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Unpack stereotypes on cleanliness.
These conversations seemed harmless and amusing, but historically, the cultural conversation on cleanliness hasn’t been this casual. The notion of cleanliness has been wielded against immigrants, communities of color, and other marginalized groups to justify oppression and ostracization. Everyone is welcome to bathe however they choose, but not everyone has the privilege to talk about not bathing without the weight of racial implications.
TAKE ACTION
Consider: Where may you have heard these stereotypes before? What books, podcasts, TV shows, movies, etc. have you seen recently that perpetuate these today?
Contact manufacturers of beauty products to oppose tropes like Black skin being dirty, unattractive, or a problem to be corrected. Avoid products marketed using racist themes.
GET EDUCATED
By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)
Recently (and why, I do not know), a series of white celebrities shared their bathing habits with the press. Mila Kunis, Ashton Kutcher, and Kristen Bell said they only bathe their kids when they smell bad (People). Jake Gyllenhall noted that he finds bathing “less necessary” (Vanity Fair). Commenters were quick to note that these sentiments were shared by white celebrities, and non-white stars like Jason Momoa, Dwayne Johnson and Cardi B were quick to express their love for frequent showers and baths. These conversations seemed harmless and amusing, but historically, the cultural conversation on cleanliness hasn’t been this casual. The notion of cleanliness has been wielded against immigrants, communities of color, and other marginalized groups to justify oppression and ostracization. Everyone is welcome to bathe however they choose, but not everyone has the privilege to talk about not bathing without the weight of racial implications.
In the late 19th century, many Chinese and Japanese people immigrated to the U.S. and Canada for the gold rush, as did European immigrants. Asian immigrant labor labor was indispensable for the growth of infrastructure alongside the West Coast, but they were paid terribly compared to their white American counterparts (The Conversation).
As Chinese communities grew, white communities turned against them, fearing they would take their jobs and disrupt their quality of life. White people blamed Chinese workers for the growth of syphilis, leprosy, and smallpox. Though poverty, not race, correlates with the spread of diseases. Canada created a Royal Commission on Chinese Immigration and concluded that "Chinese quarters are the filthiest and most disgusting places in Victoria, overcrowded hotbeds of disease and vice, disseminating fever and polluting the air all around” though they knew this wasn’t accurate (The Conversation). This spurred violence like an 1871 massacre of Chinese workers in L.A.’s Chinatown that led to “the largest mass lynching in American history” (L.A. Weekly) as well as the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act in the U.S. and the 1885 Chinese Immigration Act in Canada. These were the first laws for both countries that excluded an entire ethnic group (AAPF).
To this day, the same hateful rhetoric fuels anti-Asian bias in response to the coronavirus.
“
The outbreak has had a decidedly dehumanizing effect, reigniting old strains of racism and xenophobia that frame Chinese people as uncivilized, barbaric “others” who bring with them dangerous, contagious diseases and an appetite for dogs, cats, and other animals outside the norms of Occidental diets.”
Jenny G. Zhang in Eater
Also, consider efforts to keep Black people and other people of color out of public swimming spaces. Among the racially charged reasons made up to promote segregation was the notion that non-white people were not clean. As a result, pools practiced segregation to maintain this perception of purity. Segregated pools would have swim days for people of color only, and pools would be cleaned before white patrons returned (National Geographic). In 1951, a Little League team came to a public pool to celebrate a championship win. One player, Al Bright, who was Black, was only allowed to be in the pool sitting on a raft under lifeguard supervision so he would not touch the water (NPR). Read more in a previous newsletter.
Mexicans and Mexican Americans were also discriminated against based on false notions of cleanliness. The U.S. perpetuated this stereotype against Mexican people to fuel displacement and unfair labor practices. This sentiment was responsible for justifying an Eisenhower-era campaign that deported as many as 1.3 million undocumented workers, the largest mass deportation in U.S. history (History). The LA Times recently reflected on its role in perpetuating anti-Mexican sentiment. One headline from 1919 read “Watch the dirty Mexican newspapers in this town [...] They ought to be suppressed” (LA Times).
This was also a critical point of the Mendez v. Westminster case in 1947. In 1945, a group of parents sued four school districts in Orange County, CA, for placing their children in “Mexican Schools,” which received far fewer resources than schools for white students. In their defense, school officials claimed Latino students were dirty and carried diseases that put white students at risk. The case went to the Supreme Court, which deemed segregation of Mexican American students unconstitutional and unlawful, ending segregation in all California schools (History).
Stereotypes of cleanliness fuel other forms of discrimination: antisemitism, anti-fatness, and discrimination against disabled people, the unhoused, and those with HIV/AIDS. These tropes center whiteness – specifically the whiteness of, wealthy, able-bodied, skinny, cisgender, heterosexual people – as the definition of purity and cleanliness. To dismantle racism we have to deconstruct this narrative.
Key Takeaways
Celebrities have been sharing their bathing habits publicly, sparking a conversation on the differences in bathing habits amongst different groups
The notion of cleanliness has been used throughout history to further oppress and discriminate against marginalized communities
Stereotypes that portray marginalized groups as dirty aim to uphold the idea of the purity and cleanliness of whiteness
Rally for fair labor.
In July, 19 workers at Chicago fast food chain Portillo’s self-organized a seven day strike against unfairly low pay and worker mistreatment. Unlike most strikes, the workers started the work stoppage on their own with just the help of a local nonprofit, Arise Chicago. The employees who participated in the strike were all Latino, and the majority of them had been with the company for over ten years. The workers involved had been attempting to get a resolution on workplace issues with management for four years (In These Times).
TAKE ACTION
Donate to Arise Chicago, the organization that helped striking Portillo’s workers.
Learn about the connection between workers’ rights and racial justice.
Support a pay increase for fast food workers across the country.
GET EDUCATED
By Nia Norris (she/her)
Latino workers have been a part of the labor movement since its inception. My great-grandmother was a Black immigrant from Panama who worked extensively in the garment industry to improve labor standards and was also a union organizer in Africa (Jacobin). Although many of the early labor unions excluded minority workers, there are also many Latino voices who are celebrated in labor history including César Chávez and the United Farm Workers of America (History). Last month, Latino workers won another huge labor victory in the Chicago suburbs. It isn’t just coincidental that these were low-wage workers who happened to be Latino. Latino workers (particularly those who are immigrants) are disproportionately represented in dangerous jobs. Latino workers have the highest occupational fatality rate out of all groups in the United States (PRB). Racism determines who works which jobs, and under which conditions. But victories like those resulting from a historic three-week strike at a Frito-Lays plant in Topeka show that workers acting together can win (CNN).
In July, 19 workers at Chicago fast food chain Portillo’s self-organized a seven day strike against unfairly low pay and worker mistreatment. Unlike most strikes, the workers started the work stoppage on their own with just the help of a local nonprofit, Arise Chicago. The employees who participated in the strike were all Latino, and the majority of them had been with the company for over ten years. The workers involved had been attempting to get a resolution on workplace issues with management for four years (In These Times).
The final straw for the workers was that management was not replacing employees who left the company, instead expecting the remaining workers to do the jobs of two people. This created an unsafe working environment. The company was also offering only a $0.25 to $0.35 raise to employees although the company itself was not losing money to the pandemic.
Margarita Valenzuela Klein, the director of member organizing at Arise Chicago, spoke with ARD about the remarkable strike. According to Klein, “It was workers without a union who made the decision to walk out. They called on us [for our assistance] after they walked out.”
Klein said, “We explained to them under the law what their protections are, and what a certain activity means. If two or more employees decide to do something to better their working conditions, they are protected by the law. The more you do, the more protections you have.” Arise Chicago also provided the workers with media contacts for press conferences, signs that they could use to post their demands publicly, and explained “the ABCs of a picket line,” said Klein.
This worker-organized work stoppage was a huge success. Workers won raises ranging from $.1.60 to $2.60 an hour. The company also hired more workers to do the job. These results are incredible for the fast food industry, an industry that is notorious for exploiting minority workers who receive very low pay and often work in poor conditions.
A report by the Labor Center of UC Berkeley found that 73% of fast food workers in Los Angeles were Latino workers (UC Berkeley). Fast food work has always been low pay and comes with high rates of workplace harassment. COVID-19 has made conditions even worse. Fast food workers are almost never unionized, and most attempts by restaurant workers to unionize have been shut down (PBS). Food service workers have historically had very little collective bargaining power. They are often treated by their employers as disposable workers, however the COVID-19 crisis has somewhat shifted the power to the employees as employers grapple with a labor shortage that spans the entire service industry (NYT).
Latino people in the U.S. have historically been leaders in the union movement. Workers’ rights icon César Chávez facilitated the unionization of grape pickers in Delano, California in 1965 by organizing a strike that lasted for five years. This strike led to the creation of the United Farm Workers of America. Salvadoran and Guatemalan immigrants fleeing U.S.-sponsored Dirty Wars in their home countries (TruthOut) included veteran community organizers whose skills “revived” the American labor movement (The Counter).
This is what is so commendable about the Portillo’s strike: although it’s no secret that restaurant workers are treated poorly, these workers were able to organize and get the results that they sought. They were able to use their collective bargaining power to create a safer workplace and a badly-needed pay increase. With employers everywhere moaning that “no one wants to work anymore,” perhaps they should consider that people are no longer willing to work in poor conditions for low pay. Instead, we need to reimagine the food service industry as one that supports the humanity of its workers instead of exploiting minorities for a profit.
Key Takeaways
Latino employees are disproportionately represented in the fast food industry.
An already abusive and underpaid work environment, fast food workers have been particularly vulnerable in the COVID-19 pandemic and should be compensated accordingly.
All workers have certain protections through labor laws that allow them to organize for fair working conditions.
Unpack the term “Hispanic”.
The idea that there is a single category of Hispanic or Latinx people spanning every Spanish-speaking country is not the result of an organic organization between Spanish-speaking Latin Americans but rather a project of U.S. activists, government officials and media executives from the 1970’s through the 1990’s. According to G. Cristina Mora, the conscious ambiguity concerning the definition of the “Hispanic” was a fundamental part of its institutionalization.
Welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily! Today, Jumko joins us to share more about the history of the phrase Hispanic and how, similar to the term Latinx, broad generalizations of diverse cultures and origins fail to truly reflect us all.
Thank you for your support! This daily, free, independent newsletter is made possible by your support. Consider making a donation to support our work. You can start a monthly subscription on Patreon or our website, or give one-time using our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza).
– Nicole
TAKE ACTION
The term “Hispanic” was created in order to redirect funds to larger initiatives encompassing communities of the Latin American diaspora.
This term, however, does nothing to refer to the diversity of experiences within these communities and impedes us from having explicit conversations about racism and race.
Instead of using “Hispanic”, refer to the specific ethnicity, nationality or race you want to talk about, so as to avoid generalizations that don’t apply to “Hispanic” people as a whole.
GET EDUCATED
By Jumko Ogata-Aguilar (she/ella)
During the 2020 presidential elections, news outlets were full of predictions, analyses, and examinations of how the Latino/Hispanic sector would vote (NBC News). Many supported Donald Trump in the polls (New York Times), sparking many conversations and questions concerning the fact that a minority was apparently voting against their best interest. However, this information is hardly surprising when we consider the ambiguous nature of the term. “Hispanic” can easily refer to a person from Spain, Chile, The Philippines, or Equatorial Guinea. So where exactly did this term come from? Who exactly does it refer to?
The idea that there is a single category of Hispanic or Latinx people spanning every Spanish-speaking country is not the result of an organic organization between Spanish-speaking Latin Americans but rather a project of U.S. activists, government officials and media executives from the 1970’s through the 1990’s. According to G. Cristina Mora, the conscious ambiguity concerning the definition of the “Hispanic” was a fundamental part of its institutionalization.
“Activists thus described Hispanics as a disadvantaged and underrepresented minority group that stretched from coast to coast, a wide framing that best allowed them to procure grants from public and private institutions,” said Mora. “Media executives, in turn, framed Hispanics as an up-and-coming national consumer market to increase advertising revenue. Last, government officials, particularly those in the Census Bureau, framed Hispanics as a group displaying certain educational, income, and fertility patterns significantly different from those of blacks and whites” (University of Chicago).
The three main diasporas that were most visible at the time due to their political presence were Mexican, Puerto Rican and Cuban. According to Mora, the concept of Hispanic was an attempt to unify what were, in fact, wildly different priorities. “Immigration reform, for example, became an important Mexican American policy goal but was of little interest to Puerto Ricans, who were citizens by birth, and to Cuban Americans, who gained citizenship through their refugee status. Puerto Ricans in New York focused on issues of Puerto Rican independence, but this cause fell on deaf ears in Mexican American and Cuban American communities. And while there were certainly some issues that these groups shared, such as bilingual education and discrimination, many of the joint, pan-ethnic mobilization efforts addressing these topics were either highly local or short-lived.”
Populations within each Latin American country are also not homogenous. After they obtained independence from Spain, the white ruling elites crafted discourses whose purpose was to assimilate the Indigenous and Black populations into whiteness, creating racist discourses that are still prevalent to this day (Latin American Perspectives). Some Latin American governments promoted the idea that “We are all “Mestizo,” or mixed-race, to erase erasing anti-Indigenous and anti-Black practices (Critical Sociology). Overuse of Hispanic, Latinx, and Mestizo can make conversations around racist violence within these communities much more difficult due to their basic premise: “We are all Hispanic/Mestizos.”
Now, if we focus particularly on the three diasporas previously mentioned, we can see how even the homogenization of these populations according to their nationality impedes us from understanding the diversity of experiences the “Hispanic” label encompasses.
We can now understand “Hispanic” Republican politicians that seemingly legislate against the interest of the community at large. Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz are both white men of Cuban ancestry whose political posture rests on the fact that their families supposedly fled their country of origin because of the Cuban revolution. They legislate in favor of white, rich conservatives such as themselves (whether “Hispanic” or not).
The terms “Hispanic” and “Latinx” have become racialized categories in the US. Therefore many conversations in the public eye equate being “Hispanic” or “Latinx” to being someone who is non-white. This has not only allowed white women to indulge in self-exotization due to the way they are perceived in the U.S. vs. their countries of origin (ie. Shakira, Sofía Vergara, Kali Uchis) but has also created controversial conversations on the internet, such as the description of Anya Taylor-Joy as a woman of color (Tribune).
In order to adopt an anti-racist stance when referring to Latin American people, these labels must be understood in their historical context and left aside for more specific terms that refer to the community that we want to refer to explicitly. Hispanic and Latinx are not a race, ethnicity, or nationality. There is an immense spectrum of realities within the “Hispanic” term, therefore, we must explicitly name the communities we want to recognize lest they be made invisible by these homogenizing narratives once more.
Key Takeaways
Some outsiders think about immigrant communities as political tokens or only consider them in relation to the food, music, or other products they produce.
Corporations might support immigrants or other oppressed communities rhetorically while harming them in practice.
Solidarity must be a constant practice.
RELATED ISSUES
6/10/2021 | Support immigrants beyond food.
10/5/2020 | Protect undocumented Americans.
8/10/2020 | Respect the relationship between name and identity.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
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Rally for Afro-Latino representation.
The Dominican Republic and Haiti share an island in the Caribbean, and there are many racial, ethnic, and cultural similarities between the two nations. Though most Dominicans in the DR identify as mixed-race, the overwhelming majority of Dominicans, like Haitians, are Black by American racial standards (Black Excellence). About half of the population of the gentrifying neighborhood of Washington Heights, Manhattan, where In the Heights is set, is Dominican (U.S. Census Bureau). Washington Heights comprises one of the largest immigrant communities from the Dominican Republic within the U.S. (Furman Center). Unfortunately, In the Heights wildly misrepresents the Dominicans living in this culturally significant neighborhood, continuing a trend where Afro-Latinos are ignored on screen.
Happy Wednesday and welcome back! The film adaptation of the musical "In The Heights," was released earlier this month and received swift criticism for its lack of representation for darker-skinned Afro-Latino actors. Today Michelle joins us to share more about the movie and the history of colorism in media.
Thank you for your support! This daily, free, independent newsletter is made possible by your support. If you can, consider making a donation to support our team. You can start a monthly subscription on Patreon or our website, or give one-time using our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza).
– Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Watch “Negro: A Docu-Series about Latino Identity” by Dash Harris on YouTube.
Learn from Afro-Latino-centered media, like Revista étnica or “Afro-Latino Travels with Kim Haas.”
Consider: How has the media shaped your perception of various communities? What other shows/movies have you watched that fail to represent the full spectrum of the Latinx community?
GET EDUCATED
By Michelle Swinea (she/her)
When Lin-Manuel Miranda’s film In the Heights was released last week, it drew justifiable criticism for erasing the largely Dominican Afro-Latino population of the real-life neighborhood in which it takes place (NPR).
The Dominican Republic and Haiti share an island in the Caribbean, and there are many racial, ethnic, and cultural similarities between the two nations. Though most Dominicans in the DR identify as mixed-race, the overwhelming majority of Dominicans, like Haitians, are Black by American racial standards (Black Excellence). About half of the population of the gentrifying neighborhood of Washington Heights, Manhattan, where In the Heights is set, is Dominican (U.S. Census Bureau). Washington Heights comprises one of the largest immigrant communities from the Dominican Republic within the U.S. (Furman Center). Unfortunately, In the Heights wildly misrepresents the Dominicans living in this culturally significant neighborhood, continuing a trend where Afro-Latinos are ignored on screen.
There is a long history of anti-Blackness and colorism within Latinx cultures. Status coming from proximity to whiteness via lighter skin promotes the harmful ideology of a caste system of power and desirability that is present in almost every ethnic culture around the world. This speaks to the global ramifications of white supremacy and colonialism. The beauty of Afro-Latinos in every hue and skin tone should be seen throughout In the Heights.
Felice León, a producer for The Root who’s an Afro-Cuban New Yorker, confronted the director of In the Heights about casting only light-skinned actors for the principal roles (The Root). Though Washington Heights, in actuality features many dark-skinned and Afro-Latino people with roots in the Dominican Republic, Cuba, and Puerto Rico, the only Afro-Latinos in the film are background dancers. “I was just like, wow, dancers - right. So background dancers, so they do not have lines. They are relegated to the background. They are, you know, sort of like a decoration. They are entertainment in that way, but they do not have a substantive storyline. And that very much felt like, you know, where - how we've seen Black and darker Latinx people, you know, as maids in telenovelas, as we've seen. And in this film also, there were, you know, Black women in the hair salon,” she said (NPR).
Darker-skinned people have been excluded from leading roles by production companies around the globe (Time). This homogeneous depiction of people has global ramifications, such as promoting harmful skin bleaching products sold to women and denying the basic humanity of darker-skinned people. Children learn empathy for others and a greater sense of self-identity by seeing diversity portrayed in shows and films from characters with dignified roles. As globalization increases with social media and the internet, the audiences have the power to shape media to be both inclusive and entertaining. At the same time, filmmakers hold a responsibility to accurately reflect the people they are portraying within their films, in this case, the Dominican population within Washington Heights, NY.
Audiences are tired of seeing their art whitewashed, their collective voices signaling the need for accountability and change. One of the most powerful tools that we have at our disposal is social media. Marginalized communities can speak out and make their voices heard when projects such as “In The Heights” do not accurately portray the racial makeup of the neighborhood that it claims to represent.
Lin-Manuel Miranda acknowledged his error in the erasure of Afro-Latinos from leading roles within his film, saying, “I promise to do better in my future projects, and I’m dedicated to the learning and evolving we all have to do to make sure we are honoring our diverse and vibrant community” (Twitter).
But as León later told NPR, “I am, at this point, really tired of having to wait and having to sort of be in line. And I'm saying this, again, from the perspective of a Black woman of Cuban descent. Yes, he must do better - period. At this point, you know, this is a $55 million project."
The ownership of harm and commitment to growth as an artist is an important step in making cultural shifts. I look forward to seeing future films from filmmakers of color that are holistic and authentic in their cultural representation, and I am grateful to the audiences for providing critical feedback that challenges notions of anti-Blackness and erasure in 2021.
Michelle Swinea is a creative writer and academic. Currently, she is writing her first novel in honor of her grandparents. You can find her on Twitter at @walkbyfaithlife.
Key Takeaways
“In The Heights” failed to accurately represent the constituents living in the Washington Heights neighborhood due to the film’s erasure of Afro-Latinos.
Historically, Afro-Latinos and other darker-skinned people have been discriminated against and excluded from films because of anti-Blackness and colonialism throughout the world.
Social media provides a platform for marginalized communities to come together and demand representation.
RELATED ISSUES
8/31/2021 | Condemn colorism.
3/10/2021 | Believe Black women.
1/4/2021 | Tackle anti-Blackness in South Asian communities.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
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Honor Cinco de Mayo.
Today is Cinco de Mayo, which represents the anniversary of Mexico’s victory against the French forces of Napoleon III at the Battle of Puebla, on May 5, 1862. (Contrary to popular belief, the date is not Mexican Independence day, which is celebrated on September 16). President Benito Juárez had canceled its debts with European countries, incending France and causing them to invade. Although the Mexican army, led by General Ignacio Zaragoza, was outnumbered, they won after the day-long fight. Many of its members were Indigenous Mexicans from various backgrounds who united in solidarity against a common enemy (History).
Happy Wednesday, and welcome back! Yesterday, while writing this article, I was reminded of the definition of solidarity on the Black and Asian Feminist Solidarities' website. "Solidarity at its core is about relationships." As you read about the history and significance of May 5th, consider: what does it look like to be in relationship with this date? What does it look like to be in relationship with the strength and progress it represents? I hope you learn something new from today's newsletter!
As always, we welcome any support for our independent news. Consider giving $7/month on our website or Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Donate to a mutual aid network in your community, particularly one that supports the Latinx community. Here is a list of mutual aid by state, but do your own research, too!
If you choose to participate in the Americanized version of the holiday, shop from Latinx-owned restaurants and businesses. Shop Latinx has a curated selection of goods.
Don’t practice cultural appropriation – today or any day.
Reflect on what solidarity means to you: How can you practice solidarity more authentically? Who in your community is modeling solidarity?
GET EDUCATED
By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)
Today is Cinco de Mayo, which represents the anniversary of Mexico’s victory against the French forces of Napoleon III at the Battle of Puebla, on May 5, 1862. (Contrary to popular belief, the date is not Mexican Independence day, which is celebrated on September 16). President Benito Juárez had canceled its debts with European countries, incending France and causing them to invade. Although the Mexican army, led by General Ignacio Zaragoza, was outnumbered, they won after the day-long fight. Many of its members were Indigenous Mexicans from various backgrounds who united in solidarity against a common enemy (History).
But this wasn’t just a fight about money. Some scholars believe that the French were looking to invade Mexico and set up a base to support the Confederate South, which was in the midst of fighting the Civil War. The North had stopped exporting cotton to France during this time, forcing textile manufacturers to lay off workers. France saw an opportunity in forging a new alliance, helping the South maintain the institution of slavery in exchange for cotton (Remezcla). If Mexico had lost that battle, France could have colonized Mexico and potentially influenced the outcome of the Civil War (wbur). The French did gain control of Mexico City a year later, but by then, the North had an advantage (Remezcla).
Mexican American activists in the U.S. during that time celebrated the victory, recognizing the potential ramifications. But the holiday of Cinco de May in the U.S. didn’t go mainstream until the 1960s. Chicano civil rights activists, noting the solidarity represented in the historical event, revived the celebrations as a mark of pride and recognition of what we can achieve – together (wbur). By the 1980s, brands had co-opted the celebration to capture revenue from the growing Latinx audience historically overlooked (NYTimes). And, making the holiday mainstream offered brands – particularly alcoholic ones – to commercialize a cultural reason for everyone to drink in early May. The date is now one of the biggest days for beer sales in the U.S. each year (NPR). Meanwhile, in Mexico, observing the anniversary of the battle only happens in Puebla, where it occurred (wbur).
This date is also rife with cultural appropriation – fake sombreros and mustaches, insensitive costumes, made-up Spanish words, decorations that reflect Dia de Los Muertos, etc. Much of the practices related to Cinco de Mayo don’t truly honor Mexican culture and history. But avoiding appropriation on this date isn’t enough: today should also celebrate the importance of solidarity, and resistance, that protects our unique cultural identities.
And in these times, solidarity couldn’t be more urgent. The national debate over immigration and racist comments by former President Trump has led to hate crimes against the Latinx community increasing steadily since the 1990s, peaking in 2019 (NBC News). Latinx Americans are 3x more likely to be hospitalized because of COVID-19 than white Americans (CDC). And the number of people crossing the border from Mexico has remained at a twenty-year high over the past few months (Washington Post). U.S. authorities took 172,331 migrants into custody in March, including over 17,000 children and teens without their parents (Washington Post).
There’s nothing wrong with getting some tacos and a drink after work today – without appropriation and socially distanced, of course. But if you’re going to participate, consider that this day represents far more. To truly honor it, recognize the depth of its history, and stand in solidarity for our collective liberation.
Key Takeaways
Cinco de Mayo represents the anniversary of Mexico’s victory against the French forces of Napoleon III at the Battle of Puebla, on May 5, 1862.
The defeat of Napoleon III's troops was a strong statement against colonialism, and prevented French from being more involved in the U.S. Civil War.
This holiday has been commercialized and Americanized, obscuring its true historical significance.
Honor today by standing in solidarity and respecting Mexican and Latinx culture.
RELATED ISSUES
11/6/2020 | Don’t homogenize Latinx identity.
11/15/2020 | Learn the key terminology.
3/1/2021 | Support unaccompanied minors.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Respect the Chicago hunger strike.
Though Chicago is home to some of the most vibrant urban forests, prairies, and wetlands, in 2020 it set the record for having the worst, unhealthy air quality streak in ten years, ranking even higher than busy cities like Los Angeles. Coupled with COVID-19, experts and advocates predicted the damage would hit Black and Brown communities the hardest (abc 7 chicago). In addition to the many contributing factors that make this city environmentally unsafe such as daily emissions stemming from rail, road, and air traffic, Little Village—a Black and predominantly Latinx neighborhood—soon will have to endure the harsh effects of a metal-shredding operation on top of the pandemic and daily exhaustion.
Happy Tuesday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. The hunger strike for environmental justice led by organizers in Chicago over the past month has inspired the heck out of me. Sometimes the injustices the world faces may feel insurmountable, and that we alone can't make an impact. But that should never stop us from trying. Three people started a hunger strike – and with that, a youth-driven movement that is likely to transform their community. Learn more in today's newsletter.
This newsletter is a free resource made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that have contributed!
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Follow the efforts of the strike on Twitter at @CHIhungerstrike.
Research environmental organizations like weact.org to learn about the many ways to support environmental justice.
Consider: how does environmental conditions differ in your own city, town or neighborhood? Who are the leader(s) advocating for change?
GET EDUCATED
By Kashea McCowan (she/her)
Though Chicago is home to some of the most vibrant urban forests, prairies, and wetlands, in 2020 it set the record for having the worst, unhealthy air quality streak in ten years, ranking even higher than busy cities like Los Angeles. Coupled with COVID-19, experts and advocates predicted the damage would hit Black and Brown communities the hardest (abc 7 chicago). In addition to the many contributing factors that make this city environmentally unsafe such as daily emissions stemming from rail, road, and air traffic, Little Village—a Black and predominantly Latinx neighborhood—soon will have to endure the harsh effects of a metal-shredding operation on top of the pandemic and daily exhaustion.
Without the metal-shredder, Black and brown citizens residing on the southeast side of Chicago already are having to overcome a “moderate” air quality index (AQI) of 52. The United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) defines “moderate” as air potentially unhealthy to sensitive groups including children, the elderly, and people with pre-existing cardiovascular or respiratory health conditions (IQAir). In order to protect themselves from air pollution, these groups have no access to fresh air as it is recommended for them to keep their windows closed to avoid dirty outdoor air and reduce outdoor exercise. According to the EPA, the neighborhood surrounding the new scrap yard site is in the 95th percentile for diesel emissions, 90th for hazardous waste, and 80th for air pollution (grist).
“Many of our residents already have problems with respiratory issues because of the ongoing industry that is operating in our neighborhood. We’re just adding a lot more stress to our public health,” says Edith Tovar in July 2020, Little Village Environmental Justice Organization community organizer. (abc 7 Chicago).
With awareness of these health constraints, Mayor Lori Lightfoot gave Stephen Joseph, chief executive of Reserve Management Group, the go ahead in late 2020 to acquire General Iron, a metal-shredding company rebranded as Southside Recycling. Expressed in a detailed two-page agreement is a timeline of when Joseph could expect to undergo the move of the decades-old business from the north side, a predominantly white neighborhood, to the south side where people of color mostly reside beginning in early 2021. The car and metal-shredding operation was often cited for violations of air pollution in the white part of town. This prompted its relocation, instead, to the Black and Brown part of the city. Despite protests from residents about the environmentally racist move, Lightfoot signed the agreement and all but sealed the deal with Joseph and General Iron (Chicago Sun Times).
Beginning on February 4, 2021, the relocation of the metal-shredder did not sit well with the Latinx community who it would affect the most and thus, began a month-long hunger strike. Among those leading the strike was Oscar Sanchez, Breanna Bertacchi, and Chuck Stark with Sanchez and many other protestors willing to go without food for however long it takes.
“It is immoral, it is discriminatory, and we cannot allow [this plant to operate] in a pandemic when we can prevent it,” says Byron Sigcho-Lopez, a 25th ward alderman who joined the hunger strike (EcoWatch).
The EPA suspended its environmental justice investigation into whether Illinois discriminated against the predominantly Black and Latinx southeast side community after the initiation of discussions about an informal resolution agreement. According to the Chicago Tribune, Mayor Lori Lightfoot is looking for Biden and his administration to make the call of whether or not the scrap yard can be moved to the southeast side (EcoWatch).
Lightfoot finally reached out in response to the strikers via a letter on February 23 acknowledging the hunger strike and the environmental racism the neighborhood faces, but has yet to deny General Iron’s permit and has failed to commit to the hunger strikers demands. Last Thursday, more than two hundred protesters gathered on the streets of Chicago with signs that read “Stop General Iron” and face masks with the words “We deserve clean air!” and “Ecological devastation is immoral”. The scrap yard violated EPA’s standards in 2018, 2012, and 2006 and was regarded by white neighbors as a nuisance. Many of the speakers at the rally including students who attend George Washington high school stated that they should not have to starve themselves just to get their Mayor’s attention (The Guardian).
According to Dr. Susan Buchanan, public health professor at the University of Illinois-Chicago noted that the particular matter that often escapes these types of businesses can lead to severe heart and lung conditions. Joseph says that the pollution controls at the new site will be enough to keep residents safe as he feels like he and his company are not the enemy (The Guardian).
Kudos to those neighbors like Oscar Sanchez who are willing to sacrifice their physical and mental health for what they believe in. Sanchez lost about twenty pounds from participating in the hunger strike for thirty days, and though the hunger strike ended yesterday, he says that the fight is far from over.
“Think about somebody pulling into your home and wanting to kill or hurt those around you. You’re gonna put yourself in line, right? We’re risking our lives just by living here, of course we’re going to fight,” says Sanchez. “This fight for the southeast side is a fight for Chicago and a fight for Chicago is a fight for Illinois and the nation because no one else should suffer at the hands of pollution.” (Grist)
KEY TAKEAWAYS
In 2020, Chicago set the record for having the worst, unhealthy air quality streak in ten years, ranking even higher than busy cities like Los Angeles.
Little Village, a Black and predominantly Latinx neighborhood, soon will have to endure the harsh effects of a metal-shredding operation on top of the pandemic and daily exhaustion.
Mayor Lori Lightfoot gave Stephen Joseph the go ahead to acquire General Iron and move decades-old business from the north side, a predominantly white neighborhood, to the south side where people of color mostly reside.
Though the hunger strike ended yesterday, the fight for environmental justice is far from over.
RELATED ISSUES
10/11/2020 | Support climate justice.
7/12/2020 | Learn how air pollution exacerbates COVID-19.
3/2/2021 | Advocate for clean water.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Support unaccompanied minors.
One category of immigrants that is often overlooked in the larger conversation about immigration is unaccompanied minors. The term refers to youth who are under eighteen years old, undocumented, and have no parents or legal guardians in the United States (National Immigrant Justice Center). They also are the students who don’t get to join the high school soccer team because they have to work a full-time job. They are the hard workers who have to choose between earning a diploma and paying their rent. Every day, they are faced with making decisions about whether to go to school and reach their academic potential or go to work to provide for themselves and their families back in their home countries.
Happy Monday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. It's a new month and I'm excited for the possibilities it holds. Today, Sergio joins us with his personal narrative, urging us all to do more to support unaccompanied minors in our communities.
This newsletter is a free resource and that's made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Volunteer at your local high school to mentor unaccompanied minors through high school and into college.
Donate to organizations that provide free legal assistance to unaccompanied minors like Kids in Need of Defense.
Write letters to your local representatives to provide more funding and resources at majority Latino high schools.
GET EDUCATED
By Sergio Rodriguez (he/him/el)
One category of immigrants that is often overlooked in the larger conversation about immigration is unaccompanied minors. The term refers to youth who are under eighteen years old, undocumented, and have no parents or legal guardians in the United States (National Immigrant Justice Center). They also are the students who don’t get to join the high school soccer team because they have to work a full-time job. They are the hard workers who have to choose between earning a diploma and paying their rent. Every day, they are faced with making decisions about whether to go to school and reach their academic potential or go to work to provide for themselves and their families back in their home countries.
Most unaccompanied minors are from Central America, particularly El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. In 2018, 49,100 unaccompanied minors arrived in the United States. In May 2019, 11,500 more crossed the U.S.-Mexico border (Migration Policy Institute). Most of them leave their home countries to escape political violence, gang violence, and extreme poverty. Because of U.S.-driven instability in Central America, it can be hard to disentangle one of these reasons from another. For me, it was a mixture of all three.
I came to the United States from El Salvador at the age of seventeen. The decision to leave my home country was incredibly difficult and complex. In El Salvador, my parents supported five children on poverty-level wages. When I was five, I spent early morning hours under that never-ending blue sky farming volcanic soil with my dad for five dollars a day. That money went right to my mom to try and satisfy our always hungry stomachs.
As I got older, it became more and more difficult for my parents to support us all. In El Salvador, due to a compounding mix of violence, unemployment, and job scarcity, it is increasingly difficult for young people to stay motivated to get through school and into the workforce (OECD). I knew that if I wanted a better future for myself, one where I could realize my full potential and meet my most basic needs, I would have to leave my country.
I decided to come to the United States alone. I left with nothing more than my wallet, three shirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of shoes, and a water bottle. The wallet contained my high school ID card, my passport, letters from friends and family, and memories; no money.
I traveled through Guatemala with a small group of people. We hitched rides and took buses to get to Mexico. We crossed the U.S.-Mexico border and immediately got arrested and put into a youth detention center. After being released and connecting with my long-distant aunt, I got my first job. My first paycheck was a hundred dollars. I had never had so much money in my entire life; I was excited. Then the bills started piling up.
To pursue my right to stay in this country, I found and paid for a lawyer. Because I am an unaccompanied minor, I had no parental support. My aunt was living her own life, and while I was able to rent a bedroom from her, that was the extent of our relationship. I paid for my legal fees, rent, food, and sent money back to feed my family by working more than fifty hours a week at a restaurant all through high school. This often meant sacrificing things for myself. I ate a lot of fruit because it was cheaper than buying meat, bread, or beans. I spent my first Boston winter sloshing through snow and ice each night after my shift ended at midnight without a winter coat or boots shivering the whole way home.
My high school grades were far from exemplary. I struggled to pay attention in class because I was always tired, my stomach always rumbling, my thoughts easily drifting to the next impending crisis. It would have been so easy to drop out, to disappear into the background. If you are undocumented, you probably have an immigration story just as harrowing and difficult as mine. Some of it I talk about, more of it, I don’t.
Approximately 125,000 undocumented immigrant students like myself reach high school graduation age each year. However, only ninety-eight thousand actually graduate. The other twenty-seven thousand students exit early from high school and, in my experience, these students are most likely unaccompanied (Migration Policy Institute). (Accurate data about unaccompanied minors is nearly impossible to come by because of our often under-the-radar existence.)
Without the support of mentors, I would be one of those twenty-seven thousand young people who leave high school only to drift into the shadows and operate on the edge of legality to try and chase my dreams. Unaccompanied minors are kids. They deserve everything any child deserves, especially a full-time education where they are not pressured to choose between school and survival.
An unaccompanied student in high school has the same responsibilities as an adult except that the adult doesn’t have to attend school while working full time, paying bills, buying food and clothes, and paying for legal representation. Immigration court is the only court system in the United States where you are not guaranteed a lawyer, even as a minor. Maybe you remember hearing those horror stories about kids going to court alone (The Atlantic). It’s all true; we all do. Being unaccompanied is a full-time adult and adolescent existence that constantly forces children to make hard, grown-up decisions.
We need to overhaul our system to support unaccompanied minors both in the legal system and in the community. We need to reform our immigration court structure to guarantee all defendants a lawyer. We need mental health support in schools, especially bilingual and bicultural counselors who can help students process the trauma of independent migration. We need a social safety net that includes unaccompanied minors to ensure they have safe housing, food, and clothes whether or not they have an income. Finally, we need adults who support us—people who can mentor, tutor, and believe in our capabilities—so that we get the chance to be kids before becoming adults.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Unaccompanied minors are children seeking education, safety, and a future in the U.S.
Unaccompanied minors are not guaranteed legal representation and have to find lawyers and pay legal fees
Unaccompanied minors are often left out of immigration conversations and deserve the same opportunities and paths toward citizenship as DACA and DREAMers
RELATED ISSUES
10/5/2020 | Protect undocumented Americans.
2/15/2021 | Advocate for Black immigrants.
12/9/2020 | Amplify mental health resources for immigrants.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Remember César Chávez.
As President Biden transitions to life in the White House, he’s responsible for controlling the imagery that will set the tone for the next four years. His Oval Office overhaul removed an Andrew Jackson portrait but added a bust of Latino union hero César Chávez (Washington Post). Dolores Huerta, American labor leader and civil rights activist, described it as a “healing moment” (NPR). The significance of this moment, and its urgency today, may have been lost on those unfamiliar with the work of César Chávez. Here’s a bit of context.
Happy Sunday, and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily! We touched on the importance of labor unions in last week's newsletter on BAmazon. I thought today's article on the legacy of César Chávez, written by Charlie, adds timely context for that conversation. I hope you enjoy learning more!
Thank you all for your support. This newsletter is made possible by our subscribers. Consider subscribing for $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community.
Nicole
Ps – be sure to sign up for 28 Days of Black History.
TAKE ACTION
In case you missed it, read last week’s article on unionization efforts at the Amazon warehouse in Bessemer, Alabama for specifics of how employers attempt to suppress union organizations.
Use this website to write your local representative to help pass the PRO Act, a piece of workers’ rights legislation that would ensure workers’ rights to organize without fear of retribution.
It’s hard to eat entirely ethically, but take the time to learn where your food comes from. If you can, buy fair trade foods and avoid brands like Driscoll’s that have been routinely boycotted (KSBY).
GET EDUCATED
By Charlie Lahud-Zahner (he/him)
As President Biden transitions to life in the White House, he’s responsible for controlling the imagery that will set the tone for the next four years. His Oval Office overhaul removed an Andrew Jackson portrait but added a bust of Latino union hero César Chávez (Washington Post). Dolores Huerta, American labor leader and civil rights activist, described it as a “healing moment” (NPR). The significance of this moment, and its urgency today, may have been lost on those unfamiliar with the work of César Chávez. Here’s a bit of context.
César (pronounced “say-zar”) Chávez was born in Yuma, Arizona in 1927. His parents were migrant farmworkers, and Chávez, working alongside his parents, changed schools 38 times before eighth grade (SA Current). Unable to attend high school, Chávez worked the fields in rural California, where his family had moved in 1939. There, he was introduced to labor organizing by Donald McDonnel (a priest) and Fred Ross, a part of the Community Service Organization, a labor activist group (HISTORY).
Through the Community Service Organization, Chávez met Dolores Huerta. Together, they formed the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA) in 1962. In 1965 the NFWA famously joined an ongoing strike started by Filipino farmworkers at the Delano vineyards. They organized to protest low pay and dangerous working conditions, leading a series of boycotts on grapes, workers strikes, and a 340-mile march from Delano to Sacramento. Finally, In 1970, the newly christened United Farm Workers (UFW) were a formally recognized union (UFW). For migrant and minority workers in California often exploited by their employers, the UFW and Chávez were much-needed symbols of collective power.
Chávez was a follower of both Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr and was committed to both non-violent protesting and fasting as a form of protest. As the organization grew, the organization was often met with violence and assault. Some members wanted to respond in the same way. To demonstrate his commitment to nonviolent protesting, Chávez fasted for 25 days– losing 35 pounds in the process. His fasts gained media attention, and his breaking of the fast was even attended by Robert Kennedy (UFW). Said Chávez:
“
It is my deepest belief that only by giving our lives do we find life. The truest act of courage, the strongest act of manliness, is to sacrifice ourselves for others in a totally nonviolent struggle for justice. To be a man is to suffer for others. God help us to be men.
César Chávez
Though Chávez is remembered as the face of the UFW, Huerta, who served as vice-president from 1965 to 1999, was its spiritual and organizing force. Let it be known that Huerta was the one who came up with “¡Sí Se Puede!” (Yes we can!) and that today she is still revered as a civil rights icon. Chávez and Huerta would go on to spearhead numerous movements, including an international table grape boycott in 1984 protesting the use of pesticides and successful campaigns to improve pay in the states of Arizona, California, Texas, and Florida (HISTORY)
It’s difficult to overstate the influence and legacy of Chávez, especially in California. He’s a hero, a people’s champion whose legend has turned him into a deity of Mexican-American activism. His face is on countless murals across the country, and the UFW flag has grown beyond a representation of worker’s rights to a symbol of inspiration and unity for Latines across the country (TakePart). Even the LA rock band Chicano Batman’s name is based on the famous black eagle silhouette on the red background (Guardian).
The prevailing stereotypes of American Latines are that we’re uneducated, poor, or just plain dirty. Brown Pig-Pens with sombreros working in hot, dusty fields. In contrast, the UFW flag and images of Chávez offer pride in the face of discrimination and racism. In Oakland (where I live), the UFW flag is tagged under bridges, painted on tiles, and even plastered on the corner store where I buy late-night iced tea.
The inclusion of a Chávez bust in the Oval Office potentially signals the Biden’s administration’s commitment to working with Latine labor groups and immigration activists. It could be a shallow performance to gain Latine support. Still, given Biden’s efforts to reverse Trump-era legislation and ensuring temporary foreign farm workers (those with H2A visas) receive travel reimbursement (Modern Farmer), it seems safe to be hopeful.
Labor justice issues remain racial justice issues. COVID-19 disproportionately impacts farmworkers, especially in the same areas of California where Chávez fought for protections. In Salinas Valley, farmworkers – predominantly Mexican immigrants with temporary visas – showed an infection rate nearly three times higher than that of the Bay Area (UC Berkeley). Amazon continues to mistreat its employees by forcing warehouse workers in Chicago to work insane graveyard shifts (Vice) and attempting to block the unionization efforts of a predominantly Black workforce in Alabama (ARD). To respect Chávez’s legacy, we must think of labor rights as not inherently different from racial rights. President Biden must work to pass the PRO Act and protect workers’ right to organize. The year is different, but la causa is the same.
¡Sí Se Puede!
KEY TAKEAWAYS
César Chávez was a Mexican-American activist known for being the head of the United Farm Workers and organizing boycotts, strikes, and fasts to improve working conditions for migrant farmworkers.
The United Farm Workers flag, featuring a black Aztec eagle and red background, has evolved to represent both workers’ rights and Latine/Chicanx identity.
By including a bust of Chávez in the Oval Office, Biden seems to be signaling a willingness to work with the Latine community.
RELATED ISSUES
9/10/2020 | Fight for fair labor.
6/29/2020 | Protect public workers.
2/4/2020 | Support the BAmazon Union.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Remember César Chávez.
As President Biden transitions to life in the White House, he’s responsible for controlling the imagery that will set the tone for the next four years. His Oval Office overhaul removed an Andrew Jackson portrait but added a bust of Latino union hero César Chávez (Washington Post). Dolores Huerta, American labor leader and civil rights activist, described it as a “healing moment” (NPR). The significance of this moment, and its urgency today, may have been lost on those unfamiliar with the work of César Chávez. Here’s a bit of context.
Happy Sunday, and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily! We touched on the importance of labor unions in last week's newsletter on BAmazon. I thought today's article on the legacy of César Chávez, written by Charlie, adds timely context for that conversation. I hope you enjoy learning more!
Thank you all for your support. This newsletter is made possible by our subscribers. Consider subscribing for $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community.
Nicole
Ps – be sure to sign up for 28 Days of Black History.
TAKE ACTION
In case you missed it, read last week’s article on unionization efforts at the Amazon warehouse in Bessemer, Alabama for specifics of how employers attempt to suppress union organizations.
Use this website to write your local representative to help pass the PRO Act, a piece of workers’ rights legislation that would ensure workers’ rights to organize without fear of retribution.
It’s hard to eat entirely ethically, but take the time to learn where your food comes from. If you can, buy fair trade foods and avoid brands like Driscoll’s that have been routinely boycotted (KSBY).
GET EDUCATED
By Charlie Lahud-Zahner (he/him)
As President Biden transitions to life in the White House, he’s responsible for controlling the imagery that will set the tone for the next four years. His Oval Office overhaul removed an Andrew Jackson portrait but added a bust of Latino union hero César Chávez (Washington Post). Dolores Huerta, American labor leader and civil rights activist, described it as a “healing moment” (NPR). The significance of this moment, and its urgency today, may have been lost on those unfamiliar with the work of César Chávez. Here’s a bit of context.
César (pronounced “say-zar”) Chávez was born in Yuma, Arizona in 1927. His parents were migrant farmworkers, and Chávez, working alongside his parents, changed schools 38 times before eighth grade (SA Current). Unable to attend high school, Chávez worked the fields in rural California, where his family had moved in 1939. There, he was introduced to labor organizing by Donald McDonnel (a priest) and Fred Ross, a part of the Community Service Organization, a labor activist group (HISTORY).
Through the Community Service Organization, Chávez met Dolores Huerta. Together, they formed the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA) in 1962. In 1965 the NFWA famously joined an ongoing strike started by Filipino farmworkers at the Delano vineyards. They organized to protest low pay and dangerous working conditions, leading a series of boycotts on grapes, workers strikes, and a 340-mile march from Delano to Sacramento. Finally, In 1970, the newly christened United Farm Workers (UFW) were a formally recognized union (UFW). For migrant and minority workers in California often exploited by their employers, the UFW and Chávez were much-needed symbols of collective power.
Chávez was a follower of both Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr and was committed to both non-violent protesting and fasting as a form of protest. As the organization grew, the organization was often met with violence and assault. Some members wanted to respond in the same way. To demonstrate his commitment to nonviolent protesting, Chávez fasted for 25 days– losing 35 pounds in the process. His fasts gained media attention, and his breaking of the fast was even attended by Robert Kennedy (UFW). Said Chávez:
“
It is my deepest belief that only by giving our lives do we find life. The truest act of courage, the strongest act of manliness, is to sacrifice ourselves for others in a totally nonviolent struggle for justice. To be a man is to suffer for others. God help us to be men.
César Chávez
Though Chávez is remembered as the face of the UFW, Huerta, who served as vice-president from 1965 to 1999, was its spiritual and organizing force. Let it be known that Huerta was the one who came up with “¡Sí Se Puede!” (Yes we can!) and that today she is still revered as a civil rights icon. Chávez and Huerta would go on to spearhead numerous movements, including an international table grape boycott in 1984 protesting the use of pesticides and successful campaigns to improve pay in the states of Arizona, California, Texas, and Florida (HISTORY)
It’s difficult to overstate the influence and legacy of Chávez, especially in California. He’s a hero, a people’s champion whose legend has turned him into a deity of Mexican-American activism. His face is on countless murals across the country, and the UFW flag has grown beyond a representation of worker’s rights to a symbol of inspiration and unity for Latines across the country (TakePart). Even the LA rock band Chicano Batman’s name is based on the famous black eagle silhouette on the red background (Guardian).
The prevailing stereotypes of American Latines are that we’re uneducated, poor, or just plain dirty. Brown Pig-Pens with sombreros working in hot, dusty fields. In contrast, the UFW flag and images of Chávez offer pride in the face of discrimination and racism. In Oakland (where I live), the UFW flag is tagged under bridges, painted on tiles, and even plastered on the corner store where I buy late-night iced tea.
The inclusion of a Chávez bust in the Oval Office potentially signals the Biden’s administration’s commitment to working with Latine labor groups and immigration activists. It could be a shallow performance to gain Latine support. Still, given Biden’s efforts to reverse Trump-era legislation and ensuring temporary foreign farm workers (those with H2A visas) receive travel reimbursement (Modern Farmer), it seems safe to be hopeful.
Labor justice issues remain racial justice issues. COVID-19 disproportionately impacts farmworkers, especially in the same areas of California where Chávez fought for protections. In Salinas Valley, farmworkers – predominantly Mexican immigrants with temporary visas – showed an infection rate nearly three times higher than that of the Bay Area (UC Berkeley). Amazon continues to mistreat its employees by forcing warehouse workers in Chicago to work insane graveyard shifts (Vice) and attempting to block the unionization efforts of a predominantly Black workforce in Alabama (ARD). To respect Chávez’s legacy, we must think of labor rights as not inherently different from racial rights. President Biden must work to pass the PRO Act and protect workers’ right to organize. The year is different, but la causa is the same.
¡Sí Se Puede!
KEY TAKEAWAYS
César Chávez was a Mexican-American activist known for being the head of the United Farm Workers and organizing boycotts, strikes, and fasts to improve working conditions for migrant farmworkers.
The United Farm Workers flag, featuring a black Aztec eagle and red background, has evolved to represent both workers’ rights and Latine/Chicanx identity.
By including a bust of Chávez in the Oval Office, Biden seems to be signaling a willingness to work with the Latine community.
RELATED ISSUES
9/10/2020 | Fight for fair labor.
6/29/2020 | Protect public workers.
2/4/2020 | Support the BAmazon Union.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Learn the key terminology.
If you’re active in social justice work (or have just been on the internet in the last 20 years), you’ve probably seen some of the terms, acronyms, and phrases used to describe ethnic and racial minorities in the US. You’ve probably used them too. Language has never been known to sit still, and so as our culture changes, the words change with it. More often than not, people are trying to hurry up and find the new “right” inoffensive words and move on without taking the time to learn the significance behind each term or, more importantly, learning when to use it (Vox).
Happy Sunday and welcome back. Thanks for being such an engaged, committed group of readers. Today, Charlie walks us through the terminology and definitions you read frequently in anti-racism work; terms that we use often in our newsletters! We're expanding key concepts we've discussed here into a glossary over the next few weeks, and these will be included. As you read, remember: definitions and how people relate to them are two different things. There is never just one answer or one perception, and how we each choose to identify ourselves is the correct answer, regardless of what the masses say. We must read, listen, and do our best to treat each other with kindness and respect.
This is the Anti-Racism Daily, a daily newsletter with tangible ways to dismantle racism and white supremacy. You can support our work by making a one-time contribution on ourwebsiteorPayPal, or giving monthly onPatreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go toantiracismdaily.com.
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Avoid using groupings like BIPOC if referring to specific ethnic or racial groups: If you mean Black, say Black.
Read this Vox comic by illustrator/writer Richard Blas for a visual explanation of the debates behind Latino/x/e.
GET EDUCATED
By Charlie Lahud-Zahner (he/him)
If you’re active in social justice work (or have just been on the internet in the last 20 years), you’ve probably seen some of the terms, acronyms, and phrases used to describe ethnic and racial minorities in the US. You’ve probably used them too. Language has never been known to sit still, and so as our culture changes, the words change with it. More often than not, people are trying to hurry up and find the new “right” inoffensive words and move on without taking the time to learn the significance behind each term or, more importantly, learning when to use it (Vox).
Recently, discussions about naming and the effectiveness of POC and BIPOC have been evolving (NPR). So, with this in mind, now is as good a time as ever to explore and learn the histories, meanings, and debates of the cultural vernacular.
POC
Today POC (person of color) can be a useful term because, unlike “non-white,” it defines Brown, Black, Indigenous, and Asian people as what they are, not what they aren’t (NPR). The term POC was initially developed by people of color themselves: Loretta Ross traces the term “women of color” to the 1977 National Women’s Conference in Houston when the phrase was used as a symbol of solidarity between different minority groups at the conference (Western States Center).
But some linguists and activists today worry that the original meaning has lost its teeth, now that POC is the fallback catchall word used by white people trying to be “not racist” (Vox). Many have also criticized how generally the term is used, as “person of color” fails to account that a Black woman’s experienced reality may be wholly different from that of an Asian or Latina woman (LA Times).
Some Americans remain confused by the differences between “of color” and “colored” and make the mistake of using them interchangeably (Chicago Tribune). The definition of “colored” has changed over time (NPR), but the predominant connotation of the word is a racial pejorative used toward Black Americans in the mid-20th century (PBS).
BIPOC
First mentioned on Twitter in 2013, the term BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) highlights the words “Black” and “Indigenous” in an attempt to acknowledge differences between Black and Indigenous people versus other people of color. Recognizing Indigenous identities as distinct reminds us that Indigenous Americans are not ethnic minorities or immigrants, they are this land’s original inhabitants (AICL). However, the term BIPOC still runs the risk of Black erasure, particularly in discussions of police violence (NY Times). Black Americans, especially Black men, are more likely to be killed by police than any other racial group, and more than twice as likely as white Americans (Washington Post). Hispanic children may be three times more likely than white children to have a parent in prison, but Black children are nine times as likely; Black women make up only 13% of the female US population, yet account for 30% of all females incarcerated (The Sentencing Project).To refer to Breonna Taylor and George Floyd as BIPOC glosses over the reality that the adversity Black Americans face is unique from any other racial group. Don’t use BIPOC if you mean Black or if you mean Indigenous; use BIPOC if you mean to include every identity in the acronym.
Latinx and Hispanic
The differences between Latinx and Hispanic can be really technical (NAS). But, for simplicity’s sake, the primary thing to know is that Hispanic more or less refers to descendants of Spanish speaking populations, while Latinx folk more or less refers to descendants of people from Latin America (ThoughtCo). However, for some individuals, identifying either as Latinx or Hispanic can be a matter of preference (Pew Research). Many have deferred to the term Latinx, as it distances itself from the colonial history of Spain in Latin America (Dictionary.com). (Side note: Neither Hispanic nor Latinx are racial categories – Latinx/Hispanic people can belong to any race.)
Latino, Latinx, Latine
Because Spanish is a gendered language, plural nouns that refer to groups including at least one male use the -o suffix. But critics have pointed to the -o in Latino and the rule of deferring to male pronouns as examples of embedded sexism in the Spanish language (Latina.com). Instead, they proposed the term Latinx, a way to acknowledge genders beyond the binary with the handy gender-neutral -x ending.
Opponents of this new word (which has been popularly used since around 2015 (Mother Jones) and was added to Webster’s Dictionary in 2018) claim that the term is an example of “linguistic imperialism” (The Phoenix): an instance of English speakers in the United States imposing norms on Latin America. Now, Latine is the latest alternative introduced to the modern lexicon. Much like Latinx, Latine is a gender-neutral alternative, but has been adopted by some because the ending -e, unlike -x, occurs more naturally after a consonant in Spanish. The word is also a lot easier to say (mitú).
Chicano/x
In the early 20th century, it was not uncommon for Mexican-Americans to want to be categorized as white to gain civil rights and respectability (NCBI). This choice was (and still is) less about skin color and other racial characteristics but economic status and perception of social inequalities (Pew Research). For this reason, the Chicano Movement in the 1960s was distinctive; it celebrated a Mexican-American identity rooted in social activism and celebrated Indigenous and African heritage as opposed to white European descendants (History.com).
With all this being said, identity can get complicated. Despite sharing genetic material, the last name, and a similar melanin count, my dad and I identify differently. He considers himself more Hispanic than Latino(let alone Latinx/e) and would emphasize his regional identity (Veracruz) above his racial/ethnic identity. Alternatively, I prefer Latinx/e to Hispanic to try and commit to gender-neutral language and as a way to show a preference for Mexico’s Indigenous identity. I feel comfortable with BIPOC as a term of community, but if you asked Ricardo Lahud-Zahner about that word, he’d say, “What?”
Our differences exemplify how what we call ourselves is both a sensitive and powerful topic. So when trying to decide what to write or say, use the terms the person uses to self-identify. When in doubt, err on the side of specificity (APA). It might seem like a small thing, but just like learning gender pronouns (or even someone’s name), it’s worth it for us to understand these terms--and to learn what someone wants to be called.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
POC stands for “Person of Color.” BIPOC stands for Black, Indigenous, People of Color.
When used indiscriminately, acronyms like BIPOC and POC can ignore differences between Black, Indigenous, and other people of color.
There is not always a default “right” word when referring to ethnic/racial groups. Take the time to use the most appropriate term for the situation. Defer how a person self-identifies, and be specific.
RELATED ISSUES
9/18/2020 | Reject racial gaslighting.
8/28/2020 | Start seeing color.
7/14/2020 | Embrace your race privilege.
7/9/2020 | Acknowledge the harm of microaggressions.
7/7/2020 | Honor the biracial / multiracial experience.
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Don’t homogenize Latinx identity.
I sometimes joke that when I moved to the United States from Mexico, I changed races. I went from being Mexican to being identified as an Asian-American by others.“You don’t look Latino,” Americans would say when I introduced myself.
I was born in Mexico City to a Chinese mother and a Mexican father of Indigenous descent. Spanish was my first language, and for a while, the only one I spoke. But when I arrived in the United States at seven years old, I quickly realized that I was not allowed to claim my Latinidad because I did not fit a narrow understanding of what being Latinx was supposed to look like.
Happy Friday. Lots of people pointing fingers at the Latinx community right now, which only further emphasizes how complicit whiteness is in this election – and society as a whole. Today, Ian joins us to discuss the diversity of the Latinx community.
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By Ian Kumamoto (he/him)
I sometimes joke that when I moved to the United States from Mexico, I changed races. I went from being Mexican to being identified as an Asian-American by others.“You don’t look Latino,” Americans would say when I introduced myself.
I was born in Mexico City to a Chinese mother and a Mexican father of Indigenous descent. Spanish was my first language, and for a while, the only one I spoke. But when I arrived in the United States at seven years old, I quickly realized that I was not allowed to claim my Latinidad because I did not fit a narrow understanding of what being Latinx was supposed to look like.
Our collective misunderstanding about Latinx identity has never been displayed as clearly as it was this election. On Tuesday night, Democrats hoped to carry Florida and Texas in large part because more people of color, especially Hispanics, were turning out (NBC News). Instead, we saw historic numbers of Cubans and Venezuelans who showed up and helped Trump win. Although part of this can be attributed to those country's socialist histories, we must also confront another ugly reality: Latinx people can be white supremacists, too.
We often talk about Latinx identity as a monolith, especially when it comes to race. But “Latinx” and “Hispanic” are not races; they are ethnicities, as we will discuss in a future newsletter. As the elections near and discussions about the Hispanic vote intensify, we risk reducing a diverse population down to a singular cultural trope. More than 21 million people identify as Latinx in the United States. Many of them have vastly different notions of their identities, which means they also vote in radically different ways. One month ago, up to one-third of self-identified Hispanic people said they would cast their vote for Donald Trump in this coming election (Pew Research Center).
But Latinx people who vote for Trump aren’t “self-hating,” despite what John Leguizamo recently said on Real Time with Bill Maher (Remezcla). In fact, some feel like they have a real stake in upholding white supremacy (Remezcla). White supremacy within Latinx communities has thrived for centuries and has upheld a monolithic notion of the "Latino" that is exported abroad, one that erases Black, Asian and Indigenous people (The Nation).
Part of the reason the language around Latinidad is confusing is because it was made deliberately so. When the Spanish arrived in what is now Mexico in the 15th century, they created a racial caste system that positioned full-blood Europeans at the top. Peninsulares were the white ruling class while mestizos, who were mixed European and Indigenous, were below them (San Diego Reader). Similar systems developed throughout Latin America. But as more and more people became racially mixed, it got increasingly harder to determine the exact racial makeup of every person and categorize them accordingly. Eventually, Mexico discouraged such categorizations altogether (Indian Country Today). The umbrella term of “mestizo” was chosen as a sort of default national identity, even when referring to people who were mostly European or mostly Indigenous.
But a general mestizo identity glosses over the millions of people of other races who have little or no European ancestry at all. African enslaved people were transported to plantations in the Caribbean and Brazil. Chinese and Japanese immigrants went to South and Central America to farm, mine, and build railroads; in Peru, for example, people of Chinese descent make up 5 percent of the total population (Panoramas). Full-blooded Indigenous people were disenfranchised from economic systems and relegated to obscurity.
Despite the great racial variety of Latin American countries, its diversity is not reflected in the media. When you turn on the news, watch a telenovela, or scroll down a list of prominent celebrities in most Latin American countries today, you will likely see light-skinned or European-descendant people (The Nation). In the United States, many of the most recognizable Latinx figures (Bad Bunny, Pitbull, Shakira) are light-skinned. But it is much more difficult in these contexts to call out institutions for their lack of representation because they can simply claim a generalized Latinx identity and ignore how our cultures uplift whiteness.
Arguably the strongest pillar preventing a more inclusive notion of Latinidad is deeply-rooted beliefs that don’t question the idea of whiteness as inherently desirable. In the Dominican Republic and Mexico, for example, concepts like mejorar la raza (“to better the race”) are blunt ways of encouraging people to marry “up” and create more European-looking children who will be lighter-skinned than the generations before (Huffington Post). In Mexico, I grew up hearing the word Indio, or Indian, used as the worst kind of slur, while güero, or blondie, was used as a term of endearment.
In high school, I stopped speaking Spanish altogether because it promoted questions and sometimes even jokes (“Wow, an Asian who speaks Spanish!”). Even though the curiosity was seldom ill-intentioned, it became a barrier between me and the people of my community, who had internalized their own ideas about who was and was not allowed to be Latinx.
When discussing Latin identity and the political habits of Latinx people in the United States, it is essential to remember that our countries’ diversity means that our values and convictions can vary tremendously. It is crucial to have conversations about how white supremacy can be just as easily replicated by people who come to the U.S. from other countries. We must be vigilant against racism that pervades seemingly homogenous groups, or else we risk allowing the worst tendencies of a dominant group to thrive unchecked. Black, Asian, and Indigenous Latinx people are still fighting battles within our own communities to be seen, heard, and valued.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Latinx identity is not a monolith. More than 21 million people identify as Latinx in the United States, and many of them have vastly different notions of their identities.
When the Spanish arrived in what is now Mexico in the 15th century, they created a racial caste system that positioned full-blood Europeans at the top.
Despite the great racial variety of Latin American countries, its diversity is not reflected in the media. In the United States, many of the most recognizable Latinx figures are light-skinned.
Latinx identity often glorifies light-skinned people with European ancestry, but millions of Latinx people are racially Black, Asian, or fully Indigenous. We are still fighting battles within our own communities to be seen, heard, and valued.
RELATED ISSUES
9/16/2020 | Fight for paid sick leave.
10/5/2020 | Protect undocumented Americans.
8/10/2020 | Respect the relationship between name and identity.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza