Radical Print Traditions in New Mexico

The title of the book appears in the running head in both English and Spanish—“450 YEARS OF CHICANO HISTORY,” “450 AÑOS DEL PUEBLO CHICANO”—and is followed by the table of contents and copyright information:

Introduction/Introducción, 3

Our Mexican Roots/Nuestras raíces mexicanas, 13

1830–1910: Conquest and Colonization, 51

La revolución Mexicana, 71

Our Workers/Nuestros trabajadores, 81

In Occupied America/En América Ocupada: 1929–1960, 101

¡Viva nuestra cultura!/Our Culture Survived, 111

El Movimiento/The Movement Today, 121

Published by the Chicano Communications Center

Editado por el Centro Chicano de Comunicaciones

P.O. Box 6066, Albuquerque, New Mexico 87107

1976

Copyright 1976 Chicano Communications Center

At the bottom of the page there are four photos from the protest showing covered wagons behind a police escort and protestors holding signs. Among the images there is a caption that read,

Las Vegas, N.M.—March, 1976—Manifestación contra el Bicentenario/protest against Bicentennial wagon train

Four protest signs show prominently and read in order from left to right:

They came to remind us that we are a conquered people!

200 years of Learn how to speak. . . . English, SPIC!

Yankee Go Home!

Yanquis Go Home! This is. . . . Aztlan!

This image shows a page of two-column text, the left side in Spanish, the right side in English. On the left, under the heading Introducción, the text reads:

Este año, 1976, los Estados Unidos celebran su aniversario 200,—el Bicentario. Pero hace doscientos años no éramos parte de los Estados Unidos. Ni siquiera sabíamos lo que ocurria en la pequeña parte del noreste de America que mas tarde se convirtió en los Estados Unidos. Nosotros no nacimos en 1776; hacia muchos anos que ya eramos un pueblo con patria y cultura.

Este libro ha sido creado para recordarles a todos este hecho, en 1976 y en anos futuros. Este libro también pregunta: ¿tenemos nosotros que nos llamamos chicanos, o mexicanos en los E.U o Raza, algo que celebrar? ¿Qué podríamos celebrar?

Nuestra respuesta es que sí: sí, tenemos algo que celebrar.

Podemos celebrar nuestra resistencia a la explotación y abuso de que sufrimos como trabajadores y gente pobre.

Podemos celebrar a nuestra mujer, quien ha resistido no solo la pobreza y el racismo sino también su opresión especial como mujer.

Podemos celebrar a nuestros viejitos que muchas veces han mostrado mucho más amor por la cultura (y a veces también un mayor espíritu de lucha) que nuestros jóvenes.

Si, podemos celebrar, y debemos celebrar. No el bicentenario, no la historia del racismo y robo del Tio Sam, sino nuestra propia historia—una de las mas grandes historias de lucha de la humanidad.

Como hemos dicho, esa histórica comenzó mucho antes de 1776. El nacimiento de nuestro pueblo comienza en la época en que México era una tierra de civilizaciones muy avanzadas que realizaron obras de arte y arquitectura esplendidas; pero más importante aún era que su gente llevaba una manera de vida que no permitía que a nadie le faltara ni comida ni vivienda. El concepto de la propiedad privada no existía; la tierra, con todas sus riquezas, pertenecía a la gente. En esas antiguas civilizaciones de México la gente respetaba la cooperación, no la competencia. Y entonces llegaron los españoles, para arrebatar el oro y esclavizar a los indios. La heroica resistencia del pueblo azteca, encabezado por Cuauhtémoc, no los pudo detener. Millones de indios murieron luchando en las guerras, de las nuevas enfermedades europeas, y del trabajo excesivo en las minas, en los talleres y los molinos, y en los campos. Muchas veces los indios se negaban a trabajar, y muchas veces se rebelaron.

De la conquista española, en 1521, también nació una nueva raza—hijos de mujeres indias y de españoles (también mas tarde, de los esclavos africanos traídos

On the right, under the heading “Introduction,” the English text reads,

In this year, 1976, the United States is celebrating its 200th birthday—the Bicentennial. But two hundred years ago, we were not part of the U.S. We did not even know what was going on in that small section of northeast America that later became the U.S. We weren’t born in 1776; we had already been a people with a homeland and culture for many years.

This book has been created to remind everyone in 1976 and in future years, of that fact. This book also asks a question: do we who call ourselves Chicanos or Mexicanos in the U.S., or Raza, have something to celebrate? And if so, what?

Our answer is yes: we do have something to celebrate.

We can celebrate the survival of our people and our culture.

We can celebrate our resistance to being colonized and absorbed by racist empire-builders.

We can celebrate our resistance to being exploited and abused as workers and poor people.

We can celebrate our women, who have resisted not only poverty and racism but also their special oppression as women.

We can celebrate our viejitos (old people) who have often shown more love of the culture—and sometimes more fighting-spirit—than our youth.

We can celebrate our beautiful m’ijos and m’ijas, our children, our future.

We can celebrate, and we should. Not the Bicentennial, not Tio Sam’s history of racism and rip-offs, but our own history—which is one of humanity’s great stories of struggle.

As we said, that history began long before 1776. Our birth as a people goes back to the time when Mexico was a land of highly advanced civilizations, splendid art, architecture, and above all people with a way of life that did now allow anyone to go hungry or homeless. The concept of private property did not exist; the land with all its riches belonged to the people. In those ancient societies of Mexico, people respected cooperation- not competition. Then came el español, to grab gold and enslave the indios. The heroic resistance of the Aztec people, led by Cuauhtemoc, could not stop them. Millions of indios died from Spanish bullets and the new European diseases. Later they did from being overworked in the mines, on the land, in the workshops and mills. Often the indios refused to work; often they revolted.

The Spanish Conquest of 1521 also brought a new people into being—children of the Indian woman and the español, as well as of the many African slaves brought by the Spanish. That mixture, that mestizo, was us. Born from an act of destruction, born in a time of hunger and anguish, born to revolt.

The last line in the right column then starts again in Spanish with “Ay mi,” concludind the body text on the page, followed by a parentical at the bottom: “continued on page 5.”

This image of page 5 continues the text from the previous image. All the text on this page is in Spanish, laid out in two columns and starting beneath an image in the top left, depicting a person in a suit of armor. The text reads as follows:

por los españoles). Esa mezcla, ese mestizo, era nosotros. Nacidos de un acto de destrucción, nacidos en tiempos de hambre y de ansia, nacidos para levantarnos en lucha. ¡Ay, mi raza, nacimos con esperanza y resistencia en los meros huesos!

España quería todavía más del oro que había encontrado en México. Envió exploradores hacia el norte, a lo que ahora es el suroeste. A nosotros, los mestizos, los meshicanos, nos llevaron como sirvientes del imperio español. Lo indio en nosotros ya había existido allí mucho antes. Según las leyendas, los aztecas vinieron del norte, de un lugar llamado Aztlán. Además, nuestros antepasados en México habían comerciado con otras tribus indias que venían de tan lejos como Alabama; y en Ohio se construyeron pirámides como las de México.

Nosotros llegamos a Nuevo México, como lo llamaban los españoles. Más tarde, vivimos como sirvientes y trabajadores en el barrio de Analco de Santa Fé—el primer barrio de este país. Todo esto ocurrió mucho antes de Jamestown, de Plymouth Rock, y de los ‘peregrinos.’

Cuando los indios Pueblo de Nuevo México se levantaron en lucha en 1680, nosotros nos unimos a ellos. Nosotros, los trabajadores mestizos de Analco, no apoyamos a nuestros amos españoles. ¡Arriba los pobres!! Juntos corrimos a los españoles.

España regresó a Nuevo México e impuso su poder colonial sobre los indios. Aunque el gobierno era “español”, el indio prevaleció en muchos aspectos de la vida diaria. Nosotros los mestizos compartíamos las costumbres del indio, la cultura, la manera de cultivar la tierra y aprovechar el agua. Al mismo tiempo, muchos indios compartieron nuestra herencia mexicana.

El americano nativo y el mestizo sobrepasaron en número al verdadero español. Entre los veinte y tantos fundadores de Los Ángeles, por ejemplo, sólo dos eran españoles. La expresión “antiguas familias españolas” es una invención de los gringos y de los chicanos a quienes no les gusta la idea de ser considerados blancos (y quienes no saben que aun el español estaba lejos de ser europeo “puro” o blanco).

Nuevo México era la colonia de España más vieja, más estable y más poblada del norte. Esto se debía en gran parte al sistema de mercedes—un sistema usado por los gobernantes para fundar poblaciones que sirvieran de puesto avanzado contra ataques de indios nómadas. A una o más familias se les daba un terreno extenso de tierra para que establecieran un pueblito. Se asignaban terrenos pequeños a diferentes familias para que sembraran y construyeran viviendas. Pero la mayor parte de la tierra era un ejido, o propiedad en común del pueblo entero, y era usada igualmente por todos para cortar madera, alimentar el ganado, etc. Este sistema de mercedes era un sistema de cooperación en vez de competencia, como en el antiguo México.

España usó diferentes métodos para colonizar a California, Arizona, Tejas. En California, construyeron una serie de misiones y fuertes a lo largo de la costa. Las misiones eran granjas, donde los indios mestizos trabajaban casi como esclavos. En otros lugares, España también trató de establecer misiones y pequeños pueblos, pero no tuvieron éxito en establecerlos permanentemente. No podían vencer la resistencia de los indios nómadas como los apaches y los comanches.

Y esta era nuestra situación en 1776, como mexicanos bajo el gobierno colonial de España. Estábamos muy aislados. Casi no sabíamos nada de lo que ocurría en las trece colonias al este de nosotros. Pero México sintió el impacto de la revolución de las colonias americanas a Europa y a las trece colonias al este de nosotros. México comenzó a luchar contra España por su independencia cuando el padre Hidalgo dio el sonoro Grito de Dolores. Por fin, México ganó su guerra en 1821 mediante el sacrificio de muchos indios y mestizos, y muchas mujeres al igual que hombres. Pero la independencia produjo pocos cambios en Nuevo México, California, Tejas.

Sin embargo nos esperaban grandes cambios—cambios terribles, Once años de guerra habían dejado a Mexico débil. España, un poder europeo, había desaparecido de la escena. Gente nueva de los Estados Unidos que hablaba de posible expansión por todo el continente, se dio cuenta de la oportunidad. Esa gente necesitaba lo que tenía México.

This page shows two columns of text in English:

Raza, we were born with oppression and resistance in our very bones!

Spain wanted still more gold than it found in Mexico. So it sent explorers to the north, to what is now the Southwest. We, the mestizo—the Meshicano—were taken with them as servants of the Spanish Empire. The indio in us had been there long before. Legend says the Aztecs came from the north, from a place called Aztlan. Also, our ancestors in Mexico traded widely with other indio tribes as far away as Alabama, and people in Ohio once built pyramids like those of Mexico.

We went to what the Spaniards called Nuevo México, and settled there in 1598. Later we lived as servants and workers in the barrio of Analco—the first barrio in this country—in Santa Fé. All this was well before Jamestown, Plymouth Rock, the Pilgrims. When the Pueblo Indians of Nuevo México revolted against Spain in 1680, we Mexican workers of Analco joined them. We did not support our masters. ¡Arriba los Pobres! Together we drove Spain out.

Spain came back to impose its colonial rule on the Indians. Although it was Spanish rule, the Native American prevailed in many aspects of daily life. Their ways were often familiar to us: the respect for Nature, the collective spirit, even the foods. Those ways were part of our definition as mestizos. The Native American and mestizo far outnumbered the real Spaniard. Only the 20-odd founders of Los Angeles, for example, only two were real Spaniards. “Old Spanish families” are an invention of the gringo and Chicanos who don’t like the idea of being non-white (and do not know that even the Spaniard was far from being “pure” European or white).

Nuevo México was Spain’s oldest, most stable and most widely settled colony in the north. This was largely because of the system of Mercedes, land grants, which the rulers used to create settlements as outposts against attack by nomadic Indians. One or more families would be given a big section of land to establish a village. Small sections were assigned to individual families, for building a home and farming. But most of the merced was communal land (ejido) owned by the entire village, and used by everyone equally for grazing, cutting wood, etc. This land-holding system created a spirit of cooperation instead of competition—as in ancient Mexico.

Spain used different methods to colonize California, Arizona, Tejas. In California, they built a string of missions and forts along the coast. The missions had farms, where Indians and mestizos were worked like slaves. In other places, Spain also tried to establish missions and settlements but rarely succeeded in making them permanent. They could not overcome the resistance of nomadic Indians like the Apaches.

And that was our situation in 1776, as Mexicanos under the colonial rule of Spain. We were very isolated. We knew practically nothing about events in the Thirteen Colonies to the east of us. But in Mexico, the tide of bourgeois revolution which was sweeping Europe and the Thirteen Colonies made an impact. Mexico began to fight for its independence from Spain when Padre Hidalgo gave his ringing “Grito de Dolores.” That war was finally won in 1821; by then Mexico’s poor had included mestizos, many women as well as men. But independence brought little change to us in Nuevo Mexico, California, Tejas. Life went on, almost as before.

Actually, great change—terrible change—was waiting behind the scene.

Eleven years of war had left Mexico weak. Spain, a European power, was gone from the scene. Rich people in the United States, who had been talking about expanding all over the continent, saw their chance. They needed what Mexico had.

In the North of the U.S., the new textile mills and other factories were growing fast; their owners needed new markets—people to buy all those products. They also needed new sources of raw materials. In the South, the plantation-owners needed more land for cotton, to be grown by slaves. They were struggling to keep their old-fashioned, feudal power against the new, booming capitalism of the North. So they wanted more slave states in the Union.

The Southerners made the first Movida—in Tejas. Anglos, many of them slave-owners, began moving into that territory until they far out-numbered the Mexicanos. They received grants of land from Mexico on the condition that they swear loyalty to Mexico, which they did. But it was a false oath. In 1836, the Yanquis declared their independence from Mexico, strongly encouraged by the U.S. A way began; the Yanquis lost at first, at the Alamo. Then they won. Tejas was no longer part of Mexico, although it did not become a part of the U.S. right away.

By now, the northern capitalists wanted Mexican territory too. So the U.S. deliberately provoked a way, which lasted from 1856-48. U.S. forces invaded Mexico and drove toward the capital in a campaign famous for its brutal, murderous treatment of civilians. The well-equipped Yanquis won, despite the heroic defense of Mexicanos like the “Niños Heroes” of Chapultepec. In Nuevo Mexico, Indios and Mexicanos of the poor classes joined to fight the U.S. invaders but were finally crushed.

The war officially ended with the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo. The U.S. got all of California, Nuevo México and Tejas plus large parts of Nevada, Utah and Colorado, most of Arizona and a piece of Wyoming. (A few years later, with the Gadsden Purchase, the U.S. got the rest of Arizona). That was half of Mexico; it became almost a third of the present U.S.

Mexico tried to protect its people in that area by getting promises put into the treaty that their civil rights land and culture would be respected. But the treaty was never honored. Instead, the U.S. acted as if the Southwest were its colony and the people were a conquered, inferior race.

The last line of text stops midsentence, “Thousands of our people,” before a parentical reading “continued on page 7.”

The text on this page continues where the last image left off:

[Thousands of our people] were lynched, like Blacks in the South; others lost their land, their resources.

Brave men and women rose to resist the colonizers, in armed struggle. Underground organizations like Las Gorras Blancas carried out secret acts of sabotage and resistance. The masses of Mexicans showed their resistance by helping these fighters, and also by maintaining their culture.

It was a losing battle, in most ways. The U.S. imposed not only its flag but the whole capitalist system and way of life. When we lost the land, many of us lost our means of survival. We had to go to work on the same land, but not for ourselves or our village. Now it was for the new owners, the new bosses. And when there was no work on the land, we had to take jobs on the railroad, in the mines. There, we again encountered racism and exploitation. The most bitter part of all this is that we actually taught the Anglo how to survive and prosper in the Southwest.

In 1910, a process began in Mexico that affected us greatly. It was the Mexican Revolution of poor against rich, of the landless against the big landowners. Its fighters were thousands of men and women, people we know by name like Zapata, Villa and Valentina, together with people whose names are lost. In the end, the revolution failed to bring basic change for the masses of Mexicanos. The old powers put on a new face, and they had important help from the U.S. But we had fought, we almost won, and our hearts will always be stirred by the great people's struggle.

For years before the revolution, Mexicans had been coming to the U.S. They never thought of it as going to a foreign country; the border had little meaning in terms of geography or history or culture. But now they traveled here in great numbers. On the one hand, conditions in Mexico had become intolerable; on the other hand, the Mexicans were wanted in the Southwest. At this very time, the agricultural industry had begun to boom in the U.S. Its bosses urgently needed people willing to do hard, hot, cheap labor. Owners of the railroads and other industries also wanted cheap labor. They recruited millions of Mexicanos to work in the U.S. The labor of those carnales made millions of dollars for Big Business.

Unwilling to accept the racism and exploitation, the Chicano/Mexican workers began to organize—in unions, federations, associations. Then began the second great period of resistance, as one strike after another swept the Southwest. In the fields, the mines, the packing houses, thousands of workers cried “Huelga!” During this period, Mexicans fought and died alongside many other kinds of workers, from Blacks to Japanese. The bosses’ response was to beat, shoot, tear-gas, jail and deport us.

During the Depression years, we not only suffered increased poverty along with many other people; we also experienced deportation by the thousands, even when we were U.S. citizens. The U.S. wanted those “agitators” and “wetbacks” out of the way. This was not the first time that the bosses of the U.S. had tried to blame so-called “aliens” for an economic crisis, nor would it be the last. This was not the first time that they had tried to divide Chicanos from Mexicanos, nor would it be the last.

Having kicked us out as undesirable, the bosses suddenly wanted us again when World War II began. To fill the war-time need for labor, the “Bracero Program” went into effect and brought thousands of workers from Mexico. Although better conditions and pay were promised, the actual result was the same old exploitation and racism. Also during the war, many of our people moved to the city to take jobs in industry. Many more went to fight—and die. We were told that we had to “save the world for democracy.”

But where was the “democracy” at home? Hundreds of Chicanos/Mexicanos were beaten and terrorized by U.S. sailors and other whites in the “Zoot Suit Riots” of 1943. Others risked their lives on battlefields, only to come home and find they could not get a cup of coffee in a racist restaurant. At least one serviceman killed in the line of duty was refused burial in his hometown cemetery. “No niggers, dogs or Mexicans allowed”—that was a common sign in parts of the Southwest.

A new wave of resistance began, led by Blacks and Chicanos who struggled into the middle-class during the war, and found their rights still denied full U.S. citizenship. It looked to the courts and to Establishment politics, especially for economic solutions. It won some hard fights against racist practices. But even this modest struggle was silenced as a new wave of repression swept across the country in the early 1950’s. Those were the McCarthy years, when any proposal for social change was labeled “Communist.”

But the resistencia could not be stopped for long. In the early 1960’s, great numbers of Black people began fighting the same enemies as ours. Whites began to oppose the Vietnam war. And we also began to move again.

Our struggle broke out on three fronts at once: In New Mexico, it was for the land—la tierra. In California, it was for the right of farmworkers to unionize. In many places, it was for the right to live free of racist discrimination and abuse—especially from the police and school system. As in the Black movement and later the Native American, we saw a high tide of nationalism: “I’m proud to be Chicano!” and “Mi Raza primero!” It was the response to generations of racism. Con estos gritos, our minds were liberated from years of brainwashing, not knowing our own history and culture, hating ourselves, wanting to be white. We asserted our peoplehood, our Raza, with joy and pride. New Chicano art, theater and newspapers flowered to put across the new message.

Organizations formed everywhere. They included different classes of Chicanos: poor, unemployed people; workers; urban youth from the streets; students; working-class and middle-class families.

The last line of text stops midsentence, “Most of them,” before a parentical reading “continued on page 9.”

This page is the Spanish corollary of the previous image and begins midsentence:

duro con mucho calor y por muy poco sueldo. Los dueños de los ferrocarriles y de otras industrias también necesitaban trabajadores de pago bajo. Reclutaron millones de mexicanos para trabajar en los Estados Unidos. El trabajo de estos hermanos produjo millones de dólares para los grandes negocios.

No queriendo aceptar el racismo y la explotación,los trabajadores chicano-mexicanos comenzaron a organizarse—en sindicatos, federaciones, asociaciones.Entonces comenzó el segundo gran período de resistencia, y huelga tras huelga arrasó el suroeste en los años 1920 y 1930. En los campos, en las minas, en las empacadoras, miles de trabajadores gritaban ¡huelga! La respuesta de los jefes a los trabajadores fue golpearlos, tirotearlos, asfixiarlos con gas lacrimógeno, encarcelarlos y deportarlos. Durante ese período los mexicanos lucharon y murieron al lado de otros trabajadores—anglos, japoneses, etc. Perdimos otra vez.

Entonces llegó la segunda ola de represión: las deportaciones de miles de nuestra gente. Muchos eran ciudadanos americanos en realidad, pero eso no importaba. Los Estados Unidos querían echar fuera del país a los “agitadores” e “ilegales”. Esta no fue la primera vez que los jefes de Estados Unidos habían tratado de echar la culpa a extranjeros de causar una crisis económica, y no sería la última. Esta no fue la primera vez que habían tratado de dividir a los trabajadores chicanos de los anglos. Ni sería la última.

Después de habernos echado fuera de lo que no querían, de repente los jefes nos querían de nuevo cuando comenzó la segunda guerra mundial. Para satisfacer la necesidad de trabajadores causada por la guerra, el “Programa del Bracero” se puso en efecto y trajo miles de trabajadores de México. Aunque se prometieron mejores condiciones de trabajo y mejor pago, el resultado fue la misma explotación y racismo de antes. También durante la guerra, mucha de nuestra gente se fue a las ciudades para conseguir trabajo en la industria. Muchos más fueron a luchar—y a morir—por la “democracia” del Tío Sam.

Pero ¿dónde estaba la “democracia” de este país? Cientos de nosotros fuimos golpeados y aterrorizados por marineros y otros anglos en las “Manifestaciones de los Pachucos” de 1943. Otros arriesgaron su vida en los campos de batalla, y al regresar a su país encontraron que no podían comprar una taza de café en un restaurante racista. A más de un soldado que murió luchando en la guerra se le negó entierro en el cementerio del pueblo cuando no “Se permiten negros, perros, ni mexicanos”—era un letrero común en partes del sudoeste.

Comenzó una nueva ola de resistencia, encabezada por veteranos y chicanos que habían luchado para formar parte de la clase media durante la guerra. Las demandas eran de derechos civiles y de todos los derechos de ciudadanos en los Estados Unidos. Se buscaban soluciones en las cortes, en la política del gobierno, y especialmente en las democráticas. Se ganaron unas luchas duras contra prácticas racistas. Otra vez nos cayó la represión, en los años de reacción llamados por el Senador McCarthy. Toda clase de protesta contra la injusticia era “comunista”.

Pero la resistencia no se pudo detener por mucho tiempo. Al principio de los años del 60, grandes números de gente negra comenzaron a luchar contra los mismos enemigos nuestros. La gente blanca comenzó a oponerse a la guerra de Vietnam. Y nosotros también comenzábamos a movilizarnos de nuevo.

Nuestra lucha estalló en tres frentes a la misma vez: en Nuevo México—era por la tierra. En California, era por el derecho de los campesinos de organizar sindicatos. En muchos lugares era por el derecho de protestar contra el racismo—especialmente en las escuelas y en el cuerpo de la policía. Al igual que el movimiento afro-americano y más tarde el movimiento indígena, presenciamos una gran ola de nacionalismo—¡Tengo orgullo de ser chicano! y mi raza primero! Era la respuesta a un siglo de racismo. Con estos gritos los libros y años de sin enseñanza de nuestra cultura, odiándonos a nosotros mismos, queriendo ser anglos. Afirmamos nuestra identidad como gente, como raza, con orgullo y alegría. El nuevo arte chicano, el teatro y los periódicos florecieron para llevar el mensaje nuevo.

Por todos lados se formaron organizaciones. En ellas se veían diferentes clases de chicanos: gente pobre, sin trabajo; trabajadores; jóvenes de barrios; estudiantes; y familias de la clase trabajadora y de la clase media. Casi todas se desarrollaron de una manera espontánea y sin estrategias en una larga lucha. Pero seguimos luchando, fuimos a la cárcel, y a veces morimos por la causa.

También durante aquel tiempo las chicanas comenzaron a demandar que fueran tratadas como seres humanos completos, y que su vida no se limitara a desempeñar los papeles de novia, esposa, madre. La mayoría de nosotros dijimos que nuestra lucha no podía ser en contra de nuestros hombres, sino que tenía que ser junto con ellos en contra de nuestros enemigos comunes: el racismo, la pobreza. Pero aún así no podíamos aceptar lo opresivo sexista de nuestros cuerpos y nuestras mentes.

Para los años del 70 comenzábamos a mirar más allá del nacionalismo, del chicanismo. Podíamos ver que había otras gentes oprimidas que no eran blancas, llamadas “el tercer mundo” en los Estados Unidos. Esas gentes tenían los mismos enemigos que nosotros. Entonces nosotros comenzamos a formar alianzas con ellos y a trabajar junto con indios, puertorriqueños, negros y asiáticos. Comenzamos a ver que la guerra en Vietnam en realidad era una guerra para beneficiar a los jefes ricos imperialistas de los Estados Unidos que usaban la “amenaza comunista” para hacernos luchar y morir. ¡Basta ya!

Comenzamos a ver que el enemigo no era solamente el gringo, sino también “el sistema”. De pronto la gente se dió cuenta de que toda la sociedad de los Estados Unidos está organizada para beneficio de poca gente, como los Rockefellers, los capitalistas, los ricos.

The last line ends mindsentence: “Esa gente hace millones en ganancias porque el resto”.

This page returns to showing both Spanish and English side-by-side in two columns. The Spanish on the left reads,

de nosotros, la mayoría, trabaja para ellos. Ellos nos pagan lo menos que pueden. Lo que nos pagan son centavos en comparación con sus ganancias, y eso es lo que sigue aumentando sus millones. ¡Que awite!

Palabras como capitalismo, imperialismo y otras entraron a nuestro vocabulario al igual que racismo y pinche gringo. Muchos de nosotros también vimos que esta sociedad está dividida en clases, no solo por el color de color. Vimos que la clase más importante es la gente que produce lo que necesitamos para vivir, así como los servicios. ¿Cómo podríamos existir sin los trabajadores que hacen zapatos, o focos de luz eléctrica, sin los que recogen la basura y limpian los hospitales? Casi todos los chicanos y otra gente del tercer mundo se encuentran en esa clase, pero también muchos anglos. Ellos a veces tienen actitudes racistas, pero en realidad tienen el mismo enemigo nuestro—el sistema. De alguna manera necesitamos unir a toda esa clase de la misma manera que juntamos los dedos para formar un puño.

En 1974-75, el desempleo y los precios subieron como nunca. Pasamos por “una crisis económica”, decía la gente. Más y más trabajadores, inclusive Raza, se declararon en huelga para demandar el derecho de organizarse y el derecho de vivir decentemente. Los capitalistas culpaban a cualquiera, excepto a sí mismos, y especialmente culpaban a los “ilegales”, generalmente trabajadores mexicanos. Comenzaron las deportaciones masivas de mexicanos. Era una repetición de la situación de los años del 1930, a veces más-brutal y fascista. Pero esta vez se unieron trabajadores chicanos, mexicanos y otros para gritar “¡Chale con su division y racismo!”

Hoy en día vivimos en una época de gran resistencia y represión. Es una época de revolución y de grandes cambios por todo el mundo. Nuestra gente está abriéndo los ojos de par en par. Ya no vemos solo una parte del panorama. Vemos que nuestros barrios se encuen tran por todo el mundo, y que todo el mundo es nuestro barrio.

Nosotros que hicimos este libro esperamos que ayude a abrir ojos. Esperamos también que sirva de pequeña estrella que guíe más gente al camino de resistencia y que ilumine ese camino. ¡Hasta la victoria siempre!

Following the last line, the place and date attributed to the writing are noted as “Centro Chicano de Comunicaciones, Albuquerque, Nuevo México—1976.” Below there is an absract drawing showing a few faces and an arm pointing to the right, adorned by images of stars.

In the right column the English text reads,

developed in a very sudden, unplanned and spontaneous way. Few had a long-range strategy. But we struggled, went to prison, and often died for the causa.

Also in this period, Chicanas began to demand that they be treated as full human beings and not limited to the roles of girlfriend, wife, mother. Most of us said that our struggle could not be against one man; it had to be with them against the common enemies of racism and power. But still we could not accept the sexist oppression of our bodies and minds.

By the early 1970’s, our people were beginning to look beyond nationalism and “Chicanismo”. We could see that there were other, non-white oppressed peoples called “Third World” within the U.S. Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Native Americans and Asians have the same oppressors as we do. So we formed alliances with them. We began to see that the Vietnam war was really for the benefit of the rich U.S. bosses, who used “the Communist threat” to make us fight.

We saw that the enemy wasn’t just the gringo but “the system.” U.S. society is based on a system in which a few rich people—the Rockefellers, the capitalists—make millions in profits because the rest of us, the majority, work for them. They pay us as little as possible, and what they pay is pennies compared to their profits. This keeps their profits booming.

Capitalismo, imperialismo—words like this entered our vocabulary along with racism and pinche gringo. Many of us came to see how this society is divided into classes, not just along color lines. We saw how the most important class is the people who produce the things we need to live, and the services. How could everyone exist without the workers who make shoes or light bulbs, without those who collect the garbage and clean hospitals? Most Chicanos and other “Third World” people are found in that class, but also many Anglos. They often have racist attitudes but actually they face the same enemy we do—the sistema. Somehow we need to unite that whole class, the same way that we join our fingers to form a single fist.

In 1974-75, unemployment and prices zoomed. There was an “economic crisis,” people said. More and more workers, including Raza, went on strike. The capitalists blamed the crisis on everybody but themselves, and especially on “aliens”—usually meaning us. Massive deportation began. It was a re-run of the 1930’s, sometimes even more brutal. But this time, we often united to reject this racism and divisiveness.

Today we live in a time of new resistance and repression. It is a time of revolution and great changes all over the world. The eyes of our people are open wide. We no longer see only a small part of the picture. We see that our barrios are all over the world, and the whole world is in our barrio. We who made this book hope it will help to open eyes. We hope it will serve as a small star to guide more people on to the road of resistance and to light their way.

The place and date associated with the writing appear again, this time as, “Chicano Communications Center, Albuquerque, New Mexico—1976.”

A book page split into two sections. At top there is an image of a woman in the field holding an armful of spinach. Beside the image the text reads, “WE GREW THE FOOD YOU ATE . . . But our work made others rich.” The caption for the image indicates the crop and location of the image: “Espinaca/Spinach, Robstown, Texas.’

The bottom part of the page shows a man in a field holding a large bundle of carrots. The text beside the image reads, “NOSOTROS PRODUCIMOS LA COMIDA . . . Pero nuestra labor hizo ricos a los dueños.” As above, the caption indicates the crop and location of the image: “Carrots/Zanahoria, Edinburgh, Texas.”

A page showing four ads. In the top right there is a neon sign reading “EL NIDO MOTEL AIR COOLED” beneath the image of a person wearing a Stetson hat, sitting up against a cactus.

Beside that on the upper right, there is an ad for a watch, reading “YOUR NEW ELGIN IS BETTER THAN THE ELGIN ZAPATA WAS WILLING TO KILL FOR IN 1914” printed over an image of Emiliano Zapata.

In the lower left, under the heading “THE BIG BRAINWASH” and a caricature of a Mexian man wearing two bandoliers and a sombrero, there is a block of text that reads:

Frito Bandito, used to sell Frito-Lay products/ anuncio de una compañía de tostaditas de maíz.

In Occupied America, they said we were dumb Mexicans, greasers, bandits, cockroaches, had no incentive, and were always sleeping under a cactus or grinning stupidly like Frito Bandito. Schools and the media pounded these images into our heads. This was an important part of the colonization process. By making us believe in our own inferiority, the rulers of the society could keep us in “our place”—primarily as cheap labor. The colonization of our minds was an effective tool.

En América Ocupada, nos dijeron que éramos mexicanos estúpidos, “greasers”, bandidos, cucarachas, que no teníamos ambición, que siempre dormíamos debajo un cactus o sonriéndonos como Frito Bandito. Las escuelas y la radio y la televisión nos “lavaron la mente” con esas imágenes. Todo eso era una parte importante del proceso de colonización. Haciéndonos creer en nuestra inferioridad, la clase dominante podía mantenernos como una fuente constante de labor barata.

The last ad, for Old Crow bourbon, appears in the lower right with images of Pancho Villa and General “Black Jack’ Pershing. The captions for the images reads: “1916. Pancho Villa raids Columbus, New Mexico. Brig-Gen. Pershing invades Mexico with orders to get Villa at any cost. But the guerrilla proves harder to catch then a cucaracha.”

Following that in bold lettering there is a heading: “1916. General “Black Jack” Pershing orders Pancho Villa caught dead or alive. And Old Crow is 81 years old,” followed by a block of copy beside an drawing of a bottle of Old Crow alongside some poured into a glass cup:

Men knew the taste of real Bourbon whiskey then. You know it today. Old Crow . . . since 1835 the original sour mash Bourbon. The Bourbon. Mellow. Smooth. With a flavor the man who knows Bourbon has respected for generations. Accept no substitute.

When you know OLD CROW you know Bourbon.

Aged a full six years.