Acuna, Rodolfo F <rudy.acuna@csun.

edu>
Footprints
The Activist Scholar
In 1989, I was awarded the NACCS (National Association for Chicana
and Chicano Studies) Scholar Award, which in theory was supposed to
go to a Chicano or Chicana with a lifetime of activism and
scholarship. Although it is supposed to be its most prestigious award,
NACCS has never gotten straight whether the recipient is an activist, a
scholar activist, an activist scholar or scholar first. Like with most
associations the selection is politically correct choosing a female and a
male or rotating the choice – a practice that is not necessarily
bad. However, it does not resolve the question of which comes first,
the activist or the scholar. For example, if scholar is the noun, Dr.
Ramón Ruiz trumps us all. If activist is the noun, the shove goes to
Elizabeth “Betita” Martínez or Margarita Melville.
Personalities always come into play too. For example, I would ask why
José Angel Gutiérrez has never been considered. He certainly enjoys a
lifetime history of activism: during his tenure at the University of
Texas at Arlington has taken on the administration, established a
Mexican American Studies Center, built one of the finest oral history
projects in the nation and published a dozen books. Armando Navarro
would also be a contender. His community work is persistent; he has
also published a half dozen books. Well then what is an activist scholar
or a scholar activist and what should Chicana and Chicano scholars be
striving toward?
The whole process reminds me of the spring of 1971 (I am dating
myself) when I spent several months visiting Cuenavaca, Mexico and
on occasion visited CIDOC (el Centro Intercultural de Documentación)
where Ivan Illich held court. At the time he was the guru of the left; his
anarchist approach to education attracted a huge following as did
books such as Deschooling Society (1971). Naturally we wanted to
catch a glimpse of Illich and hoped to meet Paul Goodman and leaders
of the Liberation Theology movement such as Paulo Friere who
frequented CIDOC. The first time I visited I was struck by the
setting. Illich sauntered into the garden wearing a white guayabera,
cotton pants and Jesus sandals. The first thing that struck me was his
enormous toes and the size of his nose that would qualify me as chato
(snub nose). A hush came over the crowd as admirers called out, Ibán,
what is knowledge? Ibán, what is truth? Illich would reply that these
were sacred words that should not be profaned and should remain
unmentionable as in the case of the ancient Hebrews’ “Jehovah.”
Similarly the words activist scholar and scholar activist have become
the unmentionable. This is convenient because if you define a word
then you have to live up to its expectations. And frankly, I have known
few people who can embody the words. One of the few that fit the
definition was Ernesto Galarza who was so unique that that his
activism has become a problem. It absolves others from having to
measure up to the ideal. It is easier for scholars to point to Galarza
and make him the rule rather than the try to measure up to him.
I have never considered myself an activist scholar or vice versa. I
consider myself a Chicano studies professor who uses life experiences
to instruct his research and teaching. And this is simply because I don’t
want to be a pediche (a freeloader). I have always had a problem with
people writing about Chicano labor or, Chicano politics or any other
aspect of the Chicano movement and never participated, or, for that
matter, been active for a half dozen years to feed their ego and claim
that they paid their dues. There is only so much knowledge that we
can glean from library archives or secondary sources. How do you
analyze or even understand documents if you have never experienced
similar events? For many years Jack London was my favorite novelist
until I learned that he was a xenophobe.
The result is that I have never had a firm research trajectory; basically
my research topics and sources match my life. In the 1960s I was
involved in head start, voter registration, civil rights, anti-war events
and Chicana/o studies. My first three books were for public school
students because I had taught junior, senior high school students as
well as junior college. Occupied America was motivated by my
involvement during the ‘60s, and represents the disillusionment with
the United States brought about by the Vietnam War, and its
suppression of the Civil Rights and the Chicano Movements. (I had the
illusion that change would come if we worked hard enough). By
training I am a historian; by vocation a teacher. History is the study of
documents; documents are what make history different than the social
sciences and the humanities. However, I always kept in mind that little
word epistemology; what we know is based on how we acquired the
knowledge.
Without knowing it, we leave our own footprints in life; over half my
life has been in the Chicana/o Movement and related to Chicana/o
studies. Some of us are very fortunate because the footprints we leave
can easily be traced. In my perception, footprints revive memory and
memory is what prays us out of purgatory. This is important to me
because I do not believe in a hereafter and I know that I will be part of
this world as long as I am remembered. Purgatory is the place where
the forgotten are abandoned. The rich and famous keep their memory
alive through endowing buildings with their name whereas the famous
become the subject of books. However, in the case of the poor, their
lives, like the wind in the desert, are swept away without any trace of
their existence. Within a couple of generations it is as if they never
existed. In other words, the rich have always been able to buy
indulgences. They make endowments, get buildings named after
them, have their portraits painted. The rich live forever.
Because I was fortunate enough to be a Mexican and had a stable
home, life gave me the opportunity to chisel my footprints into
stone. I have been able to leave published items, which mark where I
traveled and what I thought.
These footprints have meandered. When I was younger and idealistic I
believed that Chicana/o studies would shift public discourse through
the creation of Chicano Thought. I realized in 1969 that not too many
people paid attention to or cared about Mexicans in the United States
and knew even less about them. Consider that Mesoamerican religion
is one of the few major world religions that have not been
preserved. I believed that a community of scholars would change this
reality through their scholarship, contributions to children’s literature
and public items such as opinion essays. I thought, just consider if
every Chicana/o scholar would write one children’s book every five
years, this would help form the consciousness of Chicana/o
students. Until this day I have admired children’s writers, e.g., I have
always admired Nephtalí de León’s children short stories and Ernesto
Galarza books para niños and their impact. I wrote three children’s
books circa 1970.
The early 1980s were essential to defining Chicanos as a people. It was
a time when Chicano studies evolved new definitions and dilution of
the word Chicano, which has been blown away with the dust of
time. Ideological battles continued; however, these battles gave way
to a redefinition of community issues. By then César Chávez so much
the icon of the Chicano Movement was confused with the Mexican
boxer Julio César Chávez. Some of the redefinitions were ridiculous
such as the one advanced by a well known Chicano studies professor, a
member of an Albanian Marxist sect, saying that Chicanos were feudal
and that bourgeoisie American culture was at a higher state of
development that Chicanos had to go through. Based on this sort of
mechanical analysis it was easy for her to conclude that the Sandinistas
in Nicaragua were wrong for taking Soviet arms. This simplification
came from theoretical Marxists who were not involved in mass
groups. Those such as the League of Revolutionary Struggle (LRS) and
the Communist Labor Party to name a few despite their obnoxious
party building practices were concerned with grassroots community
issues such as immigration and labor. They led the anti-Bakke
Coalition (ABC) of the late 1970s. Other groups such as CASA joined
the National Anti-Bakke Decision Coalition which also staged
demonstrations.
The tone of my own research took a turn during the late ‘70s when I
entered began the study of the Eastside Sun. I was able to get a small
grant that allowed me to buy a 16 mm microfilm camera and pay two
student activists summer stipends. The reason I got the grant was
that I was involved in community work and needed the money to keep
two students working during the vacation period. By accident I was
combining my activism with my research and my teaching. What I did
with the Sun was to microfilm all the articles on Chicana/os
chronologically.
Later my wife, Guadalupe Compeán, a doctoral student at UCLA,
exposed me to urban planning , which put the articles in the Sun in a
new perspective. I accompanied her to meeting of the United
Neighborhoods Organization (UNO) and had the honor of using Fr. Luis
Olivares advanced computer system at Our Lady Queen of the
Angeles. The inner city at night was a new archive. This resulted in the
publication of A Community Under Siege (1984). I had put the
microfilmed articles in the Sun on 5x8 cards and annotated them. I
then took the Belvedere Citizen which was already microfilmed and
put them on cards. With these articles I formed a timeline of activities
not normally recorded. These were two community newspapers that
had articles and events not listed in Los Angeles mainline newspapers.
I would regularly discuss the articles with my classes and the
conclusions were published in the second and third editions of
Occupied America and in Community Under Siege.
Also during this period I was involved with the Campaign to Keep GM
Van Nuys Open" to stop General Motors from shutting down the
region’s last auto plant. It assembled union activists and community
folk in a labor/community coalition threatening if the plant closed to
boycott of GM products in L.A. if the plant was shut down. I had the
good fortune of working with Eric Mann and Pete Beltrán, probably
one of the greatest labor organizers of my time. I also worked with
Mann in establishing the Labor/Community Strategy Center. Mann, an
organizational genius, later spun off the Bus Rider’s Union. For me,
this was much more gratifying that going to school or a library – and I
certainly learned more. This experience was complemented by work
with the Solidarity Movement with Central American during the ‘80s.
In 1984, I took the money awarded me in the CAPA v. the PDID (the Los
Angeles Police) and funded a march protesting the Olympics which
were held in LA. against U.S. intervention in Central America. Again, it
encouraged me attending meetings and interacting with Central
Americans. During this period I performed civil disobedience taking
over Congressman Howard Berman’s office and getting arrested at the
federal building. Two years later I appeared on the cover of the LA
Weekly, thanks to its founder Jay Levin – a nice guy. This notoriety
was based more on luck than achievement. The article introduced me
as a scholar-activist, which was a compliment:
Rudy Acuna, scholar-activist of Aztlan, sat among the stacks of books,
dusty journals and yellowing student papers in his office at Cal State
Northridge, dressed in his usual blue jeans and a casual cotton shirt.
The lead stories in the morning paper were about Latinos. One
announced that Ronald Reagan’s Justice Department had filed suit
against the L.A. City Council for deliberately fragmenting Latino voting
strength. The other story focused on the City Council debate over a
resolution declaring Los Angeles a “City of Sanctuary.” The front-page
affirmation that Latinos were news barely drew a contemptuous
glance from the salt-and-pepper-haired professor….
L.A. Times reporter Frank del Olmo, a former Acuna student, wrote
that Acuna is as known for “political activism as for his academic
research into the history of the southwestern United States and the
Mexican-Americans who helped build the region.” Del Olmo added
that “despite his academic credentials, Acuna is also a gadfly who
freely criticizes the shortcomings of the system that nurtures him. Only
his reputation as a teacher and the fact that he has tenure protect
him.”
It’s true. Over the last year he’s fought CSU Chancellor Dr. W. Ann
Reynolds all over the map. He’s bitterly denounced her new admission
requirements as “racist and elitist” because they will effectively lock
out the next generation of Latino students. Reynolds’ reaction to
Acuna was formulated by Dr. Ralph Bigelow, the chancellor’s chief staff
officer for admissions and records, who doesn’t think all the
commotion has added up to much: “We didn’t need his observations
to be aware of the educational problems among Hispanics,” Bigelow
sniffed coldly. “That’s a social problem that many people are aware
of.”
Acuna probably knew that his efforts to stop the new rules were a long
shot. Nevertheless, he stood his ground and waited outside the CSU
headquarters in Long Beach with 75 Chicano and black student
demonstrators on a damp, cold day in November when Reynolds and
his trustees made their fateful decision. As rain clouds scudded
overhead, the trustees tightened admission standards. The proposal
Acuna tried so hard to stop were state university policy by the next
day.
. United Auto Workers organizer Eric Mann has worked with
Acuna on labor-related issues, including the fight to keep the Van Nuys
General Motors plant open. Acuna is an important spokesman, says
Mann, because of “his moral outrage at a time when outrage is out of
fashion. He’s a top-rate scholar with impeccable credentials and he’s
willing to work to build a coalition.” Mann recalls that at a meeting
with the president of GM, Acuna mentioned what he called a
“historical affection between the Chicano and the Chevrolet” – a bond
he vowed to break if GM closed down a plant where more than 50
percent of the workers are Latino.
Last spring he was honored by the progressive Liberty Hill Foundation
because, as Mary Jo von Mach, the foundation’s executive director,
put it, “We’ve known about Rudy for a long time.” Speaking to an
audience including economist-philanthropist Stanley Sheinbaum and
Ed Asner, Acuna quietly asked that they take the time to get to know
his community. Although Mexicans founded this city, he said, even
progressives rarely give them any thought until it’s time to hire a good
housekeeper or they require the urban backdrops of the Eastside for a
TV series.
There were few professors who had as long a shelf life that I had –
hence my selection for cover of the LA Weekly. This interview was a
springboard to writing op-ed columns for the Los Angeles Herald-
Examiner which I at first struggled with. Op-ed writing is a different
animal, and I was used to using a lot of space to express
myself. Despite a rocky start, I was hired as a contract columnist with
the Herald-Examiner that meant appearing at least once a month. It
also fed my ego since I was read by a much larger audience. The
English language articles were also translated for La Opinión, the
largest Spanish-language newspaper in the United
States. Unfortunately for Los Angeles and me the Herald-Examiner
went out of business in 1989. The unfortunate part was that it left the
City with only one major newspaper; for all its faults the Herald-
Examiner was a muckraking newspaper, albeit conservative but would
break an occasional story about police abuse. The Times was often in
bed with City Hall.
The experience also forced me to keep abreast of Chicano politics and
to interview the major players. I read countless newspapers, cutting
and pasting articles. This was before we had access to Proquest
newspapers and LexisNexis. The research would lay the foundation for
Anything But Mexican (Verso 1996). My columns were colored by the
controversy over the building of the prison in East Los Angeles. In
retrospect I was too hard on Councilman Richard Alatorre and
Assemblyman Richard Polanco. Here my idealism (or self-ego) got in
the way; I was thinking more like a pundit than a historian. For all of
the flaws of these two politicians, I now realize that they did more to
increase Latino representation than all the other politicos combined
since that time. They can be criticized for making deals, but at the core
they remained close to their Garfield High School roots. They never
bargained away the gains or core values of the community and sought
a Chicano presence in key institutions such as city government, the
sheriff’s department and the schools. The break with Alatorre was
difficult because I sincerely liked him and, for the exception of Marco
Firebaugh, he helped Chicano studies most by intervening on our
behalf at key moments. Complicating matters was the Herald-
Examiner was hitting at Alatorre and his family. They were especially
critical of one of his sisters. Further I was on another side of the fight
from Alatorre on several issues. I aligned myself with the anti-prison
forces and Olvera Street merchants in the fight to preserve Olvera
Street. Presuming that I was anti-Altatorre, the chief editor of the
Herald-Examiner asked me whether I wanted to do an exposé on
Alatorre; the Herald would give me their files on him. I asked whether
he was going to give me the files of the other fourteen city council
members. The matter was dropped and I tried to keep my criticisms
on issues, although Richard at times made it difficult – like the time he
showed up at a council meeting dressed entirely in white -- even down
to white shoes and a white hat, reminiscent of a character out of the
godfather.
Many of the issues that I dealt with revolved around culture. Olvera
Street, the Cinco de Mayo and the beer companies. During the visit of
the Spanish king who the gringos attempted to palm off on us. I
wrote:
The fate of Olvera Street, Los Angeles’ oldest, is up for grabs.
Earthquake laws, historically preservation, the pimping of Mexican
culture and a political power struggle over who will control El Pueblo
de Los Angeles Historic Park, all are playing a role.
During the 1880s, Olvera Street was part of a larger Mexican barrio –
encompassing today’s Chinatown – called Sonora Town. Although they
competed with newcomers to Los Angeles to live there, Mexicans
made up a majority of its residents at the turn of the century.
But by the mid-1920s, Sonora Town, now reduced to Olvera Street,
was in its last urban cycle. Its residential character was gone, its
buildings occupied by commercial enterprises. When light industry
moved in, almost everyone expected Olvera to be bulldozed. Enter
Mrs. Christine Sterling, who wanted to save the Avila house, as well as
other buildings, and preserve a bit of “Old Mexico.”
And of course there were the contradictions of the Catholic Church
that stuck in your throat as it denied that there was an AIDS
epidemic. Up to this point, like many people of my generation, I tried
to ignore reality of homosexuality. Some rationalized that
homosexuality was caused by decadent capitalism. But the
inhumanity and unfairness of the disease drew you in and so did the
idiocy of the Catholic Church and other religious institutions which I
wrote about.
Archbishop Roger Mahony’s decision to withdraw the Archdiocese of
Los Angeles from participation in the Latino AIDS education program
has sparked a controversy in the community. Since the church’s moral
authority and influence among Latinos is indisputable, any AIDS project
that lacks its support might be handicapped.
Some of Mahony’s critics thus see the archbishop’s rigid opposition to
the use of condoms, which is why he pulled the church’s support, as
dangerously dogmatic and unsympathetic to the needs of the Latino
community. But such charges need to be viewed in the light of the
history of the archdiocese.
Cardinal Timothy Manning and James Francis McIntyre were widely
perceived in the Latino community as champions of the rich and
powerful. Both supported the late Monsignor Benjamin G. Hawkes, the
archdiocese’s arch-conservative comptroller. To many, Hawkes’
fondness for expansive suits, gold jewelry and his memberships in the
Jonathan Club and the Los Angeles Country Club symbolized the
distance between Catholic hierarchy and worshiper. “The rich have
souls, too” was one of his favorite observations.
I traveled to Chicago, speaking at the University of Illinois at Chicago
Circle and discovered the Durango connection. My wife is from
Durango, Mexico, and I became very curious as to why so many people
went from Durango to Chicago. Most were hard working people from
economically depressed areas such as the region around Santiago
Papasquiaro, which during colonial times was a rich mining
district. During the Mexican Revolution, Villa and many of his troops
came from Northern Durango. As the area became more depressed
many of the descendants of these revolutionists survived by turning to
the American drug trade and Los Hijos de Pancho controlled Chicago’s
Drug trade before many suffered the fate of Al Capone. I wrote about
Jesús García, one of the finest Chicano politicos I had ever met. Twice
a week he held open house as constituents met him in his office and
ask him for political relief. Jesse came out of the pro-immigrant
movement for which he has worked his entire life as a community
organizer:
[Jesus] Garcia represents the best in the Mexican community. Raised in
Chicago, a student activist at the University of Illinois Chicago Circle,
Garcia joined the Chicago chapter of CASA (Centro de Accion
Autonoma) – a pro-immigrant rights group – in the mid-‘70s. The
organization was founded in Los Angeles by Bert Corona in 1968.
At the time, Rudy Lozano coordinated CASA’s Chicago activities. When
the chapter dissolved in the early 1980s, its core activities entered
electoral politics, joining Washington’s coalition in 1983. After
Washington’s mayoral victory, a Latino gang youth gunned downed
Lozano. His death quickly created controversy. The Chicago police
department defended itself against charges of a cover-up by implying
that Lozano’s slaying was drug-related. After four years of community
pressure, the state attorney general has reopened the case.In the
wake of Lozano’s death, Garcia emerged as a leading community
spokesman. In 1984, he was elected ward committeeman in charge of
political organizations and was a leader in Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow
Coalition. He was overwhelmingly elected to a second council term this
year.
. My pieces were a mixture of politics, culture, education and
social commentary. As mentioned, they appeared simultaneously in
the Herald-Examiner and La Opinión giving me a potential audience of
close to a half million readers. The East LA prison -- as it was called –
was actually on the western fringe of Boyle Heights – continued to
attract attention. I was introduced to the Mothers of East Los Angeles
who stopped the building of the prison. By this time, factions
developed – the Resurrection Parish and the St. Isabel Mother’s. This
movement also contributed to the rise of Assembly woman Gloria
Molina who became a Los Angeles City Councilwoman and then a
member of the powerful Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors. I
became a participant observer in the struggle to stop the prison which
was being pushed by the Republican governor and the California
Correctional Peace Officer's Association (CCPOA) which today is the
most powerful lobbying groups in the state of California.
The proposed sitting of a state prison in downtown Los Angeles is a
classic example of “arrogance of power” trying to bully a disorganized
and largely poor community. On the face of it, East L.A. doesn’t need
another prison. The five that are already there have a combined
inmate population approaching that of the area’s total public school
enrollment. The general attitude seems to have been that it is OK to
send the monster to East L.A. since the surrounding Latino community
is deteriorating anyway. Such a mindset is not surprising: Over the
years, everything from prisons to toxic-waste dumps have been
located in the area.
By 1986, the explosion of the Mexican American population in Los
Angeles was evident; however, the community was still begging to be
counted with few Mexican Americans in public office.
Last fall, when State Assemblyman Richard Alatorre was elected to the
Los Angeles City Council, his swearing in ceremonies took on the
dimensions of a coronation, with leading politicians of all races
attending.
What made this event so momentous was not the office itself, since a
city council post does not carry with it the power or prestige of the
mayor or a county supervisor. It was not even important that it took
Alatorre, a senior and powerful member of the California Assembly,
more than $300,000 to get elected to the governing body of a city of 3
million (1980 Census), with close to 1 million Latinos.
What was important was the attitude of the press and Angelinos
themselves. Few questioned the irony of the fanfare, refusing to
acknowledge the structural imperfections of the system that denied
Mexican-Americans representation for 20 years. Instead, they
celebrated the event as the awakening of the Latin population and/or
proof that the system worked.
It is necessary, however, to put Alatorre’s election into a historical
context. Carey McWilliams wrote in 1949 in his classic, “North From
Mexico”:
“When asked how many notches he had on his gun, King Fisher, the
famous Texas gunman, once replied: ‘Thirty-seven – not counting
Mexicans.’” This casual phrase, with its drawling understatement,
epitomizes a large chapter in Anglo-Hispano relations in the
Southwest.
During this period xenophobia increased and I wrote:
In the ‘80s, the revival of patriotism in some quarters has taken the
form of “We are all Americans and we are all the same.” Critics of
government policy are sometimes called unpatriotic. Social scientists
reinforce the mindset by creating euphemisms for “racism” like the
“isolation of minorities.” Such an abstract concept reinforces the belief
that American society is no longer tainted by traces of racism.
Actually, during the past 15 years, as the arrival of undocumented
workers from Mexico has accelerated, racism towards Latinos has
increased. This growing antipathy toward Latinos is in the large part
the result of statistics released by the Immigration and Naturalization
Service. The agency’s formula for estimating the numbers of “illegal
aliens” who elude capture crossing into the United States – for every
one who is caught, three to four make it – has contributed to the
impression that we are losing control of our borders. Last year, for
example, the INS reported that 1.7 million undocumented workers
were arrested. Multiplying that figure by a factor of 3 or 4, per INS’
“got away” ratio, does indeed suggest a deluge. But clearly there is no
way to verify these estimates. The figures, nonetheless, are dutifully
reported in the media without any critical evaluation. Given this
misleading scenario of Mexicans streaming across our borders, racism
toward all brown-skinned people can, and does, flourish.
Pimping of the culture and the exclusion of Chicano history from the
museums continued to be a preoccupation as efforts to begin a Latino
museum were subverted by the politicos. Moreover, Mexican holidays
like the Cinco de Mayo were co-opted by the beer companies and even
the topless joints. In 1987 the League of United Latin American
Citizens, the GI Forum and other Latino organizations entered into a
pact with the Coors Brewing Company to lift a boycott of Coors in turn
for a deal to give these companies donation based on how much the
Latino community consumed.The situation reached a new low two
years ago when leading Mexican-American national organizations –
the National Council of La Raza, the American G.I. Forum and later the
League of United Latin American Citizens – signed an agreement with
the Coors Brewing Company. In return for calling off a national
boycott, Coors promised to give more than $350 million to Latino
organizations and to the community. Coors suddenly had become a
good corporate citizen.
But there was no guarantee that Latinos would ever see a cent of the
pledged money. That Latinos would consume large quantities of Coors
was a certainty. Critics of the agreement devised a new motto for the
Chicano movement: “Drink a Coors for La Raza!”
Even more insidious than the Coors pact is the mindset of the middle-
class organizations that signed on the dotted line. The leaders of La
Raza, for example, no longer live next door to the poor who pick up the
tab. By agreeing to take Coors’ word at face value, they unconsciously
undermined the very values and institutions they pledged to preserve.
Alcoholism is a major problem in the Latino community. Pathetically
outdated studies show that it is a greater health hazard there than in
either the black or white communities. It destroys families, despoils
the culture. The arrest rate for drunkenness is disproportionately high
among Mexican-Americans. It is a myth that Mexicans are not drunks
but just good drinkers.
The alcoholism in the Mexican American community became a
reoccurring theme. Along with the pimping of culture, another
reoccurring theme was police brutality:
The reluctance to check police abuse not only means that innocent
victims continue to suffer. The people as a whole also are victimized,
because prosecuting those who abuse governmental power is that
much more difficult. No matter how much we want to ignore it, police
brutality is as potent an issue today as it was in 1970, when Los
Angeles officers, in a case of mistaken identity, shot and killed Gillermo
and Beltran Sanchez in their apartment and when newsman Ruben
Salazar was accidentally, though recklessly, killed while covering a
Chicano protest of the Vietnam War…
The unwillingness to prosecute places an unfair burden on the
survivors who are forced to live with the guilt and stigma associated
with the “reasonable doubt” that their beloved committed a crime. In
order to get a measure of justice, families must hire a lawyer and go to
civil court to clear their reputations…
Take the case of Jildardo Plasencia, 33. In 1980, the Plasencias hosted a
family New Year’s Eve party in their Willowbrook home. The women
and girls were in the house, the men and boys in a converted rumpus
room in the garage. At about 9 p.m., Jildardo fired two guns and a
shotgun into the air to celebrate the approaching New Year.
At roll call that evening, sheriff’s deputies had been told of this
tradition. If they heard gunshots while on patrol, the deputies were
instructed to go in, after calling for back up, with lights flashing. The
sheriff’s department wanted to avoid an incident. But deputies David
Anderson and Sandra Jones took it upon themselves to investigate the
source of the gunfire, together in the dark.
According to the deputies, they encountered two men. The first
immediately put up his hands; the other, Jildardo, allegedly stood in
the garage doorway and pointed a gun at Jones, who shot and killed
him. In the next three or four seconds, the deputies fired nine times,
seven times through the partially opened garage door. Inside, three
men, two teenagers and three boys crouched in terror. When the
shooting stopped, Jildardo lay dead with an unloaded revolved in his
hand; Juan Santoyo, 18, was wounded in the leg; and 3 year old
Jildardo Jr. was struck once in the buttock, and another bullet ruptured
his intestines…
It was a community under siege.
An interview appeared in the LA Weekly in 1988 on my work with Eric
Mann and the LA Community/Strategy Center which had spun off the
Keep the Van Nuys General Motors Plant open.
“We’re probably the last two angry men in L.A.,” says Eric Mann of
himself and fellow activist Rudy Acuna. Acuna, for his part, demurs
only slightly: “We just get frustrated when we think other people don’t
care,” he says. “And we know if we don’t do something about it, no
one else will.”
What’s Mann pissed off about? General Motors’ treatment of its
workers. Big business and big money running the country. The
infuriating injustices he witnesses every day. Ask Acuna what gets him,
and he’ll rattle off a long list of offenses: the shameful treatment of
Chicanos and labor unions; the profit motive system of the United
States; Bush and Dukakis and Bentsen and Quayle and stupidity and
ignorance threading their way through the social and political fabric of
the country.
But while other people’s anger these days is often impotent or self-
serving or both, Mann and Acuna have channeled theirs into creating
an organization to fight against at least some of what riles them. The
Labor/Community Strategy Center, scheduled to open next January,
will seek to organize communities to support labor unions and put
pressure on corporations to keep them from moving heavy-industry
plants out of California. More important, the center aims at creating a
lasting bond between industry workers and surrounding
communities.
It is not false modesty when I say that I got too much credit in this
interview, more than I deserved. For a scholar, this was an invaluable
experience meeting and working with a cross current of trade union
leaders. Mann still runs the Strategy Center and the Bus Riders’
Union. Also at the time Justice for Janitors was picking up steam,
energized by undocumented immigrant workers who just wanted a
better life. The leadership came from Latinas – many of whom were
Salvadoran. I learned a lot from Mann, Mark Masoka and Peter Olney
as well as stories that I covered. Throughout this experience police
brutality was a continuous theme as well as capital punishment.
Unknown to me my career as a columnist was coming to an end. I had
made a lot of enemies which was a plus with the Herald-
Examiner. The people there just wanted to beat the Los Angeles
Times. By the end of the year the Los Angeles Herald Examiner went
out of business – hopefully through no fault of mine. The closing down
of the Herald-Examiner was a blow to Chicanos and other minorities
because it removed the only competition to the Los Angeles Times,
breaking stories that the Times often ignored. When the Herald-
Examiner closed then-Police Chief Daryl F. Gates commented “one less
pain in the posterior.”
I continued to write about the solidarity with Central America
movement in the Los Angeles Times. I was especially appreciative of
the work of Father Luis Olivares at La Placita Church which he
converted to a sanctuary for undocumented Central American political
refugees and other homeless people. Cardinal Roger Mahoney
threatened to shutdown the operation and once transferred Luis from
his beloved parish.
When Roger M. Mahony became archbishop of Los Angeles, there
were high hopes that the archdiocese would turn its attention to Los
Angeles’ burgeoning Latino population. The scheduled reassignment of
a popular Latino priest, Father Luis Olivares, threatens to return us to
the days of Cardinals James Francis McIntyre and Timothy Manning.
It was 20 years ago this Christmas Eve, at St. Basil’s on Wilshire
Boulevard, that Chicano activists protested what they considered
Cardinal McIntyre’s neglect of their growing community. A
confrontation ensued and a dozen demonstrators were arrested.
At the time, significant changes were occurring in the Roman Catholic
Church. Unhappy about their church’s lack of social commitment,
encouraged by the reforms of Pope John XXIII and the spread of
liberation theology in Latin America, and inspired by the heroics of
black Protestant ministers in the civil rights movement, Latino priest
and nuns pressed for an expansion of their ministry to poor Latinos.
Many of these priests and nuns worked in the Los Angeles archdiocese,
then one of the most reactionary in the country….
In 1981, Olivares became pastor of Our Lady Queen of the Angels, the
city’s oldest Catholic Church. Once a symbol of Spanish colonial
domination, La Placita, as it is known, became a refuge for poor
Mexicans who were unwelcome in English-speaking parishes like St.
Vibiana and St. Vincent.
Olivares arrived at the church when waves of Mexican and Central
American pilgrims, in a modern-day Christmas tale, were seeking
sanctuary in this 20th century Belen. Mindful of La Placita’s historical
significance and of the importance of giving people hope, Olivares
opened the church’s doors to the refugees. His message was clear:
How can you show love for a God that you cannot see if you show no
love for your fellow man?
During his eight years at La Placita, Olivares has become the symbol of
the Christ who kicked the Pharisees out of the temple rather than the
Jesus who ate at their table. An adamant critic of U.S. involvement in El
Salvador, he declared his church a sanctuary in 1985. He forged strong
links with labor and community organizations, reinforcing their
commitment to peace with justice. He has been threatened by
Salvadoran death quads based in Los Angeles.
It thus shouldn’t be difficult to understand why the transfer of Olivares
to Fort Worth, Tex., if allowed to go forward without an appeal, would
be interpreted by Latinos as a weakening of the church’s commitment
to the cause of social justice. For many of us, it would also mean a loss
of faith. When a child, I often prayed “Please help me God!”, and I
knew He would. As I grew older, doubt crept into my prayers. “Please
God, help me if you can!” evolved into “Please God, if you’re there!”
Olivares made me and many others at least listen again, for there was
never any doubt that Olivares was there and would help if he
could. …
The struggle over Olvera Street heated up: I was at La Golindrina
Restaurant for what seemed to be nightly meetings. Vivian Bonzo
owned the restaurant – one of the oldest in Los Angeles. Vivian was
our leader. Aside from defending the cultural integrity of Olvera
Street, we discussed the push to establish a Chicano studies
department at the University of California at Los Angeles. Among
those in attendance were Juan Gómez Quiñones and UCLA MEChA
students Marcos Aguilar, Minnie Fergusson and Bonnie Díaz. Marcos
and Minnie would become leaders of the 1993 UCLA student hunger
strike that made the César Chávez Center a reality. From La Golindrina
we planned demonstrations to save Olvera Streets.
News that a small group of preservationists seeks to transform Olvera
Street from a Mexican marketplace into a multi-ethnic museum should
outrage Latinos. After all, the plaza area has been inhabited by
Mexicans since 1781, when a dozen or so peasants, mostly from the
Mexican states of Sinaloa and Sonora, founded the Pueblo of Los
Angeles. Spending time on Olvera Street is thus a trip through
tradition.
From 1900-1930, bulldozers virtually cleared the civic center of all else
that was Mexican, mostly family homes. Then, Christine Sterling and
members of the city's social and economic elite moved, in the late '20s,
to save and preserve Olvera as a symbol of Los Angeles' Mexican
heritage. The street was little more than an alley. Like the Avila adobe,
which had been condemned, its days were numbered.
At first, Olvera was part of California's "Fantasy Heritage"-a tourist
trap. But over the years, its people reintegrated it with the plaza and
Our Lady Queen of the Angels, the city's oldest church. Mexicans and
other Latinos began returning to Los Angeles' Bethlehem. Today,
Olvera Street is where many of us go to celebrate our holidays or to
enjoy the oldest remnant of the Mexican heritage in the center of the
city.
Certainly, a tradition worth preserving. Right?
Jeanne Poole, curator of El Pueblo Historic Park, has embraced Olvera
Street's dilapidated buildings-mostly stucco and red brick-rather than
its traditions and people. It's no secret that she believes the Mexican
presence on Olvera Street so overwhelming that the contributions of
the Chinese, the Italians and other neighborhood ethnic groups to the
city's development have been eclipsed. To dilute the Mexican
presence, she has advocated that restoration of Olvera Street spotlight
the architecture of its buildings. Toward this end, she has enlisted the
support of architectural historians.
For 12 years, Poole and her gaggle of Anglo historians have been
plotting to impose their Mexican-less vision of Olvera Street. Their
opportunity for success came when administration of El Pueblo Park
passed from state to the city Recreation and Parks Commission. Eager
to renovate, the commissioners put together a proposal. Since they
and the Recreation and Parks Dept. lack the expertise to make
historical recommendations, Peter Snell, an architectural historian,
was paid to make some. Snell is a close friend of Poole and has acted
as a consultant for El Pueblo Park…
Another hot topic was the US wars in Central America. There was a
sense of outrage when the four Jesuits and their two workers were
assassinated by Salvadoran death squads. I performed civil
disobedience on three separate occasions at the federal building and
Congressman Howard Berman’s Office. I joined hundreds of others in
performing civil disobedience and I wrote about this issue. On one of
the occasions, Marta López Garza and Gloria Romero talked me into
getting arrested but at the last moment remembered that they had
another commitment. They missed out. Martin Sheen, Chris
Kristofferson, Jackson Browne and almost every antiwar participant in
town was there as was Luz Calvo. Some Chicanos questioned why I
was devoting so much time to Central Americans. I responded that sin
fronteras (without borders) was not limited to the US/Mexican
Border. We were one with the working people of Latin America. It
was important to show solidarity with the growing number of Central
American refugees. Undoubtedly one of the highlights of this
experience was doing civil disobedience with the Catholic Workers –
they were out of this world. When we pled before the magistrate they
went in and pled guilty and goaded the court to give them jail time.
My own theory is that every decade forms its own personality. It may
seem as if nothing is happening – time is painfully slow – however, the
combined events tell a story. The eighties were formative years for
the Mexican people and other Latinos in this country. For example,
time blurs memories. As a participant observer it is easier and more
economical to perceive the nuances. Seeing people up close gives you
a greater appreciation of the politics of the eighties. It was during the
eighties that our numbers spiraled and as this growth mushroomed
the term Latino blurred the word Chicano. At the beginning of the
21st century, Harvard professor Orlando Patterson would criticize the
practice of determining race by the numbers. Patterson, a black
educator, questioned the census’ assertion that the white population
was declining. Patterson argued that Latinos were white and thus not
entitled to be counted as a separate racial group. He concluded:
We should stop obsessing on race in interpreting the census
results. But if we must compulsively racialize the data, let’s at least
keep the facts straight and the interpretations honest.
Many Latinos were infuriated with Patterson. However, Patterson’s
arguments have some merit. Poverty is not a football game and the
Number 1 mentality of a football game only benefits the middle-
class. It is lesson not learned by many non-participants.
During 1990, I wrote op-ed columns for the Los Angeles Times which
would appear in La Opinión. Since I was no longer under an exclusive,
my columns appeared once a month. The Times was not a good
situation as the editors questioned my facts. For example, the copy
editors questioned whether the 1951 Christmas day beating of Chicano
youth by fifty Los Angeles police officers had ever occurred. (This fact
would have never have been challenged by the Herald that was
skeptical of the Police). It got so heated that Frank del Olmo had to
intervene on several occasions. I was incensed and asked whether
they would be questioning me if I was a white historian. It wasn’t
fabricated just because the editors were stupid. The excuse of the
Times was that the editorial chief editor was bipolar.
In 1991 at my wife’s and el Congreso’s, the Chicano student
organization at UCSB, urging I applied for a position in Chicano studies
at the University of California at Santa Barbara; my wife who had had
ovarian cancer was paranoid of earthquakes. She liked the area; for
me, it was tough because I had always lived in Los Angeles except for
the two years I was in the army. I am the kind of person who goes in
search of carbon monoxide when I am away from LA for too long I go
into withdrawl. While awaiting a decision, I decided to go to El
Salvador. The year before, I had appeared as an expert witness for an
attorney friend, Elliot Grossman, who was representing a Salvadoran
who was fighting deportation. I testified -- had a mountain of
documents showing that he would be in danger if he was returned to
his country. After all of the testimony, the commissioner turned to me
and asked, “Have you ever been in El Salvador?” I answered no. He
then disqualified me. I vowed then to go to El Salvador.
I took the opportunity to visit El Salvador the next year. The Texas
Observer graciously gave me a journalist credential. This was
necessary because I was scheduled to go with the Southwest Voter
Registration Project as an observer of the Salvadoran elections. When
I learned that it was going under the auspices of the federal
government I pulled out and paid my own way. This should not be
interpreted as a criticism of the SVREP rather my own biases and
apprehensions that had developed since the late sixties against any
form of cooperation with the U.S. government. It is one reason why I
never put in for a Fulbright. Little did I know that going as an
independent journalist made me a target; the Salvadoran government
hated journalists as much as it did activists.
This was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I traveled with the
SVREP contingent that included my sister in law and Professor Gloria
Romero. (I reimbursed the SRVEP for meals and lodgings). I could
have never gotten the feel for what the people experienced without
seeing it.
A library could not have told me what was in store. The suffering: I saw
children with swollen bellies, cataracts from malnutrition; the tension,
the constant tension. I saw bombed out villages such as Perquin and
the refugee village of Segundo Montes run by Salvadoran women. At
one point, I was detained by a captain in the Salvadoran army who
wanted to keep me overnight. I was traveling with José Villarreal of
Southwest Voter Registration; he refused to leave me and threatened
to call the Organization of American States (OAS) unless I was
released. José endangered his own life. After three hours of bickering
the Captain let us go. The experience was one of the highlights of my
life. I published several articles and synthesized the experiences in
later editions of Occupied America. I could now testify that I had been
in El Salvador.
The irony of President Bush forgiving 70% of Poland's $2.9-billion loan
and the promise of $470 million more for next year is not lost on
Latinos. At a time when all sorts of social services and education
programs are being cut to the bone, Bush plays Santa Claus in the
name of freedom overseas.
This generosity is typical of American policy, maintaining the white-on-
white tradition of aid to nations led by Europeans. Noticeably missing
from the history of U.S.-Latin American relations is any serious policy
attacking the problems in this hemisphere.
It is only in the times of crisis that we shed tears-crocodile tears-for the
well-being of Latin Americans. We cared about the rights of Cubans
and Nicaraguans, not because they were Cubans or Nicaraguans, but
because we feared that they would become communists. Now we are
supporting the worst kind of military governments throughout Central
America-a policy that is making democracy an impossible dream. This
promises to fulfill the prophesy of the Latin American proverb, Crea
cuervos y te sacaran los ojos-"Raise crows and they'll take out your
eyes."
Take what is happening in El Salvador. In the past decade, our
government has sent the Salvadoran military $4.2 billion to
institutionalize war and, as a consequence, destroy any semblance of a
free market. Through its control of the political process, the military
has taken charge of public pension funds, which are a major source of
investment capital. The military complex has monopolized the
commercial and financial infrastructure of the country to the point
that leftist parties are championing a free market. The army, through
its control of the Arena party, has built a political machine that makes
sure the war goes on and U.S. funds flow into the country
The United States had the opportunity to break Arena's grip during the
March 10 elections. It was simple: Washington only had to insist on
free and open elections, pressuring El Salvador to adhere to the
standard of fairness that the Sandinistas were held to in Nicaragua's
last elections. This would have guaranteed meaningful multiparty
representation in the National Assembly, which could have pressured
President Alfredo Cristiani and the Arena leadership to bargain in good
faith at the peace negotiations. Instead, Americans-even the news
media-were conspicuous by their absence.
True, we paid $2.7 million to five organizations to serve as monitors.
The Organization of American States got $2 million and Freedom
House, the Center for Democracy, the National Republican Institute
and the Southwest Voter Registration Project divvied up the rest. The
participation of Freedom House and the Republican Institute was a
joke; these self-proclaimed defenders of democracy have a history of
Cold War rhetoric. ….
When I retuned from El Salvador I found myself embroiled in another
crisis. The university faculty senate Committee on Academic Personnel
rejected the recommendation of the Chicano studies department that I
be hired as a full professor. The situation was confused since several
members of the department withdrew their original recommendation
and sided with the administration.Frankly, if these people had had the
guts and honesty to tell me to my face I would have pulled out. I was
not enamored with the thought of living with people who rode bicycle
down small paths. The issue was not that I was turned down but what
they said about Chicano studies and me. The inflammatory language
of the senate committee gave me no choice but to sue the University
of California system for employment discrimination. I successfully beat
the shit out of the UC.
It was an arduous battle – one that almost did me in. The UC spent $5
million trying to assassinate my character. The only fear I had was
that I would win and I would have to stand behind my hyperbole. I had
promised that if I won and given the job that I was going to ride a
Zapata-like white horse onto the campus and plant a Mexican flag in
the central quad. The problem was that I did not know how to ride a
horse; in fact the only time I had every ridden a horse was at Griffith
Park when I was a kid. It kept trying to bite me and would travel in a
tight circle. I finally got off it and walked back to the stable. I could
have let Benny Torres double for me. However, he was too rotund and
a lot younger.
During the five year struggle the UC dug up what little dirt it could find
on me. They moved two gigantic copying machines into my garage
and photocopied every thing that I had produced during my lifetime. It
left my seven-year old daughter, Angela crying. Fortunately my
community ties saved the day and labor, community and student
groups came to my defense. We held a rally in Santa Barbara which
drew, according to Rogelio Trujillo, some 10,000 people. Fifteen
lawyers helped out; they were led by attorney Moises Vásquez who
had taken the case from Beth Minsky. Beth and her father Leonard
were also key to our success. Although I won I did not get the
job. Francisco Lomeli testified that he was afraid for his life. Raymond
Huerta who was a hanger on; he had never passed the California bar
supported the administration and his career. During an intermission
during the trial he tried to intrude into a conversation I had with a
supporter. When I called him a vendido, sellout, he complained to the
UC attorneys and the judge that I was physically threatening him. The
administration filed an affidavit that alleged I would start a
revolution. The UC had to pay my attorneys close to a million dollars;
it remunerated me with $300,000 which my wife and I took and
founded the For Chicana/o Studies Foundation which has helped about
a dozen other professors with similar suits. This year we handed out
$13,000 in scholarships.
The Santa Barbara suit killed my days with the Times. We learned in
discovery that one of the Times’ Vice-Presidents was head of the
alumni association at the University of California at Santa Barbara and
was in communication with the UCSB administration over the
particulars of the case. The experience drove home to me the power
of the institutions. I enjoyed a high level of popularity in the press
before the suit. However, it meant nothing when the Times decided to
cut me off. The articles became fewer as the case heated up. At trial
federal judge Audrey Collins, a graduate of UCLA law school and the
head counsel for the UC, were personal friends. Indeed, he had
written her a letter of support for her appointment and the UCSB vice-
chancellor had been one of her professors. Throughout the trial she
favored the UC attorneys and her clerks were in communication with
them. When the verdict was announced I thought that she was going
to pass out.
Although I continued to write for La Opinión, after this point I was
blacklisted by the Los Angeles Times. As mentioned there was fallout
from my suit against the University of California system. The case itself
was very rewarding because there was a genuine outpouring from the
community, students and labor; however, there is also the perennial
chismes of Chicano professors and the UC attempted to assassinate my
professional character. (Two Chicanas who testified against me
crossed the picket line at a local Japanese hotel that was being struck
by Latinas to join the UC attorneys and administrators for happy
hour.) I put in twenty hour days in the lawsuit often driving from
Northridge to Santa Barbara, returning and driving to Moises
Vásquez’s Whittier Office. Worked until 4 in the morning returned to
Northridge and taught my classes. By the end, I was even writing
responses to motions in limine which Moises Vasquez would clean
up. We could not have made it through the courts without the
support of the community. We raised over $50,000 and my credit
cards were maxed out. We were also fortunate in that we drew a jury
with a majority of Latinos. I don’t know who the jurors were but my
wife always prays for them. I just thank them.
During the 1990s I completed two books, Anything But Mexican (Verso
1996) and Sometimes There is No Other Side (Notre Dame 1998). The
material for Anything But Mexican was gathered during my writing my
columns; the documents of A Community Under Siege (UCLA
1984). The documents for Sometimes There is No Other Side were
collected during the trial and are in the CSUN urban archives and were
accumulated during the suit against the UC. I had been heavily
criticized by the white professors at UC Santa Barbara for not having a
publishing trajectory which is true and not true. My research and
publication has always part of my teaching and my participation in the
life of the community.
It was not until the year 2000 that I began to write op-ed articles once
more with any consistency. The articles were more macro level
dealing with national issues. The internet made it easier because I did
not have to rely on the Times or any other newspapers. For example, I
am currently writing about ten blogs a week which I believe are part of
my intellectual obligation. This book syntsynthesizes my experience
with Chicana/o studies that is so much a part of my scholarly
development. It is part of what we call praxis. It is also what makes
Chicana/o studies.
An important mission of Chicana/o studies is to educate the Mexican
and Latino public about their history and their rights. Indeed, the
legacy of the Mexican American and Chicana/o communities has made
a difference to the lives of every Latino in the United States who owe
the Mexican American and Chicano movement a debt. However, there
is a disconnect between academe and the community at almost every
level. Outside the reading of occasional novels most Mexican origin
and Latinos do not read works produced by Chicana/o scholars. This is
especially true when considering the immigrant population that knows
little about the history of Mexican origin peoples in the United
States. The point of reference of the Latino immigrant is their home
country. This affects the context in which they see their lives in the
United States.
Two anecdotes come to mind. First, is the use of the term Chicano
which was rejected by the immigrant community has a
history. Mexican and other Latino immigrants look at themselves as
Mexicans or Latina American and not part of the pocho
generation. They want to preserve their culture and remain connected
with the past and many do not understand the history of this country
and the sacrifices that were made by the Mexican American and
Chicano generations to win their entitlements and mute the racism
that is still virulent in this country. At a time when the Mexican
government and Mexicans in Mexico dismissed the immigrant to this
country it was Chicano organizations that formed associations for the
protection of the foreign born. Many are still active in this movement.
Spanish language media has mushroomed as the immigrant population
has multiplied. The reporters and the commentators in the Spanish
language media are for the most part Mexican and Latino nationals
who like their readerships and viewers have a cursory understanding
of civil rights issues. For the most part, they understand discrimination
against immigrants and bilingual education but they are out to lunch
when it comes to affirmative action or the protection of civil
liberties. They don’t understand the concept of race. In 2005 Spanish
language reporters were surprised by the reaction of many U.S. Latino
activists to the minting in Mexico a stamp commemorating Memín
Pinguín, a stereotypical Mexican black. African Americans and
politically conscious Latinos were offended. My article in La Opinión
touched off a vehement debate with most Mexicans denying a racist
intent. They were viewing Memín Pinguín through a Mexican context
rather than the history of racism that they and their descendants are
part of and will be living in for generations to come.
I do not want to sound negative because every community needs
political education. Ergo American workers vote against their own
class interests by voting Republican. In a conversation with the late
Willie Velásquez, the founder of the Southwest Voter Registration
Education Project, I pointed out that he was doing a fantastic
registering Latinos to vote, but “what happens if they turn out as non-
probative as most Americans?” He responded that he had no control
over the outcome and that hopefully we were educating a core of
middle-class educators who would raise these types of questions with
new voters. Unfortunately, there are only a handful of Chicano and
Latino scholars who are doing this. This is unfortunate since the
Spanish-language media on March. 25, 2006 mobilized over a half
million immigrants in Los Angeles and millions across the nation. La
Opinión, for which I sporadically write, has a circulation of over
115,000 readers. Spanish language television news has more viewers
than the major news channels. But the reporters of these events
unfortunately have a limited historical memory.
If Chicano educators do not take on the task of educating the masses
of people the consequences could be dire. It angers me every time a
liberal friend complains about Latinos being conservative. I point out
that not all Latinos are the same. For instance, Cuban Americans have
a median age of 40 versus Mexicans who register around 35. The have
a median income higher than white males. Most Cubans are middle
class whereas the bulk of the Mexican and Central American
populations are working class. Regardless, political education is the
consequence of popular education and reflects the state of the media
and the political attitudes of most Americans. In all we are poor
communities without media access. And even the liberal media has
abandoned us. The last time I checked The Nation, In These Times and
Mother Jones did not have a single Latino editorial writer. If the
Chicanas/os turn out to be reactionary it is the fault of the liberal
community of which Chicana/o scholars are part of.
My footprints form my approach to research. It is not being an activist
to just speak out. In the 1980s I was part of a review panel that was
sent to the University of California at Davis. Immediately I was at odds
with the panel whose members included Nathan Huggins of the
African American Center at Harvard and Ron Takaki. These two
scholars were important because careers are built on people being
collegial. However, I could not remain silent when I found that the
committee was going along with the administration’s
recommendations to disband the Asian Studies program and allow the
Native American studies department to “die.” UC Davis would then
reconstitute the program. I was so angry that I told Huggins that I did
not think that the Mexican community could afford intellectuals -- he
correctly responded that we could not afford not to have them. This
is a question that history will have to resolve – after we resolve the
myths that Chicana/o studies scholars are activist scholars because
they are brown or had at one brief moment in their lives carried a
picket sign. If we cannot define what we are for, it is very difficult to
define who we are.