skepticamongthefaithful:
Imagine it, growing up in a community with your family, creating friends and little memories here and there in the place you call home. The whole, “maybe this isn’t the most luxurious of lives, but at least we have each other,” kinda deal; not having a whole lot, but at least having a roof over your head and place you could call home. Then, on a simple whim, being literally, not metaphorically, forced out of YOUR house.
These people were promised homes, they were given a check for their lives, and they were expected to leave without a fuss. Some did, others fought, but ultimately everyone was evicted and the place was leveled to make way for the Dodger Stadium, not the housing projects as was originally planned (so they say), thanks to Capitalistic America being fearful of the architect possibly being a communist since he wanted the place to be affordable to low-income families (dirty, rotten socialists, amiright? How dare they make living easier for the poor!)
(A portion of The Great Wall of Los Angeles)
Of course, that was YEARS ago, and us Mexicans/Chican@’s must simply forgive, grab a big ‘ol bun full of mystery meat of Americana, hot dog for short, and enjoy the show, which is a lot more fun than bringing up the fact that you’ll find none of this history in textbooks nor the racist/hypocritical implications behind every “Not everything is about you!” mindset, especially when what is now called California used to be Mexico, and the term “Native American” omits the simple fact that people lived here before America was ever called America in the first place.
Bringing up the prior, in my experiences, makes most white people feel uncomfortable, and heaven forbid I try and tell them that their sudden discomfort isn’t the same, nor as intense, as my sense of danger or chronic anxiety that fluctuates with the amount of “affluent” white people I’m surrounded by, who apparently have papers that say they’re more qualified to comment on my culture, and general attitude, than I am; this whole, “innocent” reference to a brown peoples belief being a “mythology,” whereas their own Jesus is a religion.
Sucky thing is, as horribly written as this piece may be, this may very well be the first time you’re hearing about the Chavez Ravine or the fact that, back in the 60’s, it wasn’t simply white people making art and getting high. Nope, Chican@’s were creating art to tell their story, because no one else would tell it. We became historians in our own right, not by some officials permission, but by our own initiative in whatever we could find; from ASCO’s No-Movie projects to Luis Valdez’s Zoot Suit play, art collectives were the communities, and every Chican@ on the street was taking an active roll in creating our history simply by living, because we’ve been free longer than we’ve been oppressed.
(More ‘scholarly articles’: here and here.)
This is the first time I’ve ever heard of the Chicano history at the Chavez Ravine. Thank you for sharing this. I want to buy the film by Jordan Mechner!
More info from PBS’ Independent Lens website:
Located in a valley a few miles from downtown Los Angeles, Chavez Ravine was home to generations of Mexican Americans. Named for Julian Chavez, one of the first Los Angeles County Supervisors in the 1800s, Chavez Ravine was a self-sufficient and tight-knit community, a rare example of small town life within a large urban metropolis. For decades, its residents ran their own schools and churches and grew their own food on the land. Chavez Ravine’s three main neighborhoods—Palo Verde, La Loma and Bishop—were known as a “poor man’s Shangri La.”
The death knell for Chavez Ravine began ringing in 1949, the same year that Don Normark captured his collection of photographs of the community. The Federal Housing Act of 1949 granted money to cities from the federal government to build public housing projects. Los Angeles Mayor Fletcher Bowron voted and approved a housing project containing 10,000 new units—thousands of which would be located in Chavez Ravine.
Viewed by neighborhood outsiders as a “vacant shantytown” and an “eyesore,” Chavez Ravine’s 300-plus acres were earmarked by the Los Angeles City Housing Authority as a prime location for re-development. In July 1950, all residents of Chavez Ravine received letters from the city telling them that they would have to sell their homes in order to make the land available for the proposed Elysian Park Heights. The residents were told that they would have first choice for these new homes, which included two dozen 13-story buildings and more than 160 two-story bunkers, in addition to newly rebuilt playgrounds and schools. Some residents resisted the orders to move and were soon labeled “squatters,” while others felt they had no choice and relocated. Most received insubstantial or no compensation for their homes and property.
Using the power of eminent domain, which permitted the government to purchase property from private individuals in order to construct projects for the public good, the city of Los Angeles bought up the land and leveled many of the existing buildings. By August 1952, Chavez Ravine was essentially a ghost town. The land titles would never be returned to the original owners, and in the following years the houses would be sold, auctioned and even set on fire, used as practice sites by the local fire department.
The plan for Los Angeles public housing soon moved to the forefront of a decade-long civic battle. The story of Chavez Ravine is intertwined with the social and political climate of the 1950s, or the “Red Scare” era. While supporters of the federal public housing plan for Chavez Ravine viewed it as an idealistic opportunity to provide improved services for poor Angelenos, opponents of the plan—including corporate business interests that wanted the land for their own use—employed the widespread anti-communist paranoia of the day to characterize such public housing projects as socialist plots. In 1952, Frank Wilkinson, the assistant director of the Los Angeles City Housing Authority and one of the main supporters behind Elysian Park Heights, faced questioning by the House Un-American Activities Committee. He was fired from his job and sentenced to one year in jail.
The Los Angeles City Council attempted to cancel the public housing contract with federal authorities, but courts ruled the contract legally binding. But by the time Norris Poulson was elected mayor in 1953, the project’s days were numbered. Poulson ran for office using the Chavez Ravine controversy as a platform, vowing to stop the housing project and other examples of “un-American” spending. After much negotiation, Poulson was able to buy the land taken from Chavez Ravine back from the federal government at a drastically reduced price, with the stipulation that the land be used for a public purpose.
Los Angeles was also a rapidly growing city in the 1950s. Despite its expanding population, the city had yet to host a major-league sports team. County supervisor Kenneth Hahn began to scout out potential teams that might be willing to relocate to Los Angeles, including the Brooklyn Dodgers. Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley soon struck a deal with the city officials, acquiring the minor league Los Angeles Angels and its small ballpark with the promise of a new stadium to be built on the land from Chavez Ravine. As Frank Wilkinson explains in CHAVEZ RAVINE, “We’d spent millions of dollars getting ready for it, and the Dodgers picked it up for just a fraction of that. It was just a tragedy for the people, and from the city it was the most hypocritical thing that could possibly happen.”
O’Malley’s move to Chavez Ravine did not occur without major controversy. Vicious inter-city politics included allegations of Mayor Poulson making illegal deals with the Dodgers while betraying the public, while supporters of the stadium, including public figures such as Ronald Reagan, argued that opponents were “baseball haters.” In the end, O’Malley supporters won a public referendum by only three percent, allowing O’Malley to build the stadium in exchange for giving the Angels’ ballpark back to the city. Additional lawsuits froze the official transfer of land and delayed construction, but in 1959, the city began clearing the land for the stadium after removing the last few families that had refused to leave Chavez Ravine. On April 10, 1962, the 56,000-seat Dodger Stadium officially opened.
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I am so thankful for documentarians who remind us how oppression against Latin@s and Chican@s informs geopolitics.
05/09/12
thinkmexican:
Cinco de Mayo: Long Before It Was Corporatized - Los Angeles, CA, 1943
“Among the 5000 persons assembled for the Cinco de Mayo celebration were little Luis Romanos and his sister Amalia in costume.” - Los Angeles Times, May 6, 1943
Thanks for sharing this.
Here’s what I shared on Facebook on Cinco de Mayo, along with a photo of someone wearing a racist costume that mocked Mexican culture:
“Now, imagine you’re of Mexican descent, and think about how much fun it is for you when non-Latinos get a free pass to amuse themselves with cultural stereotypes. It’s kind of like someone walking into your house and wiping their ass with pages from your family photo album. Cheers!
Protip: You can have fun on Cinco de Mayo without being culturally insensitive. See, the thing is, you have the freedom to stop pretending to be Mexican tomorrow but those who are, and live with injustice in places like Arizona and Alabama, don’t have that option. They can’t put on a white guy/girl suit and enjoy your privilege. No one is censoring you if you agree to respect other cultures, you’re simply then exercising your right to not be a douchebag.”
05/06/12
What is a Chicano?
Who the hell knows?
To me, you have to declare yourself a Chicano in order to be a Chicano. That makes a Chicano a Mexican-American with a defiant political attitude that centers on his or her right to self-definition. I’m a Chicano because I say I am.
But no Chicano will agree with me because one of the characteristics of being Chicano is you don’t agree with anybody, or anything. And certainly not another Chicano. We are the only tribe that has all chiefs and no Indians. But don’t ever insult a Chicano about being a Chicano because then all the other Chicanos will be on you with a vengeance. They will even fight each to be first in line to support you.
(via thereverseracist)
Cheech Marin on What is a Chicano?
I’ve always had issues with identity, especially growing up in the United States. Mexicans from Mexico didn’t think you were ever mexican enough to be Mexican and Euro-centric America made it clear that you were not one of them. But to me, the word Chicano, whether I chose to identify with it or not, gave me the option or rather introduced me to the idea that it was I who had the authority to label myself however the fuck I wanted.
Anyway, I’ll leave you all with my favorite part of Cheech’s story:
…A bunch of relatives had come over for dinner and everybody was sitting around gabbing and drinking beer. My Uncle Rudy was in the middle of a story: “So, I took the car into the dealer and he said, ‘Yeah, the repairs gonna run you about $250.’ Two-fifty? Estas loco? Hell, just give me a pair of pliers and some tin foil. I’ll fix it - I’m a Chicano mechanic. Two-fifty, mis nalgas.”
And that was the defining epiphany. A Chicano was someone who could do anything. A Chicano was someone who wasn’t going to get ripped off. He was Uncle Rudy. He was industrious, inventive, and he wants another beer. So I got my Uncle Rudy another beer because, on that day, he showed me that I was a Chicano. Hispanic my ass, I’ve been a Chicano ever since.
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Response from Oh, Mija:
Thanks for sharing this! Sometime during adolescence I started identifying as Chicana. I also identify as Latina. I only identify as Hispanic on medical and government forms that don’t give me any other option.
For me, identifying as Chicana means that I am honoring both my parents’ activism during the Chicano civil rights movement and recognizing all my mestiza parts and paths that my ancestors took.
My ancestors were in California when it was still a part of Mexico, which is why even though I don’t personally walk around calling myself Mexican, if someone asks me if I’m Mexican I will say “yes” because technically it’s true.
But what I call myself in my head and what I’m proud to be is a free woman who is Chicana, a Storyteller for money and for fun, Queer and Feminist (on my own terms) and the best allie I can be to trans folks of all stripes, but particularly to Black and Latino trans family.
I am also a future mom because I’m adopting a teen from the foster care system in NYC this year, so parenting, child welfare and alternative modes of education are important topics to me.
The three words that come to mind when I think of “Chicano/a”: evolving, fluid, healer
05/05/12
