Before she died,
my Grandma Rise told me about the time my Grandpa Carlos encountered
discrimination just before heading to Europe in World War II. I was appalled,
but not necessarily surprised. That was in 1940s Texas.
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Lt. Carlos Gallegos |
My surprise, and
shock, came just last week when my own daughter – the great-granddaughter of my
Grandpa Carlos -- was on the receiving end of some very nasty name-calling that
focused on the color of her skin. Fortunately, I don’t think she understood the
significance of the anonymous comments over the Internet. She just knew the
language was vulgar and mean. I, however, was livid.
I guess some
things haven’t changed in 70 years.
In my Grandpa’s
case, his encounter with discrimination was unfortunately commonplace. Probably
not so much in Las Vegas, NM, where dark skin and mixed bloodlines were the
norm. In fact, the patch he wore on his Army uniform reflected the Spanish and
Native American heritage of so many of the National Guardsmen from New Mexico
and three neighboring states. But Texas was another story.
The story, as
told my Grandma, was that my Grandpa and some Army buddies left the base at
Fort Hood to go to see a movie in a nearby town. But they were told that
Mexicans were not allowed. They apparently complained and the theater was
closed, at least temporarily.
When I heard my
Grandma tell the story, my journalistic instincts kicked in, and I was hesitant
to write about the incident without trying to verify the facts. I tried to find
a newspaper story about the incident, without luck. I went back and recorded an
interview with my Grandma. She was sure the incident happened, but she couldn’t
remember exactly when or where, which is understandable.
Still, the story
was amazing to me, regardless of the details, because I couldn’t believe a
soldier – an officer – who was about to put his life on the line for his
country, would be treated that way. I’m quite certain that my Grandpa’s
ancestors occupied this land for centuries before the racists who tried to deny
him a seat at that movie theater.
I recently
watched the PBS series called Latino Americans with great interest. The producers
devoted an entire segment to the injustices suffered by many war heroes when
they returned home from World War II.
Hispanics
volunteered and served in record numbers, according to the program, and 10
Hispanics earned the Medal of Honor. Yet, they returned to restaurants in Texas
with signs, sponsored by the Lonestar Restaurant Association, that read: “No
Dogs, Negroes, Mexicans.” Other establishments had signs that read: “We Serve
White’s only, no Spanish or Mexicans.”
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Macario Garcia Receives Medal of Honor from President Truman |
“Denying
Mexican-Americans service in a restaurant wasn’t illegal. And happened so often,
it wasn’t even newsworthy,” according to the narrator of the PBS series. One
incident in particular featured Macario Garcia, the first Mexican National to
earn the Medal of Honor, who was denied service at a local diner. The incident raised
this question: “How could a country that felt an enormous debt toward its
veterans, treat some as second-class citizens?”
Playwright Luis
Valdez told the following story to PBS about his experience in 1940s Delano,
CA, where whites sat in the middle section of the local movie house, while
Mexican-Americans were delegated to the sides.
“In 1946, there
was a young guy by the name of CC, he was a pachuco, he was a zoot suiter, who
went off to the Navy, came back, put on his civvies, and he went to the
movies,” said Valdez. “And since he was serving his country, he felt that he
had a right to sit wherever he wanted. So he came and sat in the middle. He wouldn’t
move, so the police arrested him. There was no law that said you couldn’t sit
in the middle. So they couldn’t charge him with anything, not even disturbing
the peace; he was pretty peaceful. So they grilled him for a couple of hours
and then released him. And everybody noticed. They said, hey CC got away with
it. He sat in the middle. So the following week, everybody sat in the middle
section. And the town movie house was desegregated. And that happened across
the entire valley.
“Some 20 years
later when I told my mom I was going back to Delano to work with the union, she
said, oh, you’re going to work with CC. I said CC? Is that vato still around?
And she said, Mijo, don’t you know who CC is? He’s Cesar Chavez.”
Fittingly, I
took my daughter with me today to a Downtown church to draw attention to the
need for Congress to pass comprehensive immigration reform. Isabella and I were
with my boss, Congresswoman Michelle Lujan Grisham, who agreed to fast for 48
hours in solidarity with immigrants who are separated from their families
during Thanksgiving. Isabella was touched by the stories and one of the mothers
who broke down in tears at the thought of being separated from her family.
During the
ceremony, I thought about Cesar Chavez, who was featured during a lengthy
segment of the PBS series. The program showed footage of Chavez talking about
immigrant farm workers who were being exploited in the agriculture fields of
California: “They endure all the sacrifices and all the suffering so you can
eat and I can eat. These men and women and children feed all of us, and they
don’t have any food for themselves. And we’re going to change it. It’s going to
be changed.”