Showing posts with label chicano moratorium. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chicano moratorium. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 02, 2021

"March in the Rain" January 31, 1971

Michael Sedano


Where were you on August 29, 1970, a day living infamously when police attacked an entire community, and got away with it?


KCET broadcast the coroner's inquest into the killing of Ruben Salazar. Killed by police were Lyn Ward, and Angel Diaz but, other than the date, quotidian shootings of Mexicans don't get much attention. The inquest wasn't about regular killings. 


16 days the inquest was on teevee.


Portavozes and regular everyday gente testified openly, victims of LAPD and LASD violence testified to the casual, routine lawlessness of cops who recreationally brutalized and terrorized. Community chiste held then, "If you want someone arrested, call the LAPD, but if you want them killed, call the Sheriff Department." 


"My gosh, that's just terrible," went people on the Westside and out in the Valley, "just awful." 


And nothing happened. (There was even a Federal Grand Jury into the deputy who shot Salazar, no charges. That would be in March.)


In January 1971, movimiento organizers still stung by loss of support from community dismay over the violence, felt compelled not to give up. They called for another public demonstration on the 31st. I've heard Rosalio Muñoz call that "the march in the rain" while others call the January 29, 1971 debacle, the final act of Chicano resistance of the seventies.


La Bloga-Tuesday today revisits that January 31, 1971 march, through the eyes of a key movimiento leader, Esteban Torres. This is a segment of Torres' as-told-to autobiography written by Michael Sedano, recounting events on 1/31/1971.




The Moratorium Committee didn’t give up in the face of shrinking community morale and fear. We called a meeting, in January 1971, in Belvedere Park next to the Sheriff station. 

 

August 1970 didn’t wear off. Jackson State, Kent State didn’t wear off. Official violence established itself as an inevitable consequence of protest.

 

The country was stunned, people in movements were afraid of police violence, of being killed at random like Salazar. Oppression had not won, however. In January 1971, the Moratorium Committee called upon the community to mass in public again, to reaffirm our commitment to mass protest and continue insisting on exercising our rights to be heard. It became known as “the march in the rain.”

 

We did not plan the rally to end in a march. Spontaneously, the crowd turned it into a march and headed from Belvedere Park toward Whittier Boulevard. We weren’t permitted for a march and the crowd was in the lead. As one of their Leaders, all I could do was follow.

 

The unorganized march passed the Belvedere sheriff building. Standing behind the fence was Lee Baca. I appealed to him not to unleash his forces. “Look,” I remember explaining, “the Committee didn’t sanction this, this isn’t a march, people are doing this on their own.”

 

Baca had already witnessed me gesturing at the marchers, “Go back! Don’t go down there!” Baca told me I’d better stop them somehow because if the crowd got down there to Whittier Boulevard, “they’re going to get in trouble.”

 

Trouble turned into death. The Los Angeles Times reported the next day “Chicano Violence Laid to Mob That Ignored Monitors.” The marchers confronted Sheriff Deputies. Some fools threw chunks of cement at the Deputies who fired back with shotguns. One deputy’s shotgun killed an Austrian immigrant named Gustav Montag.

 

That wasn’t the end of the Chicano Movement. The Moratorium wasn’t the movement. In fact, you might be reading my story as part of a newly-required ethnic studies course. Relevant education where we get to “see ourselves” in the curriculum is just one of the changes in United States education that the movimiento continues to deliver for our country.

 

When I hear some people say that the Moratorium’s three marches marked the end of the movement, I want to remind them that the movement was the collective labor of millions of people, raza and allies, pursuing community needs. The Movement is an organic feature of a community that develops and changes through generations. 

 

The police violence associated with the Chicano Moratorium drove the moratorium underground, four killings didn’t extinguish what others were doing elsewhere. Not then, and not to this day. As the old saying goes, “aqui estamos y no nos vamos.”

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Resist: The Chicana Anti-War Poetry and Art of Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin

Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin at the caravan. Also joining are Chamberlin's daughter and granddaughter.


They Took My Son to Vietnam 
Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin

I dedicate this poem to our forgotten papalotl Chicano warrior butterflies, slain at US foreign lands of war, at the borderlands, and in the streets of Aztlan.

In the year one thousand nine hundred and sixty-eight
the president took my son Richi to Vietnam.
He told me, “Mamá, it’s my responsibility.
Uncle Sam calls me.”

I don’t care about that responsibility
or about that war of  Uncle Sam.
I only care about my son. Over there, he died
in a jungle. They killed my Richi and I cry.
The Vietnamese mothers cry too.

Last year during Christmas time
the policia sent my second son
Rodolfito to prison. He was one of
the militant leaders from here in the 
barrio who fought against drugs.

Over there, he died in a fight
in prison and I weep.
When they beat my son to death,
they beat me up too. My heart cries
from so many beatings of life.
We mothers of the barrio
cry every day for our children.

Lucita, my nine-year-old little girl was run
over by a Policia as she walked on the 
crosswalk in front of the school. The chota
chased  after a teenager and drove over Mija. 
He didn’t even stop. She was my heart. 
With her I lost hope and all my desire to live.

Now I’m pregnant with my fourth child.
They tell me my responsibility as a woman,
as a mother is to have this child. But I know 
that my baby’s destiny is to die in the street,
in prison, or in  a foreign land.          

His darling eyes will never see me.
Never will see this world, so cruel.
He will never suffer again.
(read zoom Chic Morat mtg 8-15-20 and on August 27, 2020 zoom Peña)



The Sea Gull
Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin

The seagull knows no borders.
It flies on crisp ocean currents from
Oceanside to Tijuana.
No checkpoints or toll roads, no Green
Cards or citizenship papers required.

The winged creature roams freely
over Camp Pendleton
then squalls its call to Mexican youth
at the other side of the border.
It’s an omen.

Joel, a Mexican young man
is signed up by a
U.S. marine recruiter. 
A bonus for each recruit. 
Sign on the dotted line.                        
The seagull pays no fare. 
But the marine pays
a penalty for leaving home.

The recruit was top of the class, 
superior in math and science.
Head of the bugle corps, awarded 
the Netzahualcoyotl Award for Poetry.
A bright future for Tijuana’s hero. 

Promises of U.S. citizenship,
world travel, a college education.
Promises broken by a letter from Tió Sam.
Joel returns home in a wooden box, 
like a downed seagull, his head tucked 
under a broken wing. 

No reward for services rendered.
The Green Card Marine,
his soul takes flight
over the oceans 
into the broken night.


Gun Cantos  
Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin

I
Los Angeles public schools.
Students tracked from grade one.
Military recruiters 
sign them up
pluck them from cradles
and lay them in  graves.


II
 Sons play with guns,
and grow to maim and kill
other mother’s sons.


III
We are the unemployed,
the fodder of the military.
We are corporate slaves.


IV
My son told me.
“Ma, a man 
needs to work.”


Tuesday, April 22, 2008

If people won’t read, give them books on CD. Bits & pieces.

Michael Sedano

Back in October 2005, I reported on a valuable parenting resource, How to Raise Emotionally Healthy Children and its Spanish-language translation, Como Criar Niños Emocialmente Sanos. In 1999, the company where I was working, gave a copy to every employee in the company’s 15 US and 4 Canadian cities, and to hundreds of trade show attenders. The NY Times’ November 19, 1999 business section carried a story about corporate support for family health, quoting me about my employer’s support for “family values.” As Human Resources Director, I made it a point to give a copy to new employees as I conducted their new hire orientation.

Recently, I had lunch with the author, Gerald Newmark, and his wife Deborah. They were excited about a documentary film in process, and the growing use of the book—now in its second edition--in social service, health, and educational agencies and schools. I asked Jerry what kind of feedback he’s getting from people once they’ve read the book. And ahí está el detalle, as Mario Moreno might quip. Newmark’s agency, The Children’s Project, was selling the book at a deep discount to the adopting agencies, but few people were taking the book home and actually reading it.

What a pity. The book is packed with valuable ideas and solutions to issues and problems revolving around child-rearing, family communication, and parental time-management. I asked the Newmarks if they’d considered offering the book in recorded form. It seems people in our cultures, neither the English-speaking nor Spanish-speaking U.S. cultures, can, do, or enjoy reading. Yet, given that many cars nowadays have CD players, kitchens and bedrooms have clock radio-CD players, CD technology might be a workable alternative to the labor and work of reading printed words.

The Newmarks were intrigued by the notion but lacked any concept of how to create a book on CD. That’s where I stepped in. I'm a long-time multimedia producer, dating back to the days of multiple carousel projectors synchronized by pulse-tones on audiotape soundtracks. Now technology makes quick work of what used to require six months or more. Hence, for the past three weeks, I have been working with three talented voice actors, Carolyn Zeller, Christopher Youngblood, and Reynaldo A. Pacheco, to create the aural version of Newmark’s book, in English and Español. We used an Azden wireless microphone received into a Macintosh PowerBook G4, recorded and edited using Bias, Inc.’s Peak Pro 5.2 software. This is fantastic technology. Back in the mid 70s, large studio equipment was the sine qua non of this type project. Audio editing required blank tape, a tape recorder, white china markers, razor blades, splicing tape, and infinite patience, not to mention long, uninterrupted hours of scrubbing marking cutting splice-taping trimming. Today, I follow along in the book. When the actor makes a flub, I mark the text, the actor retakes from the previous comma or period. Later, I open the file in the Peak Pro software, follow the wavy lines until the flub. I insert electronic place markers at the beginning of the flub and the beginning of the retake. Two keystrokes later, instant edit! Still a time-burner, but nowhere near the exhaustion of making hundreds of physical splices.

And the payoff! I visualize gente driving here and there listening to the good sense advice and sound analysis written by Dr. Newmark, read beautifully by the talented speakers, learning to, as Newmark writes in his Preface, use their abilities to help raise children who feel respected, important, accepted, included and secure, "who knows, we might just change the world."

U.S. Postage Stamp Honors Journalist Ruben Salazar Tuesday, April 22, the US Postal Service issues a 41 cent postage stamp honoring Salazar. Against a brown field and the outline of a water jug the designer has assembled like a ransom note torn from a newspaper pages the words, "during Chicano protest rally in East Los Angeles".

It was a police riot. And he was killed miles from the park rally.

It was August 29, 1970. The Chicano Moratorium had assembled massive numbers to march along Whittier Boulevard to a neighborhood park, where they would be entertained by poets, musicians, and speakers. But as the march reached its destination and gente had begun the rally, the cops, on a pretext (can you say agent provocateur?), went crazy, attacking people mindlessly, chasing mothers with babies in arms into private homes. By day's end, law enfarcement would notch three dead Chicanos: Lyn Ward, a 14-year old boy; Angel Diaz; Ruben Salazar.

Several Chicano novels cite the police riot in East Los Angeles. The earliest is Guy Garcia’s Skin Deep, where the riot marked a turning point in the character's life. Lucha Corpi’s Death of a Brown Angel, opens with her character fleeing the crazed cops. She turns into an alley where she discovers a murdered infant, whose dreadfully abused corpse will lead the woman to solve the mystery. More recently, Stella Pope Duarte's Vietnam war/movimiento novel, Let Their Spirits Dance, recalls the event as a focal point illuminating the contradictions of Chicano activism on one hand, military dedication on another. And I wish I remember the poet who wrote a heart-rending poem about a baby's shoe in the gutter littered with the detritus left in the wake of the panicked crowd fleeing the gas and batons of Laguna Park.

The deaths of those three Chicanos on August 29 was the third time law enforcement killed war protestors in 1970. Three anglo kids were shot by national guardsmen on the Kent State University campus. Ten days later, two black kids were shot by police at Jackson State University. Then came August 29. At Kent State, an iconic image of an anguished girl kneeling over the body of a fallen protestor, hit the cover of Newsweek magazine. The black kids were shot at night in or near their dorm rooms, with no “live” media, so their deaths largely went unmemorialized. The East LA event memorialized the Silver Dollar bar. The Coroner’s Inquest was broadcast live, for all the good that did. (See this satirical piece depicting Nixon’s Tape 231 discussing the Salazar, Diaz, and Ward killings). No police officer or Sheriff’s Deputy was ever brought to account in the shootings of Lyn Ward, a 14-year old Chicano, Angel Diaz, nor La Opinion and LA Times journalist Ruben Salazar. Salazar's murder included a mysterious phone call alerting Sheriff's to a "man with a gun" inside the Silver Dollar. The Deputy fired blind, through a curtain, decapitating Salazar, who was enjoying una chelada miles from the heat of the riot at Laguna Park.

None of this, of course, is in that stamp. Only the ongoing coverup, "during a Chicano protest rally".

There's something more, yet less, in the stamp story. It's "good" only for the next twenty days. The USPS issued the stamp at the current first class standard, 41 cents. On May 12, you’ll have to add a one cent mark-up if you want to honor Salazar with his stamp, since the first class rate goes up to 42 cents.

For a 300 dpi image of the Salazar stamp, click the image above. From the USPS site: Note: When reproducing the Salazar image, please include the following: Ruben Salazar, from the Los Angeles Times Photographic Archive (Collection 1429), Department of Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, UCLA


Author Alicia Gaspar de Alba fighting women’s cancers

La Bloga is happy to pass along word that the author of Sor Juana’s Second Dream, Desert Blood, and Calligraphy of the Witch, Alicia Gaspar de Alba, has set a goal of raising $2000 in the 5 kilometer event Revlon RunWalk for Women. The event raises money to fight women’s cancers. If you’d like to contribute a few dollars for an important cause, click here. If the link is broken, just go to Revlon’s find participant site and search for firstname Alicia lastname Gaspar de Alba. The resulting page will guide your commitment.

Here’s another way to lend a hand to combating breast cancer and other worthwhile projects. Make it a daily habit to click at the free mammograms website. In addition, you can click to support children’s health, combat hunger, give free books for kids, save rainforest land, and help animals in shelters.

I do not know how much help the above provide, but I suspect it’s as productive, if not more, than giving six grains of rice for every word you get correct, in that vocabulary game that fascinates a number of people. Maybe readers of Denise Chavez’ Loving Pedro Infante will click, remembering Tere’s hope that her annual check to help a Latin American child isn't a foolish act of kindness.

There we have it, the penultimate April Tuesday. La Bloga welcomes your comments on anything you read here. If you have something of your own to present as a guest columnist, La Bloga welcomes guests. Just click here, or leave a comment indicating your interest in being our guest.

mvs