­ords for ticket sales; the week from November  21–27, 2016, the show set the rec­ord for the highest-­grossing single week in the history of Broadway when it brought in $3.3 million. In 2016, the show also won 11 Tony Awards, including Best Musical, and it became one of only 9 musicals to win the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in the award’s 100-­year history. In the national media, Hamilton has been the subject of a few controversies. Its casting of actors of color as historical figures who w ­ ere white in real life has been widely praised. President Obama, for instance, declared that the diversity of the cast “reminds us that this nation was built by more than a few g­ reat men—­and that it is an inheritance that belongs to all of us” (Paulson, 2016). However, when the producers released a casting call specifying that they w ­ ere only seeking “nonwhite actors” for all principal roles, except for the role of King George, Actors’ Equity, the ­union that represents stage actors in the United States, accused the show of engaging in discriminatory practices. Following the controversy, the producers released a statement indicating that they would change the language of the casting notice, but emphasized that “it is essential to the storytelling of Hamilton that the principal roles, which ­were written for nonwhite characters (excepting King George), be performed by nonwhite actors” (Paulson, 2016). On November 18, 2016, the show was involved in another controversy when then Vice President-­elect Mike Pence attended a per­for­mance. Upon his entrance to the Richard Rod­gers Theater, some members of the audience booed Pence, whose platform during the 2016 presidential campaigns with Republican candidate Donald Trump vocally promoted strict anti-­immigration policies. ­After the per­for­mance

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ended, cast member Brandon Victor Dixon addressed Pence from the stage in a speech co-­written by Miranda, Dixon, Thomas Kail, and producer Jeffrey Seller, in which he pleaded with the new administration to “work on behalf of all of us” (Wang, 2016). The moment was filmed and widely disseminated on social media, leading to a split reaction in which some defended the cast’s right to express their discontent, and ­others denounced the act as disrespectful. Most notably, Donald Trump released a series of messages on the social media site Twitter in which he publicly criticized the cast for “harassing” Pence (in his own words), ­going on to call the show “highly overrated” and demanding that the show’s producers and cast apologize to Pence. Pence released a statement saying he was not offended by the speech (Wang, 2016). Though Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s place in American culture w ­ ill forever be tied to the enormous success of Hamilton, his debut on Broadway with In the Heights marked a key shift in the repre­sen­ta­tion of Latinos in musical theater. With In the Heights, Miranda used the musical language of Latinos to depict a wide range of issues affecting the heterogeneous community of Latino characters that populate the musical. With Hamilton, he further challenged traditional expectations about Latino repre­sen­ta­tions and participation in musical theater. While the effects of Hamilton’s success have yet to translate into more musicals by and about Latinos, Miranda’s work has quite literally given a voice to Latinos, lessening the accuracy of descriptions of Broadway as the ­Great White Way.

Biographies of Notable Figures Lin-­Manuel Miranda (1980–) Lin-­Manuel Miranda has been one of the most influential figures in the history of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Latinos and Puerto Ricans on Broadway. As an author, songwriter, and performer, the New York-­born Puerto Rican personality has emerged as one of the very few musical theater stars to gain international recognition for his contributions on stage. Miranda is the son of Luis Miranda and Luz Towns-­Miranda, who w ­ ere both born in Puerto Rico. At age 18, Luis Miranda moved to New York, and was the youn­gest student at the time to have been accepted into New York University’s clinical psy­chol­ogy program. Speaking about his decision to leave Puerto Rico, Miranda said, “I thought Puerto Rico was too small, I wanted more” (Horwitz, 2016). However, the move proved to be permanent. As part of the program, Luis Miranda met Luz Towns, a fellow student, whom he eventually married (Manners, 2016). While Towns became a successful clinical psychologist ­after graduation, Miranda switched ­careers, ­going on to become a po­liti­cal con­sul­tant for notable figures such as former mayor of New York Ed Koch.

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Lin-­Manuel Miranda was born on January 16, 1980, in New York City. He grew up in Inwood, a Manhattan neighborhood with a large Hispanic community, with his older ­sister Luiz Miranda-­Crespo and his parents, spending his summers in Puerto Rico (Paulson, 2015). His parents’ love for Broadway cast a­ lbums meant that he grew up listening to a range of Broadway show tunes. Being surrounded by Hispanics at home, in his neighborhood, and in Puerto Rico, he was also exposed to Spanish and Latin ­music. He credits his ­sister for exposing him to the hip-­hop and rap ­albums she owned, while his parents fostered and encouraged his passion for ­music and showmanship (Manners, 2016; Moreno, 2016). By the time he went to Hunter College High School, a public school for gifted ­children, he was already writing and performing in his own shows, in addition to acting in and even directing some of the high school’s musicals. One such instance was a production of West Side Story for which he recruited his ­father as a dialect coach for the non-­Latino students playing Puerto Rican characters (Paulson, 2015). ­After graduating from high school, Lin-­Manuel Miranda went to Wesleyan University, where he initially intended to double-­major in theater and film. However, when he realized he had to pay for his own student films, but the institution funded student plays, his attention turned exclusively to musical theater (DiGiacomo, 2015). At Wesleyan, Miranda refined the three artistic interests that would go on to define his success: rap and hip-­hop, musical theater writing, and performing. He acted in college musicals like Jesus Christ Superstar and started writing his own shows. It was during his sophomore year, when he was 19, that he wrote the first draft of In the Heights. A week ­after he graduated from Wesleyan, he met Thomas Kail, who saw potential in In the Heights ­after reading the script and listening to the score. The two began collaborating on the show with Miranda as the songwriter and Kail as the director (Paulson, 2015). ­After graduation, Miranda performed in New York City as a member of Freestyle Love Supreme, an improv hip-­hop group that he co-­founded with a group of friends from Wesleyan. During this time, he came across an online profile for Vanessa Nadal, a former high-­school crush who was working as a scientist. When he saw that she listed hip-­hop and salsa as one of her hobbies on her profile, he invited her to see him perform with Freestyle Love Supreme. The two began dating soon ­after. Meanwhile, Miranda went back to Hunter College High School to work as a substitute teacher. When he was offered a permanent position as an En­glish teacher, he hesitated to commit to it. At the time, he was developing In the Heights, and Broadway producer Kevin McCollum had expressed interest in the proj­ect. Miranda had to decide between temporary jobs that offered ­little financial security while he focused on his writing, or to accept a job as an En­glish teacher that would give him more financial stability. Before making the decision, Miranda contacted his f­ ather. The elder Miranda acknowledged that the “smart parent ­thing to do” was to tell his

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son to take the permanent job; nevertheless, he told his son about his own decision to leave his permanent job in Puerto Rico when he was 18 and come to the United States, even though he did not speak En­glish. His advice was for Lin-­Manuel to pursue his passion as a writer (Gioia, 2016). Apart from being the show’s creator, composer, and lyricist, In the Heights also marked Miranda’s acting debut on Broadway. As the lead of the show, he played Usnavi, a bodega owner whose desire to go back to the Dominican Republic contradicts his love for the community in Washington Heights where he was raised. Miranda left In the Heights in 2009, at which point he was already working on Hamilton. In 2010, he married Vanessa Nadal, now a ­lawyer, with whom he had a son in 2014 (Brady, 2010). While writing Hamilton, Miranda continued his involvement on Broadway through his work on the 2010 revival of West Side Story, for which he translated the lyr­ics for songs sung by the Puerto Rican characters. During this time, he also contributed to the musical Bring It On, for which he co-­wrote the ­music and lyr­ics with his friend Tom Kitt, a, Tony-­winning composer, and the lyricist Amanda Green. On December 25, 2010, Miranda returned to In the Heights to play Usnavi for the last weeks of the show’s Broadway run, which ended on January 9, 2011. In 2015, Miranda returned to the Broadway stage as the star of Hamilton. Following the success of Hamilton, Lin-­Manuel Miranda was nominated for and won numerous awards, including a second Tony nomination for Best Actor in a Musical, a second Tony Award for Best Score, his first Tony Award for Best Book, and a Pulitzer Prize for Drama. In 2015, he was named as one of the 24 recipients of the “genius grant” by the MacArthur Foundation, which consists of a $625,000 award. In its official announcement, the Foundation praised Hamilton’s “daring” blend of “street culture with Amer­i­ca’s founding narrative” as well as its use of “cross-­racial casting,” declaring that Miranda “is expanding the conventions of mainstream theater” (Boehm, 2015). Miranda departed from Hamilton in July 2016 to work on opening a production of the show in London; meanwhile, a production in Chicago had already begun and a national tour was scheduled for 2017. Miranda also contributed songs to the Disney film Moana, which was released in November 2016; the following year Miranda received his first Acad­emy Award nomination for his work as the composer and lyricist of the film’s signature song, “How Far I’ll Go.” He has also been cast as the male lead in a sequel to the 1961 Disney film Mary Poppins, tentatively titled Mary Poppins Returns, co-­produced by Walt Disney Studios and directed by Rob Marshall. The film is slated to premiere in 2018.

Thomas Kail (1978–) Thomas Kail has directed both of Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s hit shows on Broadway, In the Heights and Hamilton, helping to shape both musicals from their early stages.

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Through his collaboration with Miranda, he has become a prominent creative force in the emergence of Broadway musicals written and performed by Latinos. Kail was born January 20, 1978, in Alexandria, ­Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C., to a ­lawyer and an archivist (Marks, 2015). He received his primary and secondary education at Sidwell Friends School, one of the most prestigious private schools in the D.C. region. Growing up, Kail’s primary interest was sports, and he wanted to become a professional sportscaster (Marks, 2015). He played in his school’s soccer team and also played baseball, basketball, and tennis. At Sidwell he was required to take a drama class, which he credits with exposing him to other interests beyond sports (Miranda and McCarter, 2016). ­After graduating from Sidwell in 1995, he attended Wesleyan University, where he majored in history. It was during his ju­nior year at Wesleyan that Kail became interested in theater. First, his friends asked him to help backstage at a student-­run production. Next, he participated in an exchange program at Dartmouth University, where he sat in on a class taught by renowned African American playwright August Wilson (1945–2005) (Jennings, 2015). He found the experience so inspiring that he wrote a short play, Re: Peter, when he got back to Wesleyan (Marks, 2015). He produced and directed the play at Wesleyan’s Second Stage, but he was not happy when he learned that a musical composed by a freshman would be performed in the same theater space as his play. The musical was Seven Minutes of Heaven and the unknown freshman composer was Lin-­Manuel Miranda. Kail recalls complaining, “Who is this guy taking our lights? . . . ​A freshman—­in a dorm? . . . ​­Little did I know I’d end up spending 13 years of my life working with him” (Marks, 2015). However, the two never actually knew each other during the year their college ­careers overlapped at Wesleyan. Kail graduated from Wesleyan University in 1999 and started looking for work in theater. He got a job as a production assistant at the American Stage Com­pany in New Jersey, making $100 a week, and was ­later promoted to associate creative director before the theater shut down in 2001 (Jennings, 2015). Kail moved to New York City and co-­founded the theater com­pany Back House Productions with fellow Wesleyan alumni. The group was able to perform in a 50-­seat space in the basement of the now-­closed Drama Book Shop. Kail took on the role of director and worked odd jobs on the side, including a stint as the personal assistant of legendary stage performer Audra McDonald (Marks, 2015). Friends who had seen Miranda’s original production of In the Heights at Wesleyan had sent the show’s score and script to Kail, who was immediately captivated by the show’s use of hip-­ hop. Kail and Miranda met two years l­ ater and spent five hours talking about ideas for In the Heights (Kiper, 2008). The two instantly became friends and collaborators, eventually co-­founding Freestyle Love Supreme together. Kail shepherded In the Heights to Broadway and received a Tony nomination for Best Director. His next two Broadway productions combined his passion for

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sports and theater. In 2010, he directed the play Lombardi (by Eric Simonson) about renowned football coach Vince Lombardi, which was a moderate success on Broadway despite mixed reviews. In April 2012, he directed Simonson’s next play, Magic/ Bird, which centered on the rivalry between famous basketball players Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. The play received negative reviews and closed quickly. Starting in 2011, Kail was heavi­ly involved in the development of Hamilton, setting up deadlines for Miranda and giving his feedback on “­every draft of ­every song” (Mead, 2015). Kail was also responsible for creating a vision for the show and picking the costume, set, and lighting designers, as well as the actors who w ­ ere responsible for bringing the vision to life (Jennings, 2015). In 2016, Kail won a Best Director Tony Award for Hamilton. ­After the success of Hamilton, Thomas Kail continued to have a prolific c­ areer as a director on stage while expanding his work to tele­vi­sion. In 2016 alone, he directed three off-­Broadway plays, including In the Heights’ writer Quiara Alegría Hudes’s play Daphne’s Dive, starring Panamanian-­American stage actress Daphne Rubin-­Vega. On tele­vi­sion, he received rave reviews for directing FOX’s Grease Live!, for which he won two Emmy Awards in September 2016, one as a director for Outstanding Directing for a Variety Special and a second as a producer for Outstanding Special Class Program. In August 2016, it was announced that Kail had launched his own production com­pany, Old 320 Sycamore, and he sealed a deal with 20th ­Century Fox TV to develop TV proj­ects for the studio. At the time of the announcement, Kail expressed his enthusiasm and commitment to continue providing a platform for “new voices, surprising characters and stories that are relevant to our times” (Littleton, 2016).

DOCUMENT EXCERPTS Publication About Hamilton in West Indies Newspaper, 1772 The following is an excerpt from a letter Alexander Hamilton wrote in 1772, which was published by The Royal Danish-­American Gazette in St. Croix. As editor Gertrude Atherton wrote of his letter, “This curious document is in­ter­est­ing and valuable in many ways: it is prob­ably the only existing description of the greatest hurricane . . . ​; it is addressed to his f­ather, which shows that he was in affectionate correspondence with James Hamilton at that time; it is the production of a youth of sixteen; and above all it throws a new light on both the workings of Hamilton’s mind and the development of his literary talent at that age. Strange a mixture as it is of dramatic power, a somewhat excessive piety, and literary self consciousness, it is a remarkable production, for it reveals an original mind striving to express itself through the trammels of certain standards and formulae which he had evidently

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accepted as the correct models for the young man of literary aspirations” (p. xiii). Note the in­ter­est­ing similarities between this description of young Alexander Hamilton—­a young man with literary talent, whose work showed “dramatic power” and who had strong affection for his ­father—­and Lin-­Manuel Miranda. Honoured Sir, I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of the most dreadful hurricane that memory or any rec­ords what­ever can trace, which happened ­here on the 3ist ultimo at night. It began about dusk, at North, and raged very violently till ten ­o’clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting round to the South West point, from whence it returned with redoubled fury and continued so till near three ­o’clock in the morning. Good God! what horror and destruction—­it’s impossible for me to describe—or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind—­fiery meteors flying about in the air—­the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning—­the crash of the falling houses—­and the ear-­piercing shrieks of the distressed, ­were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels. A ­great part of the buildings throughout the Island are levelled to the ground—­almost all the rest very much shattered—­several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined—­whole families ­running about the streets unknowing where to find a place of shelter—­the sick exposed to the keenness of ­water and air—­without a bed to lie upon—or a dry covering to their bodies—­our harbour is entirely bare. In a word, misery in all its most hideous shapes spread over the ­whole face of the country. A strong smell of gunpowder added somewhat to the terrors of the night; and it was observed that the rain was surprisingly salt. Indeed, the ­water is so brackish and full of sulphur that ­there is hardly any drinking it. My reflections and feelings on this frightful and melancholy occasion are set forth in following self-­discourse. Where now, Oh! vile worm, is all thy boasted fortitude and resolution? what is become of thy arrogance and self-­sufficiency?—­why dost thou t­remble and stand aghast? how ­humble—­how helpless—­how contemptible you now appear. And for why? the jarring of the ele­ments—­the discord of clouds? Oh, impotent presumptuous fool! how darest thou offend that omnipotence, whose nod alone w ­ ere sufficient to quell the destruction that hovers over thee, or crush thee into atoms? See thy wretched helpless state and learn to know thyself. Learn to know thy best s­ upport. . . . ​—­yet what have I to dread? my staff can never be broken—in omnipotence I trust. He who gave the winds to blow and the lightnings to rage—­even him I have always loved and served—­his precepts have I observed—­his commandments have I obeyed—­and his perfections have I adored.—­He ­will snatch me from ruin—he w ­ ill exalt me to the fellowship of Angels and Seraphs, and to the fulness of never ending joys. But alas! how dif­fer­ent, how deplorable—­how gloomy

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the prospect—­death comes rushing on in triumph veiled in a mantle of ten-­fold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed and ready for the stroke.—­On his right hand sits destruction, hurling the winds and belching forth flames;—­calamity on his left threatening famine, disease, distress of all kinds. *** Yet hold, Oh, vain mortal!—­check thy ill-­timed joy. Art thou so selfish as to exult ­because thy lot is happy in a season of universal woe?—­Hast thou no feelings for the miseries of thy fellow-­creatures, and art thou incapable of the soft pangs of sympathetic sorrow?—­Look around thee and shudder at the view.—­See desolation and ruin wherever thou turnest thine eye. See thy fellow-­creatures pale and lifeless; their bodies mangled—­their souls snatched into eternity—­unexpecting—­alas! perhaps unprepared!—­Hark the ­bitter groans of distress—­see sickness and infirmities exposed to the inclemencies of wind and ­water—­see tender infancy pinched with hunger and hanging to the ­mother’s knee for food!—­see the unhappy ­mother’s anxiety—­her poverty denies relief—­her breast heaves with pangs of maternal pity—­ her heart is bursting—­the tears gush down her cheeks—­Oh sights of woe! Oh distress unspeakable!—my heart bleeds—­but I have no power to solace!—­Oh ye, who revel in affluence, see the afflictions of humanity, and bestow your superfluity to ease them.—­Say not, we have suffered also, and with-­hold your compassion. What are your sufferings compared to ­these? Ye have still more than enough left.—­Act wisely.—­ Succour the miserable and lay up a trea­sure in Heaven. I am afraid, sir, you ­will think this description more the effort of imagination, than a true picture of realities. But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that t­here is not a single circumstance touched upon which I have not absolutely been an eye-­witness to. Our General has several very salutary and h­ uman regulations, and both in his public and private mea­ sures has shown himself the man. Source: Gertrude Atherton, ed. A Few of Hamilton’s Letters, Including His Description of The ­Great West Indian Hurricane of 1772. New York: Frederick  A. Stokes, 1903, pp. 261–267.

History ­behind the Songs: King George III and Alexander Hamilton, 1775–1780 The following document excerpts include a speech King George III delivered to Parliament in 1775, and a love letter from Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, shortly before they ­were wed in 1780. King George’s harsh remarks about the rebellious members of the colonies and the impassioned words from Hamilton to his soon-­to-be bride demonstrate how history informed the passionate, funny, and soulful songs and dialogue that Lin-­Manuel Miranda, Thomas Kail, and the rest of Hamilton’s cast and crew infused into the hit musical.

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King George’s Address to Parliament, 1775 THE pres­ent situation of Amer­i­ca, and my constant desire to have your advice, concurrence and assistance, on e­ very impor­tant occasion, have determined me to call you thus early together. ­Those who have long too successfully laboured to inflame my p­ eople in Amer­ i­ca by gross misrepre­sen­ta­tions, and to infuse into their minds a system of opinions, repugnant to the true constitution of the colonies, and to their subordinate relation to Great-­Britain, now openly avow their revolt, hostility and rebellion. They have raised troops, and are collecting a naval force; they have seized the public revenue, and assumed to themselves legislative, executive and judicial powers, which they already exercise in the most arbitrary manner, over the persons and property of their fellow-­subjects: And altho’ many of t­hese unhappy p­ eople may still retain their loyalty, and may be too wise not to see the fatal consequence of this usurpation, and wish to resist it, yet the torrent of vio­lence has been strong enough to compel their acquiescence, till a sufficient force ­shall appear to support them. The authors and promoters of this desperate conspiracy have, in the conduct of it, derived g­ reat advantage from the difference of our intentions and theirs. They meant only to amuse by vague expressions of attachment to the Parent State, and the strongest protestations of loyalty to me, whilst they ­were preparing for a general revolt. On our part, though it was declared in your last session that a rebellion existed within the province of the Mas­sa­chu­setts Bay, yet even that province we wished rather to reclaim than to subdue. The resolutions of Parliament breathed a spirit of moderation and forbearance; conciliatory propositions accompanied the mea­sures taken to enforce authority; and the coercive acts w ­ ere adapted to cases of criminal combinations amongst subjects not then in arms. I have acted with the same temper; anxious to prevent, if it had been pos­si­ble, the effusion of the blood of my subjects; and the calamities which are inseparable from a state of war; still hoping that my ­people in Amer­i­ca would have discerned the traiterous views of their leaders, and have been convinced, that to be a subject of ­Great Britain, with all its consequences, is to be the freest member of any civil society in the known world. The rebellious war now levied is become more general, and is manifestly carried on for the purpose of establishing an in­de­pen­dent empire. I need not dwell upon the fatal effects of the success of such a plan. The object is too impor­tant, the spirit of the British nation too high, the resources with which God hath blessed her too numerous, to give up so many colonies which she has planted with g­ reat industry, nursed with ­great tenderness, encouraged with many commercial advantages, and protected and defended at much expence of blood and trea­sure. It is now become the part of wisdom, and (in its effects) of clemency, to put a speedy end to ­these disorders by the most decisive exertions. For this purpose, I

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have increased my naval establishment, and greatly augmented my land forces; but in such a manner as may be the least burthensome to my kingdoms. *** When the unhappy and deluded multitude, against whom this force ­will be directed, ­shall become sensible of their error, I s­ hall be ready to receive the misled with tenderness and mercy ! and in order to prevent the inconveniencies which may arise from the ­great distance of their situation, and to remove as soon as pos­si­ble the calamities which they suffer, I s­ hall give authority to certain persons upon the spot to grant general or par­tic­u­lar ­pardons and indemnities, in such manner, and to such persons as they ­shall think fit; and to receive the submission of any Province or Colony which ­shall be disposed to return to its allegiance. It may be also proper to authorise the persons so commissioned to restore such Province or Colony, so returning to its allegiance, to the ­free exercise of its trade and commerce, and to the same protection and security as if such Province or Colony had never revolted. *** My Lords, and Gentlemen, I have fully opened to you my views and intentions. The constant employment of my thoughts, and the most earnest wishes of my heart, tend wholly to the safety and happiness of all my p­ eople, and to the re-­establishment of order and tranquility through the several parts of my dominions, in a close connection and constitutional dependance. You see the tendency of the pres­ent disorders, and I have stated to you the mea­sures which I mean to pursue for suppressing them. What­ ever remains to be done, that may farther contribute to this end, I commit to your wisdom. And I am happy to add, that, as well from the assurances I have received, as from the general appearances of affairs in Eu­rope, I see no probability that the mea­sures which you may adopt ­will be interrupted by disputes with any foreign power. Source: King George III’s Address to Parliament, October 27, 1775. His Majesty’s most gracious speech to both ­houses of Parliament, on Friday, October 27, 1775. Library of Congress.

Love Letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 1780 To Elizabeth Schuyler [Tappan, New York, October 5, 1780] I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any ­thing else—­you not only

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employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in ­every dream—­and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. ’Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized, by a ­little nut-­brown maid like you—­and from a statesman and a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—­you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—­and ­after ­every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figure my lovely girl you become dearer to me ­every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient ­under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance. . . . I had hoped the ­middle would have given us to each other; but I now fear it w ­ ill be the latter end. Though the period of our reunion in real­ity approaches it seems further off. Among other c­ auses of uneasiness, I dread lest you should imagine, I yield too easily to the barrs that keep us asunder; but if you have such an idea you o­ ught to banish it and reproach yourself with injustice. A spirit entering into bliss, heaven opening upon all its faculties, cannot long more ardently for the enjoyment, than I do my darling Betsey, to taste the heaven that awaits me in your bosom. Is my language too strong? It is a feeble picture of my feelings—no words can tell you how much I love and how much I long—­you w ­ ill only know it when wrapt in each o­ thers arms we give and take t­ hose delicious caresses which love inspires and marriage sanctifies. . . . I ­ought at least to hear from you by ­every post and your last letter is as old as the ­middle of Sept. . . . ​You ­will laugh at me for consulting you about such a trifle; but I want to know, w ­ hether you would prefer my receiving the nuptial benediction in my uniform or in a dif­fer­ent habit. It w ­ ill be just as you please; so consult your whim and what you think most consistent with propriety. If you mean to follow our plan of being secretly married, the scruple ­ought to appear entirely your own, and you should begin to give hints of it. . . . I am composing a piece, of which . . . ​I ­shall endeavour to prevail upon her to act the principal character. The title is “the way to get him, for the benefit of all single ladies who desire to be married.” You w ­ ill ask her, if she has any objection to taking a part in this piece, and tell her that, if am not much mistaken in her, I am sure she ­will have none. For your own part, your business now is to study “the way to keep him”—­which is said to be much the most difficult task of the two; though in your case I verily believe it ­will be an easy one, and that to succeed effectually you ­will only have to wish it sincerely.

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May I only be as successful in pleasing you, and may you be as happy as I ­shall ever wish to make you. A Hamilton October 5h 80 I promised you a par­tic­u­lar account of Andre. I am writing one of the w ­ hole affair of which I w ­ ill send you a copy. Source: From Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, October 5, 1780. Found­ers Online, National Archives, last modified March 30, 2017. Retrieved from http://­founders​.­archives​ .­gov​/­documents​/­Hamilton​/­01​-­27​-­02​-­0001​-­0003

See also: Birth of Latin Jazz; Founding of Univision; Latin Explosion in Popu­ lar ­Music

Further Reading Boehm, Mike. 2015. “MacArthur ‘Genius’ Grant to Hamilton Creator Lin-­Manuel Miranda and 23 ­Others.” Los Angeles Times, September 28. Retrieved from http://­www​.­latimes​ .­com​/­entertainment​/­arts​/­culture​/­la​-­et​-­cm​-­macarthur​-­genius​-­grants​-­2015​-­lin​-­manuel​ -­miranda​-­20150928​-­story​.­html Brady, Lois Smith. 2010. “Vanessa Nadal and Lin Miranda.” New York Times, September 10. Brantley, Ben. 2015. “Review: Hamilton, Young Rebels Changing History and Theater.” New York Times, August  6. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2015​/­08​/­07​/­theater​ /­review​-­hamilton​-­young​-­rebels​-­changing​-­history​-­and​-­theater​.­html Broadway Bullet. 2007. “Interview—­In the Heights Authors, Lin-­Manuel Miranda & Quiara Alegría Hudes.” March 13. Retrieved from http://­www​.­broadwaybullet​.­com​/­​?­p​=2­ 72 The Broadway League. 2008. “Weekly Grosses by Show: February 3-­June 22, 2008.” Retrieved from https://­www​.­broadwayleague​.­com​/­research​/­grosses​-­broadway​-­nyc​ /­#weekly​_­grosses Cohen, Patricia. 2009. “Same City, New Story.” New York Times, March 11. DiGiacomo, Frank. 2015. “Hamilton’s Lin-­Manuel Miranda on Finding Originality, Racial Politics (and Why Trump Should See His Show).” Hollywood Reporter, August 12. Retrieved from http://­www​.­hollywoodreporter​.­com​/­features​/­hamiltons​-­lin​-­manuel​-miranda​ -­finding​-­814657 Dubner, Stephen J. 1997. “The Pop Perfectionist on a Crowded Stage.” New York Times, November 9. Gioia, Michael. 2016. “Where It All Began—­A Conversation with Lin-­Manuel Miranda and His ­Father.” Playbill, August. Retrieved from http://­www​.­playbill​.­com​/­article​/­where​-­it​ -­all​-­begana​-­conversation​-­with​-­lin​-­manuel​-­miranda​-­and​-­his​-­father​-­com​-­353054 Horwitz, Adam, dir. 2016. Hamilton’s Amer­i­ca [documentary]. Produced by The John D. & Catherine MacArthur Foundation/Radical Media. Distributed by Public Broadcasting Ser­vice.

Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Debut on Broadway, 2008–2015 | 921 Itzkoff, Dave. 2009. “Bilingual West Side Story Edits Out Some Spanish.” New York Times, August 25. Retrieved from http://­artsbeat​.­blogs​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2009​/­08​/­25​/­bilingual​-­west​ -­side​-­story​-­edits​-­out​-­some​-­spanish​/­​?­​_­r​=0­ Jennings, Sophia. 2015. “Notes from the Guy Backstage—­Thomas Kail (’99) Returns to Campus.” Method Magazine, November 20. Retrieved from http://­www​.­method​-­magazine​ .­com​/­art​/­2015​/­11​/­14​/­ii2mcxhg2yv3bkoh6d3fnkswbg352l Kiper, Dmitry. 2008. “Interviews: Thomas Kail, Fresh Face.” Broadway​.­com, May 29. Retrieved from http://­www​.­broadway​.­com​/­buzz​/­6637​/­thomas​-­kail Littleton, Cynthia. 2016. “Grease Live Director Thomas Kail Sets Pod Deal at 20th ­Century Fox TV.” Variety, August 8. Retrieved fromhttp://­variety​.­com​/­2016​/­tv​/­news​/­grease​-­live​ -­hamilton​-­thomas​-­kail​-­deal​-­20th​-­century​-­fox​-­tv​-­1201832650 Manners, Ivette. 2016. “Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s ­Family Takes Center Stage.” New York Lifestyles Magazine, May. Retrieved from http://­newyorklifestylesmagazine​.­com​/­articles​ /­2016​/­05​/­linmanuel​.­html Marks, Peter. 2015. “Hamilton Director Thomas Kail, at the Height of His Power.” Washington Post, July 31. Retrieved from https://­www​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­entertainment​ /­theater​_­dance​/­hamilton​-­director​-­thomas​-­kail​-­at​-­the​-­height​-­of​-­his​-­powers​/­2015​/­07​/­30​ /­4be3e08a​-­2e3c​-­11e5​-­8f36​-­18d1d501920d​_­story​.­html​?­utm​_­term​=­​.­6f714d15f6ca Mead, Rebecca. 2015. “All About the Hamiltons.” The New Yorker, February 9. Miranda, Lin-­Manuel, and Jeremy McCarter. 2016. Hamilton: The Revolution. New York: ­Grand Central Publishing. Moreno, Carolina. 2016. “Lin-­Manuel Miranda’s Mom Shares Anecdotes of L ­ ittle Lin at Hamilton Farewell.” Huffington Post, July 10. Retrieved from http://­www​.­huffingtonpost​ .­com​/­entry​/­lin​-­manuel​-­miranda​-­mother​-­hamilton​-­farewell​_­us​_­578270b1e4b0c​590f7​ e9cba8 Negrón​-­Muntaner, Frances. 2004. Boricua Pop: Puerto Ricans and the Latinization of American Culture. New York: New York University Press. Paulson, Michael. 2015. “Lin-­Manuel Miranda, Creator and Star of Hamilton, Grew Up on Hip-­Hop and Showtunes.” New York Times, August  12. Retrieved from http://­www​ .­nytimes​.­com​/­2015​/­08​/­16​/­theater​/­lin​-­manuel​-­miranda​-­creator​-­and​-­star​-­of​-­hamilton​ -­grew​-­up​-­on​-­hip​-­hop​-­and​-­show​-­tunes​.­html Paulson, Michael. 2016. “Hamilton Producers ­Will Change Job Posting, But Not Commitment to Diverse Casting.” New York Times, March 30. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​ /­2016​/­03​/­31​/­arts​/­union​-­criticizes​-­hamilton​-­casting​-­call​-­seeking​-­nonwhite​-­actors​.­html Roberts, John Storm. 1999. The Latin Tinge: The Impact of Latin American ­Music on the United States. New York: Oxford University Press. Rodríguez, Clara E. 2004. Heroes, Lovers, and ­Others: The Story of Latinos in Hollywood. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Books. Rohter, Larry. 2010. “Paul Simon’s Capeman Stalks Another Chance.” New York Times, August 11. Retrieved from http://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2010​/­08​/­12​/­theater​/­12capeman​.­html Roosevelt, Franklin D. 1936. “100—­Address at Chautauqua, N.Y., August 14, 1936.” The American Presidency Proj­ect. Retrieved from http://­www​.­presidency​.­ucsb​.­edu​/­ws​/­​?­pid​ =­15097

922 | Latinos in the New Millennium, 2000–­Present Sandoval​-­Sánchez, Alberto. 1999. José, Can You See?: Latinos On and Off Broadway. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Sandoval-­Sánchez, Alberto. 2002. “Paul Simon’s The Capeman: The Staging of Puerto Rican National Identity as Spectacle and Commodity on Broadway,” in Latino/a Popu­lar Culture, 228–250. New York: New York University Press. Stempel, Larry. 2010. Showtime: A History of the Broadway Musical Theatre. New York: W.W. Norton. Wang, Amy B. 2016. “Pence Says He ‘­Wasn’t Offended’ by Hamilton as Trump Continues to Demand an Apology.” Washington Post, November 20. Retrieved from https://­www​ .­washingtonpost​.­com​/­news​/­arts​-­and​-­entertainment​/­wp​/­2016​/­11​/­20​/­pence​-­says​-­he​ -­wasnt​-­offended​-­by​-­hamilton​-­as​-­trump​-­continues​-­to​-­demand​-­an​-­apology​/­​?­utm​_­term​ =­​.­a431d34dffe0

Recommended Resources

Abreu, Christina. 2015. Rhythms of Race: Cuban Musicians and the Making of Latino New York City and Miami, 1940–­1960. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Acuña, Rodolfo. 2007. Corridors of Migration: The Odyssey of Mexican Laborers, 1600–1933 [En­glish]. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Acuña, Rodolfo. 2011. Occupied Amer­i­ca: A History of Chicanos (7th ed.) [En­glish]. Boston: Longman. Acuña, Rodolfo. 2017. U.S. Latino Issues (2d ed.). Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Acuña, Rodolfo F., and Guadalupe Compeán, eds. 2008. Voices of the U.S. Latino Experience. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Alamillo, Jose. 2006. Making Lemonade out of Lemons: Mexican American L ­ abor and Leisure in a California Town, 1880–­1960. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Allen, Tammy S., and Caryn E. Neumann. 2013. Latino History Day by Day: A Reference Guide to Events. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Arredondo, Gabriela F. 2008. Mexican Chicago: Race, Ethnicity and Nation: 1916–­1939. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Barber, Llana. 2017. Latino City: Immigration and Urban Crisis in Lawrence, Mas­sa­chu­ setts, 1945–­2000. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Benton-­Cohen, Katherine. 2011. “Other Immigrants: Mexicans and the Dillingham Commission of 1907–1911.” Journal of American Ethnic History 30 (2): 33–57. Blackwell, Maylei. 2011. Chicana Power! Contested Histories of Feminism in the Chicano Movement. Austin: University of Texas Press. Burgos, Adrian. 2007. Playing Amer­i­ca’s Game: Baseball, Latinos, and the Color Line. Berkeley: University of California Press. Burgos, Adrian. 2011. Cuban Star: How One Negro-­League Owner Changed the Face of Baseball. New York: Hill and Wang. Castañeda, Antonia I. 1990. “Gender, Race, and Culture: Spanish Mexican ­Women in the Historiography of Frontier California.” Frontiers 11 (1): 8–20. Chávez, Ernesto. 2002. “Mi Raza Primero!” (My P ­ eople First): Nationalism, Identity, and Insurgency in the Chicano Movement in Los Angeles, 1966–­1978. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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924 | Recommended Resources Chávez-­García, Miroslava. 2004. Negotiating Conquest: Gender and Power in California, 1770s to 1880s. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Cohen, Deborah. 2011. Braceros: Mi­grant Citizens and Transnational Subjects in the Postwar United States and Mexico. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Cortés, Carlos E. 2013. Multicultural Amer­i­ca: A Multimedia Encyclopedia. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Cosby, Patrick H. 2004. “ ‘Worth ­Going Miles to Witness’: Baseball and Identity in Ybor City, Florida.” Gulf South Historical Review 19 (2): 39–62. De Genova, Nicholas. 2004. “The L ­ egal Production of Mexican/Migrant ‘Illegality.’ ” Latino Studies 2: 160–185. De Genova, Nicholas. 2005. Working the Bound­aries: Race, Space, and “Illegality” in Mexican Chicago. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. 2003. The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico. Trans. A. P. Maudslay. New York: Da Capo Press. Duany, Jorge. 2002. The Puerto Rican Nation on the Move: Identities on the Island and in the United States. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Duany, Jorge. 2011. Blurred Borders: Transnational Migration between the Hispanic Ca­rib­ bean and the United States. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Durand, Jorge, and Douglas Massey. 2003. “The Costs of Contradiction: US Border Policy, 1986–2000.” Latino Studies 1 (2): 233–252. Durand, Jorge, Douglas S. Massey, and Fernando Charvet. 2000. “The Changing Geography of Mexican Immigration to the United States: 1910–1996.” Social Science Quarterly 81 (1): 1–15. Durand, Jorge, Douglas S. Massey, and Emilio A. Parrado. 1999. “The New Era of Mexican Migration to the United States.” Journal of American History 86 (2): 518–536. Escobedo, Elizabeth R. 2013. From Coveralls to Zoot Suits: The Lives of Mexican American ­Women on the World War Ii Homefront. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Fernández, Lilia. 2010. “Of Mi­grants and Immigrants: Mexican and Puerto Rican L ­ abor Migration in Comparative Perspective, 1942–1964.” Journal of American Ethnic History 29 (3, Spring): 6–39. Fernández, Lilia. 2012. Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Flores, Juan. 1985. “ ‘Que Assimilated, ­Brother, Yo Soy Asimilao’: The Structuring of Puerto Rican Identity in the U.S.” Journal of Ethnic Studies 13 (3): 1–16. Flores, Juan. 1992. “ ‘Puerto Rican and Proud, Boyee!’: Rap, Roots, and Amnesia.” Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños Bulletin 5 (1): 22–31. Flores, Juan. 2000. From Bomba to Hip Hop: Puerto Rican Culture and Latino Identity. New York: Columbia University Press. Flores, Lori. 2008. “A Community of Limits and the Limits of Community: MALDEF’s Chicana Rights Proj­ect, Empowering the ‘Typical Chicana,’ and the Question of Civil Rights, 1974–1983.” Journal of American Ethnic History 27 (3): 81–110. Flores, William V., and Rina Benmayor, eds. 1997. Latino Cultural Citizenship: Claiming Identity, Space, and Rights. Boston: Beacon Press.

Recommended Resources | 925 Fregoso, Rosa Linda. 1993. The Bronze Screen: Chicana and Chicano Film Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Gamboa, Erasmo. 1987. “Braceros in the Pacific Northwest: Laborers on the Domestic Front, 1942–1947.” Pacific Historical Review 56 (3): 378–398. Gamboa, Erasmo. 1990. Mexican ­Labor and World War II: Braceros in the Pacific Northwest, 1941–­1947. Austin: University of Texas Press. Gamboa, Erasmo, Carolyn M. Buan, and Jeanne Gallick. 1995. Nosotros: The Hispanic ­People of Oregon. Portland: Oregon Council for the Humanities. García, Alma  M., ed. 1997. Chicana Feminist Thought: The Basic Historical Writings. New York: Routledge. García, Juan R. 1996. Mexicans in the Midwest, 1900–­1932. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. García, Lorena, and Mérida Rúa. 2007. “Pro­cessing Latinidad: Mapping Latino Urban Landscapes through Chicago Ethnic Festivals” [En­glish]. Latino Studies 5 (3, Autumn): 317–339. Garcia, Maria Cristina. 2004. “Exiles, Immigrants, and Transnationals: The Cuban Communities of the United States,” in David G. Gutiérrez, ed., The Columbia History of Latinos in the United States since 1960, 146–186. New York: Columbia University Press. Garcia, Maria Cristina. 2006. Seeking Refuge: Central American Migration to Mexico, the United States, and Canada. Berkeley: University of California Press. García, Mario T. 2008. Católicos: Re­sis­tance and Affirmation in Chicano Catholic History (1st ed.) [En­glish]. Austin: University of Texas Press. García, Mario T., ed. 2008. A Dolores Huerta Reader. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. García, Mario T. 2011. Blowout!: Sal Castro and the Chicano Strug­gle for Educational Justice [En­glish]. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. García, Mario T., ed. 2014. The Chicano Movement: Perspectives from the Twenty First ­Century. London: Routledge. García, Mario T. 2014. The Latino Generation: Voices of the New Amer­i­ca [En­glish]. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. García, Mario T. 2015. The Chicano Generation: Testimonios of the Movement [En­glish]. Oakland: University of California Press. Garcia, Matt. 2001. “Memories of El Monte: Dance Halls and Youth Culture in Greater Los Angeles, 1950–1974,” in A World of Its Own: Race, ­Labor, and Citrus in the Making of Greater Los Angeles, 1900–­1970. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Glasser, Ruth. 1995. My ­Music Is My Flag: Puerto Rican Musicians and Their New York Communities, 1917–­1940. Berkeley: University of California Press. González, Deena J., and Suzanne Oboler, eds. 2005. The Oxford Encyclopedia of Latinos and Latinas in the United States. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Gonzalez, Gilbert G., et al. 2003. A ­Century of Chicano History: Empire, Nations and Migration. London: Routledge. Gonzalez, Juan. 2011. Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in Amer­i­ca. New York: Penguin Books.

926 | Recommended Resources Gonzalez, Roberto. 2015. Lives in Limbo: Undocumented and Coming of Age (reprint ed.). Berkeley: University of California Press. Gutiérrez, David G. 1995. Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gutiérrez, David G. 1999. “Migration, Emergent Ethnicity, and the ‘Third Space’: The Shifting Politics of Nationalism in Greater Mexico.” Journal of American History: 481–517. Gutiérrez, David G., ed. 2004. The Columbia History of Latinos in the United States since 1960. New York: Columbia University Press. Gutiérrez, Gabriel, ed. 2015. Latinos and Latinas at Risk: Issues in Education, Health, Community, and Justice. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Gutiérrez, Ramón A. 1991. When Jesus Came, the Corn ­Mothers Went Away: Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500–­1846. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Habell-­Pallán, Michelle, and Mary Romero, eds. 2002. Latina/o Popu­lar Culture. New York: New York University Press. Haney López, Ian F. 2003. Racism on Trial: The Chicano Fight for Justice. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press/Harvard University Press. Hernandez, Kelly Lytle. 2010. Migra! A History of the U.S. Border Patrol. Berkeley: University of California Press. Herrera-­Sobek, María, ed. 2012. Celebrating Latino Folklore: An Encyclopedia of Cultural Traditions. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-­CLIO. Hinojosa, Felipe. 2014. Latino Mennonites: Civil Rights, Faith, and Evangelical Culture. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hoffnung-­Garskof, Jesse. 2008. A Tale of Two Cities: Santo Domingo and New York a­ fter 1950 [En­glish]. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Innis-­Jiménez, Michael. 2013. Steel Barrio: The ­Great Mexican Migration to South Chicago, 1915–­1940. New York: NYU Press. Kanellos, Nicolás. 2008. The Greenwood Encyclopedia of Latino Lit­er­a­ture. Santa Barbara: Greenwood. Laó-­Montes, Agustín, and Arlene M. Dávila, eds. 2001. Mambo Montage: The Latinization of New York. New York: Columbia University Press. The Latina Feminist Group, Luz del Alba Acevedo, et al. 2001. Telling to Live: Latina Feminist Testimonios. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Mantero, José María. 2008. Latinos and the U.S. South. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. Mantler, Gordon. 2013. Power to the Poor: Black-­Brown Co­ali­tion & the Fight for Economic Justice, 1960–­1974. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Martinez, Ruben. 2001. Crossing Over: A Mexican ­Family on the Mi­grant Trail. New York: Picador USA. Martinez, Ruben Orlando. 2011. Latinos in the Midwest [En­glish]. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Mirabal, Nancy Raquel. 2017. Suspect Freedoms: The Racial and Sexual Politics of Cubanidad in New York, 1823–­1957 [En­glish]. New York: New York University Press.

Recommended Resources | 927 Mitchell, Pablo R. 2014. History of Latinos: Exploring Diverse Roots. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Montejano, David. 2010. Quixote’s Soldiers: A Local History of the Chicano Movement, 1966–­1981. Austin: University of Texas Press. Montilla, Patricia M., ed. 2013. Latinos and American Popu­lar Culture. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. Navarro, Sharon A., and Armando Xavier Mejia, eds. 2004. Latino Americans and Po­liti­ cal Participation: A Reference Handbook. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-­CLIO. Odem, Mary E., and Elaine Cantrell Lacy, eds. 2009. Latino Immigrants and the Transformation of the US South. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Oropeza, Lorena. 2005. ¡Raza Si, Guerra No!: Chicano Protest and Patriotism during the Viet Nam War Era. Oakland: University of California Press. Overmyer-­Velázquez, Mark, ed. 2008. Latino Amer­i­ca: A State-­by-­State Encyclopedia. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Pacini Hernandez, Deborah. 1995. Bachata: A Social History of a Dominican Popu­lar ­Music. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Pallares, Amalia, and Nilda Flores-­González, eds. 2010. ¡Marcha!: Latino Chicago and the Immigrant Rights Movement. Urbana: University of Illinois. Pérez, Gina. 2004. The Near Northwest Side Story: Migration, Displacement, and Puerto Rican Families. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pérez, Gina, Frank Guridy, and Adrian Burgos. 2010. Beyond El Barrio: Everyday Life in Latina/o Amer­i­ca. New York: NYU Press. Pérez, Jr., Louis A. 2006. Cuba: Between Reform and Revolution (3d ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Pitti, Stephen. 2003. The Devil in Silicon Valley: Northern California, Race, and Mexican Americans. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Ramirez, Leonard, Yenelli Flores, Maria Gamboa, Isaura Gonzalez, Victoria Perez, Magda Ramirez-­Castañeda, and Cristina Vital. 2011. Chicanas of 18th Street: Narratives of a Movement from Latino Chicago. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Restall, Matthew. 2003. Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Rodríguez, Ana Patricia. 2005. “Departamento 15: Cultural Narratives of Salvadoran Transnational Migration.” Latino Studies Journal 3 (1): 19–41. Rodríguez, Clara E. 2000. Changing Race: Latinos, the Census, and the History of Ethnicity in the United States. New York: NYU Press. Rodriguez, Marc S. 2011. The Tejano Diaspora: Mexican Americanism & Ethnic Politics in Texas and Wisconsin [En­glish]. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Roque Ramírez, Horacio. 2003. “ ‘That’s My Place!’: Negotiating Racial, Sexual, and Gender Politics in San Francisco’s Gay Latino Alliance, 1975–1983.” Journal of the History of Sexuality 12: 224–258. Rúa, Mérida. 2001. “Colao Subjectivities: Portomex and Mexirican Perspectives on Language and Identity.” Centro Journal 13 (2, Fall): 117–133.

928 | Recommended Resources Ruiz, Vicki L. 1998. From Out of the Shadows: Mexican ­Women in Twentieth-­Century Amer­ i­ca. New York: Oxford University Press. Ruiz, Vicki L., ed. 2000. Las Obreras: Chicana Politics of Work and ­Family. Los Angeles: UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center. Ruiz, Vicki L. 2006. “Nuestra América: Latino History as United States History.” Journal of American History 93 (3): 655–672. Ruiz, Vicki L., and John R. Chávez, eds. 2008. Memories and Migrations: Mapping Boricua & Chicana Histories. Urbana: University of Illinois. Ruíz, Vicki  L., and V ­ irginia Sánchez-­Korrol, eds. 2006. Latinas in the United States: A Historical Encyclopedia. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Salazar, Max. 2002. Mambo Kingdom: Latin ­Music in New York. New York: Schirmer Trade Books. Salazar, Ruben. 1995. Border Correspondent: Selected Writings, 1955–­1970 ed. Mario T. García. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sánchez, George J. 1993. Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–­1945. New York: Oxford University Press. Sánchez-­Korrol, ­Virginia. 1994. From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City. Berkeley: University of California Press. Santa Ana, Otto. 2002. Brown Tide Rising: Meta­phors of Latinos in Con­temporary American Public Discourse. Austin: University of Texas Press. Snodgrass, Michael. 2011. “The Bracero Program, 1942–1964,” in Mark Overmyer-­ Velazquez, ed., La Frontera: The History of Mexico-­U.S. Migration, 79–102. New York: Oxford University Press. Solórzano, Armando, and Jorge Iber. 2000. “Digging the ‘Richest Hole on Earth’: The Hispanic Miners of Utah, 1912–1945,” in Juan R. García, ed., Perspectives in Mexican American Studies: Mexicans in the Midwest, 1–27. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Stoll, David. 1999. Rigoberta Menchú and the Story of All Poor Guatemalans. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Striffler, Steve. 2007. “Neither ­Here nor ­There: Mexican Immigrant Workers and the Search for Home.” American Ethnologist 34 (4): 674–688. Suarez, Ray. 2013. Latino Americans: The 500-­Year Legacy that ­Shaped a Nation. New York: Celebra. Tatum, Charles M. 2013. Encyclopedia of Latino Culture: From Calaveras to Quinceañeras. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. Thomas, Lorrin. 2010. Puerto Rican Citizen: History and Po­liti­cal Identity in Twentieth-­ Century New York City. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Thompson, Gabriel. 2007. ­There’s No José ­Here: Following the Hidden Lives of Mexican Immigrants. New York: Nation Books. Toro-­Morn, Maura. 1995. “Gender, Class, F ­ amily, and Migration: Puerto Rican ­Women in Chicago.” Gender and Society 9: 712–726. Toro-­Morn, Maura. 2001. “Yo Era Muy Arriesgada: A Historical Overview of the Work Experiences of Puerto Rican ­Women in Chicago.” Centro Journal 13 (2, Fall): 25–43.

Recommended Resources | 929 Torres, Andrés, and José E. Velázquez, eds. 1998. The Puerto Rican Movement: Voices from the Diaspora. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Torres, Rodolfo, and George Katsiaficas, eds. 1999. Latino Social Movements: Historical and Theoretical Perspectives. New York: Routledge. Torres-­Saillant, Silvio. 2003. “Inventing the Race: Latinos and the Ethnoracial Pentagon” [En­glish]. Latino Studies 1 (1): 123–151. Townsend, Camilla. 2003. “Burying the White Gods: New Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico.” American Historical Review 108 (3), 659–687. Valdés, Dennis Nodín. 1991. Al Norte: Agricultural Workers in the ­Great Lakes Region, 1917–­1970. Austin: University of Texas Press. Valdés, Dionisio Nodín. 2000. Barrios Norteños: St. Paul and Midwestern Mexican Communities in the Twentieth ­Century. Austin: University of Texas Press. Valle, Victor M., and Rodolfo D. Torres. 2000. Latino Metropolis. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 1993. Proletarians of the North: A History of Mexican Industrial Workers in Detroit and the Midwest, 1917–­1933. Berkeley: University of California Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2005. ­Labor Rights Are Civil Rights: Mexican American Workers in Twentieth-­Century Amer­i­ca. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press. Vargas, Zaragosa. 2016. Crucible of Strug­gle: A History of Mexican Americans from Colonial Times to the Pres­ent Era. New York: Oxford University Press. Vasquez, Enriqueta, Dionnne Espinoza, and Lorena Oropeza, eds. 2006. Enriqueta Vasquez and the Chicano Movement: Writings from El Grito Del Norte. Houston: Arte Publico Press. Viesca, Victor Hugo. 2000. “Straight Out the Barrio: Ozomatli and the Importance of Place in the Formation of Chicano/a Popu­lar Culture in Los Angeles.” Cultural Values 4 (4): 445–473. Weber, David J. 1973. Foreigners in Their Native Land: Historical Roots of Mexican Americans. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Weber, Devra Anne. 2000. “Raiz Fuerte: Oral History and Mexicana Farmworkers,” in Vicki L. Ruiz and Ellen Carol DuBois, eds., Unequal ­Sisters: A Multicultural Reader in U.S. ­Women’s History, 393–402. New York: Routledge. Whalen, Carmen Teresa. 2001. From Puerto Rico to Philadelphia: Puerto Rican Workers and Postwar Economies. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Whalen, Carmen Teresa, and Víctor Vázquez-­Hernández. 2005. The Puerto Rican Diaspora: Historical Perspectives [En­glish]. Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press. Zentella, Ana Celia. 2005. Building on Strength: Language and Literacy in Latino Families and Communities. New York: Teachers College Press. Zinn, Howard. 2003. A ­People’s History of the United States, 1492-­Pres­ent. New York: Harper Perennial. Zuñiga, Victor, and Ruben Hernandez-­Leon, eds. 2005. New Destinations: Mexican Immigration in the United States. New York: Russell Sage Foundation.

930 | Recommended Resources

Websites Bracero History Archive http://­braceroarchive​.­org Chicana Por Mi Raza www​.­Chicanapormiraza​.­org Colorado Hispanic History Resources http://­www​.­historycolorado​.­org​/­educators​ /­hispanic​-­history​-­resources Hispanic Reading Room, Library of Congress https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​/­rr​/­hispanic Latino Americans http://­www​.­pbs​.­org​/­latino​-­americans​/­en Latino ­Music U​.­S​.­A​.­ http://­www​.­pbs​.­org​/­wgbh​/­latinmusicusa​/­home Mujeres Latinas Proj­ect, Iowa ­Women’s Archives, University of Iowa Libraries https://­www​.­lib​.­uiowa​.­edu​/­iwa​/­mujeres Pew Research Center, Hispanic Trends www​.­pewhispanic​.­org Voces Oral History Proj­ect http://­www​.­lib​.­utexas​.­edu​/­voces

About the Editor and Contributors

Editor Lilia Fernández, PhD, is the Henry Rutgers Term Chair in Latino & Ca­rib­bean Studies and the Department of History at Rutgers University. She is a scholar of 20th-­century Latino/a urban and immigration history and is the author of Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago (University of Chicago Press, 2012), which examines how ­these two populations secured a place in the city—­both in its physical geography and its ethnoracial landscape—in the mid-20th ­century. Fernandez holds a bachelor’s degree from Harvard University; a master’s of education from the University of Illinois, Urbana-­Champaign; and a master’s degree and PhD from the University of California, San Diego. She has published on a variety of topics, including Latino/a community formation, immigration and nativism, and popu­lar culture and urban history. Fernandez serves on a number of editorial and advisory boards for journals like Aztlan, Latino Studies, and the Journal of American Ethnic History. In 2015 she joined the editorial board for the Historical Studies in Urban Amer­i­ca series at the University of Chicago Press. Contributors Sitela Alvarez is a PhD candidate at Tulane University. She holds a masters degree in history and a bachelors degree in international relations from Florida International University. Her areas of expertise include 19th-­century Cuban communities in the American South, and religion. Jillian  M. Báez, PhD, is assistant professor of media culture at the College of Staten Island-­CUNY. Her research on Latina/o media is published in Critical Studies in Media Communication, Chicana/Latina Studies, ­Women’s Studies Quarterly, Journal of Popu­lar Communication, Centro: Journal of the Center for Puerto 931

932 | About the Editor and Contributors

Rican Studies, and several anthologies. Báez is the editor of WSQ (formerly ­Women’s Studies Quarterly). Mauricio Castro’s work focuses on the interactions between the Cuban exile and Cuban American community, the federal government, and the city of Miami. He is working on a book manuscript entitled Casablanca of the Ca­rib­be­an: The Cuban Diaspora, Federal Policy, and the Transformation of Miami. Castro is currently a postdoctoral associate at Duke University’s Program in Latino/a Studies in the Global South. Sarajaneé Davis is a PhD student in the history department at Ohio State University. Her areas of expertise include African-­American history, U.S. history since 1877, and Race, Ethnicity, and Nation (REN). Jesus “Jesse” Esparza is assistant professor of history in the College of Liberal Arts and Behavioral Sciences at Texas Southern University, where he has taught since 2009. His area of expertise is the history of Latinos in the United States, with an emphasis on civil rights activism. Dr.  Esparza is currently working on a manuscript entitled Race Schools: Latino, Asian, and Black Educational Autonomy and Activism in Texas, 1920–1980, which offers a multiracial narrative of Latino, Asian, and African American-­owned schools in Texas since the end of World War I through the post-­civil rights era. Mauricio Espinoza is assistant professor of Spanish and Latin American cultural studies at the University of Cincinnati. A native of Costa Rica, he holds a PhD in Latin American lit­er­a­tures and cultures from The Ohio State University. He has published book chapters and journal articles on Latin American/Latino comics and film, Central American migration narrative, and Latino immigrant communities. He has also translated and published the work of Costa Rican poet Eunice Odio. Delia Fernández is assistant professor of Latino history at Michigan State University. Her research and teaching interests also include the intersections of race, ethnicity, class, and sexuality among Latinos. She is particularly interested in immigration, migration, ­labor, social movements, and ­women’s history. Justin  D. García is assistant professor of anthropology at Millersville University of Pennsylvania. He earned his PhD in anthropology from ­Temple University in 2011. His scholarly interests include U.S. immigration and social constructions of race and ethnicity. Some of his other publications include “Hispanic/Latino Identity as Racial Misnomer” in Race in Amer­i­ca: How a Pseudoscientific Concept

About the Editor and Contributors | 933

S­ haped ­Human Interaction (Praeger, 2017) and “ ‘You ­Don’t Look Mexican!’: My Life in Ethnic Ambiguity and What It Says About Race in Amer­i­ca” in Multicultural Perspectives (vol. 15, no. 4). David-­James Gonzales is a postdoctoral scholar and Teaching Fellow in Dornsife College at the University of Southern California. He is a historian of the U.S.-­ Mexico borderlands, Latino/a politics, and civil rights. His research focuses on the effect of Latino/a civic engagement and po­liti­cal activism on the metropolitan development of Orange County, California. Trinidad Gonzales is a history instructor at South Texas College. His articles have appeared in the books War Along the Border: The Mexican Revolution and Tejano Communities, and Hybrid Identities. His current book proj­ect is Imperial Ethnicities: Mexicanos, México Texanos, México Americanos, and the Politics of Rights and Citizenship. It examines pro­cesses of United States colonization of Mexicans in the lower Rio Grande Valley. Gonzales is a councilor of the American Historical Association’s Teaching Division (2014–2017), and coordinates the Mexican American Studies degree at STC. Danielle Nicole Grevious completed gradu­ate work in the Department of History at The Ohio State University. She received her BA from Georgia State University in international studies. Her fields of study are Modern United States; Latin Amer­ i­ca; and Race, Ethnicity, and Nation (REN). Danielle’s research and teaching interests include U.S. race relations, immigration, migration, ethnicity, ­labor, social movements, and ­women’s history during the 20th ­century. Maysan Haydar is a PhD student in the Department of History at The Ohio State University. Her work centers on post-1965 immigration to the United States. Her areas of expertise include U.S. history since 1877; Islamic history; military history; and ­women’s, gender, and sexuality history. Kris Klein Hernández is a doctoral candidate in the Department of American Culture at the University of Michigan. His dissertation examines 19th-­century contradictions of race and sexuality surrounding military bases at the U.S.-­Mexico divide. In addition, he is interested in the exploration of 19th-­and early 20th-­century urban history and carceral studies. Jonathan T. Hernandez is a PhD student at the University of Florida. He is a student of con­temporary American lit­er­a­ture and received a Bachelor of Arts in En­glish at Florida Atlantic University.

934 | About the Editor and Contributors

Felipe Hinojosa received his PhD in history from the University of Houston in 2009. His teaching and research interests include Latina/o and Mexican American studies, American religion, social movements, gender, and comparative race and ethnicity. He serves as Director of Undergraduate Studies in the History Department and is the co-­founder and co-­coordinator for the Latina/o Studies Working Group, which is sponsored by the Melbern G. Glasscock Center for Humanities Research at Texas A&M University. Professor Hinojosa’s book, Latino Mennonites: Civil Rights, Faith, and Evangelical Culture, was published in 2014 by Johns Hopkins University Press. Cameron D. Jones received his master’s and PhD degrees in Latin American history from The Ohio State University. A lecturer at California Polytechnic State University’s College of Liberal Arts, Dr.  Jones’s areas of expertise include Latin American history, Atlantic history, the history of religion, and the history of rebellion and subversion. Dr. Jones is a recipient of the Fulbright-­Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Fellowship, among other honors and awards. Ronald W. Lopez received his BA from UCLA in 1988 and his PhD in history in 1999 from UC Berkeley. He has taught at Laney College in Oakland, Chaffey College in Rancho Cucamonga, and Napa Valley College in Napa. Since 2005, he has worked at Sonoma State University, where he is currently an associate professor of Chicano and Latino studies. His areas of interest are in Latino re­sis­tance to community displacement and community-­based cultural and po­liti­cal organ­izations, which he investigates using personal interviews and other methods. He currently lives in Santa Rosa with his wife and two ­daughters. Bonnie A. Lucero is a scholar of Latin American history, society, and culture whose research centers on the intersections of race and gender in Cuba. She earned her Masters of Philosophy degree in Latin American studies from Cambridge University in the United Kingdom. During her doctoral studies in history at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, she conducted research across Cuba and the United States, and won two FLAS fellowships to learn Portuguese in Brazil and Haitian Kreyól. Since earning her PhD, Dr. Lucero has served as assistant professor of history at the University of Texas-­Rio Grande Valley, where she teaches courses on the histories of Latin Amer­ic­ a, the Ca­rib­bean, and the African Diaspora, with special emphasis on issues of social justice. Gabriel Mayora was born in Caracas, Venezuela, and earned his PhD in En­glish from the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida. He is currently a postdoctoral Research Fellow in the ­Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies Program at Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

About the Editor and Contributors | 935

Sarah McNamara is assistant professor of history at Texas A&M University. Her work specializes in Latinx, w ­ omen and gender, l­ abor and immigration, and oral history. McNamara is at work on her first book, tentatively titled From Picket Lines to Picket Fences: Latinas and the Remaking of the Jim Crow South. McNamara’s work has received support from the American Historical Association, the Tulane Center for the Gulf South, the American Libraries Association, and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Susan E. Montgomery holds an MA in Latin American studies from the University of New Mexico and an MSLIS from Florida State University. She is a public services librarian/associate professor at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida. She has also written encyclopedia entries on ­women in Latin Amer­i­ca. Maria E. Montoya is associate professor of history at New York University and the Dean of Arts and Sciences at NYU Shanghai. She is the author of numerous articles on the history of the American West, environmental, ­labor, and Latina/o history and of the book, Translating Property: The Maxwell Land Grant and the Conflict Over Land in the American West, 1840–1900. She is the lead author on the U.S. history textbook, Global Americans: A Social and Global History of the United States. She is completing a manuscript, Fighting for the Fringe: Three Industrialists, Their Workers, and Employee Benefits, 1909–1950, which focuses on John D. Rocke­fel­ler, Josephine Roche, and Henry Kaiser and their roles in defining the spheres of work and home life during the early 20th ­century. Daniel Morales is a scholar at the American Acad­emy of Arts and Sciences and Assistant Professor of History at James Madison University. His research is on the economic and social history of transnational migration between Mexico and the United States. Luis H. Moreno, PhD, is an instructor at Bowling Green State University teaching Latina/o Studies in the School of Cultural and Critical Studies, Department of Ethnic Studies. His research areas include: L ­ abor, migration, and working-­class histories; community-­based organ­izations and community activism; social and po­liti­cal movements; critical pedagogy; and archival preservation and museum studies. He is working on a book manuscript on the intersections of l­ abor, migration, and activism among the Mexican working-­class community in Oxnard, California, between 1930 and 1980. William Noseworthy researches the history of religions and social movements. He has published recently in SUVANNABHUMI: Multi-­disciplinary Journal of

936 | About the Editor and Contributors

Southeast Asian Studies and has contributed to ABC-­CLIO volumes such as Asian American Culture: From Anime to Tiger Moms (2016) and Imperialism and Expansionism in American History: A Social Cultural and Po­liti­cal Encyclopedia (2016). Laura Lee Oviedo is a PhD student at Texas A&M University in College Station. Her research focuses on Latina/os in the United States and her dissertation proj­ect is tentatively titled Militarization of Mexican and Puerto Rican ­Women’s Lives During World War II and the Politics of Race, Class, Gender, and Citizenship. Amalia Pallares is professor of po­liti­cal science and Latin American and Latino studies and director of the Latin American and Latino Studies Program at the University of Illinois at Chicago. She has a PhD in po­liti­cal science from the University of Texas. She studies social movements, ethnicity, and race in Latin Amer­i­ca and in the United States, focusing on the relationship between po­liti­cal activism and identity formation among newly politicized groups. Some of her primary areas of study include Latin American, comparative, and Latino politics; identity politics, social movements, and immigrant activism; and race and ethnicity in the Amer­i­cas. Her recent book, ­Family Activism: Immigrant Strug­gles and the Politics of Noncitizenship, focuses on the dif­fer­ent ways in which ­family and the f­ amily separation issue is politicized in immigrant rights strug­gles. Lisa Michelle Paulin is associate professor in the Department of Mass Communication at North Carolina Central University. She earned her PhD in mass communication at The University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Her research focuses on Latinos in media, community journalism, and issues of cultural citizenship. Erika Pérez is assistant professor of history at the University of Arizona. Her book, Colonial Intimacies: Interethnic Kinship, Sexuality, and Marriage in Southern California, 1769–1885, is forthcoming by the University of Oklahoma Press. Her research focuses on the Spanish borderlands/U.S. West, particularly during the colonial period and 19th ­century. Margaret Power is professor of history at the Illinois Institute of Technology. She holds a PhD from the University of Illinois at Chicago. Her areas of expertise include Latin Amer­i­ca, gender studies, and h­ uman rights studies. Dr. Power is the author of numerous articles in journals and the coeditor, with Martin Durham, of New Perspectives on the Transnational Right. Maria L. Quintana is a postdoctoral associate at Yale’s Center for the Study of Race, Indigeneity, and Transnational Migration. She received her PhD from the

About the Editor and Contributors | 937

University of Washington, Seattle, in 2016. Her research proj­ect, entitled “Contracting Freedom: Race, Empire, and U.S. ­Labor Importation Programs, 1942–1964,” explores dif­fer­ent contexts and perspectives on the Bracero Program, from Japa­nese American incarceration to the U.S. guest worker programs in the Ca­rib­be­an. Lisa Y. Ramos hails from the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas. She received her PhD from Columbia University and taught at Texas A&M College Station from 2008–2015. She now teaches vari­ous history classes and serves as the Mexican American Studies (MAS) Program Coordinator at San Antonio College (SAC). Her research interests center on the Mexican American experience in the United States, social movements, and critical race theory. She is completing a book manuscript on how notions of race and ethnicity impacted the Mexican American civil rights movement of the early 20th ­century. Pedro Amaury Regalado is a PhD candidate in American Studies at Yale University. His research focuses on the history of race, capitalism, and immigration in cities during the 20th ­century. He was born in the Dominican Republic and raised in New York City. Michelle M. Rivera is a Mellon/ACLS Public Fellow (2017–2019). Her writing and teaching shed light on the complexities of Latinidad through analyses of Latina/o media, pop m ­ usic, and culture. She is currently finishing her book on digital audiences and the global crossover of reggaetón ­music. Oliver A. Rosales is professor of history and coordinator of the Social Justice Institute at Bakersfield College. He earned his PhD in history at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and his research examines multiracial co­ali­tions during the civil rights era. Bobby Sanabria attended the Berklee College of ­Music from 1975 to 1979, receiving his bachelor’s degree in ­music. He is a drummer, percussionist, composer, arranger, educator, and activist. He has worked with many Latin jazz legends, including Tito Puente, Paquito D’Rivera, Ray Barretto, Arturo Sandoval, Chico O’Farrill, Candido Santamaria, Yomo Toro, Larry Harlow, and many, many ­others. He was the drummer/timbalero for Maestro Mongo Santamaria from 1981 u­ ntil 1983. He was also the drummer for Mario Bauzá’s Afro-Cuban Jazz Orchestra, recording three Grammy-­nominated CDs with them. His work has been nominated for Grammys five times. He has taught at the New School and the Manhattan School of M ­ usic. Sanabria’s last CD with his own big band is entitled Multiverse (Jazzheads).

938 | About the Editor and Contributors

Spencer Tyce is a native of Pensacola, Florida, and earned his PhD from The Ohio State University. He is currently assistant professor of history at Fairmont State University in Fairmont, West ­Virginia. He currently lives in the Fairmont area with his wife and three ­children. Leticia Rose Wiggins received her PhD in history from The Ohio State University in 2016. Her dissertation focused on Latina/o activism in the Midwest during the 1970s. While at OSU, she served as a managing editor for the history site Origins: Current Events in Historical Perspective and as an editorial assistant for Frontiers: A Journal of ­Women Studies. She is currently working as an associate producer for Columbus Neighborhoods, an Emmy award-­winning documentary series and community engagement proj­ect produced by WOSU Public Media in Columbus, Ohio. She is committed to public history and community oral histories. Walter Wilson is associate professor of po­liti­cal science at the University of Texas at San Antonio. He is author of From Inclusion to Influence: Latino Repre­sen­ta­tion in Congress and Latino Po­liti­cal Incorporation in Amer­i­ca. Salvador Zárate is a PhD candidate in the Department of Ethnic Studies at the University of California, San Diego. He grew up in Orange County, where he worked as a gardener beginning at a young age.

Index

Note: Page numbers in bold indicate the location of main events; italics indicate illustrations. A Medio Vivir (Ricky Martin album), 847, 854, 860 A Nuestros Compatriotas Los Mexicanos en Texas (de la Rosa and Pizaña), 283, 287 “Abaniquito” (song), 346, 360 Abascal, José Fernando de, 82 Abbot, Greg, 879 ABC News, 793, 800 Abortion rights, 538, 543 Abrego, María Gertrudis Flores de, 127 Abriendo Puertas (Gloria Estefan album), 847 ABSC (American Beet Sugar Company), 608–609 Acapulco, Mexico, 29 ACLU. See American Civil Liberties Union Acolhuacans, 52–53 Acoma Massacre (1599), 55, 60 Acosta, Curtis, 648 Acosta, Luis Garden, 636 ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power), 661 Actors’ Equity (union), 909 Acuña, Rodolfo “Rudy,” 519, 520, 643 Adalberto United Methodist church, Chicago, 744, 746–747 Adams, John, 202

Adelante Mujer! Conference (1972), 538, 542, 544, 548, 550 Las Adelitas de Aztlán, 527, 557, 569 Las Adelitas/Soldaderas, 271 Adler, Philip A., 336 Aeolian Hall, New York City, 350 Affirmative action, 837 Affordable Care Act, 879 AFL. See American Federation of Labor AFL-CIO (American Federation of Labor-Congress of Industrial Organization), 509, 609, 612, 893. See also United Farm Workers African Americans cable network content, 793, 800 citizenship, 315 Cuban Americans, tensions with, 762 discrimination against, 371, 495 Great Migration, 237, 560 LULAC and, 323 Second Great Migration, 477–478, 561 Strauder v. West Virginia, 489 Texas Revolt, 292–293 urban uprisings, 556, 557, 560–561 “Afro-Blue” (song), 361 Afro-Cuban music Bauzá’s vision, 351–352 Harlem jazz clubs, 233, 345 influence of, 345, 358 939

940 | Index Afro-Cuban music (cont.) instruments, 348, 349, 352, 354 Latin jazz fusion, 352 Puente and, 359–360 rhythmic foundation, 349 Santamaria and, 361 AGIF. See American G.I. Forum Agoncillo, Felipe, 219 Agramonte, Roberto, 457 Agrarian Reform Act (Cuba, 1959), 451 Agricultural Labor Relations Act (California, 1975), 529, 610, 617, 620 Agricultural Worker Association (AWA), 620 Agricultural Workers Freedom to Work Association (AWFWA), 621 Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee (AWOC) AFL-CIO charter, 609 Coachella Valley walkout, 615 Delano Grape Strike, 411, 517, 521–522, 610, 611, 615–616 leadership, 612, 620 strategy, 612–613 UFW formation, 522, 610, 616, 619 Agriculture. See Farm worker movement; Farm workers Agrón, Salvador, 905 Aguabella, Francisco, 361 Aguilar, Gerónimo de, 36, 39–41, 48 Aguilera, Christina, 848, 856 Aguinaldo, Baldomero, 216 Aguinaldo, Emilio, 196, 197, 198, 210, 216–218 Ahuitzotl (Mexica emperor), 36, 49 AIDS. See HIV/AIDS AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), 661 AIM (American Indian Movement), 533 Alabama, immigration laws, 826 Alamo, Battle of the (1936), 117–118, 124, 125–126, 284

Alarcón, Martín de, 116, 120 Alarcón, Norma, 546 Albizu Campos, Pedro, 298 admiration for, 309, 310 arrests of, 303, 304, 306, 309 biography, 307–309 death, 297, 309 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 211, 295, 298–299, 304, 308–309 return to Puerto Rico, 304–305 sugarcane strike, 296 tour of Caribbean, Mexico, and Peru, 295, 298, 300, 308 women in Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, 302 Albuquerque, New Mexico, 518 Alert (ship), 106 Alexander Hamilton (Chernow), 908 Alfonso XIII, King (Spain), 219 Alianza Federál Mercedes Reales (Federal Alliance of Land Grants), 517, 518, 524 Alianza Nacional de Braceros en Los Estados Unidos (Alliance of Mexican Workers in the United States), 409–410 Alice, Texas, 566 Alinsky, Saul, 609, 613, 619 All Cubans (baseball team), 226 All Mexico movement, 139, 141 Allen, Charles Herbert, 211, 437 Allende, Ignacio, 90 Allende, Salvador, 309 Alliance for Progress, 446 Alliance of Mexican Workers in the United States. See Alianza Nacional de Braceros en Los Estados Unidos Almas del Silencio (Ricky Martin album), 861 Almonte, Juan N., 105 Alphabetic languages, 10 ALRA. See Agricultural Labor Relations Act

Index | 941 Alta California Anglo-American colonization, 96, 99–102, 109–110 assimilation, 100–101, 109–110 Bear Flag Revolt, 98 land grants, 100–101, 109 naturalization regulations, 99–100 secularization, 100–101 Spanish colonial expansion into, 30 Spanish-Mexican families, 100–101 trade, 96, 99, 109 Two Years Before the Mast (Dana), 107–108 U.S.-Mexican War, 98 Alurista (Chicano poet), 518, 525 Alva Ixtilxóchitl, Fernando de, 45 Alvarez, Julia, 585 Alvarez, Roberto, 315, 320 Alvarez v. Lemon Grove (1931), 315, 320, 418, 422 American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh, 730, 731, 744 American Beet Sugar Company (ABSC), 608–609 American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), 303, 420, 835 American Federation of Labor (AFL), 330, 333, 365, 376–377, 410 American Federation of Labor-Congress of Industrial Organization. See AFL-CIO American G.I. Forum (AGIF), 385, 392, 482–483, 487, 510 American Indian Movement (AIM), 533 American Indians. See Native Americans American Life Histories (WPA), 239 American Negro Academy, 238 American Stage Company, New Jersey, 913 American Sugar Refining Company, 211, 437 American Voters League, 334 Amigos Orange, 895

Amnesty International, 734 Amnesty programs arguments concerning, 785 IRCA, 772, 776–779, 786, 827, 828 Amor Prohibido (Selena album), 847, 858–859 “Amor Prohibido” (song), 847 Anaheim, California, 423 Anasazi, 54, 58, 59 Anaya, Toney, 866 Anchorage, Alaska, 890 Andes, South America, 19, 24–25 Andrade, Timoteo, 315, 322 Angelica, mi vida (soap opera), 586 Anglo-American Caribbean Commission, 401 Anglo-American colonization of Northern Mexico (1820–1846), 96–114 Alta California, 96, 99–102, 109–110 Arizona, 105 assimilation, 100–104, 109–110, 123–124 biographies of notable figures, 109–111 chronology, 96–99 Coahuila y Tejas, 96–97, 103, 104, 113–114, 122–124, 131, 202 document excerpts, 110–114 empresario contracts, 96, 102–103, 113–114 fur trade, 102 land grants, 97, 100–101, 102–104, 112, 123 Law of April 6, 1830, 97, 103, 117, 124, 129–130 National Colonization Law, 96, 110–112 naturalization regulations, 99–100 New Mexico, 96, 102 Texas, 96, 97, 100, 102–105, 120–124 trade, 99, 101–102 Two Years Before the Mast (Dana), 106–108

942 | Index Angostura, Congress of, 77, 88 Angostura, Venezuela, 85 Aniceto Sanchez v. State of Texas (1951), 488 Anselmo, Rene, 801 Antes que anochezca (Arenas), 768 Anthony, Marc, 847, 848, 853, 854, 861, 900, 905 Anti-Merger Act, 599 Antillean region. See Caribbean region Antiwar activism Chicana feminist movement, 543–546 Chicano Moratorium, 519, 526, 534, 557, 564, 566, 569 Chicano movement, 519, 526, 532, 534 “Anything for You” (song), 846 Anzaldúa, Gloria, 523, 538, 546, 669 Apache raids in New Mexico, 62, 68, 69 Spanish explorers’ views of, 58 Texas communities, 119–120 Texas Revolt, 293 Apache Wars, 214 Apartheid, 835 Apology Act for the 1930s Mexican Repatriation Program (California), 340–343 Aponte, José Antonio, 152, 157 Aponte Rebellion (1812), 202 Apostolado Latino-Americano (Latin American Apostolate), 742 “Aqualera Do Brasil” (song), 355 Aragon, Angel, 232 Arapaho, 102 Arbello, Fernando, 347 Arbenz Guzmán, Jacobo, 677, 681, 733 Are We Good Neighbors (Perales), 325 Areas, José “Chepito,” 358 Aréchiga, Abrana, 475, 479–480 Aréchiga, Manuel, 475, 479–480 Aréchiga family, 468, 474, 475, 479 Arellanes, Gloria, 569–570

Arellano, Elvira, 744, 746–747 Arenas Fuentes, Reinaldo, 766–768 Argentina independence, 77, 78 independence movement, 82, 83, 84 MERCOSUR trade agreement, 806 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 300, 304 self-rule, 19 Spanish colonization, 30 Arizona Anglo-American colonization, 105 Four Corners region, 58 Gadsden Purchase, 99, 105 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 98 House Bill 2281 (2010), 648, 655–658 Mexican-American land claims, 99 in New Mexico Territory, 98 Operation Wetback, 502, 503 Pueblo people, 57 rebellion against (1915), 287, 291–293 Sanctuary movement, 743–744 S.B. 1070 (2010), 826, 834, 836 schools, ban on ethnic studies, 648, 655–658 schools, segregation and desegregation, 420 statehood, 98 Arizona Organic Act (1863), 99 Arizona Territory, 98 Arlington National Cemetery, 385, 392 Armas, Castillo, 677 Armijo, Manuel, 137, 143 Armitage Avenue Methodist Church, Chicago, 633 Armstrong, Louis, 350 Armstrong v. United States (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 Arnaz, Desi, 850, 899, 903–904 Arroyos, J. B., 485 Artega, Cirilio, 387 Arthur, Chester A., 830

Index | 943 Articles of the April 1830 Bustamante Cédula, 129–130 Asian Americans and Asian immigrants Chinese Exclusion Act (1882), 591, 592, 830 citizenship, 316 education, 695, 699–700 hostile attitudes toward, 105 McCarran-Walter Act (1952), 506 segregation and, 417, 421, 484 Asociacíon Nacionalista de Ponce, 435 ASPIRA Association of New York, 556, 695, 699 Associated Farmers of California, 373 Asunción, Paraguay, 76 Atahualpa (Inca leader), 18 Atherton, Gertrude, 914–915 Atlanta, Georgia, 887, 894t Atomic bombs, 384 Audiencias (court districts), 23 August Revolution (Cuba), 208 Austin, A. L., 282 Austin, Charles, 282 Austin, Moses, 96, 102, 117, 121 Austin, Stephen Fuller Fredonian Rebellion and, 124 portrait, 100 Texas, colonization of, 96, 102–103, 104, 113, 116–117, 121–123 Texas War for Independence, 125–127, 128 Austin, Texas, 481–482, 887 Auto industry, 372 Autonomist Party, 245 El Avance Criollo, 465 Aveleyra, Rafael, 338 Ávila Camacho, Manuel, 404–405 AWA (Agricultural Worker Association), 620 AWFWA (Agricultural Workers Freedom to Work Association), 621 AWOC. See Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee

Axayacatl (Mexica emperor), 49 Ayacucho, Battle of (1824), 19, 78, 85, 89, 153 Ayala, Bilingue, 354 Azcárraga family, 792 Azcárraga Jean, Emilio, 801, 803 Azcárraga Milmo, Emilio, 801, 802–803 Azcárraga Vidaurreta, Emilio, 794–795, 800–803, 802 Azpiazú, Don, 345, 346, 350 Aztec Empire. See Mexica Empire Azteca TV, 802 Aztlan: Journal of Chicano Studies, 643 Azurduy, Juana, 84 Baca, Joe, 726 Baca, Judy, 523 Back House Productions, 913 Badillo, Herman, 712, 715 Báez, Buenaventura Ramón, 572 Bahamas, 17, 408 Bahía Honda, Cuba, 154 Baja California, Mexico, 30 Balaguer, Joaquín La Banda (paramilitary force), 575 deportation of Haitians, 581 Dominican emigration and, 584 economic conditions under, 582–583 election as president of Dominican Republic, 574, 575, 582, 584 repression of dissidents, 582 Balderrama, Francisco E., 340, 368 Ball, Lucille, 850 Balmarech, José María, 124 Balsero (“rafter”) crisis, 764 Balzac, Jesús M., 252–253 Balzac v. People of Porto Rico (1922), 247, 252–253, 295 Banco Nacional de Credito Agrícola (Mexican Agricultural Credit Bank), 401, 402, 406, 412 Bandini, Arcadia, 109 Bandini, José, 109

944 | Index Bandini family, 101 Bandit War. See Texas Revolt Baptist Association of New Orleans, 742 Baracoa, Cuba, 17 Barbados, 408 Barber, Willard, 588 BARCA (Border Association for Refugees from Central America), 739 Barcelo, Maria Gertrudis, 142–143 Bardem, Javier, 768 Barelas, Marcos, 387 Barragán, Jesús, 667 Barrio Boyzz, 847, 858 Barrio Logan, San Diego, California, 468, 473–474, 523 Barrios, Cruz, 419, 420, 425, 431 Barroso, Ary, 355 Barton, Clara, 196, 204 Baseball All Cubans, 226 Arizona S.B. 1070 and, 834 Cuban players, 226, 229, 231, 232 Cuban Stars, 226, 231, 232 Dodgers move to Los Angeles, 468–469, 474–475 Dominican players, 585 Latino players (early 1900s), 232 Basketball, 835 Bastidas, Micaela, 84 Bastrop, Baron de. See Neri, Felipe Enrique “La Batalla del Ojo de Agua” (song), 289 Batista, Belisario, 461, 462 Batista, Fulgencio assassination attempt on, 450 biography, 461–463 Castro’s guerrilla fighters, 766 Cuban attitudes toward, 456, 461, 765 elections (1958), 451, 463 fleeing Cuba, 451, 458, 463 government corruption, 458 move to Florida (1944), 450 opposition to, 457–458, 463

overthrow by Castro, planning of, 450, 457–458, 463, 464 rise to power, 233, 449, 450, 455–457, 462 Sergeants’ Revolt, 449, 455, 462 U.S. backing of, 209, 233 Bauer, Steven, 761 Bauzá, Prudencio Mario birth and childhood, 344, 349–350 Cab Calloway Orchestra, 345, 349, 351 Gillespie and, 345, 351, 353, 354 influence of, 349–351, 352 in New York City, 345, 350–351 Pozo and, 354 on Puente, 359 vision, 351–352 Bay of Pigs Invasion, 452, 459, 461 Bazán Villarreal, Jesus, 283, 289 BEA. See Bilingual Education Act Beach, Moses, 153 Beals, Ralph, 427 Bear Flag Republic, 134, 138 Bear Flag Revolt, 98 Beauchamp, Elías, 296 “Bebop” music, 353 Becerra, María Josefa, 121, 127 Becerra, Xavier, 726 Becknell, William, 101 Before Night Falls (Arenas), 768 Behar, Jose, 856, 858 Bellán, Esteban, 229, 232 Bello, Andrés, 87 Benitez, Claribel, 762 Benítez, Jaime, 712, 716 Bent, Charles, 102, 134, 137–138, 143 Bent’s Fort, Colorado, 133 Berbers, 21 Berkeley, California, 740 Bernal, Alex, 419, 425, 432 Bernal, Esther, 419, 432 Bernstein, Leonard, 904–905 Betances, Ramón Emeterio, 210, 213, 301 Beveridge, Albert J., 250

Index | 945 Béxar, Siege of (1835), 125–126, 128 Béxar, Texas, 116, 117–118, 120, 125–126, 127–128. See also San Antonio, Texas Biak-na-Bato Pact (1897), 216 A Bibliographical Checklist of American Negro Poetry (Schomburg), 238 “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom” (song), 847 Bienestar, 668 Biggie Smalls, 908 Bilingual education chronology, 695–696 future of, 704–706 opposing views regarding, 697–698 program design, 703 Proposition 225 (California), 705 See also Lau v. Nichols Bilingual Education Act (BEA), 695, 696, 698 Bilingual productions La Flama (website), 793 West Side Story, 901, 906, 912 Billboard magazine, 846, 859, 860 “Bim Bom” (song), 356 Bird, Larry, 914 Bishop (barrio), Los Angeles. See Chavez Ravine Black, Hugo, 364 Black Cat, San Francisco, California, 670, 673–675 Black Mountain College, North Carolina, 187 Black Panther Party (BPP) Brown Berets modeled after, 526 establishment of, 626–627, 632 Illinois chapter, 632 YLO and, 557, 632, 633, 635 Black Tuesday (stock market crash), 330, 364, 366 Blackmun, Harry, 702, 707–708 Blackwell, Maylei, 529 Blades, Rubén, 848, 900, 905 Blagojevich, Rod, 897 Blair, Jerry, 854

Blair House, Washington, D.C., attack on, 297, 306 Blanco, Ramón, 213 Blanco, Salvador Jorge, 575 Blanton, Carlos, 323 Blaya, Joaquín F., 797, 798 Blaz, Ben Garrido, 715 Bliss, George R., 320 “The Block-El Bloque” (Lazu), 629 Blue Cross (Cruz Azul), 314, 319, 321 “Boat” People, 763 Bob Bullock Museum, Texas, 289 Bobo, Willie (William Correa), 361 Bocanegra, Gertrudis, 84 Bogotá, Colombia, 76, 82, 83, 85 Bolívar, Simón biography, 87–89 death, 78, 89 exile, 77, 82, 88 female collaborators, 84 governance, philosophy of, 89, 92–94 Junín, Battle of (1824), 78, 85 Latin American independence movements, 77, 78, 81, 83, 85, 88, 89 Latin American union, dreams of, 85, 88, 89, 92–94 “Letter from Jamaica,” 88, 91–95 military strategies, 87–88 Miranda and, 81 as president of Bolivia, 89 as president of Gran Colombia, 77, 88, 89 as president of Peru, 89 Bolívar y Ponte, Juan Vicente, 87 Bolivia Bolívar as president of, 89 demographics, 80 independence, 78 independence efforts, 76, 84, 85, 89 U.S. immigrants from, 597 See also Upper Peru Bone, Ana, 235 Bonifacio, Andrés, 216

946 | Index Bonilla, Henry, 716 Border Association for Refugees from Central America (BARCA), 739 Border Bandits (movie), 289 Border fence, 885, 887 Border Girl (Paulina Rubio album), 849, 857 Border Patrol. See U.S. Border Patrol Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act (Sensenbrenner Bill), 730, 886, 888–889, 890–892 Border Security, Economic Opportunity, and Immigration Modernization Act (2013), 785 “Border Security and Immigration Enforcement Improvements” (Trump’s executive order), 747–751 Border wall (proposed), 821 “Borderlands” identity, theory of, 546 Borderlands/La Frontera (Anzaldúa), 538, 669 Boricua. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies “La Borinqueña” (song), 300 Borinqueneers (65th Infantry Regiment), 388 Bosch Gaviño, Juan, 574, 575, 576, 582 Bossa nova, 356 Boston, Massachusetts, 887 Bounce TV, 793, 800 Bourbon Reforms, 18–19, 27–29, 81, 156 Boves, José Tomás, 83 Bowie, James “Jim,” 123, 125 Bowron, Fletcher, 474 Boxing, 495, 834 “A Boy Like That” (song), 906 Boyacá, Battle of (1819), 85, 88 Boyce, Richard F., 378–379 Boycotts grapes, 529, 610, 615, 616, 618, 620–624 sports, 835

Boyer, Jean-Pierre, 572, 581 Bozak, Carmen Contreras, 388 Bracero Justice Movement, 412 Bracero Proa (organization), 402, 412 Bracero Program (1942–1964), 400–417 abuses and corruption in, 401, 402, 412, 505, 614 administration, 401, 407, 408 biographies of notable figures, 412–413 Caribbean labor importation programs, 408 children, 406 chronology, 400–402, 609, 610 contract terms, 405–406, 413–414 contract violations, 402, 407, 505 creation of, 340, 501, 609 document excerpts, 413–416 end of, 411, 502, 509–510, 615, 770, 773–774 Galarza, Ernesto, 412–413 Good Neighbor Policy, 404, 405, 504 Mexico, benefits to, 404–405, 408–409, 504 number of workers, 390, 415, 506, 509, 773 onset, 770 Operation Wetback and, 411, 504–506, 509 opposition to, 509–511, 612, 613–614, 723, 773 postwar, 331, 401, 501 purpose, 402 railroad workers, 400, 401, 402, 593 recruitment system, 405, 504 registration process, 403, 504–505 undercutting wages of domestic farm workers, 612, 613–614 undocumented immigration and, 487, 501, 502, 504–507, 509, 596, 773–774, 830 unionization efforts, 409–410, 614 wages and employment, 414

Index | 947 who were the braceros?, 404 working conditions, 400–401, 407, 415–416 World War II, 383, 390 Bracetti, Marianna, 299–300 Brantley, Ben, 901 Brazil demographics, 80 independence, 78, 79, 80, 86 MERCOSUR trade agreement, 806 music, 355, 356 trade with England, 86 “Break On Through” (song), 356 Brennan, John, 879 Una brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias (Las Casas), 32 Brewer, Jan, 836 Breyer, Stephen, 882–883 Bridgeport, Connecticut, 562 A Brief Relation of the Destruction of the Indies (Las Casas), 32 Briggs Manufacturing strike, 372 Bring It On (Broadway musical), 901 Britain. See England British West Indies, U.S. labor importation program, 401, 407, 408 Broadcasting Media Partners, 793, 796, 803 Broadway musicals and Latin Americans “brownface,” 905, 907 chronology, 899–901 early 20th century, 902–904 Latino stereotypes, 904, 905 Latinos on, 848, 860, 899, 901–902 Puerto Ricans on, 860, 899, 904–907 See also Miranda, Lin-Manuel Brooke, John Rutter, 208, 214–215 Brooklyn College, 642, 653 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 136 Brooklyn Dodgers, 232, 468, 474–475 Brown, Dave, 358 Brown, Jerry, 617 Brown, Kathleen, 834

Brown, Mary, 121 Brown Berets, 526, 527, 557, 569 Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 420, 423, 427, 428, 483, 484 “Brownface,” in Broadway musicals, 905, 907 Brownsville, Texas, 281, 283, 287, 743 Brownsville Herald, 282, 283, 288 Bruce, John Edward, 226, 238 Bruton, Philip G., 415–416 Bua, Nicolas, 69 Buchanan, Patrick J., 834 Buck, Pearl, 304 “Un Buen Obrero” (Yglesias), 187, 188 Buena Vista, Battle of (1847), 137, 140 Buenos Aires, Argentina, 75, 76, 82, 83 Buenrosto, José, 291 Bulge, Battle of the (1944), 384, 395, 397 Bullock State History Museum, Texas, 289 Bureau of Immigration, 331, 335–336, 591, 592 Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization, 591, 592 Bureau of Naturalization, 331, 336, 592 Burma, liberation of, 387 Burnet, David G., 97, 103, 131 Burr, Aaron, 908 Bush, George H.W. free trade zone, support for, 810 immigration reforms, 598, 820 Latino appointees, 865, 866 NAFTA, 806 protests against, 620 Bush, George W. Latino appointees, 716–717, 867 presidential campaign staff, 879 Proposition 185 and, 834 “Selena Day,” 859 Bushwick Pride block party, 662 Bustamante, Albert, 726 Bustamante, Anastacio, 104, 117, 124, 129–130

948 | Index Butterfield, Paul, 358 Byrne, Matthew, 825 CAA. See Cuban Adjustment Act Caamaño, Francisco, 574 Cab Calloway Orchestra, 345, 349, 351, 353 Caballo, León. See De la Garza, Agustín Solis Cabeza de Vaca, Álvar Núñez, 55 Cabotage laws, 253 Cabrini-Green Housing Projects, Chicago, 625, 626 Caddos, 119–120 Cadena, Carlos C., 484, 490, 493, 494–496 Cádiz, Spain, 19, 76, 77, 81–82 CAFTA (Central American Free Trade Agreement), 818 CAFTA-DR (Central American and Dominican Republic Free Trade Agreement), 807 Cahuenga, Treaty of (1847), 134, 138 Caiti (Pueblo man), 69 Cal San (company), 365, 374 Calakmul, kingdom of, 13 Calderon, Felipe, 821 Calhoun, John C., 141, 143–149 California Agricultural Labor Relations Act (ALRA), 529, 610, 617, 620 Agriculture Labor Relations Board (ALRB), 519, 617 Apology Act for the 1930s Mexican Repatriation Program, 340–343 Bear Flag Republic, 134, 138 Bear Flag Revolt, 98 deportations and repatriation (1930s), 331, 332, 336, 338, 339, 364, 368–369 drought (1863–1864), 99 economic downturn (1990s), 828 election of Latinos, 873

foreign miner’s acts, 98 Gold Rush, 98, 105, 134 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 98 independence from Mexico, 138 labor strikes, 369–371 Land Claims Act (1851), 99 Latino Religious Resurgence, 737 Mexican Americans, as “bandits,” 98 Mexican Americans, lynchings of, 98 Operation Wetback, 502, 503 Proposition 14, 610, 617 Proposition 58, 696, 705 Proposition 63, 824, 828 Proposition 185 (See Proposition 185) Proposition 207, 837 Proposition 225 (1998), 696, 705, 708–709 Proposition B, 468 purchase by U.S., 97, 134, 135 rebellion against (1915), 287, 291–292 school segregation and desegregation, 315, 320, 417, 420, 421, 422, 427–428, 484, 695 (See also Mendez v. Westminster) Spanish colonial expansion into, 30 Spanish missions, 20, 30, 100–102 statehood, 98, 134, 202 undocumented immigrants, 824, 828–829, 832 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 138 See also Farm worker movement California Coalition for Immigration Reform (CCIR), 829, 831 California Food Policy Advocates (CFPA), 707 California Joint Immigration Committee (CJIC), 322 California Sanitary Canning Company, 365, 374 California State University, Northridge, 642, 645, 649 California State University at Los Angeles, 642

Index | 949 California Supreme Court, 673–675 Californios (Spanish-Mexican families), 100–101, 138 Calles, Plutarco Elías, 300 Calloway, Cab, 345, 349, 351, 353 Calore, Paul, 125 Camacho, Alicia Schmidt, 377 Camarillo, Lydia, 550–554 Camarioca, Cuba, 765 Cambeira, Alan, 579 Camden, New Jersey, 557, 561, 563–564, 567–568 Camero, Candido, 361 Cameron County, Texas, 284–285, 289 Camino Real, 142 Campos, Pupi, 360 Campos, Rafael, 585 Campos Torres, Joe, 565 Campus activism. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies; Student activism Canada. See North American Free Trade Agreement Canada-United States Free Trade Agreement (CUFTA), 805, 810 Canales, Blanca, 302, 305 Canales, José Tomás, 290, 308, 314, 324 Cananea, Mexico, 267, 269 Cancel Miranda, Rafael, 297, 306, 307 Cancha Rayada, Chile, 83 Candelaria, Sal, 539 Cannery and Agricultural Workers’ Industrial Union (CAWIU), 364, 369–371, 609 The Capeman (Broadway musical), 848, 900, 904–907 Capetillo, Luisa, 177, 376 Capone, Al, 761 Carabello, Mike, 358 Carabobo, Battle of, 77, 85, 88 Caracas, Venezuela, 76, 77, 82, 88, 152 “Caravan” (song), 345, 349 Cárdenas, Cuba, 154

Cardozo, Elizeth, 356 Caribbean migration to New York City (1870s–1920s), 225–243 biographies of notable figures, 235–239 chronology, 225–227 document excerpts, 239–242 Fermín Souto (WPA Oral History, 1939), 239–242 Latino baseball players, 232 narrative, 228–235 El Partido Revolucionario Cubano, 231 Schomburg, Arturo Alfonso, 237–239 Caribbean region Columbus’s voyages to, 17, 20, 21, 31, 575 independence efforts, 85–86 Spanish colonization, xvi, 21–22, 29 U.S. labor importation program, 401, 407, 408 Caribe Hilton, San Juan, Puerto Rico, 440, 446 Carioca Joe (José Carioca), 355 Carlton, A. L., 488 Carlton Club, New York City, 347–348 Carmona, David, 359 Carr, Walter E., 368 Carranza, Venustiano assassination, 265 Constitutionalists, support for, 264, 271 de la Rosa and, 291 Mexican constitution (1917), 264, 272 Plan de Guadalupe, 264, 271–272 as president of Mexico, 264, 265, 272 Texas Revolt and, 285, 290 U.S. intervention against, 282 U.S. recognition of, 284, 288 Villa and, 272 Zapata and, 265 Zapatistas, campaign against, 265 Carranzistas (Carranza’s followers), 264, 283, 285 Carrigan, John W., 415 Carson, Christopher “Kit,” 96, 102

950 | Index Cart War (1857), 281 Cartagena, Colombia, 77, 83, 88 Carter, David, 664, 666 Carter, James E. (Jimmy) Carter-Mondale National Hispanic Advisory Committee, 716 El Salvador and, 733, 739–740 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986), 775, 782 Mariel Boatlift and, 754, 755, 760, 766 New York City Nationalist Party and, 297, 307, 311 Nicaragua and, 684, 733 Refugee Act (1980), 686–687, 729, 754, 760 Select Commission on Immigration and Refugee Policy, 770 Carter, Robert, 428 Casa Oscar Romero, Brownsville, Texas, 743 Casanova de Villaverde, Emilia, 225, 230, 231 Casarez, Peter, 386–387 Casiano, José, 124 Castañeda, Antonia, 545 Castaneda, Carlos Eduardo, 641, 647 Castañeda, Francisco, 117, 125 Castañon, Gonzalo, 166–167 Castle, Baron, and Associates, 435, 442 Castle, Vernon and Irene, 346 Castro, Fidel Agrarian Reform Act, 451 assumption of power, 458–459 on asylum seekers, 754, 758, 759 Batista overthrow, planned, 209, 450, 457–458, 464 biography, 463–465 Congressional Hispanic Caucus members, meeting with, 716 Cuban attitudes toward, 765, 768 Cuban Revolution, 199, 209–210, 464, 766 flight to Mexico (1955), 450, 457

followers of, 453, 766 “History Will Absolve Me” speech, 450, 457, 463 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986), 782 legacy, xviii Mariel Boatlift, 465, 756 Mexico City Pact, 450, 457–458 Moncada Army Barracks, attack on, 209, 450, 457, 463 opposition to, 459, 460, 464 as Prime Minister, 451 Soviet Union, ties to, 679 Trujillo overthrow, attempted, 582 26th of July Movement, 209, 450, 451, 457, 458–459 U.S. relations, 464–465 Castro, Joaquin, 875–877 Castro, Julian, 867, 875–877 Castro, Raúl, 450, 465, 782 Castro, Rosi, 875 Castro, Sal, 518, 525 Catholic Charities, Chicago, 549–550 Catholic Church Bracero Program and, 410 compadrazgo (godparenting practices), 100, 101, 122 Conference on Latin American Bishops, 729 Cuba, 460 El Salvador civil war, 680, 682–683, 686, 729–730, 735–736 ethnic pride, efforts to instill, 108 indigenous peoples, status of, 25–26, 32, 33–35 Latino Religious Resurgence, 737 liberation theology, 683, 729, 734, 735 Mexican citizenship and, 100 Mexican independence and, 90–91 Mexican Revolution, 265, 272 Sanctuary movement, 741 shaping Spanish colonial policies, 21 Spanish missions, 20, 30, 100–102

Index | 951 tithes and fees, 25 See also Franciscans; Jesuits; Missionaries Catití, Alonso, 71 Caudi (spirit), 69, 71 Cavazos, Lauro, 865, 866 Cavazos, Texas, 283 Cavite Viejo, Philippines, 216 CAWIU. See Cannery and Agricultural Workers’ Industrial Union CBC (Congressional Black Caucus), 720 CBP (Customs and Border Protection), 594 CBS “Harvest of Shame” documentary, 402, 411, 502, 510 CCIR (California Coalition for Immigration Reform), 829, 831 CCS (Chicago Catholic Sanctuary), 741 Celaya, Mexico, 90 Celestino antes del alba (Arenas), 767 Celler, Emanuel, 594, 598–600, 605, 606 Center for Migration Studies, 781 Central American and Dominican Republic Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA-DR), 807 Central American civil wars and migration (1970s–1980s), 677–694 biographies of notable figures, 688–690 chronology, 677–679 civil wars, causes of, 679, 688 document excerpts, 690–693 Honduras and, 685 liberation theology, stimulus of, 683 migration, 686–688 opposition movement, 682–684 Reagan’s address on Nicaragua, 690–692 refugees, 686–688, 692–693, 730, 731–732, 733, 738 repression, 684–686 UN agreement on resettlement, 692–693

U.S. involvement, 677, 733, 734 See also El Salvador; Guatemala; Nicaragua; Sanctuary movement Central American Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA), 818 Central American Studies and Temporary Relief Act (1989), 731, 744 Central Conference of American Rabbis, 731 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 460, 677, 733 Central Valley, California, 401, 610, 612 Centro Asturiano (mutual aid society), 173, 176, 177 Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, 644 Centro Español (mutual aid society), 176, 177 Centro Journal, 644 Centro Obrero de Habla Española (Spanish-Speaking Worker Center), 375 Centro Sin Fronteras, 897 Cerda, Agnes, 480 Céspedes, Carlos Manuel de, 154, 161, 196, 455, 462 CFPA (California Food Policy Advocates), 707 Chacabuco, Chile, 77, 83 Chalco, 52–53 Chamorro, Violeta, 679 Chamorro Cardenal, Pedro Joaquin, 678, 681 Chapultepec, Battle of (1847), 134 Chapultepec Castle, Mexico City, Mexico, 139 Charles II, King (Spain), 18 Charles III, King (Spain), 29 Charles IV, King (Spain), 19, 75 Charles V, Emperor (Spain), 18 Charleston, South Carolina, 887 Chávez, César Estrada biography, 618–619 Bracero Program and, 402, 410, 614

952 | Index Chávez, César Estrada (cont.) criticism of, 618 CSO, 609, 613, 614, 619 Delano Grape Strike, 518, 521–522, 610, 616 fast, 518, 616, 619 as inspiration, 569, 746 multiracial coalition, 523 national and international recognition, 611 NFWA, 411, 517, 521–522, 610, 614, 619, 620 nonviolence, commitment to, 524, 610, 616, 619 organizing strategy, 511, 613 United Farm Workers, leadership of, 402, 618 Chavez, Christopher, 797 Chavez, Dennis, 711 Chávez, Ernesto, 520–521 Chávez, Helen, 521–522 Chávez, Hugo, 465 Chávez, Julián, 470–471 Chávez, Manuel, 614 Chavez Ravine, destruction of (1953–1959), 467–481 biographies of notable figures, 479–480 buyouts of homes, 471–472 cancellation of housing project, 468, 474, 475 chronology, 467–468 Dodger Stadium, 468–469, 474–475 eminent domain condemnations, 468, 472, 474, 475 evictions, 467, 469, 475 land loss and displacement, 469–470 opposition to, 472, 474 story of Chavez Ravine, 470–475 urban renewal beyond Los Angeles, 475–479 CHCI (Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute), 723 “Chega de Saudade” (song), 356

Chernow, Ron, 900, 908 Cherokee, 10, 117, 123, 129 Cheyenne, 65, 103 Chiapas (diocese), 32 Chiapas (state), Mexico, 687, 817, 819. See also Zapatista National Liberation Army Chicago, Illinois Chicano movement, 528 Great Depression, 335 immigrant rights marches (2006), 886, 887, 890, 894t, 896–897 Magnificent Mile, 625 manufacturing jobs, loss of, 561 Mexican immigrants, 625 Migration Division of Puerto Rico, 441 public housing, 625, 626 Puerto Rican community, 625, 626, 630 Puerto Rican domestic workers, 435, 442 Puerto Rican Parade, 556–557, 562, 627 Puerto Rican population, 562 Puerto Rican uprisings, 562–563 Sanctuary movement, 740–741, 744, 746–747 settlement patterns, 626 Spanish-language newspapers, 273 uprisings, 560–561, 562–563, 566, 627 urban renewal, 476–478, 631, 632 Young Lords Organization (YLO), 629–631 Chicago Catholic Sanctuary (CCS), 741 Chicago Commission on Human Relations, 626 Chicago Police Department corruption and misconduct, 626 police violence, sparking uprisings, 556–557, 560, 562–563, 627 targeting African Americans, 632 targeting Puerto Ricans, 626, 627, 632 Young Lords Organization, surveillance of, 627–628

Index | 953 Chicago Religious Task Force on Central America (CRTFCA), 730, 740–741 Chicago Tribune, 626, 760 The Chicana Feminist (Cotera), 543 Chicana feminist movement (1960s–1970s), 536–556 Adelante Mujer! Conference (1972), 538, 542, 544, 548, 550 antiwar and campus activism, 537, 543–546 biographies of notable figures, 547–550 Chicana authors, 546–547, 669 Chicana body and rights, 538, 542–543 in Chicano movement, 519, 527–530, 536–537 chronology, 536–538 document excerpts, 550–554 as exclusive movement, 539–540 lesbians in, 546, 669 Malintzin, praise for, 49 “Mi Reflejo” (Lydia Camarillo, 1980), 550–554 Mujeres Latinas en Acción (MLEA), 544 political rumblings in Crystal City, Texas, 540–541 Young Lords Party and, 637–639 Chicana Research and Learning Center, 549, 644 Chicana Welfare Rights Organization (CWRO), 536, 543 La Chicanas (Chicana feminist group), 537 Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies, 641–659 Arizona’s ban on ethnic studies, 648, 655–658 biographies of notable figures, 653–655 calls for, 518, 526 Chicano Liberation Front, 651 chronology, 641–645

document excerpts, 655–658 establishing programs, centers, and departments, 647–652 goals, 650 Hostos Community College, CUNY, 649 intellectual contributions, 650–651 library collections, 652 origins of Chicano and Puerto Rican movements, 646–647 scholarly organizations, 652 women in, 545–546 Chicano Council on Higher Education, 642, 647. See also El Plan de Santa Barbara Chicano Liberation Front (CLF), 651 The Chicano Manifesto (Rendón), 540 Chicano Moratorium, 519, 526, 534, 557, 564, 566, 569 Chicano movement (1960s–1970s), 517–536 antiwar activism, 519, 526, 532, 534 artistic production, 522–523 biographies of notable figures, 530–534 Brown Berets, 526, 527, 557, 569 chronology, 517–519 decline, 529–530 farm worker movement and, 521–524 gay students in, 667 ideology, 520, 525–526, 646 machismo of, 527, 536, 540, 545 manifestos, 518, 525–526, 539 Midwest and Pacific Northwest, 528–529 origins, 521, 646–647 political activism, 519, 526–527, 531–533 student activism, 518, 525–526, 530–531 symbolism, 522, 618 Tijerina and the struggle for land, 524–525

954 | Index Chicano movement (1960s–1970s) (cont.) UFW and, 618 undocumented immigrants, support for, 512 women in, 519, 527–530, 536–537, 540 See also Chicana feminist movement Chicano Park, Barrio Logan, San Diego, California, 473–474, 523 Chicano Student Movement of Aztlán. See Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán Chicano Youth Liberation Conference, Denver, Colorado activities during, 533–534 Chicana feminist movement and, 527, 536–537, 548 El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán, 518, 525, 527, 539, 642, 647 Chichén Itzá, Mexico, 3, 7, 11 Chichimecacihuatzin I, 15 Chick Webb Orchestra, 345, 350–351 Chico, Mariano, 109 Chihuahua (state), Mexico, 91, 263, 269 Children’s Television Act (1990), 793, 799, 803–804 Chile, independence, 77, 78, 82, 83, 83, 89 China, silver-based coinage, 24 Chinese Exclusion Act (1882), 591, 592, 830 Chinese immigrants and Chinese Americans, 105, 695, 699–700 CHIRLA (Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles), 895 Cholula (Maya religious center), 2 A Chorus Line (Broadway musical), 899, 904 Christina Aguilera (album), 848, 856 CHSA (Congressional Hispanic Staff Association), 723 Chuj people, 687 Chuquisaca, Bolivia, 76

Church and Society in Latin America (Iglesia y Sociedad en América Latina), 738 Churches. See Catholic Church; Sanctuary movement Churubusco, Battle of (1847), 134, 140–141 CIA. See Central Intelligence Agency Cíbola, Seven Cities of, 55, 58–59 Cigar industry automation, 194 Cuba, 153, 154, 159–161, 240 factories, 176–177, 178, 178–179 Great Depression, 173, 181, 194 Key West, 154, 160–161, 172, 174–175, 241 labor activism, 186–187, 190, 194, 365, 371, 376, 377 mechanization, 174 mutual aid societies, 173 New York City, 226, 240, 241 oral histories, 188–194 Puerto Rico, 233 Tampa, 239, 241 U.S. Civil War, 160 Ybor City, 172–194, 175 Cinco de Mayo, 108 CIO. See Congress of Industrial Organizations Círculo Cubano (mutual aid society), 176, 177 Cisneros, Evangelina, 169–171 Cisneros, Henry, 558, 865, 866 Cisneros, Ricardo and Gustavo, 792, 795 Cisneros, Sandra, 523 Cisneros v. Corpus Christi Independent School District (1970), 322, 423 Citizens’ Bilingual Task Force and the Center for Applied Linguistics, 696 Citizens of Dade United, 762 Citrus industry, labor strikes, 365, 372–374, 379–380 City Center Improvement Association, 472, 480

Index | 955 City University of New York (CUNY) African American, Latino/a, and Puerto Rican Studies programs, 642, 643 City College campus, 643 Council on Puerto Rican Studies Departments, 653 Hostos Community College, 642, 644, 649 Hunter College, 642, 644, 652 Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico, 263, 270, 806 Civil Rights Act (1964), 599, 601, 699–700, 701 Civil rights movement backlash against, 530 court victories, 422–423 Sanctuary movement as extension of, 732–733, 736–740 Civil unrest. See Urban uprisings Civil wars. See Central American civil wars; U.S. Civil War CJIC (California Joint Immigration Committee), 322 Clarke, John Henrik, 238 Clave (musical instrument), 349 Clayton Antitrust Act (1914), 599 Clement, George, 334 Clergy and Laity Concerned, 742 Cleveland, Grover, 214 Cleveland, Ohio, 436, 441 CLF (Chicano Liberation Front), 651 Clifton v. Puente (1948), 491, 495 Clinton, Bill Cuban refugee policy, 756, 764 IIRIRA and, 825 Latino appointees, 866 NAFTA and, 808, 810 Proposition 187 and, 835 Clinton, Hillary, 877 Club Protector Mexico-Texano (Mexico Texano Protective Club), 482 Coachella, California, 615

Coahuila (state), Mexico, 117, 120, 264 Coahuila y Tejas (state), Mexico Anglo-American colonization, 96–97, 103, 104, 113–114, 122–124, 131, 202 creation of, 120 Texas War for Independence, 125–127, 133 Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles (CHIRLA), 895 Coe, Barbara, 829, 831 Coelho, Tony, 712 Coen, Augusto, 347, 348 Cold War, 579 Collazo, Enrique, 454 Collazo, Julito, 361 Collazo, Oscar, 297, 306, 307 Colleges and universities. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies; Student activism; specific colleges and universities Colombia British recognition of, 78 Comunero revolt, 81 in Gran Colombia, 88 independence, 78, 85 independence efforts, 75, 81, 82, 85, 88 Panama’s split from, 79, 85, 198 Spanish expeditions, 83 split from Gran Colombia, 78, 85 Thousand Days’ War, 669 Trade Promotion Agreement (TPA), 807 U.S. immigrants from, 597 U.S. recognition of, 78 Colón, Frankie, 361 Colorado, 58, 98, 287, 291–292 Colorado State Penitentiary, 520 Coltrane, John, 361 Columbus, Christopher, 17, 20, 21, 31, 575 Columbus, New Mexico, 264, 272 Comanche, 113, 120, 123, 137

956 | Index Comanchería, 123 Comcast, 799 “Coming Out of the Dark” (song), 847 Comisión Femenil Mexicana, 537, 543 Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana (Mexican Honorable Commission), 314, 319, 321 Communist Party of the United States (CPUSA), 187–188 Community Service Organization (CSO) Bracero Program, investigation of, 614 founding, 609, 722 goal, 609 leadership, 620 Operation Wetback and, 511 organizing efforts, 613, 614, 619 targeted by INS, 506 voter registration drives, 613 “Como La Flor” (song), 847, 858 Compadrazgo (Catholic godparenting practices), 100, 101, 122 Compean, Mario, 530, 642 Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act (2006), 785 Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act (2007), 785 Compromise of 1850, 134 Compton, Gene, 665 Compton’s Cafeteria Riots (1966), 660, 665 Comunero revolt, 75, 81 Condit, Louisa A., 214 Confederacíon de Trabajadores Mexicanos, 371–372 Confederación de Uniones de Campesinos y Obreros Mexicanos del Estado de California (CUCOM), 364, 373 Conference on Latin American Bishops, 729 La Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza, 519, 537, 541, 542, 548 “Conga” (song), 846, 850 “Congo Conga” (song), 349

Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), 365, 377, 378 Congressional Black Caucus (CBC), 720 Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 711–727 biographies of notable figures, 720–724 bipartisan dissolution, 713, 716–717 as bipartisan organization, 716 catalyst for, 716 chairs, 726t chronology, 711–713 as collective effort to represent Latinos, 713–720 Cuba, policy toward, 712, 716 disagreements among members, 716–717 document excerpts, 724–726 founders, 712, 715, 865 immigration reform and, 714, 718–719, 724–726 influence of, 718, 720 institutionalization of, 717 mission, 715, 718 Simpson-Mazzoli bill and, 712, 719 task forces, 718 Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute (CHCI), 723 Congressional Hispanic Conference, 713, 717 Congressional Hispanic Staff Association (CHSA), 723 Conscientious Whigs, 139 Constitution, U.S. Eighteenth Amendment, 770 Equal Rights Amendment, 537, 600 Fifteenth Amendments, 203 Fifth Amendment, 421, 428, 432–433, 472 imperialism and, 250 Puerto Rico and, 246, 247, 251–253 Sixth Amendment, 253 Twenty-Fifth Amendment, 599 See also Fourteenth Amendment

Index | 957 Contras (Contrarrevolutionarios) Sandinistas, war with, 678, 684 U.S. support for, 678, 684, 687, 691, 730, 734 Contreras, Battle of (1847), 134 Contreras Bozak, Carmen, 388 “La Copa de la Vida” (song), 848, 854, 860–861 Copán (Classic Maya site), 3 Copper, Gadsden Purchase and, 142 Corbett, Jim, 730, 739 Córdoba, Treaty of (1821), 77, 133 Cornell University, 644 Coronado, Francisco Vázquez de, 55, 59 Corpus (movie), 852 Corrada-del Rio, Baltasar, 712, 715, 723 Corral, Ramon, 279 Correa, William, 361 Corregidores de Indios, 23, 30 Corridos (traditional Mexican ballads), 289 Cortés, Hernán children, 26, 48 conquest of Tenochtitlán, 7, 37, 38, 41, 47, 52–53 death, 38 Las Casas and, 32 Malintzin and, 41, 46, 47–49, 546 Moctezuma II and, 7, 37, 41–44, 45, 47, 49, 50–51 portrait, 39 Velásquez and, 36, 37, 38–39, 42–43, 44 Yucatán, exploratory expedition, 36–37, 38–41 Cortez, Gregorio, 481, 486 Cortina, Juan Nepomuceno, 281, 532–533 Cós, Martín Perfecto de, 117–118, 125–126 Cosmopolitan (magazine), 852 Costa Rica, 78, 85, 754, 758, 807 Cotera, Juan, 547–548 Cotera, Martha

Adelante Mujer! conference, 538, 542, 548 biography, 547–549 on Chicana activity in the 1970s, 543 Chicana Research and Learning Center, 549, 644 Diosa y Hembra, 538, 548, 644 Villa Parra and, 550 Cotton industry, 330, 364, 366, 369–371, 609 Council of the Indies, 23 “County Citrus Strike Nears End Is Claim” (Santa Ana Register), 379–380 Covadonga, Battle of (716 or 718), 21 Cowan, Wilson, 415–416 Cozumel, Mexico, 39 CPUSA (Communist Party of the United States), 187–188 Craven, William, 824 Crazy Coolin’ (Barrio Boyzz album), 847 Creoles. See Criollos Crescent Moon (music label), 847, 854–855 Crespo, Captain General, 167–168 Criollos (creoles) Cuba, 153, 157–158, 159 Enlightenment, 80 independence efforts and, 80–81, 82, 90, 91 peninsulares, distinctions from, 156, 158 Spanish colonization of the Americas, 28, 29, 81 unrest among, 30 Crist, Charlie, 878 Crittenden, Ann, 741 Crockett, David “Davy,” 118, 126 La Cronica (Laredo newspaper), 274–275 Crossover artists, 852–856 CRTFCA. See Chicago Religious Task Force on Central America

958 | Index Crusade for Justice, 518, 525, 533, 534, 536 Cruz, Arcelis, 562, 627 Cruz, Edward “Ted,” 461, 867, 871, 877, 879–880 Cruz, Henry, 485 Cruz, Jesus, 743 Cruz Azul (Blue Cross), 314, 319, 321 La Cruz Blanca (The White Cross), 275 Crystal City, Texas, 519, 527, 528, 530–531, 540–541 CSO. See Community Service Organization Cuarteto Victoria, 227, 236 Cuauhtémoc (Mexica emperor), 38, 46, 47 Cuba Agrarian Reform Act (1959), 451 annexationists, 153, 158, 160, 202, 218, 231 Aponte Rebellion, 202 asylum seekers, 754, 757–758 August Revolution, 208 autonomists, 158, 162 autonomy from Spain (1897), 196 baseball, 232 Bay of Pigs Invasion, 452, 459, 461 black uprising (1812), 152 Bourbon Reforms, 156 cigar industry, 153, 154, 160, 240 concentration camps, 196 Constitution (1940), 456 criollos (creoles), 153 Cuban identity, emergence of, 153 demographics, 80 homosexuals, persecution of, 766, 767 independence, 19, 28, 79, 80, 86, 156, 449 independence movement, 79, 208–210, 230 Independent Party of Color, 199, 209 independentistas, 158, 162 Instituto de Reforma Agraria (Institute of Agrarian Reform), 451, 458–459

Machado regime, 227 missile crisis, 464, 765 musicians, 344, 345, 361 nationalism, development of, 159, 161, 161–162 Paris, Treaty of, 198, 200, 219–220, 226, 246, 249 El Partido Revolucionario Cubano, 231 Plant System, 173 political ideologies, 158 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 300 race and ethnicity, 179, 184–185, 456, 461 reformism, 160–161 royalists/loyalists, 158, 163 Sergeants’ Revolt (1933), 449, 455, 462 slavery, 152, 153, 155, 156–157, 158–159, 161, 213 Soviet Union, ties to, 679 Spanish-American War, xvi, 20, 28, 199–201, 205–206, 218, 248 Spanish atrocities, 196 Spanish conquest, xvi, 17, 20, 31 Spanish empire, permanence in, 202 sugar industry, 152, 154, 156–157, 180, 202, 213, 456 Teller Amendment and, 218 tobacco industry, 153 26th of July Movement, 209, 450, 451, 457, 458–459 U.S. Civil War and, 160 U.S. intervention in, 199, 200–201, 248 U.S. investment in, 454–455 U.S. occupation (1899–1902), 156, 206–207, 208, 222–223, 454 U.S. occupation (1906–1909), 198, 208 U.S. occupation (1917–1922), 199, 209 U.S. purchase offer, 153, 154, 159–160 War of 1895, 155 See also Cuban Revolution; Mariel Boatlift; Platt Amendment

Index | 959 “Cuba en Guerra” (El Avance Criollo, April 28, 1961), 465 Cuban Adjustment Act (1966), 593, 597, 764, 770 Cuban American National Foundation, 460–461, 762 Cuban Americans and Cuban immigrants African Americans, tensions with, 762 Castro, opposition to, 460, 464–465, 716 Cuban independence, fight for, 453–454 Cuban music in pop culture, 454 exile newspapers, 451, 465 “Freedom Flights,” 452 impact of, 459–460 Latin jazz, 344, 345, 348, 349–354 Miami, Florida, 451–452, 459–460 as “model minorities,” xix New York City, 87, 159, 225, 229–233 number of, 452, 453, 596 Operation Pedro Pan, 460 political influence, 204, 460–461 in politics, 461 Puerto Rico, 577 refugee resettlement, 452, 460 refugee status, 770 U.S. immigration policy, 756–757, 758 Cuban Democracy Act (1992), 764 Cuban Liberating Army, 208 Cuban Missile Crisis, 464, 765 Cuban Refugee Committee, 451 Cuban Refugee Program, 452, 459 Cuban Revolution (1953–1959), 449–467 Batista’s rise to power, 456 biographies of notable figures, 461–465 chronology, 449–452 document excerpts, 465 exiles, 459 initial failures, 209 inspiring Central American opposition groups, 682 Moncada Barracks, attack on, 209, 450, 457, 463

Operation Pedro Pan, 460 triumph of, 209–210 26th of July Movement, 209, 450, 451, 457, 458–459 Cuban Revolutionary Party (PRC) Cuban wars of independence, 203, 204 founding of, 86, 155, 162, 164, 196, 204, 225, 231 purpose, 231 race and ethnicity, 206 U.S. Congress and, 203 Ybor City, Florida, 183–184 Cuban Socialist Party, 458, 464 “Cuban Song” (song), 903 Cuban Stars (baseball team), 226, 231, 232 Cuban Wars of Independence (1868– 1898), 152–171 biographies of notable figures, 163–166 chronology, 152–156 document excerpts, 166–171 execution of Cuban medical students, 167–168 funding, 154, 162, 173, 183–184 “Little War” (1879), 161, 164, 203, 213, 453 Martí’s role, 79, 162, 163–164 overview, 453 precursors, 156–161 U.S. participation in, 155 U.S. recognition of, 168–169 U.S. support for, 169–171, 196, 203–204 War of 1895, 155, 162, 164, 213, 449 See also Ten Years’ War CUCOM. See Confederación de Uniones de Campesinos y Obreros Mexicanos del Estado de California Cúcuta, Congress of, 77 CUFTA. See Canada-United States Free Trade Agreement Cugat, Xavier, 346, 348, 355 Cuitlahua (Mexica ruler), 38, 45, 46

960 | Index Culinary Union, 896 Cullen, Henry, 91–95 CUNY. See City University of New York “The Cup of Life” (song), 848, 854, 861 Curbelo, José, 360 Customs and Border Protection (CBP), 594 Cuts Both Ways (Gloria Estefan album), 847, 850 “Cuts Both Ways” (song), 847 CWRO. See Chicana Welfare Rights Organization D-Day (1944), 384, 387, 395, 396 D.A. de Lima and Co. See De Lima v. Bidwell (1901) DACA. See Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals Dade County, Florida, 755, 762 The Daily Worker (communist newspaper), 187–188 Daley, Richard M., 477, 897 Dallas, Texas, 557, 564–565, 887, 894t Dalton, Patrick, 140 Dana, Richard Henry, Jr., 106–108 Danielson, George E., 712 Dante, Nicholas, 899 DAPA (Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents), 888, 894 Daphne’s Dive (play), 914 Darwin, Charles, 206–207 Daughters of Bilitis, 660, 664 Dávila, Arlene, 796 Davila, Jaime, 795 Dávila, Luis, 644 Davila, Orlando, 626, 627, 631, 632 Davila, Yrma Maria, 432 Davis, Gray, 825, 835 Davis, Miles, 352, 358 Davis, William Heath, 100 “A Day Without an Immigrant,” 895 De Guzmán, Josie, 907

De la Colina, Rafael, 338, 415 De la Cruz, Dominga, 302 De la Cruz, Jesse, 521–522 De la Garza, Agustín Solis, 282, 287, 290, 291–294 De la Garza, Eligio (Kika), 711, 712, 715, 723, 726 De la Guerra, Anita, 101 De la Hoya, Oscar, 848, 856 De la Renta, Oscar, 585 De la Rosa, Luis, 282, 283, 287, 291 De León, Miguel Angel, 375–376 De Lima v. Bidwell (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 De Lôme, Enrique Dupuy. See Dupuy de Lôme, Enrique De Lugo, Ron, 712, 715, 716 De Palma, Brian, 761 De Quattro, Jo’Ann, 737 De Rivero, Sal, 632 De Valera, Eamon, 308 DeAnda, James, 484, 488, 493, 494, 496 Decade of Betrayal (Balderrama and Rodríguez), 340 “La Decena Tragica” (The Tragic Ten Days), 263 Decker, Karl, 171 Declaration of Pedro Naranjo of the Queres Nation (1681), 70–72 Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), 725, 771, 887, 894 Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents (DAPA), 888, 894 Del Rio Independent School District v. Salvatierra (1930), 422 Delano Grape Strike, 608–625 biographies of notable figures, 618–620 boycott of grapes, 615 Chicano movement and, 521–522 chronology, 608–610 Delano Grape Strike, 615–617 document excerpts, 620–624

Index | 961 goals, 615 march to Sacramento, 518, 522, 615–616 nonviolence, commitment to, 616 organizations involved in, 411, 517, 610, 619 success, 411–412, 618 U.S. Senate hearings on, 518, 616, 620–624 Delgado, Salomon, 743 Delgado v. Bastrop Independent School District (1948), 385, 420, 422, 485–486, 493–494, 495 Democratic Party, 873–875 Denver, Colorado, 316, 336, 532, 865, 887. See also Chicano Youth Liberation Conference DePaul University, 629, 644, 645 Deportes Telemundo (television sports program), 798 Des Moines, Iowa, 887 “Desde la Oscuridad” (song), 847 Desegregation, schools. See Segregation, schools Desegregation, U.S. Armed Forces, 385 Detroit, Michigan, 331, 336, 372, 887 Dewey, George, 216 Dewhurst, David, 879 DeWitt, Green, 96, 113–114, 123, 125 DeWitt, Sara, 117, 125 DHF (Dolores Huerta Foundation), 620 Dialogo (journal), 645 Díaz, Bernal, 40, 45, 47–48, 49, 51 Díaz, José, 383, 391 Díaz, Junot, 585 Diaz, Porfirio elections, 262, 263, 267, 269 foreign investment, 262, 267, 269 life under, 267–270 Madero and, 263, 270, 278–280 overthrow, 262, 265, 278–280, 282 resignation, 263, 270 support for, 262

Díaz-Balart, Lincoln, 712, 716 Diaz Ordonez, Virgilio, 588, 589 Dies Committee, 174 DiGiorgio, Joseph, 409 DiGiorgio Fruit Corporation, 409, 412, 610, 616 Dihigo, Martin, 232 Dinkins, David M., 586 Los Dinos (band), 857, 858 Diosa y Hembra (Cotera), 538, 548, 644 Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil (DRE), 450 Directorio Revolucionario (Revolutionary Directorate), 457–458 Dirksen, Everett, 606 Disco, 850 Discrimination against Latinos election practices, 880–883 employment, 486 gay bars, 667 Great Depression, 332–335, 367, 372, 501 housing, 419, 425, 432, 470, 561 Mexicans and Mexican Americans, 316 Puerto Ricans, 470 welfare benefits, 334–335 World War II, 383, 384, 385, 390–393 See also Segregation, schools Diseases, brought by colonists, 18, 22, 38, 46 Disney Studios, 355, 793, 800 Displaced Persons Act (1948), 593 Diversity visa program, 598 Diwa, Ladislao, 216 Dixon, Brandon Victor, 910 Doak, William N., 335 Dobie, J. Frank, 289 Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, 468–469, 474–475 Doheny, Edward, 269 Dole, Bob, 600 Dolores, Mexico, 90 Dolores Huerta Foundation (DHF), 620

962 | Index Domestic workers labor activism, 442 lack of legal protections for, 364, 365, 371 Puerto Rican women, 435, 442 Domínguez, Fermín Valdés, 164 Domínguez, Miguel, 90 Dominican-American Convention, 573 Dominican Order, 32 Dominican Republic, 572–591 background, 576–578 biographies of notable figures, 585–587 CAFTA-DR, 807 chronology, 572–575 civil war, 582 document excerpts, 587–589 economic conditions, 573, 574, 575, 579–580, 582–583 end of Trujillo era and large-scale emigration, 582–583 Haiti, conflicts with, 212, 581 Haitian control of, 78, 85, 576, 581 Haitian immigrants, 578 independence, 77, 78, 85, 572, 576, 581 migration restrictions under Trujillo, 580 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 300 Puerto Rico, emigration to, 575, 577–578, 585 race and nationality, 578, 581 Trujillato (Trujillo era), 578–582 Truman documents, 587–589 U.S. annexation of (proposed), 572–573 U.S. economic aid to, 573, 582 U.S. influence in, 573, 574, 575–576, 578 U.S. invasion (1965), 582 U.S. occupation (1916–1924), 199, 573, 581 U.S. relations under Truman, 587–589 See also Trujillo, Rafael Leónidas “El Jefe”

Dominicans on the U.S. mainland after 1960, 576, 582–585, 596, 598 baseball players, 585 New York City, 225, 230, 584, 585 number of, 584, 585, 596 race and ethnicity, 584 settlement patterns, 575, 584, 585 21st century, 585 urban uprisings, 558, 567 U.S. inducements, 583–584 women, 584–585 Don Azpiazú Havana Casino Orchestra, 350 Dónde Están los Ladrones? (Shakira album), 855 “Don’t Want to Lose You” (song), 847, 850 Dooley v. United States (1901), 247, 251 The Doors (band), 356, 851 Dornan, Robert, 825, 836, 838–839 Dos Ríos, Battle of (1895), 155, 163, 164 Doss v. Bernal (1943), 419, 425, 432 Douglas, H. Eugene, 762 Douglas, William O., 701–702 Down Argentine Way (movie), 355 Downes v. Bidwell (1901), 246, 247, 251–252, 435 “Dr. Beat” (song), 846 Drag queens, 660, 661, 665, 666 DRE (Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil), 450 DREAM Act, 714, 724–726, 887, 893 Dreaming of You (Selena album), 848, 852–853, 859 Duany, Jorge, 577 Duarte, Jose Napoleon, 680 Duberman, Martin, 661, 666, 672–673 DuBois, W.E.B., 238 Duchesne, Rafael, 347 Duhaut-Cilly, Auguste, 107 Duke Ellington Orchestra, 348 Dulce, Domingo, 154 Dunn, Joe, 340–341

Index | 963 Dupuy de Lôme, Enrique, 196–197, 205 Durand, Rafael, 446 Durbin, Dick, 897 Duvalier, François “Papa Doc,” 763 Duvalier, Jean-Claude “Baby Doc,” 763 E-Verify, 785 Earthquakes, 677 East Harlem. See Spanish Harlem; Young Lords Party East Los Angeles, California antiwar march, 564, 569 Chicana Welfare Rights Organization, 536, 543 school walkout, 518, 525, 642 zoot suit culture, 383, 384, 391–392, 467, 471 Eastern Europeans, immigration laws targeting, 329–330, 335, 592, 594, 830 Echeandía, José María de, 99–100 Echeverría, José Antonio, 450, 457 Ecuador in Gran Colombia, 88 independence, 85, 88 independence efforts, 78, 84, 85 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 304 split from Gran Colombia, 78, 85, 89 U.S. immigrants from, 597 EDA. See Puerto Rican Economic Development Administration Education denied to undocumented immigrants, 826, 829 ESL, stigma surrounding, 700 legal right to, 832 “Little School of the 398,” 323 See also Bilingual education; Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies; Segregation, schools Edwards, Haden, 117, 123 Eglin Air Force Base, Florida, 755, 760

EGP. See Guerrilla Army of the Poor Eguia, Ernest, 387 Egyptian hieroglyphics, 10 Eilberg (Western Hemisphere) Act (1976), 593 Eisenhower, Dwight D. Cuban arms embargo, 451 Cuban refugees and, 451–452 homosexuality, laws against, 660, 664 Immigration and Naturalization Service, 502, 508 mass deportations of Mexican immigrants, 331 Ejercito Zapatista de Liberación Nacional. See Zapatista National Liberation Army El Modeno, California. See Mendez v. Westminster El Paso, Texas discrimination against immigrants, 334 Farah Worker Strike, 538 immigration station, 329 labor activism, 371–372 Spanish settlers from New Mexico, 56, 64 U.S. Border Patrol, 806 El Salvador CAFTA-DR, 807 Catholic Church, violence against, 680, 682–683, 686, 729–730, 735–736 civil war, atrocities, 680, 682–683, 685–686, 729–730, 733 civil war, causes of, 679, 688 civil war, number of casualties, 678 civil war, Peace Accord, 678 civil war, refugees from, 686–688, 731–732, 733, 738 election corruption, 680 exile of activists, 677 FMLN, 678, 682, 685–686, 733, 734 government, control of, by elites, 679–681 Great Depression, 690

964 | Index El Salvador (cont.) liberation theology, 729 opposition groups, 680–681, 682, 690 split from Federal Republic of Central America, 78, 85 U.S. immigrants from, 597, 598 U.S. influence in, 685, 733, 734 See also Salvadorans Elder, Jack, 743 Eldridge, Roy, 351 Election and appointment of Latinos, 865–885 biographies of notable figures, 875–880 Chicano movement and, 526–527 chronology, 865–868 Congressional Hispanic Caucus and, 716 document excerpts, 880–883 party trends, 873 presidential cabinet, 865, 866, 867, 877 redistricting dampening Latino influence, 870 Shelby County v. Holder (2013), 880–883 Supreme Court, xx, 868, 872, 882–883 Texas leads the way, 873–875 trends in, 869–872 voter ID laws as barriers, 875 women outpacing men, 872 See also Congressional Hispanic Caucus; specific officeholders Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA, 1968), 695, 698 Elizondo, Virgilio, 735 Ellington, Duke, 345, 348 Elysian Park Heights, Los Angeles, 468, 471, 475 Emergency Farm Labor Supply Program, 407–408, 609. See also Bracero Program Emergency Quotas Act (1921), 592, 594 EMI-Latin Records, 847, 852, 856, 857, 858

Empresario contracts, 96, 102–103, 113–114 En Defensa de Mi Raza (Perales), 325 Encomenderos Revolt (Peru), 18, 23 Encomienda labor system, 22, 23, 31, 62, 65 Encuentro Femenil (Chicana feminist journal), 537 Encyclopedia of the Colored Race, 238 Endreira, René, 350 England Brazil, trade with, 86 expansionism, 75, 201 recognition of Latin American countries as independent, 78 Spain, alliance with, 152 Spanish trade monopoly and, 80 English, as official language, 824, 828 English as a second language (ESL), 700, 703 English Language Acquisition, Language Enhancement, and Academic Achievement Act, 696, 698. See also Bilingual Education Act “English Only” movements California, 696, 708–710 education, 696, 697, 698, 708–710 Florida, 762 Enlightenment, 80, 81, 87, 89 Enrique (album), 848 Enslavement. See Slavery Entre Conmigo (Selena album), 847 Entre Mi Mundo (Selena album), 858 Epidemic diseases, brought by colonists, 18, 22, 38, 46 Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), 537, 600 Errichetti, Angelo, 568 Escalante, Alicia, 536, 539, 543, 544 Escape (Enrique Iglesias album), 855 Escudero, Rafael, 347 ESEA. See Elementary and Secondary Education Act

Index | 965 ESL (English as a second language), 700, 703 Espino, Virginia, 569 Espinosa, Joe, 483, 485, 486 ESSA. See Every Student Succeeds Act Estefan, Emilio, 846, 847–848, 851, 855, 861 Estefan, Gloria, 846–847, 848, 850–851, 853, 854, 855 Estevan (enslaved moor), 59 Estrada, Miguel, 713, 716–717 Estrada, Thomas, 421 Estrada family, 419 Estrada Palma, Tomás, 208 La Estrella Habanera (band), 345, 351 Ethnicity. See Race and ethnicity Eugenics in Puerto Rico, 207 Europe, James Reese, 236, 344 Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA, 2015), 696, 698 Evita (Broadway musical), 899, 900, 904 Evolucion (Laredo newspaper), 275 Executive Order on Sanctuary Cities (Trump, 2017), 747–751 Eyes of Innocence (Miami Sound Machine album), 846 Ezell, Harold, 829 EZLN. See Zapatista National Liberation Army Fabolous (rapper), 585 Fair Housing Act (1968), 557 Fair Labor Standards Act (1932), 364, 371 Falco, Randy, 797 Fannin, James W., 126 Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN), 678, 682–683, 685–686, 690, 733, 734 Farah Worker Strike, 538 Farm Labor Placement program, 436 Farm Placement Service Office, 614 Farm Security Administration (FSA), 366, 401, 405, 406, 407

Farm worker movement Bracero Program, opposition to, 612 chronology, 608–610 Delano Grape Strike as energizing, 611 improving wages and work conditions, 612 labor unions, 612–615 nationwide and international support, 529 need for worker protections, 612 organizing, 617 symbolism, 522 See also specific unions and organizers Farm workers Chicano movement, 521–525 labor protections, lack of, 365, 371 labor shortage (World War I), 329, 333 labor shortage (World War II), 389–390, 400 labor strikes, 365, 379–380, 401 labor surplus (1930s), 330, 331 migrant workers, 370 Puerto Rican Farm Labor Placement program, 441, 443 working conditions, 367, 443, 615 See also Bracero Program Farm Workers and Agribusiness in California (Galarza), 413 Farm Workers Association. See National Farm Workers Association FBI. See Federal Bureau of Investigation FCC. See Federal Communications Commission Feather, Leonard, 353 FEDECMI (Federation of Michoacan Clubs), 897 Federal Alliance of Land Grants. See Alianza Federál Mercedes Reales Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) civil rights groups, surveillance of, 526, 534 Counter Intelligence Program (COINTELPRO), 526, 630

966 | Index Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) (cont.) Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 306, 309 Sanctuary movement, surveillance of, 730, 743 Young Lords Organization, surveillance of, 630 Federal Communications Commission (FCC) limits on foreign ownership of broadcast networks, 792, 795, 801, 802 Univision violation of Children’s Television Act, 793, 799, 803–804 Federal Housing Act (1957), 626 Federal Republic of Central America, 78, 85. See also Costa Rica; El Salvador; Guatemala; Honduras; Nicaragua Federation of Michoacan Clubs (FEDECMI), 897 Feighan, Ed, 606 Feinstein, Dianne, 837 Feliciano, Jose, 851 Feminism. See Chicana feminist movement Ferdinand, Prince (Spain), 152 Ferdinand II, King (Aragon), 21, 33–34, 90 Ferdinand V. See Ferdinand II, King (Aragon) Ferdinand VI, King (Spain), 19 Ferdinand VII, King (Spain) abdication, 75–76, 152, 201 Constitution of 1812, 19, 77, 159 crushing independence movements, 19 Cuba and, 153 Hidalgo’s uprising, 76, 82, 90 reinstated to throne, 77, 153, 165 Fernandez, Antonio, 711 Fernandez, Dolores, 644, 649 Fernández Díaz, José (Joseíto), 454 Fernando VII. See Ferdinand VII, King (Spain)

Ferre, Mauricio, 865 Fierros, Esteban, 290 Fife, John, 730, 740–741, 745–746 Figueroa, Jesús, 235 Figueroa Cordero, Andres, 297, 307 Filipino farm workers. See Delano Grape Strike Finck Cigar Company, 377 Findlay, Carlos, 215 First Mexicanist Congress. See Primer Congreso Mexicanista First Spanish Methodist Church, New York City, 627, 628, 635 First Unitarian Universalist Church, Los Angeles, 740, 742 Fitzgerald, Ella, 350 Fitzpatrick, Joseph, 643 La Flama (website), 793, 797 FLN (Frente Liberación Nacional), 819 Florentine Codex, 51–53 Flores, Antonio, 282 Flores, Desiderio (father), 282 Flores, Desiderio (son), 282 Flores, Francisca, 540 Flores, Irvin, 297, 306, 307 Flores, Pedro, 227, 236 Flores Magón, Enrique, 262, 291 Flores Magón, Jesus, 262 Flores Magón, Ricardo, 262, 275–278, 291 Florida Cuban Americans, 182–183, 204 election of Latinos, 878 “English Only” movement, 762 Ku Klux Klan (KKK), 181 Narváez expedition, 58 statehood, 133 Florida Straits (HBO show), 586 FMLN. See Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front Foley, Neil, 323 Fomento. See Puerto Rican Economic Development Administration

Index | 967 Foraker Act (1900) and aftermath, 249–252 enactment, 198, 246 excerpt, 258–261 opposition to, 256 provisions, 249 Puerto Rican citizenship, 249, 257 Puerto Rico government, 198, 211, 249, 260, 295, 435 Puerto Rico taxation, 249, 251, 258–259 Puerto Rico trade, 252, 435, 437 repeal efforts, 247 replaced by Jones-Shafroth Act (1917), 247 Forbes, 802, 803 Forgotten People (G. Sánchez), 641 Fort Benning, Georgia, 386 Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, 754, 755–756, 760 Fort Furlong, New Mexico, 264 Fort Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania, 755, 760 Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, 755, 760 Fort Myers, Florida, 887, 890 Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, 389 Fort Sam Houston, 396 Fortune magazine, 802 Fouce, Frank, Sr., 801 Four Corners region, 54, 58 Fourteenth Amendment (U.S. Constitution) citizenship, 315–316, 769 equal protection, education, 421, 428, 700–701 equal protection, housing, 432–433 equal protection, jury service, 483, 490, 491, 497 ratification, 769 Reconstruction and, 203 Fox Quesada, Vicente, 265, 816, 819–821 France. See Napoleon I, Emperor (France) Francis Cabrini Homes, Chicago, Illinois, 625, 626

Franciscans Alta California, 100–102 Baja California, 30 New Mexico, 60, 61, 62, 68 Freddie Records, 858 Fredonian Rebellion, 117, 124, 129 Free Masons, 216 Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA), 806 “Freedom Flights,” 452, 765 Freestyle Love Supreme (improvisational group), 900, 911, 913 Frémont, John C., 98, 138 French and Indian War (1754–1763), 201 French Enlightenment. See Enlightenment Frente Liberación Nacional (FLN), 819 Fresno, California, 610 FSA. See Farm Security Administration FSLN. See Sandinista Front for National Liberation FTAA (Free Trade Area of the Americas), 806 Fuentes, Felicitas, 424 Fugitive Slave Law (1850), 106, 739 Fuller, Walter Gil, 354 Fullerton, California, 419, 432 Fur trade, 102, 133 Fusion (cable network), 793, 800 Fuster, Jaime, 726 FWA. See National Farm Workers Association GAA. See Gay Activists Alliance La Gaceta (trilingual newspaper), 173 Gadsden, James, 142 Gadsden Purchase, 99, 105, 134, 142 Gafieira music, 355 GALA. See Gay Latino Alliance Galarza, Ernesto biography, 412–413 Bracero Program and, 404, 409–410, 412–413, 511

968 | Index Galarza, Ernesto (cont.) Farm Workers and Agribusiness in California, 413 Merchants of Labor, 641 NAWU, 612 NFLU, 401, 409–410, 412–413, 511 Strangers in Our Fields, 402, 410, 413 Galaup de la Pérouse, Jean François, 107 Galavision, 796, 802 Galeano (Jose Luis Solís López), 819 Galilean Journey (Elizondo), 735 Gallan, Lorenzo “Chiquitico,” 353, 354 El Gallo (newspaper), 533, 534 Galván, Elías, 737 Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company, 97, 103–104 Galveston News, 283 Gálvez, José de, 28–30 Ganado, Texas, 323 Ganz, Marshall, 618 “Garbage Offensive” (YLO), 627, 633–635 García, Calixto, 155, 161, 206 Garcia, Gustavo C., 484, 485–486, 492–494, 495, 496 Garcia, Hector P., 385, 392, 482–483 García, Ignacio, 520 Garcia, Macario, 384, 398 García, María Cristina, 739 García, Mario T., 521, 746 García, Robert, 712, 726 García Iñiquez, Calixto, 157 García Rosado, Carmen, 389 Garden Grove, California. See Mendez v. Westminster Garment workers, 310, 375, 538 Gary, Indiana, 336–337, 338 Garza, Edward, 866 Garza, Refugio de la, 124 GATT. See General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade

Gawker​.com, 793, 800 Gay Activists Alliance (GAA), 661, 666, 672 Gay Latino Alliance (GALA), 661, 667 Gay Liberation Front (GLF), 661, 666 Gay rights movement, 660–677 biographies of notable figures, 669–673 Chicana lesbian writers, 523, 546, 669 chronology, 660–661 Daughters of Bilitis, 660, 664 document excerpts, 673–675 gay rights after the 1960s, 667–668 homophile movements (1950s), 663–665 Latino LGBT organizations, 661 Latinx, 663 rioting for gay rights, 665–667 Stoumen v. Reilly (1951), 673–675 terminology, xxi Young Lords, 634, 667 Generación del 98 (Spain), 209 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), 805, 806, 809 General Hospital (soap opera), 860 Genocide, Puerto Rico, 207 George III, King (England), 916–918 George Washington Goméz (Paredes), 289 Germany, World War II, 384 Geronimo (Chiricahua Apache leader), 214 Gerrymandering, 870 Gershwin, George, 350 “Get on Your Feet” (song), 847 Getz, Stan, 356 Getz/Gilberto (album), 356 G.I. Bill of Rights, 487 Gilberto, Astrud, 356 Gilberto, Diamantina, 356 Gilberto, João, 356 Gillespie, Dizzy, 345, 351, 352–354, 353, 354 Gilligan, Thomas, 556

Index | 969 Gingrich, Newt, 834 Ginsburg, Ruth Bader, 882–883 “The Girl from Ipanema” (song), 356 GLF. See Gay Liberation Front Glorieta Pass, New Mexico, 137 Goetze v. United States (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 Gold Rush (California), 98, 105, 134 Golden Casino, New York City, 347–348 Goldman, Ronald, 837 Goliad, Battle of (1835), 117 Goliad Massacre (1836), 118, 126 Gómez, Antonio, 313, 317 Gómez, Felipe, 429 Gómez, Francisco “Panchito,” 213 Gómez, Letitia, 662 Gómez, Máximo, 203, 212–214 Gomez, Selena, 853 Gonzales, Alberto, 867 Gonzales, Battle at (1835), 117, 125 Gonzales, Jose G., 326 Gonzales, Manuel C., 481–482 Gonzales, Rafael, 564, 567 Gonzales, Rodolfo “Corky” biography, 532–534 at Chicano conference, 539 Chicano Youth Liberation Conference, 525, 533–534, 536, 642 Crusade for Justice, 518, 525, 533, 534, 536 La Raza Unida Party (RUP), 519 speaking to inmates, 520 “Yo Soy Joaquín,” 518, 525, 533, 536, 647 Gonzales, Texas, 113, 117, 125 Gonzales v. Sheely (1951), 420 Gonzales v. Williams (1904), 233, 246, 257–258 Gonzalez, Charles A., 711, 718, 724, 726, 876 Gonzalez, Gilbert G., 373–374 Gonzalez, Henry B. biography, 720–722

Chicano movement and, 531, 714, 721–722 Congressional Hispanic Caucus and, 712, 715, 717, 721 election to Congress, 711 Simpson-Mazzoli bill and, 719 González, Isabel, 233, 245, 246, 257–258 Gonzalez, Jane, 542 Gonzalez, Jovita, 641, 647 Gonzalez, Juan, ix, 79, 636 Gonzalez, Norberto, 390, 392 Gonzalez, Rosalio, 397 Gonzalez Padilla, Jose, 190 Gonzalo Guerrero, 40 Good Neighbor Policy (1933–1940s) Bracero Program and, 404, 405, 504 Carioca Joe (José Carioca) cartoons, 355 Hollywood and Broadway, 899, 903 overview, 405 Platt Amendment, end to, 199, 450 Goodman, Benny, 345 El gordo y la flaca (Univision show), 797 Gordon, Dexter, 353 Gore, Al, 834 Gorman, Michael, 671 Govea, Jessica, 521–522, 618 Grable, Betty, 355 Graham, Bill, 357, 358 Grammy Awards Best Latin Pop Album, 848 Best Mexican/American Album, 847 Best Mexican American Performance, 858 Best New Artist, 851 Best Tropical Latin Album, 847 Estefan, Emilio, 851, 855 Estefan, Gloria, 847, 850, 851 Feliciano, Jose, 851 Martin, Ricky, 848, 854, 861 nominations, 848, 856 performances, 848, 854, 861 Selena, 847, 858

970 | Index Gran Colombia, 77, 78, 85, 88, 89 Gran Liga Mexicanista (civil rights organization), 286, 317, 319, 321 Granada, Spain, 21, 31 Granado, Florencia, 539 Granma (Cuba’s state newspaper), 758 Granma (yacht), 450, 458 Grant, Ulysses S., 154 Grape boycott, 529, 610, 615, 616, 618, 620–624 Grape strike. See Delano Grape Strike Grau San Martín, Ramón, 450, 455–456, 462 Grease Live! (FOX show), 914 Great American Boycott (2006), 887, 895 Great Depression cigar industry, 172, 181, 194 discrimination against Latinos, 332–335, 501 El Salvador, 690 onset, 330, 333, 364, 366 Puerto Rico, 295, 436–437 See also Mexican repatriation Great Society programs, 521, 532 Great Wall of Los Angeles (mural), 523 Grebler, Leo, 643 Green, Amanda, 912 “Green card” holders, 777, 827 Greene, Michael, 861 Greene, William, 269 Greenwich Village, New York City, 660–661, 666 Griffin, Merv, 355 Grillo, Evelio, 390 Grillo, Francisco “Machito,” 344, 349, 349–350, 351, 357 Grimaldi, Jerónimo, 29 Grimaldo, María Magdalena de, 29 Grito de Baire, 196 Grito de Balintawak, 196 Grito de Dolores (Hidalgo), 76, 82, 90 Grito de Lares, 196, 210 Grito de Yara, 161, 172, 196

El Grito del Norte (Chicano movement newspaper), 518, 527, 544–545 Groce, Jared, 122 Guadalajara, Mexico, 91 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of (1848) citizenship, 286, 313, 315, 317, 422, 470 excerpt, 149–151 land claims, 141, 286 negotiations, 141 Tejano rights, 281 U.S.-Mexican border, 141, 202 Guáimaro, Cuba, 157 Guam citizenship, limited, 212 independence struggle, 206 Paris, Treaty of, 198, 200, 219–220, 246, 249 Spanish-American War (1898), 201, 205 U.S. colonial regime, 206 U.S. Congress, delegates to, 715 U.S. intervention in, 201 Guanajuato, Mexico, 76, 90 “Guantanamera” (song), 454 Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, 155, 156, 163, 197 Guardiola, Gloria, 542–543 Guatemala asylum seekers in U.S., 731 CAFTA-DR, 807 civil war, atrocities, 678, 681, 684, 686, 733–734 civil war, causes of, 679, 688 civil war, peace accords, 679 civil war, refugees from, 597, 598, 686–688, 692–693, 733, 738 demographics, 80 earthquake (1976), 733–734 Guerrilla Army of the Poor (EGP), 677, 682, 683–684 independence, 77, 85 land reform, 677, 681 liberation theology, 729

Index | 971 Mayan communities, 12 military coup (1954), 677, 681 opposition groups, 682, 683–684, 689–690 Panzos massacre (1978), 678 Spanish conquest, 18 split from Federal Republic of Central America, 78, 85 Truth Commission, 684 Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca (URNG), 678, 679, 684, 686 United Nations peace talks, 679, 686 U.S. influence in, 686, 733 Guayaquil, Ecuador, 78, 85, 89 Guerin-Gonzalez, Camille, 334, 337 Guerra, Juan Luis, 585 La Guerra Chiquita. See “Little War” Guerrero, Gonzalo, 40 Guerrero, José María, 126 Guerrero, Vicente, 96, 104 Guerrilla Army of the Poor (EGP), 677, 682, 683–684 Guevara, Ernesto “Che,” 309, 450, 900 Guillen Vicente, Rafael Sebastian. See Marcos, Subcomandante Gun Control Act (1968), 599 Gutierrez, Gustavo, 729, 735, 736 Gutiérrez, José Angel biography, 530–532 La Raza Unida Party and, 519, 527 MAYO, founding of, 517, 530–531, 642 political organizing, 527, 530 Gutierrez, Luis, 718 Guzman, Pablo, 636 Guzmán, Silvestre Antonio, 575 Guzman, Virginia, 424 Guzman, William, 421, 424 Guzman family, 419 H2A labor program, 402, 412, 789 H2B labor program, 402 El Habanero (newspaper), 165

Hagel, Chuck, 880 Haiti (formerly Saint-Domingue) control of Dominican Republic, 78, 85 Dominican Republic, conflicts with, 212, 581 Dominican Republic, Haitians in, 578 Haitian Revolution, 202 independence, 75, 80, 572 “Is Hayti Decadent?” (Schomburg), 226, 238 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 300 race and nationality, 581 slave rebellion, 75, 156, 576 sugar industry, 202 Trujillos’ massacre of Haitians, 574, 580 U.S. occupation (1915–1934), 199 Haitian “Boat” People, 763 Hallmark, Univision ownership, 792, 795, 796 Hamilton, Alexander biography, 900, 908 George III and, 916–918 letter to his father, 914–916 love letter to Elizabeth Schuyler, 918–920 Miranda, Lin-Manuel, parallels, 901–902 Hamilton, James, 914–915 Hamilton, Montana, 339 Hamilton (Broadway musical), 907–910 awards, 909, 914 casting, 902, 909 controversies, 909–910 cultural significance, 903, 908, 909, 910 development of, 901 history behind the songs, 916–918 Kail as director, 901, 909, 912, 914, 916 praise for, 901, 909, 912 The Hamilton Mixtape (Lin-Manuel Miranda album), 900, 901, 908–909

972 | Index Hammerstein, Harold, 426–427 Hampton, Fred, 632, 633 Hancock, Herbie, 362 Hardberger, Phil, 876 Harlan, Marshall, 250 Harlem, New York City Latin jazz, 345, 347–348, 350–351 police-involved shootings, 556, 560 See also Spanish Harlem “Harlem: Mecca of the New Negro” (Survey Graphic), 227, 238 Harlem Renaissance, 237, 238 Harlingen, Texas, 286 Harlingen Convention, 314, 319, 324 Harris, Richard F., 426–427 Harry B. Smith, 902–903 Hart, Philip A., 594, 600–601 Hart-Celler Act. See Immigration and Nationality Act (1965) Hartford, Connecticut, 441, 560, 561, 562 Hartgraves, Frank, 491 Harvest of Empire (Gonzalez), ix “Harvest of Shame” (CBS documentary), 402, 411, 502, 510 Harvey, I. H., 495 Hatcher, Elizabeth, 237 Hatcher, Tom, 906 Hatuey (Taino chieftain), 17 Hauch, Charles C., 588, 589 Hav-A-Tampa Cigar Factory, 178 Havana, Cuba, 29, 156, 199, 353–354 Havana Casino Orchestra, 345, 346 Havana Philharmonic, 350 Hawai’i, 197, 200, 205, 410, 435 Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act, 455 Hay, Harry, 660 Hay, John, 200 Haya, Ignacio, 173, 175 Hayakawa, S. I., 837 Hayes, Linda, 831–832 Hazleton, Pennsylvania, 836 HBO programs, 586, 849 Headley, James, 566

HeadStart, model for, 323 Healey, Dorothy, 374 Hearst, George, 269 Hearst, William Randolph, 163, 196, 269 Hearst-Selig silent movie news service, 282 Hecatzin (Mexica captain), 52–53 Helstein, Ralph, 612, 613, 619 Henderson, Frank A., 426–427 Henry, Guy V., 256, 259–260 Henry Teller Amendment. See Teller Amendment Herbert, Victor, 902–903 Heredia, Wilson Jermaine, 900 Las Hermanas (Catholic Church group), 737 Hermandad Mexicana, 895 Hernández, Antonio, 235 Hernández, Julio, 610, 614 Hernández, Kelly, 503 Hernandez, Pete. See Hernandez v. Texas (1954) Hernandez, Roland A., 798 Hernández, Victoria, 227, 236, 360 Hernández Marín, Jesús, 226, 236, 344 Hernández Marín, Rafael bands, 227, 236, 344 biography, 235–237 compositions, 227, 236, 360 military service, 226, 234, 235, 236, 344 Hernandez Martínez, Maximiliano, 690 Hernandez v. Driscoll Independent School District (1957), 494 Hernandez v. Texas (1954), 481–500 arguments, 483, 484–485, 486, 489 biographies of notable figures, 492–496 Brief for Petitioner and Appendix B (1953), 496–498 chronology, 481–483 document excerpts, 496–498 facts of case, 483, 485

Index | 973 funding, 482–483, 486–487 impact of, 492, 496 overview, 422–423 ruling, 322, 420, 483, 490 Hernández Valadéz, Manuel, 667 “Hero” (song), 855 Herrera, John J., 484–488, 493–496 Herrera Beutler, Jaime, 869, 871 Hershey, Nebraska, 389 Heureaux, Ulises, 573 HEW. See U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare Hewitt, Nancy, 191–194 Hidalgo, Father Miguel, 76, 82, 89–91, 125 Hidalgo, Joaquín, 89–90 Hidalgo County, Texas, 284–285, 317 Hieroglyphics, 10 Higher Education Act (1965), 536, 720 Higuey uprising, 31 Hijas de Cuauhtémoc (group), 529, 537 Hijas de Cuauhtémoc (journal), 519, 537 Hill, Daniel, 100 Hill, Teddy, 345 Hilton, Conrad, 446 Hilton Caribe, San Juan, Puerto Rico, 440, 446 Hinojosa, Rubén, 718, 726 Hiroshima, Japan, 384 Hirsch, Arnold, 560–561 Hispania (Roman province), 21 Hispanic American Institute, Austin, Texas, 737–738 Hispanic Broadcasting Corporation, 793 Hispanic Nielsen Survey, 799 Hispanic Serving Institutions (HSIs) of Higher Learning, 720 Hispanics, use of term, ix, xx–xxi. See also Latinos Hispaniola Columbus’s naming of, 17 race and nationality, 581 Spanish colonization, 31–32

unification, 572 See also Dominican Republic; Haiti Historia de las Indias (History of the Indies; Las Casas), 32 History Task Force, 644 HIV/AIDS activism, 586–587, 668, 746 HIV/AIDS crisis, 661, 668 HIV-positive people, 556, 768 Hobby, Oveta Culp, 384, 388 Hobby, William P., 317 Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me (Gloria Estefan album), 851 Holden, George F., 426 Holocaust, 397, 599 Holtzman, Elizabeth, 599–600 Home Ownership Loan Corporation, 182 Homeland Security Act (2002), 771, 886 Homophile movements (1950s), 663–665 Honduras CAFTA-DR, 807 Hurricane Mitch (1998), 598 neighboring civil wars, 684, 685 split from Federal Republic of Central America, 78, 85 U.S. immigrants from, 598 U.S. support for, 685 Hoover, Herbert, 333, 335, 405 Hoover, J. Edgar, 309 Hoover Mexican School, Westminster, California, 425 Hopi, 57, 59 Horne, Tom, 648 Hostos, Eugenio María de, 301, 649 Hostos Community College, CUNY, 642, 644, 649 The House of Mango Street (S. Cisneros), 523 Housing, public. See Public housing Housing Act (1937), 467 Housing Act (1948), 467, 471 Housing discrimination, 419, 425, 432, 470, 491, 561 Housing Survey (1939), 467

974 | Index Houston, Samuel arrival in Texas, 97 portrait, 119 as president of Lone Star Republic of Texas, 97, 119, 124 Texas War for Independence, 118, 119, 125, 127, 133 Houston, Texas, 558, 565 Houston Metropolitan Research Center, 397 Howard Theater, Washington, D.C., 344, 348–349 HSIs (Hispanic Serving Institutions) of Higher Learning, 720 H2A labor program, 402, 412, 789 H2B labor program, 402 Huancavelica, Peru, 25 Hudes, Quiara Alegría, 907, 914 Huerta, Dolores Clara Fernández AWOC, 612–613, 620 biography, 619–620 Bracero Program and, 410 CSO, 609, 620 Delano Grape Strike, 521–522, 620 farm workers statement from, 620–624 NFWA, 517, 521–522, 610, 614 organizing farm workers, 609, 618 Huerta, Victoriano, 263, 264, 270, 271, 290 Hughes, Marie, 427 Hugo, Victor, 190 Huitzilíhuitli (Mexica ruler), 14–15 Huitzilopochtli (deity), 49 Hull House Settlement, Chicago, Illinois, 476 Human sacrifice Maya, 14 Mexica, 11, 16, 44, 49, 53, 391 Olmec, 5 Teotihuacán, 6 Toltec, 9 Hunter College, City University of New York, 642, 644, 652 Hurricane Maria (2017), 253–254

Hurricane Mitch (1998), 598 Hurricane San Ciprian (1932), 435 Huus v. New York and Porto Rico Steamship Company (1901), 246, 247, 252 “I Am Joaquín.” See “Yo Soy Joaquín” “I Feel Pretty” (song), 906 I Like It Like That (movie), 847 I Love Lucy (television series), 850 “I Need to Know” (song), 848 IAF. See Industrial Areas Foundation Ibárruri Gómez, Dolores, 378 Iberian peninsula. See Portugal; Spain ICE. See Immigration and Customs Enforcement ICIRR (Illinois Coalition for Immigrants and Refugees), 897 ICS (International Court System), 665, 671 Idar, Clemente, 274 Idar, Eduardo, 274, 275 Idar, Jovita, 263, 274–275 Idar, Nicasio, 274 Ide, William B., 98 The Idol’s Eye (Broadway musical), 902–903 Iglesia y Sociedad en América Latina (Church and Society in Latin America), 738 Iglesias, Enrique, 848, 853, 855 Iglesias, Julio, 855 Illegal immigrants. See Undocumented immigrants Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA; 1996), 771, 825, 886 Illinois Coalition for Immigrants and Refugees (ICIRR), 897 IMF. See International Monetary Fund IMMACT. See Immigration Act (1990) Immigrant rights marches (2006), 885–899 Chicago, 886, 887, 890, 894t, 896–897 chronology, 885–888

Index | 975 demographics of marchers, 890, 897 goals and ideologies, 890–895 Las Vegas, 887, 891, 896 Los Angeles, 886, 887, 889, 890, 891, 894t, 895 number of marchers, 888 ten largest, 894t Immigration Act (1891), 258 Immigration Act (1917), 329, 403, 500, 592, 594 Immigration Act (1924; Johnson–Reed Act) enforcement through deportation, 368 national-origin quotas, 335, 367, 592, 594, 599, 769 opposition to, 594, 599 quota exemptions, 330, 335, 769 Immigration Act (1929), 330, 500, 592 Immigration Act (1990; IMMACT), 594, 598, 770, 786 Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), 594, 886 Immigration and Nationality Act (1952). See McCarran-Walter Act Immigration and Nationality Act (1965), 591–608 amendments, 598, 601–605 biographies of notable figures, 598–601 Bracero Program termination, 770, 773 chronology, 591–594 country quotas, 594, 595, 603 document excerpts, 601–607 enactment, 595 family reunification preference, 594, 595, 596, 598, 602, 774 Hart, Philip A., 600–601 hemisphere quotas, 594–595, 598, 774 impact of, 595–596 Johnson’s speech at signing of, 595, 605–607 national-origin quotas, elimination of, 582–583, 594, 606, 770, 774 post-1965 immigration, 597–598

refugee program, 770 skills preference, 594, 595, 770 Immigration and Naturalization Services (INS) abolishment, 594 American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh, 744 border apprehensions, number of, 774, 816 Bracero Program, 407, 502 budget increase (IRCA, 1996), 772, 788 Central Americans, asylum cases, 744 deportations, 377 detention centers, conditions in, 739 formation of, 331, 336, 592 sanctuary, respect for, 740 See also Operation Wetback Immigration Bureau, 322 Immigration reform, xviii, 719, 724–726 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986; IRCA), 769–792 abridged version, 787–790 amnesty program, 772, 776–779, 786, 827, 828 biographies of notable figures, 785–786 Border Patrol, increased funding, 593, 776, 788 chronology, 769–771 crafting of, 775, 827–828 document excerpts, 787–790 eligibility requirements, 778t employer provision, 771–772, 776, 780, 785, 786, 787–788, 827–828 enactment, 770, 824 H2A and H2B labor programs, 402, 412, 789 legalization provision, 776, 777, 778t, 788–789 long-term impact, 772, 780–781, 784–785 Mexican immigration, 773–775, 827–828

976 | Index Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986; IRCA) (cont.) notable people who shaped IRCA, 782–784 penalties, 776 post-IRCA: early years, 779–780 provisions, 776–779, 885 SAW (Special Agricultural Worker) Program, 776, 777, 778t, 790 SCIRP recommendations, 770 State Legalization Impact Assistance Grants, 776–777 three prongs, 771–772 Immigration Service, 368 Imperial Colonization Law (Mexico, 1823), 104 Imperial Valley, California labor strikes, 401, 409–410 labor unionization, 412–413 Operation Wetback, 503 Imperialism, debate over, 250 In re Ricardo Rodriguez (1897), 313, 317, 422 In re Timoteo Andrade (1935), 315 In the Heights (Broadway musical), 907–910 casting, 899, 907 cultural significance, 903, 904, 907, 908, 910 development of, 900, 907–908, 911–912, 913 Kail, as director, 900, 907, 911, 912, 913 Miranda, as actor, 912 reviews, 900, 908 success, 899, 908 Tony Awards, 900, 906, 908, 914 Inca empire, 18, 22, 25 Incorporation Doctrine, 251 Independent Party of Color (Cuba), 199, 209 Independent School District v. Salvatierra, 314, 320

India, World War II, 387 Indian Citizenship Act (1924), 316 Indigenous civilizations, rise of, 1–16 biographies of notable figures, 13–16 chronology, 1–3 Maya writing, 10 Olmec culture, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 Quetzalcoatl (deity), 7 See also Maya; Mexica Empire Indigenous populations Anglo-American colonization, 102 as Cortés’s allies, 22, 42, 43–44, 46–47, 52–53 epidemic diseases, 22 fur trappers, marriages to, 102 revolts against Spanish, 81 See also Spanish colonization of the Americas; specific peoples Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF), 609, 613, 619 Infinite Divisions (literature anthology), 550–554 Inland Steel, 336–337 Inouye, Daniel, 600 Inquisition, 84 INS. See Immigration and Naturalization Services Institutional Revolutionary Party. See Partido Revolucionario Institucional Insular Cases (1901–1922), 245–261 Armstrong v. United States (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 Balzac v. People of Porto Rico (1922), 247, 252–253, 295 biographies of notable figures, 255–258 as byproduct of Spanish-American War, 248–249 chronology, 245–247 De Lima v. Bidwell (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 document excerpts, 258–261 Dooley v. United States (1901), 247, 251

Index | 977 Downes v. Bidwell (1901), 246, 247, 251–252, 435 Foraker Act, 258–261 Foraker Act, aftermath, 249–252 Goetze v. United States (1901), 246, 247, 250–251 Huus v. New York and Porto Rico Steamship Company (1901), 246, 247, 252 Jones-Shafroth Act, 252–255 justifying a colonial enterprise, 250 Paris, Treaty of, as blueprint for rulings, 249 Puerto Rico’s statehood vote, 254 Supreme Court decisions in, 250–253, 258, 295 Integration. See Segregation, schools Intendants (intendentes), 23, 30 “Interlude” (song), 345, 353 International Brotherhood of Teamsters. See Teamsters International Court System (ICS), 665, 671 International Military Tribunal, Nuremberg, Germany, 384 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 574, 805, 809 International Trade Organization (ITO), 809 International Worker’s Order (IWO), 233 Interscope/Universal, 855 Into the Light (Gloria Estefan album), 847 Iran-Contra affair, 684, 691, 734 Irapuato, Mexico, 90 Irish immigrants, 134, 140–141, 165 “Is Hayti Decadent?” (Schomburg), 226, 238 Isabel, Queen (Castile), 21, 33 Isabella Gonzales v. William Williams. See Gonzales v. Williams Isleta Pueblo, New Mexico, 70 Itliong, Larry, 521–522, 612, 615

ITO (International Trade Organization), 809 Iturbide, Agustín de, 82, 85, 117, 120, 125 Iturrigaray, José de, 76 Itza kingdom, 18 Itzcoatl (Mexica ruler), 15 IWO (International Worker’s Order), 233 Ixil Maya, 684 Jaca (Pueblo man), 69 Jacalteco people, 687 Jacinto Trevino College, Texas, 643, 644 Jackson, Andrew, 124 Jackson, Logan, 373, 380 Jackson County, Texas. See Hernandez v. Texas (1954) Jacobson, Robin Dale, 832 Jamaica, 77, 88, 91–95, 408 Japan, 383, 384, 410 Japanese Americans, 383, 429 Japanese-Mexican Labor Association (JMLA), 608–609 Jaramillo, Juan, 48 Jaramillo, María Ignacia, 137–138 Jaramillo, María Josefa, 102 Javits, Jacob K., 606 Jayuya, Puerto Rico, 199, 211, 302, 305–306 Jazz music. See Latin jazz Jersey City, New Jersey, 562 Jesuits, 29, 30 Jiltonilro, Avotcja, 512–515 Jiménes, Juan Isidro, 573 Jimenez, Jose “Cha Cha” indictments and imprisonment, 626, 628, 629, 631, 632 life after the Lords, 636 politicization of, 626, 631–632 YLO, formation of, 626, 631 YLO, New York City chapter, 627, 633 YLO, politicization of, 627, 631–633 YLO, social programs, 627, 628, 631

978 | Index Jimenez Castellaño, Alfonso, 156 JMLA (Japanese-Mexican Labor Association), 608–609 João VI, King (Portugal), 86 Jobim, Antonio Carlos, 356 John Birch Society, 621 John Paul II, Pope, 731, 742 Johnson, Andrew, 106, 573 Johnson, Lyndon B. Civil Rights Act, 695, 698–699 Great Society programs, 521, 532 Immigration and Nationality Act (1965), 595, 605–607 Kerner Commission, 557, 565 Latino appointees, 865 Longoria Affair and, 392 LULAC and, 323 Johnson, Magic, 914 Johnson, Marsha P., 661, 667, 672 Johnson-Reed Act. See Immigration Act (1924) Joint Resolution (1898), 197, 205, 218. See also Teller Amendment Jones Act (Philippines, 1916), 199 Jones Act (U.S., 1920), 247, 253–254 Jones-Shafroth Act (1917) crafting, 256, 258 enactment, 247, 435 Insular Cases and, 252–255 Philippines, 210, 215 Puerto Ricans, U.S. citizenship, 211, 234, 247, 252–253, 903 Puerto Ricans and, 256 replacing Foraker Act, 247 José Carioca (Carioca Joe), 355 José Martí Party, Ybor City, Florida, 185 Joseph I, King (Spain), 76, 152 Jou, Simon, 348 Juana, Queen (Castile), 33–34 Juana Inés de la Cruz, Sor, 546–547, 550–554 Juarez-Lincoln University, Texas, 643, 644 Junín, Battle of (1824), 78, 85, 89

Juntas (local governments), 76, 82 Jury service, exclusion from, 422–423, 484–485, 487, 488–489 Kachina, 58, 59, 60, 61, 64 Kagan, Elena, 882–883 Kahlo, Frida, 550–554 Kail, Thomas awards, 913, 914 biography, 912–914 as Hamilton director, 901, 909, 912, 914, 916 The Hamilton Mixtape and, 901 as In the Heights director, 900, 907, 911, 912, 913 Pence, message to, 910 Kaine, Tim, 877 Kanellos, Nicolas, 644 Kanjobal people, 687 Katipunan, 216 Katsina. See Kachina Katzenbach, Nicholas, 606 Kaufman, Julian, 801 KDTV, 803 Kearny, Stephen Watts, 98, 137–138, 143 Kennedy, Edward M. (Ted), 594, 598, 606, 782 Kennedy, John F. assassination, 880 Bracero Program, 402, 411 Cuban Refugee Program, 452, 459 immigration law and, 593, 606 LULAC and, 323 Moscoso and, 446 Nation of Immigrants, 593 Roybal and, 722 Viva Kennedy clubs, 527, 532 voter registration drives, 431 Kennedy, Robert F., 518, 606, 610, 616 Kenny, Robert W., 420 Kent, James L., 426 Keresan (Pueblo linguistic group), 57, 63 Kern County, California, 519

Index | 979 Kerner Commission, 565 Key West, Florida cigar industry, 154, 160, 173, 176–177, 241 Cuban community, 160–161, 162–163, 166 Mariel Boatlift (1980), 754, 758, 767 King, Bill, 829 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 524, 533, 557, 560, 616 King, Rodney, 837 King Ranch, Texas, 282 Kingston, Jamaica, 88, 91–95 Kinship, Tejano, 122 Kiss of the Spider Woman (Broadway musical), 900, 904 Kitt, Tom, 912 Kiva (Pueblo room), 59, 64, 68–69, 70, 71 KMEX-TV (Los Angeles), 792, 795, 801 Knight, John, 322 Know-Nothing Party, 313, 317 Koch, Ed, 910 Korean War, 388, 403 Krupa, Gene, 360 Kryzanek, Michael J., 576 Ku Klux Klan (KKK), 181 KWEX-TV (San Antonio), 792, 795, 801 La Bamba (movie), 523 La Loma (barrio), Los Angeles. See Chavez Ravine La Moderna (bakery), New York City, 348 La Navidad, Hispaniola, 17 La Paz, Bolivia, 76 Labor activism (1930–1939), 364–381 biographies of notable figures, 375–378 chronology, 364–365 citrus strikes, 365, 372–374, 379–380 document excerpts, 378–380 Mexican workers as “illegal immigrants,” 368–369 migrant literature: Zoo Island (Rivera), 370

organizing workers, 369–375 repatriation drives, letter opposing, 378–379 See also specific industries Labor activism (1965–1970), 608–625 biographies of notable figures, 618–620 chronology, 608–610 Delano Grape Strike, 615–617 document excerpts, 620–624 farm workers statement from Dolores Huerta, 620–624 fighting in the fields, 612–615 See also specific industries Labor shortages World War I, 329, 333 World War II, 331, 339–340, 389–390, 400, 404 Labrador, Raúl, 869, 871 LACPFB (Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born), 506, 511 LaFountain-Stokes, Lawrence, 668 Laguna Beach, California, 373 Lake County, Indiana, 336–337 LAMAG (Latin American Methodist Action Group), 737 Lamb, James, 627, 632 “Lamento borincano” (song), 227, 237 Land Claims Act (California, 1851), 99 Landa, Diego de, 10 Lang, Michael, 358 Lange, Dorothea, 366 “Language deficient” students, segregation of, 422, 426–427 LAO (Latin American Organization). See Latin American Voters League Lara-Braud, Jorge, 730, 736, 737–738 Laredo, Texas Compañía Civica, 123 Mexican American community, 263, 274 Mexican repatriation, 379

980 | Index Laredo, Texas (cont.) El Primer Congreso Mexicanista (1911), 263, 286, 313, 317 raid (1916), 290 settlement, 285 Lares, Puerto Rico, 196, 295, 299–301 Larkin, Thomas O., 110, 138 Larrazolo, Octaviano Ambrosio, 712 Las Casas, Bartolomé de, 23, 25–26, 31–33, 91–92 Las Casas, Pedro de, 31 Las Vegas, Nevada, 887, 891, 896 Latin American Apostolate (Apostolado Latino-Americano), 742 Latin American independence (1810–1898), 75–95 biographies of notable figures, 87–91 causes, 80–81 chronology, 75–79 document excerpts, 91–95 role of women, 84 royalists, 82–83, 88 See also Bolívar, Simón Latin American Methodist Action Group (LAMAG), 737 Latin American Organization (LAO). See Latin American Voters League Latin American Voters League (LAVL), 419, 424–425, 430, 431 “Latin Explosion” (popular music, 1990s), 846–863 biographies of notable figures, 857–861 chronology, 846–849 crossover performers, 853–856 decline of, 856–857 Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine, 850–851 Selena, biography, 857–859 Selena, People tribute to, 848, 852 Selena, rise of, 851–853 See also specific performers Latin Grammy Awards, 855

Latin jazz, birth of (1930s–1940s), 344–363 Bauzá’s influence, 349–351 Bauzá’s vision, 351–352 biographies of notable figures, 359–362 bossa nova, 356 Brazilian influences, 355–356 chronology, 344–346 Gillespie-Pozo collaboration, 352–354 influence in American popular music, 357–358 Latin fusion, 348–349 next wave, 355 roots, 347–348 sounds of today and beyond, 359 suggested listening, 363 See also specific performers “Latin Wave” (music industry), 855–856, 857 Latina, use of term, xxi, 544 Latina/o, use of term, xxi Latina/o Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Organization (LLEGO), 661, 668 Latina/o Studies Association, 645, 652 Latina Women in Action. See Mujeres Latinas en Acción Latino/a, use of term, xxi, 663 Latino/a Studies Programs. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies “Latino Religious Resurgence,” 736 Latino Studies Journal, 645 Latinos ancestry, ix identity, 795–796 use of term, ix, xx–xxi See also specific people, events, and topics Latinx, use of term, xxi, 663 Lau, Kam Wai, 700 Lau, Kinney Kinmon, 700, 705 Lau Regulations, 696, 702–703 Lau Remedies, 696, 702

Index | 981 Lau v. Nichols (1973–1974), 695–711 ASPIRA consent decree, 699 bilingual education, future of, 704–706 bilingual education, opposing views regarding, 697–698 Bilingual Education Act, 698 biographies of notable figures, 706–707 Blackmun’s concurring opinion, 707–708 chronology, 695–696 document excerpts, 707–710 events leading to, 698–701 immediate and long-term effects, 702–703, 706 Latino students and, 699, 703–704, 706, 707 plaintiffs, 700 Proposition 225, excerpt of, 708–709 Supreme Court ruling, 695, 699, 701–702, 707–708 Laundry Service (Shakira album), 849, 855 Laurents, Arthur, 904, 906 Lavaca, Texas, 113 LAVL. See Latin American Voters League Law of April 6, 1830 (Mexico), 103, 117, 124, 129–130 Lawrence, Massachusetts, 558 Lawton, Henry W., 214 Lazu, Jacqui, 629 Lead poisoning, 635 League of Civil Education, 670, 673 League of Latin American Citizens (LLAC) founding, 314, 319, 324, 482, 486 LULAC formation, 320, 324–325, 330, 482 purpose, 486 League of the Daughters of Cuba. See Liga de Las Hijas de Cuba League of United Latin American Citizens. See LULAC Leal, Luis, 647

Lebrón, Lolita, 297, 306, 307, 309–311 Lee v. Johnson (1971), 695, 699 Legal Aid Bureau, 442 Legal permanent residence (LPR), 777 Lemon Grove, California. See Alvarez v. Lemon Grove Lend-Lease policy, 404 León, Martín de, 113, 123 LEP. See Limited-English proficient (LEP) students Lerdo de Tejada, Sebastian, 267 Les Miserables (Broadway show), 860 LESA. See Limited English speaking ability Lesbians. See Gay rights movement Let It Loose (Miami Sound Machine album), 846 “Letter from Jamaica” (Bolívar), 88, 91–95 Ley de Mordaza (muzzle law, Puerto Rico, 1948), 211, 305 Liberation theology, 683, 729, 734, 735, 736–737 Liberty Media, 798 La Liga de Costureras, 375 La Liga de Las Hijas de Cuba (The League of the Daughters of Cuba), 225, 231 Liga Protectora Mexicana (Mexican Protective League), 481–482 “Light My Fire” (song), 851 Lima, Peru, 83, 85 Limited-English proficient (LEP) students bilingual education, 696, 697, 701–702, 705 English immersion, 696, 701, 705, 708–710 Limited English speaking ability (LESA) bilingual education, 695, 698, 701–702 HEW guidelines, 696 Lau Remedies, 696, 702 Linares, Abel, 226 Lincoln, Abraham, 106, 139

982 | Index Lincoln, Nebraska, 890 Lincoln Center, New York City, 901 Lincoln Hospital, New York City, 628, 636 “Linda Borinquen” (song), 227, 236 “Linda Quisqueya” (song), 227, 236 Lipan Apache, 120 Lisbon, Portugal, 86 Little Havana. See Miami, Florida “Little School of the 398” (LULAC preschool program), 323 “Little War” (Cuba, 1879), 161, 164, 203, 213, 453 “Live for Loving You” (song), 847 Live (Selena album), 847 “Livin’ La Vida Loca” (song), 848, 861 LLAC. See League of Latin American Citizens Llaneros (rural landowners), 76, 82 LLEGO. See Latina/o Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Organization Locke, Alain, 238 Lomax, John A., 289 Lombardi (play), 914 Lone Star Republic of Texas, 119, 124, 133, 202 Long Beach State University, 537 Longoria, Antonio, 283, 289 Longoria, Felix, 385, 392 Lopez, Al, 232 Lopez, Eugenio, 283 Lopez, Ignacio, 419 Lopez, Jennifer, 848, 853, 854, 859, 861 López, Narciso, 154, 160, 202 Lopez, Omar, 632, 636 López, Priscilla, 899 Lopez v. Seccombe (1944), 419, 425, 432–433 Loredo, David, 387 Los Angeles, California Anglo-American colonization, 110–111 Chicano Moratorium, 519

CSO, founding of, 609 deportations and repatriation (1930s), 331, 332, 336, 338, 339, 364, 368–369 discrimination against Mexicans, 334–335, 367 election of Latinos, 867 gay rights, 660, 661, 664 Housing Authority, 471–472, 474 immigrant rights marches (2006), 886, 887, 889, 890, 891, 894t, 895 Mexican Consulate, 338 Mexican population, 330, 562 Operation Wetback, 503, 511 Planning Commission, 472 Proposition 185 protests, 824, 825 public housing, 467, 468–469, 471, 472, 474 Sanctuary movement, 737, 740, 742, 746 schools, tracking Mexican students, 525 Spanish International Network, 792 uprisings, 556, 558, 564, 837 urban renewal, 467–468, 471 (See also Chavez Ravine) U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 138 welfare benefits, 334–335, 337, 369 Zoot Suit Riots, 384, 391–392, 467, 471 Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born (LACPFB), 506, 511 Los Angeles Dodgers, 468, 474–475 Los Angeles Times, 339, 480, 825 Louisiana Purchase, 120, 201 Loving in the War Years (Moraga), 669 Lower Rio Grande Valley (LRGV), 285–286, 287 LPR (legal permanent residence), 777 Luce-Celler Act (1946), 599 Luciano, Felipe, 628, 633, 635, 636 Luján, Manuel, Jr., 712, 716, 865, 866 Lujan Grisham, Michelle, 714

Index | 983 LULAC (League of United Latin American Citizens), 313–328 biographies of notable figures, 324–325 chronology, 313–315 citizenship requirement, 320 constitution, 320 councils and chapters, 316, 323, 327, 420, 431 document excerpts, 325–327 founding, 290, 314, 315, 320, 324–326, 482 goals, 510 Hernandez v. Texas (1954), 485, 486–487 immigrant rights marches (2006), 892 “Little School of the 398” (preschool program), 323 National Educational Service Centers, 323–324 Operation Wetback and, 510, 512 El Paladin (newspaper), 325–326 Perales, Alonso, 324–325 Proposition 185 (California; 1994), 834 racial classification and, 320, 322–323, 510 In re Timoteo Andrade, 315 Salvatierra v. Del Rio Independent School District, 418 U.S. Border Patrol, criticism of, 512 women in, 320, 321, 326–327 Luna, Diego, 761 Lunceford, Jimmie, 351 Luque, Adolfo, 232 Luther Place Memorial Church, Washington, D.C., 740 Lynchings, 98, 313, 317 Lyon, Phyllis, 664 Macalester College, 651 Macapagal, Diosdado, 217–218 Maceo, Antonio, 155, 177, 213 Maceo, José, 155 Machado, Antonio, 209

Machado, Gerardo, 209, 227, 455, 462 Machin, Antonio, 350 “Machito.” See Grillo, Francisco “Machito” The Machito Afro-Cubans (band), 345, 352–353, 354, 359, 360 Machuca, Esther Nieto, 321 MacLean, William G., 415 Madero, Francisco, 262, 263, 269–270, 278–280 Madrigal v. Quilligan, 537, 543 Magazines, Spanish-language, 852 Magic/Bird (play), 914 Magnuson Act (1943), 592 Magoffin, James Wiley, 102 Mahoney, Roger, 895 Maine, USS, 155, 163, 197, 199, 205 Mainstream popular culture, defined, 849 Maipú, Chile, 83 Make the Road New York, 662 Making Our Road (Cheyenne woman), 102 Malavet, Pedro A., 255 Malcolm X, 556 El Malcriado (farm worker newspaper), 517, 615 MALCS. See Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social MALDEF. See Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund MalDoñado, Maria Dolores, 669–670 Malintzin (La Malinche) biography, 47–49 Chicana feminist movement and, 546, 550–554 Chicano movement and, 546 Cortés and, 41, 46, 47–49, 546 Malvar, Miguel, 217 Mam people, 687 “Mambo” music, 357, 360 MANA (Mexican-American Women’s Organization), 538, 543 Mañana (ship), 766

984 | Index Manco Inca (puppet Inca ruler), 18 Mangual, Maria, 542, 544 Manifest Destiny, 139, 142, 153, 203 Manila Bay, Battle of (1898), 200, 205 “El Manisero” (“The Peanut Vendor”), 350 Manos a la Obra. See Operation Bootstrap Manpower Program, 550 Manriquez, Gregorio, 282 Manriquez, Lorenzo, 282 Mansfield, Mike, 606 “Manteca” (song), 345, 354 Manteiga, Victoriano, 173 Mantler, Gordon, 533 Manufacturing decline in, 561 NAFTA and, 810–811, 812 working conditions, 367 Maquiladoras (factories), 812 Marc Anthony (album), 848, 854 Marc Anthony (HBO special), 849 Marcantonio, Vito, 304 March 10th Committee, 896–897 March 25 Coalition, 895 Marcos, Subcomandante, 817, 819 Marcus, David C. biography, 431–433 Doss v. Bernal, 419, 432 Lopez v. Seccombe, 419, 432–433 Mendez v. Westminster, 419, 421, 424–426, 430, 433, 482 “María” (song), 847, 854, 860 Mariel Boatlift (1980), 754–769, 756 biographies of notable figures, 764–768 chronology, 754–756 Haitian “Boat” People, 763 media portrayal of Marielitos, 755, 758, 760–763, 765–766 number of refugees included in, 452, 465 processing of refugees, 754, 755 public opinion, 755, 756–757 Scarface (movie), 761 wet foot, dry foot, 764

Marín Castillo, Amalia, 255 Marina. See Malintzin (La Malinche) Marino, Johnnie Meza, 395–397 Marques, Epifania, 374, 380 MARS Task Force, 387 Marsans, Armando, 232 Marshall, Thurgood, 428 Martel, Charles “the Hammer” (Frankish King), 21 Martí, Farabundo, 677, 682, 689–690 Martí, José Americas, definition of, ix biography, 163–164 Cuban Revolutionary Party, founding of, 86, 155, 164, 203, 204, 231 Cuban wars for independence, 162–163, 164 death, 86, 155, 162, 164 ideology, 177, 183 Little War, 453 mentor, 163–164, 165 U.S. assistance, caution concerning, 454 in U.S., 164, 173, 183, 184, 213, 230 on Varela, 166 works by, 164 Martin, Del, 664 Martin, Frank, 489 Martin, Ricky albums, 847, 848, 854 biography, 859–861 as crossover artist, 853–854 crossover success, 853–854, 855 Evita (Broadway musical), 900 performances, 848, 854 Martínez, Antonio María de, 103, 117, 121, 190 Martínez, Elizabeth “Betita,” 518, 527, 529, 536, 544–545 Martinez, Elsie Schaffer, 388 Martinez, Matthew, 712, 726 Martinez, Mel, 866 Martinez, Myrna, 636

Index | 985 Martínez, Pedro, 585 Martinez, Rene, 564–565 Martinez, Susana, 867, 872 Martínez Campos y Antón, Arsenio, 196 Martínez Ybor, Vicente, 173, 174–176 Massey, Douglas S., 775, 782–783 Matamoros, Mexico, 283, 285 Matanza (massacre), 285, 288, 289, 290, 313, 317 Matos, Huber, 451, 459 The Mattachine Society, 660, 664 Matthews, Herbert L., 450, 458 Maverick, Maury, Sr., 493 Maxey, Thomas S., 317 Maya Cortés and, 37, 39–41, 47–48 current status, 12 Guatemala, 12, 678, 684, 686, 687, 692–693 NAFTA and, 12 slaves, 37, 39, 40, 41, 47–48 Spanish conquest, 18, 22, 37 traditional dress, 687 Maya, rise of (248 CE–898 CE), 1–17 biographies of notable figures, 13–16 calendar, 8–9 chronology, 1–3 Classic Period, 2–3, 8–9, 10, 13–14 human sacrifice, 14 Olmec influences on, 5 peopling of Yucatán, 8 Post-Classic, 11 religion, 7, 8–9, 14 writing, 10 Yucatec Maya, 3, 11 MAYO. See Mexican American Youth Organization Mayordomos (mission administrators), 101 Mazzoli, Romano L., 775, 783, 827 McAllen, James B., 283 McAllen, Texas, 282, 286

McCain, John, 879 McCarran-Walter Act (1952), 316, 501–502, 506, 593, 594 McCarthy, Joseph, 599, 660 McCollum, Kevin, 911 McConnell, Mitch, 880 McCormack, John, 605 McCormick, Paul J., 419, 420, 421, 425–427, 482 McCormick Theological Seminary, Chicago, 627, 633 McCullough, Thomas, 620 McDonald, Audra, 913 McDonnell, Donald, 619 McKinley, William Cuban Wars of Independence, 162–163, 203–204 insulted by Dupuy de Lôme, 196–197, 205 Proclamation of Benevolent Assimilation, 198 Puerto Rico and, 245, 248 Spanish-American War, 197, 205, 245, 248 Teller Amendment, 218 White House physician, 214 McWilliams, Carey, 404 Meany, George, 612 MEChA. See Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán Medical care, denied to undocumented immigrants, 826, 829 Medina, Eliseo, 618 Medina, Gualberto, 567–568 Medina Sánchez, Danilo, 585 Melendez, Ricky, 860 Memorial Day Massacre (1937), 365 Menchu, Rigoberta, 12, 678 Mendes, Sergio, 346 Méndez, Felícita, 428–430, 482 Méndez, Gonzalo, 419, 421, 424, 428–430, 431, 482 Méndez, Mario, 290

986 | Index Mendez v. Westminster (1945–1946), 417–434 amicus curiae (friend of the court) briefs, 420, 428 appeal, 420, 427–428, 431, 482 arguments, 424–425, 426 biographies of notable figures, 428–433 chronology, 385, 417–420 civil rights organizations and, 323 decision, 419, 420, 427 impact of, 420, 427–428, 484, 493 other Latino civil rights court victories, 422–423 plaintiffs, 419, 421, 424, 428–430, 431 ruling, 393, 482 Mendive, Rafael María de, 163–164, 165 Menendez, Robert, 461, 867, 871 Meneses, Laura, 300, 308, 309 Mennonites, 528 Menudo (boy band), 860 Merchant Marine Act. See Jones Act (U.S., 1920) Merchants of Labor (Galarza), 641 MERCOSUR (Southern Cone Common Market), 806 Mercurio (ship), 511 Mercury mines, 24–25, 66 Merkt, Stacey Lynn, 743 Merrill’s Marauders, 387 Mestizos, 26, 29, 49, 81 Mexica (Aztec) Empire biographies of notable figures, 14–16, 47–51 chronology, 36–38 class system, 15 conquest of, 7, 18, 22, 36–54 Cortés’s battles against, 18, 37–38, 44–46, 52–53 Cortés’s conquest of, 18, 38, 41, 43–44, 46–47 Cortés’s invasion of, 3, 7, 18 Cortés’s meetings with, 37, 41–42, 43–44

document excerpts, 51–53 Gonzalo Guerrero, 40 human sacrifice, 11, 16, 44, 49, 53, 391 Moctezuma I, 3, 11, 14–16 political authority, 14–16 religion, 7, 41, 49 rulers, 11–12 The Siege of Tenochtitlán (Florentine Codex), 51–53 vassal states, 15–16 See also Moctezuma II Mexicali, Mexico, 511 Mexican Agricultural Credit Bank. See Banco Nacional de Credito Agrícola Mexican American Cultural Center, San Antonio, 737 Mexican American Defense Committee, 419 Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF), 518, 536, 557, 835 The Mexican-American People (Grebler), 643 Mexican American Political Association, 895 Mexican-American War. See U.S.Mexican War Mexican-American Women’s Organization (MANA), 538, 543 Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO), 517, 530–531, 548, 642 Mexican Americans and Mexican immigrants Chicago, 476 citizenship, 286, 313, 315–316, 422 civil rights organizations, 314, 315, 317, 318–319 constitutional protections, 420, 484 ethnic pride, 106 Great Depression, 331–332 health care services, 314, 319, 321 hostile attitudes toward, 99, 105, 143–149, 487

Index | 987 identity, 324 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986), 773–775 land claims (1851), 99 Los Angeles, 330, 562 lynchings of, 98 Mexican Revolution, 273 military veterans, 385 number of, 330, 501, 596, 809 Operation Wetback and, 510–512 racial and ethnic classification of, 313, 314, 315–317, 320, 322–323, 330, 422–423, 495–496 school segregation and desegregation, 314, 315, 320, 323, 385 (See also Mendez v. Westminster) urban uprisings, 560, 562, 564–565 violence against, 286, 313, 317–318 World War I, 314, 318, 324 World War II, 387 See also Chavez Ravine; Mexican repatriation; specific topics and people Mexican Consulate, Mexican repatriation and, 338 Mexican Defense Committee, 432 Mexican Farm Labor Agreement. See Bracero Program Mexican Feminist League, 275 Mexican Hayride (Broadway show), 899 Mexican Honorable Commission. See Comisíon Honorífica Mexicana Mexican Liberal Party. See Partido Liberal Mexicano Mexican Protective League (Liga Protectora Mexicana), 481–482 Mexican repatriation (1930–1935), 329–344 California Apology Act, 340–343 chronology, 329–331 deportations, 330–333, 332, 335–336 Detroit, 372 document excerpts, 340–343

letter opposing repatriation drives (1930), 378–379 long-term effects, 340 Mexican Consulate and, 338 number repatriated, 418, 501, 592 Piña, Ignacio, 339 travel arrangements, 337 unintended results, 337–339 of U.S. citizens, 332–333, 336, 339, 368, 501 voluntary, 332, 336–337, 368 Mexican Revolution (1910–1921), 262–281 las Adelitas/Soldaderas, 271 biographies of notable figures, 274–275 chronology, 262–265 Constitutionalists, 264, 270–272 Conventionalists, 264, 270 document excerpts, 275–280 goals, 265, 270 life during the Porfiriato, 267–270 LRGV and, 287 migration, impact on, 266, 268, 272–274, 333, 500 military phase, end of, 314 Plan of San Luis Potosí (Madero), 263, 270, 278–280 political uprisings begin, 270–272 railroads, 268 women in, 271, 275–278 Mexico agrarian reforms, 813, 817, 819 border with U.S., 136, 141, 202, 330 British recognition of, 78 citizenship regulations, 99–100 Constitution (1824), 117, 133 constitution (1917), 264–265, 272 Cordoba, Treaty of, 133 currency crisis, 806 economy, 811–812 foreign investment, 262, 267, 269, 811–812 GATT, 805

988 | Index Mexico (cont.) immigration policies, 97, 103–104, 129–131 Imperial Colonization Law, 104, 111 independence, 19, 77, 85, 90, 91 Independence Day, 76, 90 independence efforts, 76, 82, 84, 89, 90 Jesuits, expulsion from Spanish colonies, 29 Law of April 6, 1830, 97, 103, 117, 124 Legion of Foreigners, 140 Mexican-American War, 86–87 mineral resources, 262, 267, 269 modernization and industrialization, 262 NAFTA, 805–806 National Colonization Law (1824), 96, 110–112 New Laws (1542), 23, 32 population, 268 Provincias Internas (internal provinces), 120 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 300, 308 railroads, 262, 267, 268 secularization act (1833), 100–101 silver mines, 24 slavery, prohibition on, 104–105, 117, 124, 140, 202 Spanish colonization, 22–23, 25, 29, 30 Spanish missions, 20, 30 trade, 99, 101–102 (See also North American Free Trade Agreement) U.S. expansionism, 201–202 See also Anglo-American colonization of Northern Mexico; Texas War for Independence; U.S.-Mexican War Mexico City, Mexico coup against New Spain, 76 “La Decena Tragica” (The Tragic Ten Days), 263 Mexican independence movement, 91

Mexican Revolution, 264 renamed from Tenochtitlán, 47 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 139 See also Tenochtitlán Mexico City Pact, 450, 457–458 Mexico Texano Protective Club (Club Protector Mexico-Texano), 482 Meyer, Philipp, 289 Mga Gunita ng Himagsikan (Aguinaldo), 218 Mi Raza Primero (My Race First) conference, 542 “Mi Reflejo” (Camarillo), 550–554 Mi Reflejo (Christina Aguilera album), 848, 856 Mi Tierra (Gloria Estefan album), 847 Miami, Florida Cuban refugees and exiles, 451–452, 459–460, 465 election of Latinos, 461, 865 Mariel Boatlift, 755, 760, 762 racial and ethnic tensions, 762–763 Univision headquarters, 796 urban uprisings, 558 Miami Herald, 762, 766 The Miami Latin Boys, 846 M.I.A.M.I (Pitbull album), 849 Miami Sound Machine, 846, 848, 850–851, 853 Michelmore, Peter, 762 Michigan, 336, 415–416, 436, 444 Midway, Battle of (1942), 384 Midwest Council of La Raza (MWCLR), 549, 550 Mier y Terán, Manuel, 104, 124, 129 Migrant workers, 370, 549–550 Migration. See Bracero Program; Central American civil wars and migration; specific countries Migration Policy Institute, 780–781 Miles, Nelson Appleton, 246, 248–249 Miller, Edward G., 588 Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 528

Index | 989 Mine-Mill union, 371–372 Mining, 23–25, 98, 267, 371–372 Minneapolis, Minnesota, 478 Minority AIDS Project, 668 Miranda, Carmen, 346, 355, 850, 899, 903–904 Miranda, Francisco de, 81, 88 Miranda, Lin-Manuel, 899–922 awards, 901, 906, 912 biography, 910–912 Bring It On, 901, 912 casting, 902, 907, 909 chronology, 899–901 cultural significance, 902, 903, 904, 907, 908, 909, 910 document excerpts, 914–920 The Hamilton Mixtape, 900, 901, 908–909 Hamilton parallels, 901–902, 914–915 Kail and, 900, 901, 909–914 Moana, songs for, 902, 912 Pence, message to, 910 West Side Story, translating lyrics for, 901, 906, 912 White House performance, 900, 909 See also Hamilton; In the Heights Miranda, Luis, 910–911, 911–912 Miranda-Crespo, Luiz, 911–912 Miró Cardona, J., 451 Mission, Texas, 286 Missionaries, to Pueblo people, 59, 60, 61, 65 Mississippi, rebellion against (1915), 287 Missouri Compromise, 98 Mistral, Gabriela, 309 Mita (forced loans), 81 Mitchell, H. L., 612 MLEA. See Mujeres Latinas en Acción Moana (movie), 902, 912 Moctezuma I, 3, 11, 14–16 Moctezuma II biography, 49–51 chronology, 3, 36, 37

Cortés and, 7, 18, 37, 41–44, 45, 47, 49, 50–51 death, 38, 44, 45, 51 power, 11–12, 49–50 Spanish conquest of Tenochtitlán, 52 Modesto, California, 887 Los Mojados (Samora), 643 Molina, Arturo, 680, 733 Molina, Natalia, 367 Moncada Army Barracks, Santiago, Cuba, 209, 450, 457, 463 Mondale, Walter, 621 Monroe, James, 78, 153, 159, 201 Monroe Doctrine, 78, 153, 159, 201, 202 Montague, Brian, 491 Monte Albán, Mexico, 1, 2 Monte de las Cruces, Mexico, 91 Montejano, David, 369 Montemayor, Alice Dickerson, 321 Monterrey, Mexico, 137 Montes, Ana, 537 Montesinos, Antonio de, 31–32 Montgomery, Wes, 358 Montour, Eddie, 539 Montoya, Joseph, 711, 712, 866 Montserrat, Joaquín de, 29–30 Mooney, Alex, 869, 871 Moore, John Henry, 117, 125 Moors, 21, 31 Moraes, Vinicius De, 356 Moraga, Cherríe, 523, 538, 546, 669 Morales, Bartolomé, 165 Morales, Iris, 637 Morales, Ismael, 347 Morelos, José María, 76, 77, 82, 89, 90 Morelos (state), Mexico, 262, 264 Moreno, Luisa, 182, 365, 371, 375–377 Moreno, Vincent, 387 Moret Law (Cuba, 1910), 208–209 Moret Law (Spain, 1870), 161 Morillo, Pablo, 77, 83 Mormino, Gary, 188–191 Mormon Battalion, 137

990 | Index Moro Rebellion (1899–1913), 215, 217 Moscoso, Teodoro, 435, 439–440, 445–446 Mottola, Tommy, 854, 856, 857 Mountjoy, Richard, 829 El Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán (MEChA), 526, 545, 667, 895 La Mujer Despierta conference, 542 Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social (MALCS; Women Active in Scholarship and Social Change), 538, 545–546, 652 Mujeres de la Raza Unida (Women of the Raza Unida), 548 Mujeres Latinas en Acción (MLEA; Latina Women in Action), 528, 542, 544 Mulroney, Brian, 806 Mun2 (cable network), 799 Munemitsu, Seiko L., 429, 430 Muñiz, Rodolfo, 282 Muñoz, Eusebio “Cabito” (Little Corporal), 354 Muñoz Barrios, Luis Ramón, 255 Muñoz Lee, Muna, 442 Muñoz Marín, Luis Albizu Campos and, 309 economic reforms, 438–439, 446 elected governor, 256–257, 436, 438 popularity, 310 PPD, 305, 306 Muñoz Rivera, Luis Autonomist Party, founding of, 245, 255 biography, 255–257 Foraker Act and, 256 Jones-Shafroth Act and, 252, 255, 256 in New York City, 246, 256 as politician, 246, 247, 255–256 portrait, 253 Munyon, Thomas, 627 Murals, 523 Murray, Julia, 673

Museo del Barrio, East Harlem, 629 Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba, 456 Musgrave, G. C., 169–171 Music. See Latin explosion; Latin jazz Muskegon, Michigan, 542, 549 Muslim Moors, 21, 31 Músquiz, Ramón, 125 Mutual aid societies (mutualistas) Mexican and Mexican American, 321 Texas, 286, 317 Ybor City, Florida, 173–174, 176, 177, 185, 186 MWCLR (Midwest Council of La Raza), 549, 550 My Race First (Mi Raza Primero) conference, 542 “My Shot” (song), 901 NAACP. See National Association for the Advancement of Colored People NACCS (National Association for Chicana and Chicano Studies), 643, 652 NACFL (National Advisory Committee on Farm Labor), 402, 410 NACOPRW (National Conference of Puerto Rican Women), 537 NACS (National Association for Chicano Studies), 545, 644 Nadal, Vanessa, 911, 912 Nafarrate, Emiliano P., 283, 288, 290 NAFTA. See North American Free Trade Agreement Nagasaki, Japan, 384 “Nague” (song), 345, 354 Nahua culture, 5, 7, 37 Nahuatl language, 41, 47 NALDO. See National Association of Latino Democratic Officials NALEO. See National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials

Index | 991 Napoleon I, Emperor (France) invasion of Portugal, 80, 82, 86 invasion of Spain, 19, 28, 80, 82, 90, 152, 201 military strategies, 87–88 Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815), 28, 75, 80, 82, 90, 152 Napolitano, Grace, 726 Naranjo, Pedro, 70–72 Nariño, Antonio, 81 Narváez, Pánfilo de Cortés and, 37, 44, 45, 46 expedition to Florida, 54–55, 58, 59 Nashville, Tennessee, 887 Nation of Immigrants (Kennedy), 593 National Action Party. See Partido de Acción Nacional National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, 565 National Advisory Committee on Farm Labor (NACFL), 402, 410 National Agricultural Workers Union (NAWU), 612 The National Alliance for Human Rights, 889 National Association for Chicana and Chicano Studies (NACCS), 643, 652 National Association for Chicano Studies (NACS), 545, 644 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 323, 420, 427, 428 National Association of Latino Democratic Officials (NALDO), 724, 865 National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials (NALEO), 724, 865, 866, 868–869 National Caucus of Chicano Social Scientists (NCCSS), 545 National Chicana Conference. See Conferencia de Mujeres por la Raza National Colonization Law (Mexico, 1824), 96, 110–112

National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform, 786 National Conference of Puerto Rican Women (NACOPRW), 537 National Council of La Raza (NCLR), 644, 892. See also Southwest Council of La Raza National Day Laborers’ Networks (NDLN), 894 National Day of Action (2006), 887, 895, 896 National Domestic Workers Alliance, 371 National Farm Labor Union (NFLU), 401, 409–410, 412–413, 511, 618 National Farm Workers Association (NFWA) Delano Grape Strike, 517, 521–522, 610, 615, 619 founding of, 517, 610, 619, 620 strategy, 614 UFW formation, 522, 610, 616, 619 National Hispanic Media Coalition, 796, 803 National Labor Relations Act (NLRA, 1935), 365, 371, 617 National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights (1979), 661 National Musical Theater Conference, 900 National Organization for Mexican American Services (NOMAS), 641, 642 National Origins Act (1924), 594 The National (sports newspaper), 802 Nationalism, 318, 319 Nationalist-citizenship, 318, 319 Nationalist Party of Puerto Rico. See Puerto Rican Nationalist Party Nationality Act (1940), 315, 316, 322 Native Americans citizenship, 315–316 segregation and, 417, 421, 484 U.S. expansionism and, 203

992 | Index Nativism defined, 331 Great Depression, 331–332, 334–335, 367, 368 “illegal aliens,” 368 Proposition 185 (California; 1994), 831–832 Nava, Gregory, 848, 853, 859 Navajo, 58 Navarro, Angel, 124 Navarro, José Antonio, 122, 123, 124, 130 NAWU (National Agricultural Workers Union), 612 Nazario, Ednita, 848, 900, 905, 907 NBCUniversal, 799 NBCUniverso, 799 NCCSS (National Caucus of Chicano Social Scientists), 545 NCLB. See No Child Left Behind NCLR. See National Council of La Raza NDLN (National Day Laborers’ Networks), 894 Near West Side Planning Board (NWSPB), 476 Nebraska, 415–416 “The Negro Digs Up His Past” (Schomburg), 227, 238 Negro Leagues (baseball), 232 Negro Society for Historical Research, 226, 238 Negrón-Muntaner, Frances, 906 Nelson, Alan, 829 NEP (non-English proficient) students, 697 Neri, Felipe Enrique (Baron de Bastrop), 117, 121 Neruda, Pablo, 309 Nettie Lee Benson Latin American Collection Library, 394 Neuman, Gerald L., 254 Nevada, 98, 287, 867 New Deal, 181, 331, 334–335

New Granada, 77, 81, 82, 83, 85, 88. See also Colombia; Ecuador; Panama; Venezuela New Haven, Connecticut, 560 New Laws (1542), 18, 23, 32 New Masses (journal), 187, 188 New Mexico Anglo-American colonization, 96, 102, 103 drought and famine (1600s), 55, 56, 57, 62, 65, 69 election of Latinos, 866, 867, 872, 873 encomienda labor system, 62, 65 Four Corners region, 58 Franciscans, 61 Great Depression, 335 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 98 land reform movement, 524 Latino Religious Resurgence, 737 Mexican-American land claims, 99 Mexican Americans, as “bandits,” 98 purchase by U.S., 97, 135 rebellion against (1915), 287, 291–292 repartimiento labor system, 62 slavery, 62 Spanish colonization, 55, 57, 58–60 Spanish governance, cruelty of, 60, 62, 65 statehood, 98 trade, 96 U.S.-Mexican War, 137, 138, 143 See also Pueblo people; Pueblo Revolt New Mexico Territory, 98, 99 The New Negro (Locke), 238 New Orleans, Louisiana, 338, 742 New Progressive Party (Puerto Rico), 715 New Sanctuary Movement, 732 New Spain, 18, 30, 76, 82, 90. See also Mexico New York City baseball, 226 bilingual education, 699 Board of Education, 695

Index | 993 cigar industry, 226, 240, 241 Cuban community, 160, 161–163, 225, 229–233 Dominican immigrants, 230 “Garbage Offensive,” 627, 633–635 garment industry, 310, 375 gay rights, 660–661, 665–667 Hispanic American associations, 226 immigrant rights marches (2006), 887, 894t Latin jazz, 345–348, 350–353, 354, 358, 360 lead poisoning, 635 manufacturing jobs, loss of, 561 Migration Division of Puerto Rico, 436, 441 Puerto Rican independence rally, 297 Puerto Rican population, 226, 227, 233, 234, 562 Puerto Ricans in, 228, 229, 233–239, 309–310, 699 Spanish-American War, 204 Spanish Benevolent Society, 225 Stonewall Riots, 665–667 tuberculosis, 635–636 uprisings, 556, 558, 560, 563, 567 urban renewal, 478–479 U.S.-Mexican War rally, 136 Young Lords Organization, 627, 629–630, 630, 633–636 See also Caribbean migration to New York City (1870s–1920s) New York City Nationalist Party, 297, 303–304, 306, 310–311 New York Giants, 232 New York Herald, 134, 136 New York Journal, 163, 196 New York Public Library, 238 New York Times Castro interview, 450, 458 Celler’s obituary, 600 Hamilton review, 901, 909 Latina reporters, 766

Mariel Boatlift coverage, 755, 758, 760–761, 765–766 Payán interview, 586 Proposition 185 op-ed piece, 831–832 The New York World, 163, 196 New York Yankees, 232 Newark, New Jersey, 564 Newton, Huey, 626 NFLU. See National Farm Labor Union NFWA. See National Farm Workers Association Ngai, Mae M., 336, 367 Nicaragua CAFTA-DR, 807 civil war, causes of, 679, 688 civil war, refugees from, 686–688, 733, 738 Contras, 678, 684, 691, 730, 734 earthquakes, 677, 681, 682, 733 Kupia-Kumi Pact, 681 liberation movement, 677 opposition movements, 681, 682, 688–689, 690 overthrow of Somoza, 729, 733 Reagan’s address on, 690–692 Sandinistas (FSLN), 677, 678, 679, 682, 684, 689, 691, 729, 733 slavery, 202 Somoza’s corruption, 677, 681, 682 split from Federal Republic of Central America, 78, 85 U.S. immigrants from, 598, 687, 785–786 U.S. influence in, 679, 684, 688–689, 733, 734 Nicaraguan Adjustment and Central American Relief Act (1997), 744 Nichols, Alan H., 700, 706 Nielsen Television Index, 793, 799 Nieto-Gómez, Anna, 519, 529 “A Night in Tunisia” (song), 345, 353 Night of Sorrows (La Noche Triste), 18, 38

994 | Index Nixon, Richard, 786 Niza, Marcos de, 55, 59 NLRA. See National Labor Relations Act No Child Left Behind (NCLB) Act (2002), 696, 698 La Noche Triste (Night of Sorrows), 18 Nogales, Mexico, 739 Nojpetén, Guatemala, 18 NOMAS (National Organization for Mexican American Services), 641, 642 Non-English proficient (NEP) students, 697 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA, 1994), 805–824 background, 809–810 backlash, xix biographies of notable figures, 819–821 chronology, 805–807 critics of, 810–811 document excerpts, 821–823 environmental impact (actual), 813–814 environmental impact (anticipated), 811 excerpt from, 821–823 Fox Quesada, Vicente, 819–821 impact (actual), 812–815 impact (anticipated), 770, 810–812 labor concerns, 810–811 Marcos, Subcomandante, 819 Maya and, 12 Mexico, impact on (actual), 812–815, 814t Mexico, impact on (anticipated), 810 migration, post-NAFTA, 815–818 objectives, 822–823 preamble, 821–822 supporters of, 810 undocumented migration and, 810, 815–816 Zapatista Movement, 817 North Dakota, 415–416

Northwest Tree Planters and Farm Workers United (Pineros y Campesinos Unidos Noroeste), 529 Not One More (anti-deportation campaign), 894 Noticiero Telemundo (television news program), 798 Noticiero Univision (television news program), 802 Novello, Antonia, 866 Nueces River, as Mexico-U.S. border, 136 Nueces Strip, 284, 286, 287 “La Nueva Chicana” (Montes), 537 El Nuevo Herald, 766 Nuevo León (state), Mexico, 120 Nuevo Santander, 285–286 Nunez, Pete, 829 Nuremberg, Germany, 384 NWSPB (Near West Side Planning Board), 476 Oakland, California, 887 Oaxaca, Mexico, 50 Obama, Barack Borinqueneers and, 388 Cuba, relations with, 764 DACA and, 771, 887, 894 DAPA and, 888, 894 Democratic National Convention (2004), 877 drones in counterterrorism missions, 879 Huerta’s Presidential Medal of Freedom, 620 Latino appointees, 868, 872, 877 Miranda, Lin-Manuel and, 900, 909 National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform, 786 support for, 867, 893 TPP and, 818 Obama, Michelle, 797, 900, 909 Obregon, Alvaro, 264, 265, 272 Obsidian, 6, 9

Index | 995 Occupied America (Acuña), 519, 520, 643 OCPA (Orange County Protective Association), 373 O’Donojú, Captain General, 77 O’Farrill, Chico, 352 Office of Labor, 401, 407 Office of Labor Statistics, 781 O’Higgins, Bernardo, 77, 83 Ohkay Owingeh, New Mexico, 68. See also San Juan (pueblo), New Mexico Ojito, Mirta, 764–766 Ojito, Orestes, 765–766 Ojito, Oswaldo, 765 Ojo de Agua, Battle of (1915), 284, 289, 291 “Ojos Asi” (song), 855 OKA. See Order Knights of America Okinawa, Battle of (1945), 384, 386, 387 Oklahoma, rebellion against (1915), 287 Old Three Hundred (Texas colonizers), 103, 117–118, 122–123, 125–126 Olivares, Luis, 731, 742, 743, 746 Olivarez, Grace, 537 Oliver, Denise, 636, 637 Olmec culture, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 Olmos, Edward James, 848 O’Malley, Walter, 468, 474–475 Oms, Alejandro, 232 “On Civil Disobedience” (Thoreau), 136–137 On the 6 (Jennifer Lopez album), 848, 854 Oñate y Salazar, Juan de, 55, 60, 61, 70 ONE Inc., 660, 664 ONE Magazine, 660, 664 O’Neill, Tip, 712, 719 The Onion (satirical news organization), 793, 800 Operation Blockade, 806, 815 Operation Bootstrap (1948–1964), 434–449 biographies of notable figures, 445–446 chronology, 434–436 document excerpts, 446–448

emigration, 436, 437, 440–444 industrialization, 435, 436–437, 438, 439–440 regulations for recruiting workers, 446–448 success, 437 women during, 442 Operation Cloudburst, 508 Operation D-Day. See D-Day Operation Gatekeeper, 806, 815, 885–886 Operation Hold the Line, 806, 815, 885 Operation Pedro Pan, 460 Operation Rio Grande, 806, 815 Operation Safeguard, 806, 815, 886 Operation Sojourner, 730, 743 Operation Wetback (1954), 500–516 Bracero Program and, 411, 504–506, 509 chronology, 500–502 document excerpts, 512–515 harassment and abuse in, 511 impact of, 503, 511 Jiltonilro, Avotcja, 512–515 mass deportations of Mexican immigrants, 331 media campaign, 503, 507–510 Mexican American community and, 510–512 number of deportations, 503, 593 precursors, 410 public support for, 507–511, 512 purpose, 502 wrongful repatriations, 402, 511 The Oppressed People of America! (¡Los Pueblos Oprimidos de América!), 282, 287, 291 Orange County, California citrus strikes, 365, 372–374 CUCOM, founding of, 364 Doss v. Bernal, 432 housing discrimination, 419, 425 immigrant rights march (2006), 887 Latino vote, 825

996 | Index Orange County, California (cont.) Mexican population, 418 Mexican repatriation, 418 school segregation, 323, 385, 418, 421, 423 (See also Mendez v. Westminster) Orange County Protective Association (OCPA), 373 Orden Caballeros de Honor (Order of the Knights of Honor), 317 Orden Hijos de America (Order of the Sons of America) citizenship requirement, 319 founding, 314, 318–319, 482 legal assistance provided by, 486 LULAC formation, 324–325, 330, 482 splintering, 319 Order Knights of America (OKA), 319, 325, 330, 482, 486 Order Sons of Texas (OST), 482, 486 Ordóñez, Friar Isidro, 60, 61 Organic Act (1850), 98, 212 Organization of American Historians, ix Orozco, Cynthia, 319 Orozco, Pasqual, 263, 270 Ortega, Daniel, 679 Orthodox Political Party (Partido del Pueblo Cubano Ortodoxo), 457, 463 Ortíz, David, 585 Ortiz, Solomon, 712, 726 OSA. See Orden Hijos de America Oscar de la Hoya (album), 848, 856 OST (Order Sons of Texas), 482, 486 O’Sullivan, John, 153 Otermín, Antonio de, 55, 63 Ovando, Nicolás de, 31 Oxnard, California, 609, 613, 619 “Oye Como Va” (song), 851 “Oye Mi Canto” (song), 847, 848, 850 Pachuca/os. See Zoot suit culture Pacific Northwest, Chicano movement, 528–529 Pacino, Al, 761

Pact of Zanjón. See Zanjón, Pact of Padilla, Elena, 442, 647 Padilla, Ezequiel, 413 Padilla, Gilbert, 609, 610, 614, 620 Padilla, Manuel, 84 Padilla Nervo, Luis, 415–416 PADRES (Catholic Church group), 737 Pagani, Luana, 854 País, Frank, 458 Pakal, K’inich Janab’, 13–14 Palacios, Alberto, 743 Palacios, Carlos, 87 Palacios Rubios, Juan López de, 33–35 Palacios y Blanco, María de la Concepción, 87 El Paladin (newspaper), 325–326 Palenque (Classic Maya site), 3, 13–14 Palladium Ballroom, New York City, 357, 360 Palmero, Emilio, 232 Palo Verde (barrio), Los Angeles. See Chavez Ravine Palomino, Frank, 421, 424 Palomino, Irene, 424 Palomino family, 419 Pan American Airlines, 435 Pan American Progressive Association, 721 Pan-American Union, 404 PAN (Partido de Acción Nacional), 820 Panama establishment of, 198 in Gran Colombia, 88 independence, 79, 80, 85 United States-Panama Trade Promotion Agreement, 807 U.S. influence in, 79, 85, 198 See also New Granada Panama Canal, 198, 388 Panama Hattie (Broadway show), 899 Panic (1819), 103 Pantoja, Antonia, 556 Panźos, Guatemala, 678, 684

Index | 997 Paraguay, 76, 83, 806 Paredes, Américo, 289, 641, 647 Paris, Treaty of (1898) Cuba and, 198, 200, 208, 219–220, 226, 246, 249 exclusion of Spain’s former colonies from negotiations, 206 foundation for, 197 Guam and, 198, 200, 219–220, 226, 249 Philippines and, 198, 200, 216–217, 219–220, 226, 249 Puerto Rico and, 200, 219–220, 246, 249, 250–251, 258 ratification, 249 text of, 219–221 Park Palace Ballroom, New York City, 345, 347–348, 352 Parker, Charlie, 353 Parra, Ricardo, 550 Parsley massacre, 574, 580 Partido de Acción Nacional (PAN, National Action Party), 820 Partido de Acción Unitaria (United Action Party; PAU), 457 Partido del Pueblo Cubano Ortodoxo (Orthodox Political Party), 457, 463 Partido Liberal Mexicano (Mexican Liberal Party, PLM), 262, 275 Partido Nacionalista (PN). See Puerto Rican Nationalist Party El Partido Revolucionario Cubano. See Cuban Revolutionary Party Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), 265, 802, 817, 820 Partido Socialista Popular (Popular Socialist Party), 458, 464 Passaic, New Jersey, 562, 563 Passport Act (1918), 592 Pastor, Ed, 712, 726 Paterson, New Jersey, 563 Patiño Río, Dolores, 191–194 Patlán, Ignacio, 530

Patlán, Juan, 531, 642 PATRIOT Act. See U.S.A. PATRIOT Act PAU (Partido de Acción Unitaria), 457 Paul Whitman Orchestra, 350 Payán, Ilka Tanya, 585–587 PDP. See Popular Democratic Party “The Peanut Vendor” (“El Manisero”), 350 Pearl Harbor, Japanese attack on, 383 Pecan industry, 377–378 Peckham, Robert Francis, 706 Pedro I, King (Brazil), 78, 80, 86 Pedro II, King (Brazil), 79 Pedroso, Paulina, 183–185 Pedroso, Ruperto, 183, 185 Peña, Federico, 865, 866 Pence, Mike, 909–910 Pendas, Enrique, 241 Peninsulares (Spanish administrators), 28, 80–81, 156, 158 Pentagon, September 11 terrorist attacks, 771 People en Español, 852 People magazine, 848, 852, 859 Perales, Alonso S., 324–325 Peralta, Pedro de, 61 Peraza, Armando, 361 Perenchio, Jerrold, 792, 795, 798 Pérez, Chris, 858 Perez, Ignacio, 642 Pérez, Louis, Jr., 454 Perez Prado, Damaso, 361 Pérez-Serantes, Enrique, 457 Perluss, Irving, 623 Permanent alien resident status, 827 Permanent Treaty (1903), 455 Perón, Eva, 899, 900 Perris, California, 425 Perry, Rick, 876 Pershing, John J., 264, 272 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act (1996), 719, 771, 886

998 | Index Peru Ayacucho, Battle of (1824), 19, 153 Bolívar as president of, 89 Cuban asylum seekers, 754, 757–758 demographics, 80 Encomenderos Revolt, 18, 23 independence, 77, 78, 85, 89 independence efforts, 19, 81, 82, 83, 85, 89 New Laws (1542), 23, 32 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 300, 308 Spanish colonization, 22–23 Tupac Amaru Rebellion (1780–1782), 27–28 United States-Peru Trade Promotion Agreement (PTPA), 807 U.S. immigrants from, 597 U.S. recognition of, 78 Pfaelzer, Mariana, 825, 834 Pharr, Texas, 557 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 441, 478, 636 Philadelphia, SS, 257 Philip V, King (Spain), 18 Philippine-American War (1899–1902), 198, 210, 217 Philippine Insurrection (1902), 198 Philippine Organic Act (1902), 198 Philippine Revolution (1896), 216 Philippines autonomy, 199 commonwealth government, 199 independence, declaration of, 197, 206, 216 Luce-Celler Act and, 599 nationalism, 216–217 Paris, Treaty of, 198, 200, 216–217, 219–220, 226, 249 Philippine-American War, 199, 210 Proclamation of Benevolent Assimilation (1898), 198 revolution against Spain, 196 sovereignty from U.S., 199

Spanish-American War, 200, 200–201, 205, 206, 216–218 U.S. intervention in, 198, 200–201, 206–207, 215–216, 248 U.S. labor importation program, 410 World War II, 217, 387 Philips, Flip, 353 Phoenix, Arizona, 642, 834, 886, 894t Pichincha, Battle of (1822), 78, 85, 88 “Pickers Are Ambushed on Way to Work” (Santa Ana Register, July 3, 1936), 380 Pico, Andres, 138 Pico Rivera United Methodist Church, Los Angeles, 736 Picuris pueblo, New Mexico, 69 Pierce, Franklin, 142, 154, 160 Pilgrim (brig), 106 Piña, Ignacio, 339 Piñero, Jesús, 438, 440 Pineros y Campesinos Unidos Noroeste (Northwest Tree Planters and Farm Workers United), 529 PIP (Puerto Rican Independence Party), 307 Piro (Pueblo linguistic group), 57, 63 Pitbull, 849 Pitbull’s New Year’s Revolution (televised concert), 849 Pixley, California, 371 Pizaña, Aniceto, 282, 283, 287, 291 Pizarro, Francisca (daughter), 26 Pizarro, Francisco, 18, 26, 32, 59 Pizarro, Hernando, 32 Placido (Schomburg), 238 La Placita church, Los Angeles, 731, 742, 743, 746 Plains Indians, 65, 137 Plan de Agua Prieta (Obregon), 265 El Plan de Ayala (Zapata), 263, 270 Plan de Guadalupe (Carranza), 264, 271–272 Plan de Iguala (1821), 19, 77, 85

Index | 999 Plan de San Diego (1915), 282–283, 287, 290, 291–294 El Plan de Santa Barbara, 518, 525–526, 536, 642, 647 Plan of San Luis Potosí (Madero), 263, 270, 278–280 Plant, Henry B., 173 Plant System, 173 Plata, Teodoro, 216 Platt, Orville, 222 Platt Amendment (1901) Cuban discontent with, 455 forced adoption of, 198, 208, 215, 222, 454 repeal of, 199, 209, 450, 455, 456 terms of, 198, 208, 449, 454 text of, 222–224 Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), 418, 420, 427 PLM. See Partido Liberal Mexicano Plyler v. Doe (1982), 832 PN. See Puerto Rican Nationalist Party PNP (New Progressive Party), 715 Polanco, Dascha, 585 Police violence, sparking uprisings agent provocateurs and informers, 566–567 Camden, New Jersey, 557, 567–568 Chicago, 556–557, 560, 562–563, 627 Dallas, Texas, 557, 564–565 Houston, Texas, 558, 565 Los Angeles, 519, 526, 556, 557, 558, 564, 569, 837 Miami, 558 New York City, 556, 558, 560, 563, 567, 660–661, 665–667, 672 Newark, New Jersey, 564 Pomona, California, 560 uprisings or riots?, 559 Washington, D.C., 566–567 Polk, James K. Cuba purchase offer, 153, 159–160 election, 133 expansionism, 133

Gold Rush, 134 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 141 portrait, 135 purchase of California and New Mexico, 97, 135–136 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 98, 134, 136, 137, 138–139 Pomona, California, 560 Pompez, Alejandro, 226, 230–231, 232 Ponce, Puerto Rico, 199, 211, 296, 303, 445 Pontiac’s Rebellion (1763–1768), 201 Poor People’s Campaign, 524, 533 Popé biography, 68–70 legacy, 69–70 power base, 63 Pueblo governance, 56, 64, 69 Pueblo Revolt, 55–56, 57, 62–63, 68–69, 71–72 statue, 57, 70 vision in Taos kiva, 68–69, 70, 71, 72 Popular Democratic Party (PPD), 305, 306, 307, 715 Popular Front, 174, 182 Popular Socialist Party (Partido Socialista Popular), 458, 464 “Por Arriba, Por Abajo” (song), 848 Portillo, Lourdes, 852 Porto Rican Stars (baseball team), 232 Porto Rico (as U.S. spelling for Puerto Rico), 246, 247, 249 Portolá, Gaspar de, 30 Portugal, Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815), 80, 82, 86 Porvenir Massacre (1918), 314, 317 Potosí (city), Bolivia, 24 Potosí (silver mine), Bolivia, 24 Poulson, Norris, 474 Powell, James, 556, 560 Pozo, Chano, 345, 346, 352–354 PPD. See Popular Democratic Party Pradt, Dominique de, 93

1000 | Index PRC. See Cuban Revolutionary Party “Preciosa” (song), 227, 236, 237 Pren, Karen, 775 Presbyterian Church, 730, 737–738 The Presidential Succession in 1910 (La Sucesion Presidencial en 1910) (Madero), 262 PRI. See Partido Revolucionario Institucional PRIDCO (Puerto Rican Industrial Development Company), 435 Prieto, Jorge, 544 Prieto, Luz María, 544 Primer Congreso Mexicanista (1911), 263, 286, 313, 317, 321 Primitive Love (Miami Sound Machine), 846 Prince, Ron, 831 Principles on Immigration Reform and Our Commitment to the American Dream (Congressional Hispanic Caucus, 2012), 724–726 Prío Socarrás, Carlos, 450 PRLDEF (Puerto Rican Legal Defense and Education Fund), 699 Proclamation of Benevolent Assimilation (1898), 198 Profile on the Mexican-American Woman (Cotera), 548 El Progreso (Laredo newspaper), 275 Prohibition, 770 Project Venceremos, 550 Proposition 14 (California), 610, 617 Proposition 58 (California), 696, 705 Proposition 63 (California), 824, 828 Proposition 185 (California; 1994), 824–846 aftermath and legacy, 826–827, 835–836, 839 background, 827–829 ballot referendum, 825, 829–832 ballot results, 834–835, 885 biographies of notable figures, 836–839

boycott of California, 834 chronology, 824–825 conspiracy theories concerning, 831–832 court challenges, 825, 835 document excerpts, 839–844 education denied to undocumented immigrants, 826, 829, 843–844 excerpt from, 839–844 grassroots activism, 826, 829, 831 medical care denied to undocumented immigrants, 826, 829, 842–843 opposition to, 824, 825, 826, 832–834, 835 racial profiling, 833 “Save Our State” initiative, 826, 831 social services denied to undocumented immigrants, 841–842 sports boycotts, 834 support for, 825, 829, 831–832, 834, 838 temporary injunction against, 825, 834 undocumented immigration throughout U.S. history, 830 Proposition 207 (California), 837 Proposition 225 (California, 1998), 696, 705, 708–709 Proposition B (California), 468 Proyecto Libertad, 739 PRSA. See Puerto Rican Studies Association PSD. See Plan de San Diego PSP (Puerto Rican Socialist Party), 307 PTPA (United States-Peru Trade Promotion Agreement), 807 Public housing Chicago, 625, 626 as communist practice, 468, 472 Los Angeles, 467, 468–469, 471, 472, 474 Public Theater, New York City, 901, 909 Pueblo people Anasazi as ancestors, 59 encomienda labor system, 62, 65

Index | 1001 kachina worship, 58, 59, 60, 61, 64 linguistic groups, 57 missionaries to, 59, 60, 61, 62, 68 move to Rio Grande Valley, 54, 58 origins, 58 overview, 57–58 population decline, 58, 62 religion, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 68 repartimiento system, 62 Spanish colonization, 18, 55, 57, 58–60 Spanish expeditions, 54–55 Spanish governance, cruelty of, 60, 62 See also Pueblo Revolt (1680) Pueblo Revolt (1680), 54–74 biographies of notable figures, 66–70 causes, 61, 62 chronology, 18, 54–56 colonization of New Mexico, 58–60 Declaration of Pedro Naranjo of the Queres Nation (1681), 70–72 document excerpts, 70–72 execution of missionaries, 60, 63 kachina, 59 knotted cord as symbol of, 55, 63, 71 legacy, 65–66, 69–70 Ordóñez, Friar Isidro, 61 planning of, 55–56, 62–63, 68, 70–71 Popé, 68–70 Pueblos without the Spanish, 64–65, 69 reconquest, 56, 57, 65–67 uprising, 62–64 See also Pueblo people ¡Los Pueblos Oprimidos de América! (The Oppressed People of America!), 282, 287, 291 Puente, Tito biography, 359–360 influences on, 348, 352 The Machito Afro-Cubans (band), 354 “Oye Como Va” (song), 851 Tito Puente Orchestra, 346, 357, 361 Puerto Rican Americans (Fitzpatrick), 643

Puerto Rican Economic Development Administration (Fomento), 435, 436, 439 Puerto Rican Independence Party (PIP), 307 Puerto Rican Industrial Development Company (PRIDCO), 435 Puerto Rican Legal Defense and Education Fund (PRLDEF), 699 Puerto Rican movement, origins of, 646–647 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, 295–312 Albizu Campos and, 298–299, 300, 307–309 biographies of notable figures, 307–311 Blair House, attack on, 297, 306 Cadetes de la República (Cadets of the Republic), 295, 298–299, 308 chronology, 295–297 creation of a commonwealth, 304–306 Ejército Libertador (Liberation Army), 296, 299, 308 electoral boycott, 296 Enfermeras de la República (Nurses of the Republic), 295, 298–299, 302 founding, 211, 295, 297 goals and ideology, 295, 297–298, 299, 308 international support for, 296, 300, 304, 309 labor unrest, 437 Lares, gathering at, 299–301 Nationalists on trial, 303 party structure, 301–302 Ponce Massacre (1937), 199, 211, 296, 303 Puerto Rican migration, 303–304 uprising (1950), 305–306 U.S.-based supporters, 296, 303–304 women and, 295, 298–299, 302, 310 Puerto Rican Parade, Chicago, 556–557, 562, 627

1002 | Index Puerto Rican Revolutionary Workers’ Organization, 628 Puerto Rican Socialist Party (PSP), 307 Puerto Rican Studies. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies Puerto Rican Studies Association (PRSA), 645, 652, 653 Puerto Ricans ASPIRA, 556 bilingual education, 695, 699 on Broadway, 899, 904–907 citizenship, Puerto Rican, 246, 249, 257, 258, 259 citizenship, U.S., 199, 211, 226, 234, 247, 252, 903 constitutional rights, 233, 246, 247, 251–253 discrimination against, 470 as domestic workers, 435 “Great Migration,” 234–235 Jones-Shafroth Act and, 211, 252–253 Korean War service, 304, 388 Latin jazz, 344, 345, 347, 348–349 in Michigan, 436, 444 musicians, 234, 235–237, 344, 345, 348 in New York City (1870s–1920s), 204, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 233–239 in New York City (1922–1954), 309–310 in New York City (1930s–1940s), 347 in New York City (1941–1959), 436, 899 in New York City (1960s–1970s), 556, 695, 699 in New York City (2000–present), 904–907 race and ethnicity, 578 Spanish Benevolent Society, 225 urban uprisings, 556–558, 560–564 U.S. immigration status, 233, 246, 257 voting rights, 211, 252, 304

World War I military service, 199, 226, 234, 235, 236, 308, 344, 347, 435 World War II military service, 227, 235, 385, 388–389 See also Operation Bootstrap; Young Lords Organization; specific individuals Puerto Rico airline service, 435 autonomists, 196, 255–256 Bureau of Employment and Migration, 441 cigar industry, 233 commonwealth status, 199, 297, 304–306, 436, 626 congressional representation, demands for, 715 Cuban immigrants, 577 Department of Labor, 443 displacement and land loss, 470 Dominican immigrants, 575, 577–578, 585 Downes v. Bidwell, 435 economic problems, 436–439 Emigration Advisory Committee, 440–441 eugenics during Spanish-American War, 207 Farm Labor Placement program, 441, 443, 444 Foraker Act, citizenship, 249, 257 Foraker Act, excerpt of, 258–261 Foraker Act, government, 211, 249, 256, 260 Foraker Act, taxation, 249, 251, 258–259 Foraker Act, trade, 252, 435, 437 Great Depression, 295, 436–437 hurricanes, 253–254, 434, 435, 440 independence from Spain, 28, 80 independence movements, xvii, 86, 196, 231, 435 (See also Puerto Rican Nationalist Party)

Index | 1003 industrialization, 435, 436–437, 438, 439–440, 445 Jones Act and, 253–254 Land Authority, 439 Ley de Mordaza (muzzle law), 211, 305 Migration Division, 436, 441, 443, 446–448 national identity, 299 nationalism, xvii, 210–212 Paris, Treaty of, 200, 219–220, 246, 249, 250–251, 258 per capita income, 437–438 political parties, 255, 307, 715 (See also Puerto Rican Nationalist Party) Resident Commissioner, 715 Spanish-American War, 20, 201, 205, 295 Spanish colonial rule, xvi, 20, 202 statehood vote, 254 sugar industry, 211, 296, 437, 438–439 tax exemptions, 439 Telemundo, 798 tourism industry, 440, 446 U.S. annexation of, 19, 28, 79, 80, 86 U.S. colonial rule, 206, 207, 211 U.S. intervention in, 201, 246, 247, 302 U.S. invasion (1898), 197, 256 U.S. labor importation program, 401, 407 U.S. occupation of, 248–249 World War II, xvii, 435, 445 See also Insular Cases; Operation Bootstrap Puig, Michael, 900 Pulido, Rafael “El Pistolero,” 897 Pulitzer, Joseph, 163, 196 Pulitzer Prize, 766, 901, 909 Pulque (alcohol), 29 Q’eqchi’ Maya, 678, 684 Queer Brown Voices (Vidal-Ortiz), 668 Queres Nation, 70–72 Querétaro, Mexico, 90

Quetzalcoatl (deity), 2, 6, 7, 9, 41 Quezón, Manuel, 217 Quiñones Molina, Alfonso, 690 Quintanilla, Abraham (father), 857–858 Quintanilla, Abraham (son), 858 Quintanilla, Marcella, 857 Quintanilla, Suzette, 858 Quintanilla Pérez, Selena. See Selena Quinto Real (Royal Fifth), 25 Quirino, Elpidio, 217 Quisqueya la Bella (Cambeira), 579 Quito, Ecuador, 75, 78, 83 Race and ethnicity baseball, 232 cigar industry, 179 citizenship and, 315–317, 322 Cuba, 456, 461 Dominicans, 578, 581, 584 Hispaniola, 581 Jim Crow South, 181 labor laws, 364, 365, 371 Latin America, 80 Mexican immigrants and Mexican Americans, 313, 314, 315–317, 320, 322–323, 330, 422–423, 495–496 Miami, Florida, 762–763 Puerto Ricans, 578 social Darwinism, 206–207 Spanish-American War, 206 Spanish colonies, 25–27 U.S. Census Bureau, 314, 320, 330 U.S. definitions, 229 U.S. expansionism, 221, 221–222 U.S. foreign relations, 206–209 World War II, 390, 392 Racial Equality Bill No. 907 (Texas, 1941), 325 Racial profiling, 833 Radical Reconstruction. See Reconstruction Radio, 797, 800 Radio Act (1927), 797

1004 | Index Railroads Bracero Program, 400, 401, 402, 593 Gadsden Purchase and, 142 Mexico, 262, 267, 268 Texas, 286 Ramirez, Dania, 585 Ramirez, Geronimo. See Ramirez v. State of Texas Ramirez, Josefina, 424 Ramirez, Lorenzo, 421, 424, 425 Ramirez, Sara Estela, 275 Ramirez family, 419 Ramirez v. State of Texas (1931), 490, 491 Ramos, Basilio, Jr., 282, 287 Ramos, Juan, 636 Ramos, Manuel, 627, 632 Ramos, Raúl, 127 Rancagua, Chile, 77 Rancho Los Alamitos, California, 109 Rand Corporation, 779 Randolph, A. Philip, 402, 410 Raymondville, Texas, 286 La Raza (Samora), 642 La Raza Unida Party (RUP) anti-gringo politics, 531–532 founding, 527, 531, 540, 875 gender issues and, 540–541, 548 RCA Victor Records, 800 Reader’s Digest, 761–762 Ready to Lead program, 723 Reagan, Ronald anti-communist stance, 687, 690–691, 734 backlash against civil rights movement and, 529–530 biography, 785–786 HIV crisis, 661 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986), 771, 772, 775, 784, 785–786, 827 Iran-Contra affair, 684, 691, 734 Latino appointees, 865

in Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba, 456 Nicaragua, address on, 690–692 Nicaraguan Contras, support for, 678, 684, 687, 730, 733, 734 North American trade accord, 805, 810 refugees and, 739 Santa Fe document, 734 Rebellion of the Barrios (1765), 75 Reboso, Manolo, 461 Recognition of Cuban Independence (1896), 168–169 Reconquest, of Pueblos, 56, 57, 65–67 Reconquista (Reconquest of Spain), 21 Reconsidering the Insular Cases (Neuman), 254 Reconstruction, 106, 203 Red Scare, 273 Redistricting and gerrymandering, 870 Redman, Don, 351 Reed, Walter, 215 Refugee Act (1980), 686–687, 729, 739, 754, 760 Refugees asylum status, 738–739, 744 Central American civil wars, 686–688, 738 defined, 687, 777 Immigration and Naturalization Act (1965), 770 refugee status, 598 See also Mariel Boatlift; Sanctuary movement Refusing to Forget public history project, 289 Regeneración (Chicana/o magazine), 540 Regeneración (Mexico City newspaper), 262, 275–278, 291 Reggaetón (musical genre), 857 Regoyos, Darío de, 209 Rehnquist, William, 879 Reily, E. Montgomery, 211 Reliance Capital Corporation, 798

Index | 1005 Religion Hopi, 59 Latino Religious Resurgence, 736–737 Maya, 7, 8–9, 14 Mexica, 7, 41, 49 Nahua, 7 “new evangelical left,” 738 Olmec, 5, 6 Pueblo, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 68 Santería, 349, 354, 361 Toltec, 7, 9 See also Catholic Church; Liberation theology; Missionaries; Sanctuary movement Rendón, Armando, 540 Reno, Nevada, 887 Rent (Broadway musical), 900, 904 Repartimiento (labor system), 25, 62 Repatriation. See Mexican repatriation Repression, Central American civil wars, 684–686 Reproductive rights abortion rights, 538, 543 sterilization, involuntary, 207, 537, 538, 543 Republic of Fredonia, 117, 123 Republic Steel, Chicago, 365 Republican Party, 874–875 El Republicano (newspaper), 166 Requerimiento (Requirement; Spanish colonial document), 33–35 Reuther, Walter, 610, 615 La Revista Chicano-Riqueña (literary journal), 644 Revolt of the Sergeants. See Sergeants’ Revolt Revolution of Hope (Fox), 820 Revolutionary Directorate, 457–458 Revolutionary Party of Cuba. See Cuban Revolutionary Party (PRC) Reyes, Antonio “Tony,” 660, 664 Reyes, Jesse, 387 Reyes, Juan María, 166

Reyes, Rodrigo, 667 Reyes, Silvestre, 726 Reynolds, Ruth, 296 “Rhapsody in Blue” (song), 350 “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You” (song), 846, 850 The Rican (journal), 643 Rice, Ben H., 422 Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger (Sider), 738 Richard Rodgers Theater, New York City, 909 Richardson, Bill, 712, 726, 866, 867 Ricky Martin (album), 848, 854, 860 Riddel, Adaljiza Sosa, 545 Riego, Revolt of (1820), 77 Riggs, Francis, 296, 302–303 Riley, John, 140–141 Río Arriba County Courthouse, New Mexico, 518, 524 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 86, 356 Rio Grande, as Mexico-U.S. border, 136, 141, 202 Rio Grande Valley, New Mexico, 54, 524. See also Pueblo people Rio Hondo, Texas, 507 Rio Piedras Massacre (1935), 211, 296 Rios, Antonio, 609 Ríos Montt, Efraín, 686 Riots. See Urban uprisings Rivera, Chita, 899, 900, 904 Rivera, Ralph, 632–633 Rivera, Sylvia biography, 671–673 Stonewall Riots, 634, 660–661, 662, 666, 672–673 Street Transvestites Action Revolutionaries (STAR), 662, 666–667, 672 YLO, 634 Rivera, Tomás, 370 Rivera Vásquez, Monserrate, 255 Rivero Aguëro, A., 451

1006 | Index Riverside, California, 886, 889 Robbins, Jerome, 905 Roberto Alvarez v. Board of Trustees of the Lemon Grove School District (1931), 315, 320, 418, 422 Roberts, John G., Jr., 881–882 Roberts, John Storm, 346 Roberts, Lucky, 350 Robinson, Alfred, 101, 108 Robinson, Vicki Sue, 851 Robinson Trust, 110 Robles, Belen, 321 Rocha, Augustine, 387 Rock music, 850 Rocksprings, Texas, 313, 317 Rodino, Peter W., Jr., 770, 775, 783 Rodriguez, Alex, 585 Rodriguez, America, 800, 801 Rodríguez, Antonio, 313, 317 Rodriguez, Ciro, 726 Rodriguez, Johnny, 360 Rodriguez, Jose, 232 Rodríguez, Juan, 225, 228–229 Rodriguez, Marc, 528 Rodríguez, María Ignacia, 84 Rodríguez, Raymond, 340 Rodriguez, Ricardo, 313, 317 Rodriguez, Santos, 564–565 Rodriguez, Tito, 357 Rodríguez Cubero, Pedro, 67–68 Rodríguez de León, Rosa Blanca. See Moreno, Luisa Rodríguez de Tío, Lola, 299–300 Rodríguez del Toro, María Teresa, 87, 88 Roe v. Wade (1973), 538 Roger, Elena, 900 Roldán, Julio, 628 Rollie, Greg, 358 Roman Catholicism. See Catholic Church Romero, Oscar assassination of, 678, 682–683, 686, 729–730, 736, 740

criticism of human rights violations in El Salvador, 678, 683, 739–740 Nobel Peace Prize nomination, 678 Romet y Pichelín, Lucía, 29 Romeu, Antonio Maria, 345, 350 Roosevelt, Franklin D. Good Neighbor Policy, 355, 405, 450, 504, 899, 903 Great Depression, 333 internment camps, 383 labor protections, 383, 612 New Deal, 181, 331, 364, 612 Truman as vice president, 587 WPA, 364 Roosevelt, Theodore, 197, 206, 214, 215, 217 The Root (website), 793 Roque Ramírez, Horacio, 662, 667 Ros-Lehtinen, Ileana, 461, 712, 716, 866 Rosado, Hiram, 296 Rosado, Isabel, 302 Ross, Albert F., 419, 432 Ross, Fred, 609, 613, 619, 620 Rosselló, Ricardo A., 254 “Rough Riders,” 197, 206, 214 The Royal Danish-American Gazette (St. Croix), 914–916 Royal Fifth (Quinto Real), 25 Roybal, Edward biography, 722–724 Congressional Hispanic Caucus and, 711, 712, 715, 722, 723, 726 Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute (CHCI), 723 CSO, founding of, 609, 722 National Association of Latino Democratic Officials (NALDO), 724 Roybal-Allard, Lucille, 726 Royce, Prince, 585 Rubin-Vega, Daphne, 900, 914 Rubio, Marco, 461, 867, 877–880

Index | 1007 Rubio, Paulina, 849, 857 Rubloff, Arthur, 625 Ruellan Lequenica, José, 235 Ruíz, Francisco, 130 Ruiz, Julie, 537 Ruiz, Vicki L., ix, 375, 653 Rumba, 347, 348. See also Son (Cuban folk song tradition) RUP. See La Raza Unida Party Rutgers University, 643, 644 Ruz Lhuillier, Alberto, 13–14 Sacasa, Juan, 689 Sacay, Macario, 210 Sadler, Paul, 879 Sáenz, José de la Luz, 318, 324, 325–326 Sáenz, Manuela, 84 Sagasta, Práxedes Mateo, 255–256 Saginaw, Michigan, 444 Sahagún, Bernardino de, 51–52 Saint-Domingue. See Haiti Saint Patrick’s (San Patricio’s) Battalion, 134, 140–141 Sakay, Macario, 217 Saladrigas, Carlos, 456 Salamanca, Mexico, 90 Salazar, Amelia, 394 Salazar, John, 869 Salazar, Ken, 866, 871 Salazar, Margarita, 389 Salazar, Maria “Sally,” 393–395 Salazar, Ruben, 519, 526, 557, 564 Saldana, Zoe, 585 Saldivar, Yolanda, 848, 859 Salinas de Gortari, Carlos, 806, 810, 817, 819 Salisbury, Lord, 245, 248 Salt Lake City, Utah, 887 Saltillo, Mexico, 137 Saludos Amigos (animated film), 355 Salvadorans abandoned by smugglers, 730 asylum seekers, 731

urban uprisings, 558, 566–567 Washington, D.C., 687 See also El Salvador Salvatierra v. Del Rio Independent School District (1930), 418 Samaritan Patrol, 746 Samba music, 355 Samora, Julian, 642, 643, 654–655 Samuel B. Downes v. Thomas G. Bidwell. See Downes v. Bidwell San Antonio, Texas election of Latinos, 558, 865, 866, 867, 876–877 immigrant rights march (2006), 887 Mexican American Cultural Center, 737 Mexican immigrants, 268, 273, 317 population, 273 settlement, 116–117, 120 Spanish International Network, 792 violence against Tejano and Mexican population, 281 See also Alamo, Battle of the; Béxar, Texas San Antonio Public Library, 652 San Antonio Southern Pecan Company, 365, 377–378 San Benito, Texas, 283, 286 San Bernardino County, California, 419, 425, 432–433 San Diego, California Barrio Logan, 468, 473–474, 523 Chicano Park, 473–474, 523 immigrant rights march (2006), 887 school segregation and desegregation, 422 Tijuana border, 885–886 U.S.-Mexican War, 138 San Diego, Texas, 291. See also Plan de San Diego San Diego State University, 537 San Domingo Improvement Company, 573

1008 | Index San Francisco, California bilingual education (See Lau v. Nichols) Compton’s Cafeteria Riots (1966), 665 gay rights, 660, 661, 664, 665–666, 670–671 immigrant rights march (2006), 887 police brutality, 620 school desegregation, 695, 699 San Francisco State University, 642 San Jacinto, Battle of (1836), 118, 126, 128, 133, 284 San Joaquin Valley, California, 364, 369–371, 412, 503, 609 San Jose, California, 887, 890, 894t San Juan, Puerto Rico, 249, 348, 436 San Juan BBC (baseball team), 232 San Juan Hill, Battle of (1898), 206, 214 San Juan (pueblo), New Mexico, 62, 68, 69 San Lázaro (ship), 767 San Luís Potosí, Mexico, 126 San Martín, José de, 78, 83, 83, 85, 89 San Miguel el Grande, Mexico, 90 San Patricio’s (Saint Patrick’s) Battalion, 134, 140–141 San Salvador, Bahamas, 17 Sanabria, Bobby, 359 Sanchez, Aniceto, 488 Sánchez, George I., 323, 641, 647 Sánchez, Linda, 718, 726 Sanchez, Loretta, 825, 836, 838–839 Sánchez, Serafín, 175 Sanchez, Serapio, 488 Sánchez-Korrol, Virginia, 653 Sanchez y Haya cigar factory, Ybor City, Florida, 192 Sanctuary movement (1980s), 729–753 arrests of Sanctuary workers, 743–744 biographies of notable figures, 745–747 chronology, 729–731 churches organize, 740–744 defined, 731 document excerpts, 747–751

Executive Order on Sanctuary Cities (Trump, 2017), 747–751 as extension of civil rights, 732–733, 736–740 impact of, 744 liberation theology, 729, 735, 736 number of sanctuaries, 730, 731, 742 services offered, 740 Southside Presbyterian Church, Tucson, 730, 736, 740–741, 745–746 strategies, 742 surveillance of, 730, 739, 743 21st century, 744–745 U.S. foreign policy in Central America and, 731–736 Sandinista Front for National Liberation (FSLN) Contras, war against, 678, 734 founding, 677, 682 overthrow of Somoza Debayle, 729, 733 support for, 678, 682 U.S. and, 684 Sandino, Augusto Cesar, 677, 682, 688–689, 690, 733 Sandino, Socrates, 689 Sandoval, Brian, 867, 871 Sandoval-Sánchez, Alberto, 906 The Sandpipers (band), 454 Sanguniang Magdalo, 216 Santa Ana, California. See Mendez v. Westminster Santa Ana, Otto, 832 Santa Ana Register, 379–380 Santa Anna, Antonio López de Iturbide and, 78, 85 Mexican War of Independence, 125 as president of Mexico, 124–125, 130–131, 135 Texas rebellion and, 97 Texas War for Independence, 118–119, 125, 126–127, 133 U.S.-Mexican War, 139

Index | 1009 Santa Barbara, California, 887 Santa Fe, New Mexico Alianza march to, 518 entrepreneurs, 142–143 Pueblo Revolt, 55–56, 63 reconquest, 65, 66–67 as Spanish colonial capital, 61 U.S.-Mexican War, 98, 137, 143 Santa Fe document (Reagan administration), 734 Santa Fe Trail, 101, 142 Santamaria, Candido, 353 Santamaria, Ramón “Mongo,” 346, 353, 361–362 Santana, Carlos, 346, 357–358, 851 Santana, Juelz, 585 Santee CVC 29 (escort aircraft carrier), 360 Santería (religion), 349, 354, 361 Santiago, Chile, 76, 77, 82 Santiago, Cuba, 206, 208, 451 Santiago, Diego de, 68 Santillana, Fernando, 736 Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, 85, 574 Santo Domingo pueblo, New Mexico, 69 Santo Domingo Serenaders, 350 Sanyustiz, Hector, 757 Sarria, José, 660, 662, 665, 669–671, 673 Sarria, Julio, 670 Saturday Evening Post, 335, 626 Savoy Ballroom, New York City, 345, 351 SAW (Special Agricultural Worker) Program, 776, 777, 778t, 790 Scarface (movie), 586, 761 Schenley Industries, 610, 615, 616 Schomburg, Arturo Alfonso arrival in New York City, 225 biography, 237–239 Cuba visit, 227 Negro Society for Historical Research, 226, 238

political activism, 204 writings, 226, 227, 238 Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, 239 “School Begins” cartoon (1899), 221–222, 221f Schools. See Bilingual education; Education; Segregation, schools Schumacher, Edward, 760–761, 765–766 Schumer, Charles E., 779, 783, 785 Schuyler, Elizabeth, 916, 918–920 Schwarzenegger, Arnold, 340 SCIRP. See Select Commission on Immigration and Refugee Policy SCLC (Southern Christian Leadership Conference), 524 Scott, Winfield, 134, 139 SCOTUS. See U.S. Supreme Court Scrivner, John D., 291 Seabees, 387 Seale, Bobby, 626 Seattle, Washington, 887 Seattle Civil Rights and Labor History Project, 529 Second Red Scare, 393 Secure Fence Act (2006), 887 Security through Regularized Immigration and a Vibrant Economy (STRIVE) Act, 718–719 Seda, Jon, 847 “Los Sediciosos” (song), 289 Sedition Act (Philippines, 1907), 217 Seeger, Pete, 454 Segovia, Josefa, 98 Segregation de facto (in practice), 316, 322 de jure (legal), 316, 423 jury service, 422–423 mortuaries and cemeteries, 385, 392 music clubs, 347 Puerto Ricans, 470 separate but equal, doctrine of, 418 swimming pools, 419, 425, 432–433

1010 | Index Segregation (cont.) Texas, 286–287, 385, 422–423 as unconstitutional, 421 U.S. Armed Forces, 385, 390, 392 Segregation, schools Arizona, 420 California, 315, 320, 417, 418, 484 Civil Rights Act and, 699–700 court victories, 422–423 “language deficient” students, 422, 426–427 Orange County, California, 323, 385 San Francisco, California, 695, 699 Texas, 314, 320, 385, 418, 420, 422, 493–494 United States, 420 See also Mendez v. Westminster Seguín, Erasmo, 117, 120–121, 122, 123–124, 127 Seguín, Juan Nepomuceno, 120, 127–128, 281 Segura, Tony, 660, 664–665 SEIU (Service Employees International Union), 893, 897 Select Commission on Immigration and Refugee Policy (SCIRP), 770, 775, 776, 786 Selective Service Act (1917), 226, 234 Selena albums, 847, 848, 852–853, 856, 858–859 biography, 857–859 death, 848, 851, 852 fashion line, 847, 859 People tribute to, 852 rise of, 851–853 Selena (album), 847, 858 Selena Forever (theater production), 848, 859 Selena Live (Selena album), 858 Selena (movie), 848, 853, 859 Selena y los Dinos (album), 858 Selena y los Dinos (band), 858

Seller, Jeffrey, 901, 910 Senior, Clarence, 446–448 Sensenbrenner, James, 888 Sensenbrenner bill. See Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act Separate but equal, doctrine of, 418, 420, 427, 484 September 11 terrorist attacks, 718, 771, 784, 855 Sepúlveda, Juan Ginés de, 32–33 Sergeants’ Revolt (1933), 449, 455, 462 Sergio Mendes & Brazil 66, 346 Serra, Junípero, 30 Serra y Montalvo, Rafael, 204 Serrano, José, 726 Service Employees International Union (SEIU), 893, 897 Servicemen’s Readjustment Act (1944), 384 Seven Cities of Cíbola, 55, 58–59 Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), 29 Sexuality and sex education, 542–543 Shafter, William R., 206 Shakira, 849, 849, 853, 855, 861 Shapiro, George and Joseph, 374 Sharecropping, 369 Shaw, Frank, 337 “She Bangs” (song), 861 Shelby County v. Holder (2013), 874, 880–883 Shelley v. Kraemer (1948), 432, 495 Sherman, Roger, 380 Shrieve, Michael, 358 SICC. See Spanish International Communications Corporation Sider, Ron, 738 The Siege of Tenochtitlán (Florentine Codex), 51–53 Silao, Mexico, 90 Silva, Myrta, 227, 236 Silver mining, 24–25 Simon, Paul, 900, 905–906 Simonson, Eric, 914

Index | 1011 Simpson, Alan K., 770, 775, 786, 827 Simpson, Nicole Brown, 837 Simpson, O. J., 837 Simpson, Sir George, 107 Simpson-Mazzoli bill, 712, 719, 770 Simpson-Mazzoli-Rodino bill. See Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986) SIN. See Spanish International Network “Sin Bandera” (song), 236 Singing from the Well (Arenas), 767 Sisneros, Manuel Antonio, 142 Sissle, Noble, 351 65th Infantry Regiment “Borinqueneers,” 388 Slavery Cuba, 152, 153, 155, 156–159, 161– 162, 213 Florida, 133 Haiti revolt, 75, 156 Maya, 37, 39, 40, 41, 47–48 Mexico, 97, 104–105, 117, 123–124, 133, 140, 202 New Mexico, 62 Nicaragua, 202 Spanish colonization, 25–26, 26–27, 33 Texas, 97, 104–105, 117, 122–123, 141 United States, 133, 136, 141 Sleepy Lagoon Trial, 383, 391–392, 467 Slidell, John, 97, 134, 135–136 Sloat, John, 98 Smallpox, 18, 38, 46 Smith, E. T., 451 Smith, Lamar S., 784 Smith, Norman, 609 Smith, William French, 775, 784 SNCC (Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee), 527, 529 Social Darwinism, 206–207 Social Justice, 513–515 La Sociedad Marti-Maceo, Ybor City, Florida, 185 Society of Albizu Campos, 633

Solis, Hilda, 867 Solís López, Jose Luis (Galeano), 819 Solla, Minerva, 636 Somoza Debayle, Anastasio “Tachito,” 677, 678, 681, 682, 729, 733 Somoza Garcia, Anastasio, 677, 681 Son (Cuban folk song tradition), 346, 347 The Son (Meyer), 289 Sonora, Mexico, 267, 269 Sons o’ Fun (Broadway show), 899 Sony Music, 847, 853–854, 855, 860, 861 Sony Pictures Entertainment, 798 Sosa, Sammy, 585 Sotelo, Eddie “El Piolín,” 895 Sotomayor, Sonia, xx, 868, 872, 882–883 “Soul Sacrifice” (song), 358 Sound Loaded (Ricky Martin album), 861 South Africa, apartheid era, 834 South Bronx, New York City, 230, 563, 642, 644, 649. See also Young Lords Party Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), 524 Southern Cone Common Market (MERCOSUR), 806 Southern Europeans, immigration laws targeting, 329–330, 335, 592, 594, 830 Southside Presbyterian Church, Tucson, Arizona, 730, 736, 740–741, 745–746 Southwest Council of La Raza (SWCLR), 642, 644. See also National Council of La Raza Souto, Fermín, 239–242 Soviet Union Cold War, 579 as Cuban ally, 679, 764 World War II, 384 Spade, Dean, 673 Spain Constitution, 19, 76, 77, 82, 153 Cordoba, Treaty of, 133

1012 | Index Spain (cont.) England, alliance with, 152 Generación del 98, 209 invasion by France (1823), 153 Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815), 28, 80, 82, 90, 152 Paris, Treaty of, 198, 219, 295 Reconquista, 21 See also Spanish-American War (1898); specific colonial possessions Spanish-American War (1895). See War of 1895 (Cuba) Spanish-American War (1898), 196–225 biographies of notable figures, 212–218 chronology, 196–199 conventional narratives, 199–200 Cuba, independence struggle, 28, 86, 208–210 Cuba, invasion of, 197 Cubans in South Florida, 204 document excerpts, 218–224 expansionist antecedents, 201–207 Guam, limited citizenship in, 212 Insular Cases as byproduct, 248–249 Philippine-American War, 210 Puerto Rican nationalism, suppression of, 210–212 Puerto Ricans in New York City, 204 Puerto Rico, eugenics in, 207 Puerto Rico, U.S. invasion of, 295 “School Begins” cartoon, 221–222, 221f Spain’s Generación del 98, 209 U.S. entry into, 204–206, 245 See also Paris, Treaty of; Platt Amendment; Teller Amendment Spanish Benevolent Society, 225, 233 Spanish colonization of the Americas (1492–1898), 17–36 biographies of notable figures, 28–33 Bourbon Reforms, 18–19, 27–29 California, expansion into, 30 Catholic influence on, 21

chronology, 17–19 cruel nature of, 20, 23, 25–26, 31, 32 document excerpts, 33–35 end of colonial era, 27–28 land claims, extent of, 20 methods of control and demographics, 21–23 mining and taxation, 23–25 race, ethnicity, and colonial society, 25–27 Reconquista (Reconquest), 21 Requerimiento (Requirement), 33–35 Spanish-Cuban-American War (1895). See War of 1895 (Cuba) Spanish Harlem, New York City garment industry, 375 Latin jazz, 345, 347–348, 352, 354, 360 as Pan-Latino, 230 See also Young Lords Party Spanish International Communications Corporation (SICC), 792, 794, 795 Spanish International Network (SIN), 792, 794–795, 796, 801, 802 Spanish language, “Walter Cronkite” Spanish, 795 Spanish-Speaking Worker Center (Centro Obrero de Habla Española), 375 Special Agricultural Worker Program. See SAW “Specials Program,” 509 Spencer, Glenn, 829, 831 Sports, and immigration politics, 834 The Spotlight, New York City, 358 St. Augustine, Florida, 165 St. Paul, Minnesota, 478, 887 St. Pierre, Abbé, 94 Stalingrad, Battle of (1942), 384 STAR. See Street Transvestites Action Revolutionaries Starr County, Texas, 285, 286 Stearns, Abel, 96, 100, 109–110 Steel industry, 365 Steel Workers Organizing Committee, 365

Index | 1013 Steinman, Edward H., 695, 700, 701, 706–707 Sterilization, involuntary, 207, 537, 538, 543 Sterling, Ed, 289 Sterling, W. W. Bill, 289 Stern, Howard, 859 Stevens-Arroyo, Anthony M., 736 Stewart, Potter, 701, 707 Stimpson, Marshall, 467 Stock market crash (1929), 330, 364, 366 Stockton, Robert F., 138 “Stompin’ at the Savoy” (song), 350 Stone, Oliver, 761 Stonewall (Duberman), 661, 666, 672–673 Stonewall (movie), 661 Stonewall Riots, New York City, 634, 660–661, 665–667, 671–673 Stork Club Orchestra, 360 Stoumen v. Reilly (1951), 673–675 Strangers in Our Fields (Galarza), 402, 410, 413 Strauder v. West Virginia (1880), 489 Street Transvestites Action Revolutionaries (STAR), 661, 666–667, 672 The Streets of Paris (movie), 355 STRIVE (Security through Regularized Immigration and a Vibrant Economy) Act, 718–719 Student activism Chicana feminist movement, 537, 543–546 Chicano movement, 518, 525–526, 530–531 immigrant rights marches (2006), 886–887, 890, 895, 896, 897 Proposition 185, 826 Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), 527, 529 Suarez, Pino, 263 Suarez, Xavier, 461 Subervi-Velez, Federico, 799

La Sucesion Presidencial en 1910 (The Presidential Succession in 1910) (Madero), 262 Sucre, Antonio José de, 78, 85, 88 “Suerte” (song), 855 Sugar industry Bracero Program, 415–416 Cuba, 152, 154, 156–158, 180, 202, 213, 456 Haiti, 202 Hawai’i, 435 Michigan, 336, 436, 444 Puerto Rico, 211, 296, 437, 438–439 Sulaiman, José, 834 The Sunshine Girl (Broadway musical), 903 Superbowl Halftime Show, 847, 848, 851 Supreme Court, U.S. See Insular Cases; U.S. Supreme Court Survey Graphic (magazine), 227, 238 Sutter’s Mill, California, 98, 134 Sutton, J. F., 491 Swartz, David, 738 SWCLR. See Southwest Council of La Raza Swimming pools, segregation of, 419, 425, 432–433 Swing, Joseph, 502, 503, 508, 509, 512 Syllabic languages, 10 Sylvia Rivera Law Project, 668, 673 Symbolic languages, 10 Szabo, Gabor, 358 T-Mobil, 793 Tabasco region, Mexico, 41 Taft, William Howard, 250 Taft-Ellender-Wagner Bill. See Housing Act (1948) Tagalog Republic, 198, 210, 217 Taíno language, 227 Taíno people, 17, 575 Takin’ Off (Herbie Hancock), 362 Tamaulipas (state), Mexico, 120, 286

1014 | Index Tampa, Florida cigar industry, 239, 241 Cuban immigrants, 162 Jim Crow South, 181 Ku Klux Klan (KKK), 181 Plant System, 173 population, 173 Ybor City, annexation of, 179–181 See also Ybor City, Florida Tampa Magazine, 188 “Tanga” (song), 345, 353 Tano (Pueblo linguistic group), 57, 63, 69 Taos, New Mexico fur trade, 102 Pueblo Revolt, 61, 68–69, 70, 71, 72 U.S.-Mexican War, 138, 143 Taos Revolt, 134 Tarango, Hector R., 419, 420, 424, 425, 430–431 Task Force on Immigration and Refugee Policy, 775, 784, 785 Taxation Cuba, 154 immigrants, 592 Inca period, 25 Latin American independence and, 75 Mexican colonists, 110–111, 112 of Pueblo people, 60, 61, 62 Puerto Rico, 249, 250–251, 258–259, 436, 439 Spanish colonization, 23–25, 27, 29 of undocumented immigrants, 832–833 Taylor, Elizabeth Morrow, 237 Taylor, Zachary, 136, 137, 140 Teamsters (union), 519, 610, 616, 617 Teatro Campesino (farm worker’s theater), 522–523, 533, 615 Tejano music, 851, 858. See also Selena Tejanos Anglo-American colonization, 103, 122 identity, 119, 120, 124, 127 kinship, 122

in Midwest, 528 Texas Revolt, 281 Texas War for Independence, 118, 119, 120, 125–128, 130–131 Texians, collaboration with, 123, 125, 131 uprisings, xvii women, 121, 127 Telecommunications Act (1996), 797 Telefutura. See UniMás (cable network) Telemundo, 766, 797, 798–799 Televisa (Mexican media company) establishment, 800 FCC violations, 795 owners, 801, 803 programming, 795, 796, 797, 798, 800, 802 Univision, ownership of, 793, 796, 798, 802 Television. See Telemundo; Univision Teller, Henry M., 205, 218, 250 Teller Amendment (1898) Cuban sovereignty, 163, 197, 205, 208, 248 declaration of war on Spain, 197, 205, 248 excerpt, 218–219 violations of, 207, 208 Temple of the Inscriptions, Palenque, 13–14 Temporary permanent residence (TPR), 776, 785–786 Temporary protected status (TPS), 598 Ten Years’ War (1868–1878) lack of success, 203 Martí’s commitment to, 164 military strategies, 212–213 onset, 154, 161–162, 172 Pact of Zanjón, 86, 155, 161, 172, 196, 213 precursors, 86 refugees from, 160–161 Tenayuca, Emma, 365, 377–378

Index | 1015 Tenochtitlán (Mexica capital) Cortés’s battles against, 18, 37–38, 44–46, 52–53 Cortés’s conquest of, 18, 38, 41, 43–44, 46–47 Cortés’s invasion of, 3, 18 Cortés’s meetings with Mexica, 37, 41–42, 43–44 founding, 11 Nahuatl language, 47 palace, 15 political authority, 11–12, 15–16 renamed Mexico City, 47 siege of, 51–53 smallpox, 18, 38 in Triple Alliance, 15 See also Mexico City, Mexico Teotihuacán (city-state), 2, 5–8 Terre Haute, Indiana, 334 Tesuque pueblo, New Mexico, 71 Tewa (Pueblo linguistic group), 57, 68, 69. See also Popé Texans, emergence of identity, 117 Texas Anglo-American colonization, 96, 97, 100, 102–105, 121–124 Bracero Program, 504, 507 civil rights organizations, 286, 314, 319 Del Rio Independent School District v. Salvatierra (1930), 422 demographics (1834), 104–105 election of Latinos, 873–875, 876 European settlements, 120 Good Neighbor Commission, 487 indigenous peoples, 120 land grants, 97, 102–104 “Little School of the 398” (LULAC preschool program), 323 Lone Star Republic, 133, 202 Mexican-American land claims, 99 Mexican Americans, discrimination against, 486, 497–498

Mexican Americans, violence against, 286, 288 Operation Wetback, 502, 503 population (1834), 104–105 Racial Equality Bill No. 907 (1941), 325 In re Rodriguez, 422 rebellion against (1915), 287, 291–292 redistricting, 870 school segregation and desegregation, 314, 320, 385, 418, 420, 422, 493–494 secession from Mexico, 86–87, 119, 130 slavery, 97, 104–105, 117, 122–123, 141 Spanish settlement, 120 U.S. annexation of, 97–98, 118, 133, 202, 281 U.S. land claims, 120 voter ID law, 874 voting rights, 319 See also Hernandez v. Texas; Lone Star Republic of Texas; Texas War for Independence Texas Convention (1836), 133 Texas Folklore Society, 641 A Texas-Mexican Cancionero (Paredes), 289 Texas Rangers formation of, 281 Texas Revolt, 282, 283, 288 violence against Mexican Americans and Mexicans, 281, 283, 284, 290, 291, 314, 317–318, 492 Texas Rebellion (1835–1836). See Texas War for Independence Texas Revolt (1915), 281–294 biographies of notable figures, 290–291 causes, 282–283, 317 chronology, 281–284 document excerpts, 291–294 extralegal killings, 285, 288, 289, 313

1016 | Index Texas Revolt (1915) (cont.) onset, 287–288 Plan de San Diego (1915), 282–283, 287, 290, 291–294 remembrance, 289 Texas Revolution (1835–1836). See Texas War for Independence Texas (state), Mexico, 117 Texas War for Independence (1835–1836), 117–132 Alamo, Battle of the, 117–118, 124, 125–126, 284 Articles of the April 1830 Bustamante Cédula (Decree), 129–130 biographies of notable figures, 127–128 catalysts for, 119–125 chronology, 116–118 document excerpts, 129–132 Mexico-U.S. animosity, 135 Tejano role in, 119–120, 124, 125–128 The Unanimous Declaration of Independence (1836), 97, 118, 126–127, 130–132 women in Tejano society, 121 Texas War of Secession (1836), 286 Texcoco, Lake, Mexico, 3, 9, 11, 15, 46. See also Tenochtitlán (Mexica capital) Texians collaboration with Tejanos, 123, 125, 131 defined, 122 Law of April 6, 1830, 117, 124 Texas War for Independence (1835–1836), 118–119, 125–127 Tezcotlipoca (deity), 9 Thalia (album), 849, 857 Thalia (singer), 849, 857 Theater. See Broadway musicals and Latin Americans; Miranda, Lin-Manuel A Theology of Liberation (G. Gutierrez), 729

Third World Liberation Front (student group), 642 Third World Women’s Conference (1972), 538 This Bridge Called My Back (Anzaldúa and Moraga), 538, 546, 669 Thomen, Luis Francisco, 588, 589 Thomson, Rex, 334 Thoreau, Henry David, 136–137 Thorndale, Texas, 313, 317 Thousand Days’ War (1899–1902), 669 Three Rivers, Texas, 385, 392 Tijerina, Reies López, 517, 518, 524, 533 Tikal (Classic Maya center), 2, 3 Tilini (spirit), 69, 71 Time magazine, 747, 861 Title VII. See Bilingual Education Act Tito Puente Orchestra, 346, 357, 361 Tiwa (Pueblo linguistic group), 57 Tizol, Juan, 344, 345, 348–349 Tjader, Cal, 361, 361 Tlacopan (city-state), 15 Tlaloc (deity), 6 Tlascalan people, 119 Tlatilco (Mesoamerican city), 5 Tlaxcalans Mexica, opposition to, xv, 38, 43, 50, 52–53 Spanish conquest, xv, 22 Tleume (spirit), 69, 71 Tobacco industry. See Cigar industry Toledano, Vicente, 309 Toltecs, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11 Toluca, Mexico, 90 Tonkawa people, 119 Tony Awards, 900, 901, 909 Torres, Alvaro, 858 Torres, Esteban, 712, 726 Torres, Juan Francisco, 257, 258 Torres, Salvador, 473 Torres, Virginia, 374, 380 Torres Vazquez, Anna, 387 Torresola, Griselio, 297, 306

Index | 1017 Totonac people, 37 Tours, Battle of (730), 21 Towa (Pueblo linguistic group), 57 Towns-Miranda, Luz, 910–911 TPA (Trade Promotion Agreement), 807 TPP (Trans-Pacific Partnership), 818, 821 TPR (temporary permanent residence), 776, 785–786 TPS (temporary protected status), 598 Trade Promotion Agreement (TPA), 807 The Tragic Ten Days (“La Decena Tragica”), 263 Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), 818, 821 Transcontinental Treaty (1819), 133 Transgender rights, 660, 661, 665, 666–667, 671–672 Transvestites, 661 Travino, Juan Francisco, 68 Travis, William, 124, 126 Treaties. See specific treaties by name Trenton, New Jersey, 563 Tribuna (Cuban exile newspaper), 451 Trina (rapper), 585 Trío Borinquen, 227, 236 Triple Alliance, 15, 16 Trist, Nicholas P., 98, 134, 141 The True History and Conquest of New Spain (B. Díaz), 40 Trujillo, Diego López, 240–241 Trujillo, Rafael Leónidas “El Jefe” assassination, 574, 575–576, 582 Dominicanization program, 574, 581 economic corruption, 574, 578, 579 massacre of Haitians, 574, 580, 581 overthrow attempt (1959), 574, 582 portrait, 576 as president of Dominican Republic, 573, 578–582 U.S. opposition to, 574, 575–576, 582 U.S. support for, 576, 579, 582, 587–588 violence against dissidents, 582 Trujillo-Hull Treaty (1940), 574

Truman, Harry S. at Blair House, Washington, D.C., 297, 306 Bracero Program, 401 Dominican Republic and, 587–589 letter to Bess W. Truman, 587–588 Macario Garcia’s Medal of Honor, 398 McCarran-Walter Act, veto of, 506 World War II, 587 Trumbauer, Frankie, 350 Trump, Donald J. anti-immigration policies, 909–910 border wall (proposed), 821 Executive Order on Sanctuary Cities (2017), 747–751 Operation Wetback and, 503 presidential campaign, 880, 909–910 Puerto Rican statehood and, 254 Tuberculosis, 635–636 Tucson, Arizona ban on ethnic studies, 648 border surveillance, 886 Gadsden Purchase, 99, 105 Sanctuary movement, 730, 736, 740–741, 745 Tugwell, Rexford, 438, 445 Tula (Toltec city), 3, 9, 11 Tules, Dona. See Barcelo, Maria Gertrudis Los Tulitos (ranch), Texas, 282, 291 Tupac Amaru, José Gabriel, 19, 27–28 Túpac Amaru II, 27–28, 75, 81, 84 Tupac Shakur, 908 Tupatú (Pueblo man), 69 Turk (Pueblo guide), 59 “Turn the Beat Around” (song), 848, 851 Turner, Josiah, 283 Turner, Ted, 796 Two Years Before the Mast (Dana), 106–108 Tydings-McDuffie Act (1935), 199 Tyler, John, 97, 133 Tyler, Texas, 832

1018 | Index UAW. See United Auto Workers UCAPAWA. See United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing and Allied Workers of America Ucumare, Venezuela, 88 UFCO. See United Fruit Company UFW. See United Farm Workers UFWOC. See United Farm Workers Ugarte y la Concha, Hernando, 70 Ugartechea, Domingo de, 125 The Unanimous Declaration of Independence (Texas, 1836), 97, 118, 126–127, 130–132 Underground railroad, 739 Undocumented immigrants amnesty programs, 772, 776–779, 827, 828 Bracero Program and, 487, 501, 502, 504–507, 509, 596, 773–774, 830 California, 824, 828–829, 832 Central American civil war refugees, 687 citizenship, path to, 887 country of origin, 596 DREAM Act, 714, 724–726, 887, 893 education costs, 829 as federal crime, 500, 592 growth in (1950s), 507–510 history, 827, 830 labor activism, 892–893 “light up the border” protests against, 824 making Mexican workers “illegal immigrants,” 368–369 media coverage, 774 medical costs, 829 NAFTA and, 810, 815–816 number of, xx, 771, 772, 781, 816 sanctuary for, 742, 746 taxation, 832–833 terminology debate, 502, 891 U.S. Border Patrol efforts to deter, 806

visa overstays, 830 See also Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals; Operation Wetback; Proposition 185; U.S. Border Patrol Unemployment insurance, 334 Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca (URNG), 678, 679, 684, 686 UniMás (cable network), 793, 796 Union City, New Jersey, 460 La Uníon Martí-Maceo, Ybor City, Florida, 176, 177 UNITE (union), 893 United Action Party (Partido de Acción Unitaria), 457 United Auto Workers (UAW), 610, 615 United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing and Allied Workers of America (UCAPAWA), 365, 374, 376, 378 United Church of Christ, 799, 803 United Coalition for Immigrant Rights, 896 United Farm Workers (UFW), 608–625 agricultural labor contracts, 519, 522 ALRB and, 519 biographies of notable figures, 618–620 boycotts, 522, 523 Central Valley union contracts, 616 Chicano movement and, 618 chronology, 608–610 criticism of, 618 decline, 529 Delano Grape Strike, 411–412, 517, 518, 521–522, 611, 615–617 document excerpts, 620–624 farm workers statement from Dolores Huerta, 620–624 fighting in the fields, 612–615 formation of, 411, 522, 610, 616, 619 grape boycott, 620–624 national and international attention, 611, 618 organizing beyond the strike, 617

Index | 1019 Organizing Committee (UFWOC), 610, 616, 619, 620–624 symbolism, 522, 618 Teamsters and, 519, 616, 617 United Fruit Company (UFCO), 681, 685 United Nations Guatemalan peace agreement, 678, 686, 692–693 ITO (proposed), 809 Salvadoran Peace Accord, 678 United Packinghouse Workers of America (UPWA), 609, 612, 613, 614, 619 United Presbyterian Church U.S.A, 737–738 United States border with Mexico, 136, 141, 202, 330 California, purchase of, 97, 134, 135 Cold War, 579 communism, preventing spread of, 679, 734 expansionism, 201–207, 221, 221–222, 250 foreign relations (See specific countries) Good Neighbor Policy, 199, 355, 404, 405, 504 Hawai’i, annexation of, 197, 200, 205 independence, 80 NAFTA, 805–806 slavery, 133, 136, 141 Texas, annexation of, 97–98, 118, 133, 202, 281 trade agreements, 807, 810 (See also North American Free Trade Agreement) World War II, 383–384 See also entries at U.S. Universities. See Chicano, Puerto Rican, and Latino/a Studies; specific universities by name University of Arizona, 644 University of California, Berkeley, 652 University of California, Los Angeles, 642, 643, 651

University of California, Santa Barbara, 642 University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, 645, 650, 651 University of Illinois at Chicago, 476–478, 544, 644, 649 University of Minnesota, 643, 649, 651 University of Notre Dame, 643, 650, 654 University of Southern California Medical Center, 537, 543 University of Texas at Austin, 641 University of Washington, 529 Univision, 792–805 advertisers, 795 biographies of notable figures, 798–803 children’s programming, 793, 799 chronology, 792–793 consolidation and conglomeration, 796 criticism of, 795–800 document excerpts, 803–804 FCC violations, 793, 799, 803–804 founding of, 792, 793 headquarters, 794, 796 ownership, 792, 796, 798, 802 programming, 794, 795–796, 796–797, 803–804 technological innovation, 796 Telemundo, 798–799 “Walter Cronkite” Spanish, 795 website launch, 793 Univision Móvil, 793 Univision Radio, 797 Univision Studios, Miami, Florida, 793, 799–800 Upper Peru, 81, 84, 89. See also Bolivia UPWA. See United Packinghouse Workers of America Urban Institute, 779 Urban renewal Chicago, 476–478, 631, 632 displacement and land loss, 468, 469–470, 475, 479, 631 Federal Housing Act funding, 626

1020 | Index Urban renewal (cont.) Los Angeles, 467–468, 471 (See also Chavez Ravine) New York City, 478–479 Philadelphia, 478 sparking uprisings, 563 Ybor City, Florida, 174 Urban uprisings, 556–572 agent provocateurs and informers, 566–567 Arellanes, Gloria, 569–570 biographies of notable figures, 567–570 chronology, 556–558 gay rights, 665–667 legacies, 565–566 legislation concerning, 566 Medina, Gualberto, 567–568 Mexican American uprisings, 562, 564–565 Puerto Rican uprisings, 556–558, 560–564 transgender rights, 660 uprisings or riots?, 559–561 urban context of the 1960s, 561–562 Zoot Suit Riots, 384, 391–392, 467, 471 See also Police violence; Stonewall Riots Ureña, Rafael Estrella, 573 URNG. See Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca Urrea, José de, 126 Urrutia Lleó, M., 451 Uruguay, 78, 806 U.S. Armed Forces segregation, 385, 390, 392 U.S. Border Patrol apprehensions, 501, 508t, 779–780, 824, 828 Bracero Program and, 410, 501, 506, 507, 509 coordinated raids, 507 enforcement campaigns, 806, 815

establishment of, 330, 368, 500, 770, 827, 830 harassment and abuse by, 511–512 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1986), 593, 776, 781, 784, 788 purpose, 827 See also Operation Wetback U.S. Capitol building, Washington, D.C., 57, 70 U.S. Census Bureau Cuban immigrants, 452 “Mexican” racial category, 314, 320, 330 population shifts, documentation of, 723 Spanish surnames, 498 U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), 594 U.S. Civil War, 160, 203 U.S. Congress declaration of war against Mexico (1846), 134 New York City Nationalist Party attack on, 297, 306, 310–311 recognition of Cuban independence (1896), 168–169 territorial delegates, 715 See also U.S. Senate U.S. Department of Defense grape boycott and, 621–624 U.S. Department of Education Lau Regulations, 696, 702–703 U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) Cuban Refugee Program, 452 Lau Remedies, 696, 702 LESA compliance guidelines, 696 school discrimination guidelines, 701 U.S. Department of Homeland Security, 594, 771 U.S. Department of Justice Crystal City, Texas schools, 531 election practices and, 880–883 Sanctuary movement, surveillance of, 730, 743

Index | 1021 U.S. Department of Labor, 408, 411, 781. See also Bureau of Immigration; Bureau of Naturalization U.S. Employment Service (USES), 404, 441, 444, 446–447 U.S. Naval Court of Inquiry, 205 U.S. Senate Delano Grape Strike hearings, 518, 616, 620–624 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 149–151 recognition of Cuban independence (1896), 168–169 Transcontinental Treaty (1819), 133 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 143–149 U.S. State Department, 322 U.S. Steel, 336–337 U.S. Supreme Court bilingual education rulings, xix, 695 Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 420, 483, 484 Cisneros v. Corpus Christi Independent School District (1970), 322 DAPA, 894 Gonzales v. Williams (1904), 233, 246, 257–258 Latina justices, xx, 868, 872 Lau v. Nichols (1974), 695, 699, 701–702, 707–708 Lee v. Johnson (1971), 695 Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), 418, 420 Plyler v. Doe (1982), 832 Roe v. Wade (1973), 538 Shelby County v. Holder (2013), 875, 880–883 Shelley v. Kraemer (1948), 432 Strauder v. West Virginia (1880), 489 Texas redistricting plan, 870 See also Hernandez v. Texas (1954); Insular Cases U.S. Virgin Islands, 254, 715 U.S. War Manpower Commission, 400 U.S. Women’s Bureau, 178–179

U.S.-Mexican Chamber of Commerce, 810 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 133–152 Alta California, `09 Barcelo, Maria Gertrudis, 142–143 biographies of notable figures, 142–143 Calhoun’s speech to Congress, 143–149 chronology, 133–134 declaration of war, 134, 136 document excerpts, 143–151 Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 98, 134, 141, 149–151 Mexico’s loss of land, 86–87, 284, 286 opposition to, 136–137, 139, 141, 143–145 precursors, 135–136 San Patricio’s Battalion, 134, 140–141 J. Seguín’s role in, 128 support for, 136 U.S. expansionism, 202 U.S.A. PATRIOT Act (2001), 771, 784 USA Today, 339 USCIS (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services), 594 Usera, Rafael “Moncho,” 347 USES. See U.S. Employment Service Utah, 58, 98, 287 Utrecht, Treaty of (1713), 18 Utuado, Puerto Rico, 199, 211, 305–306 Valdés, Miguelito, 354 Valdez, Luis, 467, 522–523, 533, 615, 616 Valens, Ritchie, 346, 523 Valladolid (now Morelia), Mexico, 89, 90 Valley Chief (ship), 765–766 Vann, W. T., 283 Varela, Francisco, 165 Varela y Morales, Félix, 153, 159 Vargas, Diego de, 56, 57, 65, 66–68 Vargas, Victor, 388 Vargas, Wilfrido, 585 Vasconcelos, José, 309 Vásques, Horacio, 578

1022 | Index Vasquez, Enriqueta, 536 VCT (Voice of Citizens Together), 829, 831 Vega, Bernardo, 226, 233, 347 Vega, Otto, 589 Vega, Raymond, 386 Vega Díaz, José, 188–191 Vehlein, Joseph, 97, 103 Veiga, Manuel, 419, 420, 425, 431 Vela de Coro, Venezuela, 81, 88 Velasco, Peter, 615 Velasco, Treaty of (1836), 97, 126–127 Velásquez, Diego de Cortés and, 36, 37, 38–39, 42–43, 44 las Casas and, 31 Velásquez, William, 530, 642 Velázquez, Nydia, 726 Velez, Lauren, 847 Ven Conmigo (Selena album), 847, 858 Venegas, Francisco Javier, 90 Venegas, Victor, 362 Venevisión, 792, 795, 796 Venezuela independence efforts, 76, 77, 81, 82, 83, 85, 88 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 298, 308 Spanish colonization, 31–32 split from Gran Colombia, 78, 85, 89 “Venimos de Matamoros” (song), 289 Ventura County, California, 613, 614 Vera Cruz, Philip, 615 Veracruz, Mexico Cortés and, 37, 41, 42, 46 port taxes, 29 as seat of government, 264, 265 Spanish-Mexica battles, 43–44 U.S.-Mexican War (1846–1848), 139 Veramendi, María Ursula de, 123 “Versos de Los Bandidos” (song), 289 “Versos del Rancho de Las Noria” (song), 289 Viceroys (viceregal system), 23

Victoria, Guadalupe, 117 Victoria, Manuel, 109 Vidal-Ortiz, Salvador, 662, 668 Vidaurri, Soledad, 424 Vieques, Puerto Rico, 304, 311 Vietnam War grape boycott and, 621–624 protests against (See Antiwar activism) Vigil, Ernesto, 534 Villa, Angie, 480 Villa, Francisco “Pancho,” 263, 264, 266, 270, 272, 275, 290 Villa Park, California, 373 Villa Parra, Olga, 542, 549–550 Village Voice, 635 Villaraigosa, Antonio, 836, 867, 895 Villegas de Magon, Leonor, 275 Virgin Islands, U.S., 254, 715 Visigoths, 21 Viva Kennedy clubs, 527, 532 Vivendi Universal, 799 Voces Oral History Project, 394 Voice of Citizens Together (VCT), 829, 831 Voorhees, Tracy, 452 Voting rights citizenship and, 319 Puerto Ricans, 211, 252, 304 Texas, 319 voter ID laws as barrier to, 874 voter registration drives, 431, 613, 620 Voting Rights Act (1965), 599, 601, 870, 880–883 La Voz de Cuba (newspaper), 166 Vuelve (Ricky Martin album), 848, 854, 860, 861 Wa Ni Beh (Arapaho woman), 102 WAAC. See Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps WAC. See Women’s Army Corps Las WACS (García Rosado), 389 A Wake in Ybor City (Yglesias), 188

Index | 1023 Walcott, Derek, 905 Waldorf Astoria, New York City, 348 Walker, William, 202 Wall Street Journal, 760 Walt Disney Studios, 355, 793, 800 “Walter Cronkite” Spanish, 795 Wang, Ling Ching, 706 War Food Administration (WFA), 401, 407, 408, 415–416 War Labor Board, 445 War Manpower Commission, 435, 440 War of 1895 (Cuba), 155, 162, 164, 213, 449 War of Spanish Succession (1701–1713), 18 War on Poverty, 532, 533 War Resolution (1846), 136 War Tariff (1862), 160–161 Warnock, Frank, 289 Warnock, Kirby, 289 Warren, Earl, 420, 428, 483, 484, 490 Washington, D.C. immigrant rights marches (2006), 886, 894t Latin jazz, 344, 348–349 Salvadoran community, 687 Sanctuary movement, 740 uprisings, 558, 566–567 Washington, Harold, 740 Washington-on-the-Brazos, Texas, 118, 130 Washington Post, 760, 786 “Watermelon Man” (song), 362 Watts uprising, Los Angeles, 556 Wayne State University, 643, 649 WBC (World Boxing Council), 835 “We Need More Ladies Councils” (LULAC News editorial), 326–327 Webb, Chick, 345, 350–351 Webber, Andrew Lloyd, 860 Weeks, Oliver Douglas, 325 Welfare benefits, 334–335, 336, 337, 771, 886

Welfare Reform. See Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act Welles, Sumner, 450, 455, 456 Wells, Mary Grace, 337 Welzer, Frank, 854 West Side Story (Broadway musical), 904–907 1957 production, 899, 906, 907 1961 film adaptation, 904, 907 1980 revival, 907 2009 revival, 900, 906, 912 bilingual production, 901, 906, 912 “brownface,” 907 criticism of, 905 Miranda’s high school production, 911 West Tampa, Florida, 186 West Virginia, 489 Western Hemisphere (Eilberg) Act (1976), 593 Western Michigan Coalition of Migrant Workers, 549 Westminster, California. See Mendez . Westminster Westminster Father’s Association, 419, 424–425, 431 “Wet foot, dry foot” policy, 764 Weyler, Valeriano, 163, 196, 203, 213, 453 WFA. See War Food Administration Whalen, Carmen, 441 What Price Wetbacks (AGIF pamphlet), 510 “Whenever, Wherever” (song), 855 White, Edward Douglass, 251 The White Cross (La Cruz Blanca), 275 “White Man’s Burden,” 207 Whitman, Paul, 350 Whitman, Walt, 136 Wiarda, Howard J., 576 Wichita people, 119 Wilkinson, Frank, 471–472 Wilkinson, Kenton, 796 Willacy County, Texas, 284–285

1024 | Index Willamette Valley, Oregon, 529 William Green Homes, Chicago, Illinois, 626 Williams, G. Mennen, 600 Wilmot, David, 136 Wilson, August, 913 Wilson, Henry Lane, 263 Wilson, James H., 215 Wilson, Pete biography, 836–838 elections, 824, 825, 834 Proposition 185 and, 825, 831, 833, 838 undocumented immigrants, stance on, 824, 828–829, 836–838 Wilson, Woodrow Immigration Act (1917), 500 Jones Act (1920), 247 Jones-Shafroth Act, 252 Mexican Revolution and, 264, 272, 275 Winship, Blanton, 211, 302–303 Wisconsin, Chicano movement in, 528 With His Pistol in His Hand (Paredes), 641 WKAQ-TV (Puerto Rico), 798 Woman’s Day (magazine), 852 Women Bracero Program, 405 Chicana body and rights, 542–543 in Chicano movement, 527–530 cigar industry, 176, 178, 178–179, 180, 191–194, 371 elected and appointed, 872 labor activism, 370, 373–374, 375–378 in LULAC, 320, 321, 326–327 Mexican Revolution, 271, 275–278 Operation Bootstrap, 442 pay gap, 440 Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and, 295, 298–299, 302 rights in Latin America, 84 role in Latin American independence, 84 targeted by nativists, 367

in Tejano society, 121 World War II, 386, 387–389, 393–395 Young Lords Party, 637–640 See also Chicana feminist movement Women Active in Scholarship and Social Change. See Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social “Women Comrades: the Revolution Approaches!” (Magón), 275–278 Women of the Raza Unida (Mujeres de la Raza Unida), 548 Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC), 384, 387–388 Women’s Army Corps (WAC), 387, 388–389, 393–395 Wood, Leonard, 197, 208, 214–216, 454 Woods, L. A., 493 Woodstock (movie), 358 Woodstock Music Festival, New York, 346, 357, 358 Works Progress Administration (WPA), 181, 239–242, 335, 364 World Bank, creation of, 805, 809 World Boxing Council (WBC), 834 World Court, 734 World Cup (soccer), 792, 848, 860 World Trade Center, New York City. See September 11 terrorist attacks World Trade Organization (WTO), 806, 807, 809 World War I draft, 226 labor shortage, 329, 333 Mexican and Mexican American military service, 314, 318, 324 military bands, 344, 347 Puerto Rican military service, 199, 226, 234, 235, 236, 308, 344, 347, 435 World War II (1939–1945), 383–400 biographies of notable figures, 393–397 chronology, 383–385 discrimination, fight against, 390–393

Index | 1025 document excerpts, 397–398 end of WWII, 393 Fort Benning, Georgia, 386 internment camps, 383, 429 labor shortages, 331, 339–340, 389–390, 400, 404 Latinos in the Armed Forces, 187, 384–390, 392–398, 495, 670 Latinos on the home front, 385, 389–390 Medal of Honor citation, 398 musicians, 360 Nazi atrocities, 397 Philippines, 217 Puerto Rican military service, 227, 235, 385, 388–389 Puerto Rico, 304, 435, 445 ration book, 397–398 65th Infantry Regiment “Borinqueneers,” 388 U.S. entry into, 331 Ybor City, Florida, 182 Zoot Suit Riots, 384, 391–392, 467, 471 WPA. See Works Progress Administration WQHS-TV, 803 WTO. See World Trade Organization Wyman, Rosalyn (Roz), 474 Wyoming, 415–416 Xavier, Francisco, 71 Xenophobia, defined, 331 Ximenes, Vicente T., 865 Xochimilco, 53 Yacacolco, Mexico, 53 Yakima, Washington, 890 Yankwich, Leon, 433 Yara, Cuba, 196 Ybor City, Florida, 172–194 annexation by Tampa, 179–181 biographies of notable figures, 183–188 chronology, 172–174 cigar industry, 172–194, 175

Cuban independence movement, 183–184 document excerpts, 188–194 housing, 175–176, 182 Jim Crow South, 181 labor activism, 176, 181–182 Latino community, 174 mutual aid societies, 173, 176, 177, 185, 186 oral histories, cigar makers, 188–194 population, 173 race and ethnicity, 179, 184–185 urban renewal, 174, 182 World War II, 182 Ybor City Land and Improvement Company, 176 Ybor City Land Development Company, 173 Ybor City Plan, 174 Yellow fever, 215 Yglesias, Dalia, 186, 187 Yglesias, Georgia, 186, 187 Yglesias, José (father), 186 Yglesias, Jose (son), 176, 185–188 YLO. See Young Lords Organization YLP. See Young Lords Party Yo, Rigoberta Menchu (Menchu), 678 “Yo Soy Joaquín” (Gonzales), 518, 525, 533, 647 Young, Brigham, 137 Young Lords Organization (YLO), 625–641 Black Panthers and, 632, 633, 635 chronology, 625–629 churches, occupation of, 627, 633 decline, 636–637 document excerpts, 637–640 goals, 627, 629, 630 leadership, 628, 629 legacy, 630, 636, 637 life after the Lords, 636 New York City chapter (See Young Lords Party (YLP))

1026 | Index Young Lords Organization (YLO) (cont.) origins, 630–633 politicization of, 478, 557, 627, 631–633 social programs, 627, 628, 631, 633 surveillance and infiltration of, 629–630 Young Lords Party (YLP) churches, occupation of, 627–628, 635 dissolution of, 628 establishment of, 627, 628 expansion to Puerto Rico, 628 festival and parade (1983), 629 “Garbage Offensive,” 627, 633–635 health care, focus on, 628, 630, 635–636 leadership, 628 LGBT rights in, 634, 667 life after the Lords, 636 social programs, 628 surveillance and infiltration of, 629– 630, 637 women’s liberation, position on, 637–640

Young Patriots, 633 Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA), 442, 541 Yucatán region, 7, 8, 36, 38–41, 40 Yucatec Maya, 3, 11 YWCA (Young Women’s Christian Association), 442, 541 Zanjón, Pact of (1878), 86, 155, 161, 172, 196, 213 Zapata, Emiliano, 262, 263, 264, 265, 270 Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN), 12, 806, 817, 819, 820 Zapatistas (Zapata’s followers), 264, 265 Zapotec culture, 1, 2 Zavala, Lorenzo de, 97, 103, 130–131 Zayas Bazán, Carmen, 164 Zoo Island (T. Rivera), 370 Zoot suit culture, 383, 391–392, 467 Zoot Suit (play and film), 467, 523 Zoot Suit Riots, 384, 391–392, 467, 471 Zuñi (Pueblo linguistic group), 57