Latino marchers to protest Iraq war, today's injustices
By Rachel Uranga, Staff Writer
It was 35 years ago when a phalanx of police officers fired tear gas at a crowd of Latino war-protesters, but Jaime Cruz remembers the event as if it was yesterday.
A student at what was then San Fernando Valley State College, Cruz is among a handful of organizers and participants whose lives have been shaped by the Chicano Moratorium, an Aug. 29, 1970, anti-war protest that degenerated into a deadly riot. The march marked an awakening of political consciousness for many of those who are now leaders in the Latino community.
Decades later, some of the original organizers are reuniting to commemorate that day. They also plan to protest the Iraq war, as well as the vigilante effort mounted by the "Minuteman Project" to halt illegal immigration into the U.S. from Mexico.
"(The protest) showed us how devastating the system could be," said Cruz, coordinator for the Chicano Moratorium
Committee which is organizing the commemoration. "For many of us, it solidified our commitment when we knew there was an injustice."
More than 20,000 protesters marched in the original moratorium in East Los Angeles - the heart of Los Angeles' Mexican-American community - to protest the disproportionate number of Latinos being drafted into the military, as well as their high dropout rates in public schools.
The organizers - many of them students like Cruz - argued against what they viewed as an inherent bias toward their wealthier, white counterparts who were able to enter college and avoid the draft. But what was billed as a peace march turned into violence.
Police and protesters skirmished, and officers and sheriff's deputies sprayed tear gas into the crowd, trying to stop what they said was looting of a nearby liquor store - a claim that activists still dispute.
In the ensuing chaos, three people were killed, including Ruben Salazar, one of the region's most prominent Mexican-American journalists, who was hit by a tear-gas canister launched by law enforcement.
Businesses along Whittier Boulevard were burned, and more than 100 people ultimately were arrested.
Many there were galled by the police action, seeing it as further proof of insensitivity to the Mexican-American community by the city's politically powerful.
"It was a painful period because many of us believed that the system would be more equal and more fair. When we realized the inequities were so great, it inspired and motivated a lot of us," said Los Angeles County Supervisor Gloria Molina, who participated in the march as a 19-year-old student at East Los Angeles College.
But just as incensed as she had become with police, she also became frustrated with organizers. Many of the male
organizers - who were entrenched in a burgeoning Chicano rights movement - sidelined the women and some of
their concerns, such as child care.
Moreover, she said, the disparate groups that participated in the march - from union members to peaceniks - diluted the message. It became apparent to her and other women that if they wanted to see a change, they would have to rattle the halls of power.
"It was a call to action," Molina said. "You were sensing it and feeling at the time, but there was nothing because so many of our institutions handled it so poorly."
At the time of the march, there were no Latinos on the Los Angeles City Council, just one in Congress and little representation in law enforcement.
Richard Alatorre, a protest organizer who later sat on the City Council and in the state Assembly, helped bail out several marchers arrested on suspicion of resisting arrest or disrupting the peace that day.
"I don't think anybody could have forecast the number of people marching, people joined along the route," Alatorre said. "It was one of the greatest experiences of my time."
Molina and Alatorre note that much has changed in the generation since they marched.
Now, Los Angeles' mayor, city attorney and nearly one-third of its City Council are of Latino heritage, as are California's lieutenant governor, 10 state senators, 19 Assembly members and seven members of its congressional delegation.
Despite greater representation, Molina said, many of the issues are the same today.
"The dropout rate is as high as ever, retention rates in college are horrible and now you don't even have affirmative action.
"It should be a real call to action for the young people that are turned off (by politics). They need to hold us accountable."
Link Here
It was 35 years ago when a phalanx of police officers fired tear gas at a crowd of Latino war-protesters, but Jaime Cruz remembers the event as if it was yesterday.
A student at what was then San Fernando Valley State College, Cruz is among a handful of organizers and participants whose lives have been shaped by the Chicano Moratorium, an Aug. 29, 1970, anti-war protest that degenerated into a deadly riot. The march marked an awakening of political consciousness for many of those who are now leaders in the Latino community.
Decades later, some of the original organizers are reuniting to commemorate that day. They also plan to protest the Iraq war, as well as the vigilante effort mounted by the "Minuteman Project" to halt illegal immigration into the U.S. from Mexico.
"(The protest) showed us how devastating the system could be," said Cruz, coordinator for the Chicano Moratorium
Committee which is organizing the commemoration. "For many of us, it solidified our commitment when we knew there was an injustice."
More than 20,000 protesters marched in the original moratorium in East Los Angeles - the heart of Los Angeles' Mexican-American community - to protest the disproportionate number of Latinos being drafted into the military, as well as their high dropout rates in public schools.
The organizers - many of them students like Cruz - argued against what they viewed as an inherent bias toward their wealthier, white counterparts who were able to enter college and avoid the draft. But what was billed as a peace march turned into violence.
Police and protesters skirmished, and officers and sheriff's deputies sprayed tear gas into the crowd, trying to stop what they said was looting of a nearby liquor store - a claim that activists still dispute.
In the ensuing chaos, three people were killed, including Ruben Salazar, one of the region's most prominent Mexican-American journalists, who was hit by a tear-gas canister launched by law enforcement.
Businesses along Whittier Boulevard were burned, and more than 100 people ultimately were arrested.
Many there were galled by the police action, seeing it as further proof of insensitivity to the Mexican-American community by the city's politically powerful.
"It was a painful period because many of us believed that the system would be more equal and more fair. When we realized the inequities were so great, it inspired and motivated a lot of us," said Los Angeles County Supervisor Gloria Molina, who participated in the march as a 19-year-old student at East Los Angeles College.
But just as incensed as she had become with police, she also became frustrated with organizers. Many of the male
organizers - who were entrenched in a burgeoning Chicano rights movement - sidelined the women and some of
their concerns, such as child care.
Moreover, she said, the disparate groups that participated in the march - from union members to peaceniks - diluted the message. It became apparent to her and other women that if they wanted to see a change, they would have to rattle the halls of power.
"It was a call to action," Molina said. "You were sensing it and feeling at the time, but there was nothing because so many of our institutions handled it so poorly."
At the time of the march, there were no Latinos on the Los Angeles City Council, just one in Congress and little representation in law enforcement.
Richard Alatorre, a protest organizer who later sat on the City Council and in the state Assembly, helped bail out several marchers arrested on suspicion of resisting arrest or disrupting the peace that day.
"I don't think anybody could have forecast the number of people marching, people joined along the route," Alatorre said. "It was one of the greatest experiences of my time."
Molina and Alatorre note that much has changed in the generation since they marched.
Now, Los Angeles' mayor, city attorney and nearly one-third of its City Council are of Latino heritage, as are California's lieutenant governor, 10 state senators, 19 Assembly members and seven members of its congressional delegation.
Despite greater representation, Molina said, many of the issues are the same today.
"The dropout rate is as high as ever, retention rates in college are horrible and now you don't even have affirmative action.
"It should be a real call to action for the young people that are turned off (by politics). They need to hold us accountable."
Link Here
posted by Kangaroo Brisbane Australia at 5:21 PM
1 Comments:
I lived with illegal latinos for quite a while,..
I agree love they are some macho minded people. Homosexuality dont go over well there at all.
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