conferences

CFP: New Directions in Black Western Studies

Dear readers, a call for submissions is on going for an upcoming workshop on Black Western Studies at the 57th Annual Western Historical Association, which will be held in San Diego from November 1-4, 2017. The organizers are also planning a special issue on “New Directions in Black Western Studies” for the quarterly interdisciplinary journal, American Studies. Papers accepted for the workshop will be considered for inclusion in the special issue. 

Scholars of Borderlands studies, among other research fields, are encouraged to apply. The deadline to do so is June 30th; submit your abstract (max: 500 words) via email to Jeannete Eileen Jones, Kalenda Eaton and Michael Johnson.

From the announcement:

For both the workshop and the journal we are interested in what it means to read the North American West as a Black space with varied and deep possibilities.. By this we mean, how the concept of presenting/representing the West is informed by black identities and identity-making, rival geographies tied to black mobility, black culture, black knowledge production, black arts, and black literatures. The WHA workshop and AMSJ special issue  will fill a gap in American Studies by bringing Black Western Studies into current dialogue with other fields of American Studies that focus on the intersections between race, ethnicity, and place/geography.

For more information, follow the link.

 

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Internal Colonialism and the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands: Reflections from a Panel at LASA 2017 in Lima

In his recent groundbreaking book, journalist Chris Hayes characterizes the erratic U.S. criminal justice system as “a colony in a nation,” adding a highly original new voice to the growing body of literature on the modern carceral state.[1] Hayes argues that the system consists of “two distinct regimes…[one] (the Nation) is the kind of policing regime you expect in a democracy; the other (the Colony) is the kind you expect in an occupied land.”[2] As such, the criminal justice system, for Hayes, exists largely as a mechanism created by the state through democratic means in order to control a large portion of the U.S. population—in this case, African Americans, in particular.

This idea that African Americans are a colonized people in the United States is not necessarily a new one. Famed sociologist W.E.B. DuBois wrote of African Americans as a “nation within a nation” as early as 1935; even Richard M. Nixon noted in his 1968 Republican National Convention speech that African Americans “don’t want to be a colony in a nation.”[3] Nonetheless, in casting the criminal justice system as a colony existing inside the borders of the United States, Hayes revives a long-dismissed idea that holds significance on multiple levels, including—as I will suggest here—the relationship between the United States and its border with Mexico as well as the Hispanic population that traces its roots to the North American Southwest.

The idea that ethnic minorities could be colonized, oftentimes in native homelands that exist inside the borders of modern nation-states—which, essentially, is the fundamental essence of internal colonial theory—first gained purchase during the 1960s. One of the first scholars to apply this idea to interethnic relations was the Mexican sociologist Pablo González-Casanova, who focused on the abuses that Indians suffered at the hands of Spaniards and criollos in Mexico. One of the first scholars to apply internal colonialism in an effort to explain the oppression of Mexican Americans was the sociologist Joan Moore in a 1970 article; two years later, another sociologist, Robert Blauner, utilized the framework in order to explain the oppression of ethnic minorities in the United States more broadly. Finally, famed Chicano historian Rodolfo Acuña used internal colonialism in the first edition of his now-classic survey text, Occupied America.[4]

Internal colonialism’s popularity among sociologists as well as historians, however, quickly faded. Part of this stemmed from more empirically based critiques of the idea, such as that of Gilbert G. González, who in a 1974 article argued that Chicanos did not constitute a nation given that they held no contiguous territory and lacked a national economy; thus, they could not exist as a colonized people. More recently, social historians’ desires to represent the lived agency of oppressed groups has also contributed to a shift away from finding any widespread utility in internal colonialism.[5]

Nonetheless, a small but seemingly growing number of scholars is once again utilizing internal colonialism with particular regard to the relationship between the United States, the U.S.-Mexico borderlands, and the millions of ethnic Mexicans who call that region home. Leading this group is historian John Chávez of Southern Methodist University, who has written widely on the subject and who also recently assembled a panel of historians to promote the utility of internal colonialism for understanding borderlands history at the 2017 Latin American Studies Association in Lima, Peru.[6] The rest of this post will provide a summary analysis of the panelists’ discussion in order to provide a window on how internal colonialism might be useful in raising questions about U.S.-Mexico borderlands history, not to mention some of the latest applications of the model as reflected by three works-in-progress.[7]

John Chávez’s paper, “Ethnic Mexicans, Indigeneity, and Internal Colonialism in the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands” offers some innovative perspectives on internal colonialism. Chávez grounds his analysis of internal colonialism in the borderlands by emphasizing the concept of “homeland,” which, for ethnic Mexicans, stretches up from modern-day Mexico to include much of the U.S. Southwest, or, the territory lost by the Mexican state at the conclusion of the U.S.-Mexico War in 1848. Chávez argues that this homeland—as well as ethnic homelands, in general—are often imprecise due to their inclusion of ethnic settlements as well as the geographic demarcations of national politics or even the complex subtleties of international diplomacy. Mexican Americans, in particular, are native to the North American Southwest due to historical ties with American Indians as well as Spaniards dating back to the colonial period.

For Chávez, casting the North American Southwest as a colonized space inside of U.S. borders is helpful because it complicates oftentimes oversimplified arguments that Mexicans do not have proper claims to residency or citizenship in the United States. Chávez utilizes the place of his mother’s birth, California, to prove this as well as to show the complex nature of internal colonialism. Mission Indians in California intermixed with Spaniards to produce a detribalized mestizo class, who became the majority citizens in California after Mexico achieved its independence from Spain in 1821. A second cycle of colonialism occurred when the United States invaded California during the U.S.-Mexico War, leading to the eventual domination of the natives and mixed groups in yet another new social hierarchy.

Ultimately, the importance of all of this for Chávez is rather personal: he and his mother are related to the native Tongva of California, meaning that they “belong to a mestizo people constantly regarded as foreign in the U.S.” Given that the media as well as the U.S. educational system generally cast ethnic Mexicans as recent immigrants to the United States—more so than their European-immigrant counterparts—Chávez concludes his analysis by demonstrating that the tracking of mitochondrial DNA demonstrates not only their indigeneity to the region but also the status of ethnic Mexicans in the North American Southwest as people having long been colonized in their own homeland.

My own paper, “Agricultural South Texas as an Internal Colony of the United States,” argues two things: first, that the stretches of South Texas between the Nueces River and the Río Grande that are devoted to agriculture—primarily, the Lower Río Grande Valley—became colonized by Euroamericans after the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo in 1848; and second, that the Valley itself is still an internal colony of the United States today.

My purpose in presenting these arguments was simply to explore what I consider to be the persistence of internal colonialism in the Valley during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries as opposed to simply exploring its historical antecedents, which I have written on elsewhere. The nexus of expansion, U.S. imperialism, border controls, wealth polarization, and racial hierarchy led to Euroamericans colonizing this border space during the late 1800s and early 1900s, transfiguring large portions of it from being a space dominated by Tejano ranchers into what I call an “Iowa on the border.” This process accelerated during the first three decades of the twentieth century when land agents promoted the region as an agricultural empire by bombarding farmers in other parts of the United States with pamphlets and other promotional literature, showing that the Valley had one primary exploitable “natural resource”—that of human capital. The resulting dehumanization of ethnic Mexicans in the minds of the new Euroamerican South Texans can be seen through the later establishment of Jim Crow regulations, voter suppression, debt peonage, and a host of other wrongs committed against ethnic Mexicans in the region through the middle of the century.

Although the arrival of the Chicano Movement—with its emphasis on civil rights as well as a sense of the region being a small part of Aztlán, or, the ethnic-Mexican homeland—dismantled much of the repressive colonial mechanisms in the Valley, a case could be made that the region remains an internal colony of the United States. Although the region’s inhabitants enjoy a wide variety of material improvements as well degrees of upward social mobility not known to past generations, the region still ranks among one of the more economically depressed in the United States. President Donald Trump’s calls for a bigger border wall, combined with numerous border checkpoints miles north of the Río Grande, indicate the region’s bureaucratic as well as political, social, and cultural “apartness” from the rest of the United States. Increased numbers of deportations under Presidents Obama and Trump along with some state agents’ suspicious sidelong glances at the corporeal belonging in the United States of any ethnic Mexicans indicate a belief that, for millions of Americans, undocumented immigrants and ethnic Mexicans might not even belong in the Southwestern United States at all.

Finally, historian John Weber has written that the exploitive “South Texas model of labor relations” as seen in the Valley became copied nationwide over the course of the twentieth century;[8] one might also suggest that the neoliberal economic policies that have allowed U.S. corporations to cross the border during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries in order to take advantage of cheap Mexican labor serve as an extension of the United States’s longstanding colonial relationship with ethnic Mexicans and Mexico, itself. Human capital remains an exploitable “natural resource” on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border in the early twenty-first century.

Culture, of course, cannot be ignored. Mary Lee Grant’s paper, “Reiterating the Metaphor of the Conqueror: Internal Colonialism in the Art of 20th Century Mexican-American Women,” explores how internal colonialism is reflected by the works of borderlands singer and actress Rosita Fernández and visual artist Consuelo “Chelo” González-Amezcua. These women, argues Grant, lived in an intellectual, spiritual, and creative borderland in which cultural hybridity led to inventive new means of expression. Both women launched their careers before the Chicano Era of the 1960s and 70s; as such, what Grant refers to as “the devaluing lenses of both Spanish and Anglo-American culture” brought themselves to bear in a time period before ethnic-Mexican women could gain anything even remotely close to widespread acceptance in the realms of performance or visual art.

Women like Fernández and González-Amezcua thus had to break loose from a wide variety of stereotypes in order to have voices as artists. In fact, both women used such stereotypes to their advantage. Fernández’s performances in San Antonio during the 1930s, 40s, and 50s stand out as bold and in direct defiance of the ubiquitous mechanisms of state-based colonialism. With her china poblana costume and her dark hair pulled back in a chignon, Fernández boldly proclaimed her Mexicanness during a time of mass deportations, increased border policing, and even pressure from Mexican Americans to demonstrate a sense of belonging by adapting to middle-class Anglo-American culture.

González-Amezcua stood out as a creation of the borderlands, identifying as both Texan and Mexican equally. Only educated through the sixth grade, González-Amezcua produced poetry as well as drawings that she exhibited widely in Texas and Mexico. Despite her success—her art was later accentuated thanks to the Chicano Movement—she struggled throughout life as a candy seller and later as a department store clerk in Del Rio, oftentimes unable to afford to purchase the necessary materials to produce her art. Grant rightly poses the question of whether or not an Anglo woman from the same time period would have had a better chance than González-Amezcua to succeed as an artist. “Perhaps not,” Grant concludes, but she also rightly adds that an Anglo woman would have at least had access to education in a language that she understood while also not having to face endemic ethnic discrimination. Indeed, the creative works of both González-Amezcua as well as Fernández cannot be separated from their status as colonized women, caught in between a variety of worlds and pressures in a borderlands space.

None of the abovementioned papers should be considered the last word on their respective subjects. Indeed, all represent various works in-progress that have not yet faced the rigors of peer review; nonetheless, they all have the same fundamental goal—promoting internal colonialism as a valuable intellectual tool for understanding the recent past in U.S.-Mexico borderlands history. Hopefully other scholars will see the utility of internal colonialism and join the small but growing chorus of scholars in interrogating the many and complicated histories of the borderlands by applying this theoretical model in their own works. Time will tell.

Notes

[1] Chris Hayes, A Colony in a Nation (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2017). For some examples of the growing scholarly literature on the carceral state, see, for example, Kelly Lytle Hernández, Khalil Gibran Muhammed, and Heather Ann Thompson, “Introduction: Constructing the Carceral State,” Journal of American History 102:1 (June 2015): 18-24; and, Kelly Lytle Hernández, City of Inmates: Conquest, Rebellion, and the Rise of Human Caging in Los Angeles, 1771-1965 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2017).

[2] Hayes, A Colony in a Nation, 32.

[3] Ibid., 30, 31.

[4] Pablo González-Casanova, “Sociedad plural, colonialismo interno y desarrollo,” América Latina 6:3 (1963): 15-32; Joan W. Moore, “Colonialism: The Case of the Mexican Americans,” Social Problems 17 (1963): 463-472; Robert Blauner, Racial Oppression in America (New York: Harper and Row, 1972); Rodolfo Acuña, Occupied America: The Chicano Struggle Toward Liberation (New York: Harper and Row, 1972).

[5] John R. Chávez, “Aliens in their Native Lands: The Persistence of Internal Colonial Theory,” Journal of World History 22 (December 2011): 790-791, 795; Gilbert G. González, “A Critique of the Internal Colonial Model,” Latin American Perspectives 1 (Spring 1974): 154-161. For further criticisms of internal colonialism, see, Robert J. Hind, “The Internal Colonial Concept,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 26 (July 1984): 543-568.

[6] John R. Chávez is the leading historian who is working toward promoting internal colonialism’s usefulness to historians. For examples of his work, see, Chávez, “Aliens in their Native Lands;” Chávez, “When Borders Cross Peoples: The Internal Colonial Challenge to Borderlands Theory,” Journal of Borderlands Studies 28:1 (2013): 33-46; and, Chávez, Beyond Nations: Evolving Homelands in the North Atlantic World, 1400-2000 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 163, 164-165, 166. For a few additional recent examples, see, Steven Sabol, “Comparing American and Russian Internal Colonialism: The ‘Touch of Civilization’ on the Sioux and Kazakhs,” Western Historical Quarterly 43:2 (Spring 2012): 29-51; and, Sabol, “The Touch of Civilization: Comparing American and Russian Internal Colonization” (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2017).

[7] Readers will please note that the following papers are all in-progress works that should not be cited.

[8] For more, see, John Weber, From South Texas to the Nation: The Exploitation of Mexican Labor in the Twentieth Century (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2015).

Categories: conferences, Essay Series, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Conference Notes: Borders, Braceros and Mobility at CALACS 2017

This year was my first time attending the Canadian Association of Latin American and Caribbean Studies conference, which was held at the University of Guelph in early June. The theme was “Walls, Barriers, and Mobility” fitting for the global political realities facing all of us.

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University of Guelph

The panel I was on included Catherine Vézina, my colleague at CIDE, Irina Córdoba Ramírez, from the Colegio de México, and Mateo J. Carrillo of Stanford. Our topic was “Migración y movilidad transfronterizas: logística y política, 1940s-1960s,” with the goal of integrating a discussion of policy around the Bracero program with discussion of infrastructure development in northern Mexico. We were scheduled to give the session at 8:30am, Sunday morning, the last day of the conference. It’s not the ideal time to discuss economic and labor policy along the​ US-Mexico border, but I was excited to see that we had a small audience who had some great questions for us after we delivered the papers.

The session began with my work, titled, “Trade and Travel across the Border: Examining the Social, Commercial, and Labor Ties between Nuevo León and Texas, 1940s-1960s.” I gave a general overview of economic development and social ties in northeastern Mexico, focused on the relationships between business people in Monterrey, Nuevo León, and their Texan counter parts in the Rio Grande Valley. In the late 19th-century and early-to-mid 20th century, public and private cooperation facilitated growth; by the end of World War II, presidents Manuel Ávila Camacho and Franklin Delano Roosevelt met in Monterrey, calling the US-Mexico borderlands a “natural bridge” between the “Anglo-saxon and Latin cultures.”

During the 1950s and early 1960s, the business elites in the region continued to forge closer ties. At the same time as national policy and public opinion, in both countries, drifted away from bilateral agreements like the Bracero program. US and Mexican political leaders increasingly backed moves for greater restrictions on immigration and trade, respectively.

Following me, Catherine gave a detailed history of the diplomatic relationship between Mexico and the United States around the Bracero program, titled, “Destino: incierto. Malos tratos e intervención gubernamental en la reglamentación el transporte de los braceros.” She showed that shortly after the Second World War, politicians and publics in both countries, had begun to turn on the Mexican temporary workers who came to the United States under the Farm Labor Agreement of 1942.

During the war, they had been hailed as heroes who contributed to the Allied effort against fascism. But, as Catherine explained, priorities changed after the war; the Mexican government increasingly viewed the Braceros as a political problem, while in the Mexican press, these workers were often depicted as traitors and vendepatrias for having left. Likewise, in the United States, a combination of factors, including criticism of workers’ treatment by contractors, union skepticism, and racist views of Mexicans, condemned the Braceros in US public opinion.

Irina continued the discussion of the Bracero program and its participants. Hers was a cultural and oral history, titled, “Dinámicas locales en la contratación de trabajadores agrícolas dentro del Programa Bracero: los casos de las estaciones migratorias de Chihuahua y Mexicali.” It focused on the everyday impact of the Bracero program on the lives of the men who became a part of it. Irina described the recruitment centers in Mexico that processed applicants, evaluating their ability to work as farmhands and conducting medical tests to assure health.

Even as the project came under growing criticism, men continued to arrive at recruitment centers to escape unemployment or more difficult conditions in other parts of Mexico. The process was deeply politicized; state leaders demanded that in return for hosting a recruitment center, their workers should be given priority in the application process. The centers became a kind of release valve for the pressure of economic conditions in northern Mexico, allowing local men to be funneled more easily through the process of applying and going to work in the United States. When the men returned, however, they faced public scorn by some for having participated.

Lastly, Mateo (who also won the award for Best Graduate Essay at the conference, this year) presented his work, “Migrant Flows: Irrigation and Transformation in Western Mexico, 1946-1964.” He described economic conditions in western Mexico, starting with President Miguel Alemán’s support for local agriculture. Mateo notes that where roads were built, so too were irrigation networks. This relationship was crucial to improving regional mobility, and connecting rural communities to access with credit to grow their farms and ranches.

The idea of this policy was to expand work opportunities in Mexico, but other results materialized. The small loans that campesinos received for installation of irrigation could be difficult to repay. When they fell in arrears, the government had the power to cut off the waters worsening the situation, and forcing people to sell and give up their lands. As land was consolidated by business and political cronies, local people were forced to go elsewhere in search of work, including crossing the border with the United States.

As a whole, the papers captured a wide swath of geographical, political, and class factors in Mexico during the mid-to-late 20th century. Northern elites benefitted well from ties with Americans, while poor and working-class people faced loss of land or public scorn if they went to work in the United States. Although the border had long been a zone of fluid trade and mobility with heavy investment in industry and infrastructure, government policies and public opinion gradually shifted to efforts that restricted border spaces. The decline of the Bracero program underscored these factors, where public anger, worker mistreatment, and suspicion of “the other” made its existence increasingly untenable.

At the same time, the benefits of infrastructure development could oftentimes​ be limited, and even possibly detrimental for the communities they were intended to serve. Bad loan terms and aggressive payment enforcement transformed people’s lives for the worse, not better. As today’s political leaders, particularly in the United States, stoke old fears and resentments, our panel at CALACS highlighted the long legacy of tension on the border around trade, labor, and mobility, and the outsized impact national and bilateral policies can have on everyday life in the US-Mexico borderlands.

Categories: conferences, Essay Series | 1 Comment

Continuing the Conversation from the UTEP Borderlands History Conference 

This month The University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP) hosted the second annual Borderlands History Conference. The conference brings together scholars focusing on the U.S.-Mexico borderlands. This years theme Shifting Borders: Gender, Family, and Community provided a broad definition of borders resulting in panels that ranged in topic, time period, and expanded the geographic scope of the borderlands.

I attended the two-day event which included an oral history workshop, a keynote by Sonia Hernandez, and a line up of interesting panels that provided a myriad of perspective on this years theme. The conference also provided ample time to network with visiting scholars and included a closing dinner at a local restaurant and cultural center, Café Mayapan.

At the end of the conference Dr. Larissa Veloz wrapped up the concurrence by providing four questions for borderlands scholars to consider. I have to say that I am still thinking about these questions in regard to my own research and my work as a public historian.

1. How does it feel to be a “borderlander”? How do people make sense of their own lives?

2. What are the creative adaptations people living on the border make? Who are the new cultural brokers that emerge?

3. How does a focus on gender, family, and community reshape our understanding of the borderland and vice versa?

4. How are images and histories of the borderland transmitted outward and what is our role as historians and scholars?

Dr. Veloz also made another comment saying, “the field of borderlands continues to inform various historiographies.” That was certainly clear from this conference; it is also important to acknowledge the breadth of the field which is still growing. I know it is easy to get caught up in one’s own area of specialization, topic, and time period. However, these questions (especially number four) help me remember that my work is connected to the image of the Borderlands that is transmitted to other parts of the world where borders look different. I wonder how fellow historians, scholars, and even people living on a broder today, feel about these questions? I hope that this platform provides a space to continue the discussion about the different ways our scholarship engages with borderlands and concepts of borders. Please add your ideas to the comments section below!

Categories: conferences | 1 Comment

“Why is There No Ida B. Wells of the Borderlands?”

Notes from “Linking U.S. and Mexican Histories of Violence: Extralegal Justice on Both Sides of the Border,” a panel presented at the 131st Annual American Historical Association Meeting in Denver, Colorado.

Since the publication in 2013 of William D. Carrigan and Clive Webb’s The Forgotten Dead: Mob Violence Against Mexicans in the United States, 1848-1928, the question of extralegal violence against Mexicans has gained significant attention in borderlands studies.[1] In the introduction to The Forgotten Dead, authors Carrigan and Webb ask a simple but profound question: why were the lynching deaths of Mexicans forgotten? The answer to this question is not that the lynching of Mexicans was few and far between. In fact, the opposite is true, as Carrigan and Webb point out:

“From the California Gold Rush to the last recorded instance of a Mexican lynched in public in 1928, vigilantes hanged, burned, and shot thousands of persons of Mexican descent in the United States. The scale of mob violence against Mexicans is staggering, far exceeding the violence exacted on any other immigrant group and comparable, at least on a per capita basis, to the mob violence suffered by African Americans. Yet despite its importance and pervasiveness, mob violence against Mexicans has never been fully studied.”[2]

This panel, chaired by Michael J. Pfeifer from the John Jay College of Criminal Justice at the City University of New York and featuring comments by William Carrigan, presents new research on the topic of mob violence against Mexicans that contributes to filling this lacuna in borderlands historiography as well as the history of violence more broadly.

Michael Pfeifer opened the panel by posing a series of questions:

  • How can we think in comparative terms about violence in Mexico and the U.S.?
  • How did the history of conflict in the borderlands, including racism against Mexicans, shape extralegal violence in the border?
  • How do these histories of violence influence the larger history of the U.S.-Mexico border and the larger histories of these two nations?

The first paper, (Bi)national Border Rebellions, Linchamientos, and the (Bi)centennials of the Mexican Revolution by José Angel Hernández from the University of Houston, addressed Pfeifer’s questions through an examination of linchamientos (lynching) of Mexicans at the border.

Hernández asked how the use of the Spanish term linchameinto, an importation of the American word lynching, complicates understandings of extralegal violence in the borderlands. He explained that in Mexico linchameinto does not exclusively refer to a public hanging, but could be used to describe a public burning, beating, or killing. Linchameinto could also refer to a revolt or other kinds of extra-legal violence. To demonstrate the elasticity and instability of this term, Hernández described instances of extra-legal violence that took place in the connected borderlands communities of La Mesilla, New Mexico and La Ascención, Chihuahua. He described two different and distinct instances of extra-legal violence – a fight between Republicans and Democrats that took place in the 1870s in La Mesilla where nine people died and 100 subsequently fled to Chihuahua, and an instance of narco violence in 2010 that occurred in the same region – both labeled linchameintos.

Next, Hernández posed two very interesting questions:

  1. What makes a lynching a hate crime?
  2. Why is there no Ida B. Wells of the borderlands?

In response to these questions, William Carrigan offered some ways to clarify terminology. Carrigan argues that the following three things must be present in order to call an event a lynching:

  • Community support for the event
  • Premeditation (this distinguishes between rioting and lynching)
  • How the violent act is justified: is it done “for the greater good”?

Hernández added to this list, suggesting that another important characteristic of lynching is the ritualized nature of the violence committed. Further, he stated that because the meaning of lynching has changed over time, a researcher must look for patterns of ritualized violence specific to time and place to understand what lynching looked like and what it meant in specific historical contexts.

Continuing with this discussion of terminology, Carrigan spoke about how Republicans did not want the word lynching used to refer to anti-black violence in the South during the post-Reconstruction era because at that time its meaning was not strong enough to describe the violence that African Americans were being subjected to. Carrigan explained that during the nineteenth century, lynching was associated with the Gold Rush in somewhat of a positive way– it was men taking care of law and order when there was none. Republicans wanted a stronger term to describe the awful things happening to blacks in the South. However, it was the crusading journalist Ida B. Wells who took the word lynching to describe the “Southern Horrors” committed against African Americans in the South. Wells gave the word lynching the meaning it still has today.[3]

The second paper, Out of the Ashes: How the Burning of Antonio Rodriguez Led to an Increase in Anti-Mexican Mob Violence during the 1910s by Nicholas Villanueva Jr. from the University of Wisconsin-La Crosse, examined how the Mexican Revolution influenced cross-border violence, particularly in Texas.[4]

Villanueva described two cases of extra-legal violence against ethnic Mexicans that occurred in Texas during the Mexican Revolution. Villanueva began with the story of the lynching of Antonio Rodriguez. Rodriguez was a 20-year-old Mexican looking for work as a farmhand in Texas. While in Texas, he was accused of murder. A mob broke into the jail cell where he was being held, forcibly removed him, tied him to a tree, and burned him alive. Rodriquez had no trial, and no one in the mob who brutally killed him was charged with a crime. This enraged Mexicans. Throughout Mexico there ensued a series of anti-U.S. boycotts, riots, and the use of rhetoric such as “Death to Yankees” and “Death to Americans.” Consequently, these rhetorical “attacks on Americans” caused anti-Mexican feeling in the U.S.

Villanueva then described the lynching of 14-yr-old Antonio Gomez. Gomez was harassed and beaten by the owner of a saloon because he was lingering outside the business. While the saloon owner was beating him, Gomez took his knife out and stabbed him. A mob formed around Gomez and lynched him. The mob was not punished. Villanueva made the point that violence against ethnic Mexicans during the Mexican Revolution escalated yet was not punished. Villanueva also compared this to events today, when hate crimes against Mexicans – especially those crossing the border or deemed here ‘illegally’ – often go unpunished. However, Villanueva argues that the lynchings of Rodriguez and Gomez were not products of the Mexican Revolution, but rather, signs of the increased racist sentiments and accompanying violence against Mexicans in Texas. To demonstrate how the State, in the form of the Texas Rangers, also took part in this violence against Mexicans, Villanueva invoked the work of South Texas attorney J.T. Canales, who wrote about the corruption of the Texas Rangers and their techniques of “Mexican Evaporation,” how they “disappeared” Mexican men who were on the Ranger’s “black list.” (To answer José Angel Hernández’s question, maybe J.T. Canales was the Ida B. Wells of the Borderlands?)

The third paper, Savage Yanquis and Enraged Mexicans: Extralegal Justice and Its Representations in Mexico and the U.S., by Gema Karina Santamaría Balmaceda from the Instituto Technológico Autónomo de Mexico, connects the history of lynching to nineteenth and early-twentieth century discourse about savagery and civilization. Through an examination of this discourse in Mexican and U.S. newspapers, this paper demonstrates how lynching served as a measure of civilization in each country. In particular, Santamaría Balmaceda shows how this discourse was deployed as justification for state violence.

Santamaría Balmaceda’s paper (she was not able to be there in person, so her paper was read by a colleague) describes how in many newspapers, the Mexican Revolution represented lawlessness, and a regression from civilization into savagery. For example, the Mexican newspaper El Universal published articles about how post-revolutionary Mexico, absent the “law and order” of Porfirio Díaz, had devolved into a place of savagery. However, in the pages of Regeneracion, a Mexican anarchist paper published in the United States, editor Ricardo Flores-Magón criticized Americans with the same language the U.S. press often used to describe Mexicans and Indians. Responding to the lynching of Antonio Rodriguez, for example, Flores-Magón chastised Americans for their “backwardness,” “ignorance,” and called them “barbarians of the U.S.” because of the lynchings that took place there. He also called these Americans religious fanatics and savages – words often used by the Mexican press to describe Indians and Mexicans in rural communities believed to be under the influence of the church.

The major point that Santamaría Balmaceda’s paper makes is that representations of lynching were used by different groups on both sides of the border to make points about “savagery and civilization” in order to defend various positions. Like the other presenters, Santamaría Balmaceda argues that the conception of lynching as only American is problematic, that there needs to be a comparative dimension in lynching historiography.

There were many excellent questions for the panelists, including questions about lower levels of mob violence, or even the threat of mob violence and how that fits into the history of racialized violence at the border. One audience member asked about the chronology of lynching: when does it begin? In 1848, as Carrigan and Webb’s book has it, or might it be placed earlier than that? These questions provoked deeper discussion of the importance and difficulty of defining terms when discussing lynching and extralegal violence.

As a borderlands historian and an instructor of U.S. History, I found this panel immensely interesting. I teach Ida B. Well’s Southern Horrors in my “Multicultural America” course, where many of my students are of Mexican descent. The challenge of teaching “Multicultural America” is to shed light upon those people and events that have for too long been on the margins of history. What I learned from this panel will, I hope, help me do that with my students when I ask them, “Why is there no Ida B. Wells of the Borderlands?”

[1] William D. Carrigan and Clive Webb, The Forgotten Dead: Mob Violence Against Mexicans in the United States, 1848-1928 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). See also the public history project: Refusing to Forget https://refusingtoforget.org

[2] Carrigan and Webb, 1.

[3] Jacqueline Jones Royster, ed., Southern Horrors and Other Writings: The Anti-Lynching Campaign of Ida B. Wells, 1892-1900 (Boston and New York: Bedford Books, 1997).

[4] Nicholas Villanueva Jr., The Lynching of Mexicans in the Texas Borderlands (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2017).

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Utopian Visions: A Panel on Exiles and Identity at the AHA

We’re back from the American Historical Association and had a wonderful time! This essay is the first installment in a series covering panels we wanted to share with you, our dear readers. -ed

After my first day at the AHA, I met up with Brandon Morgan, one of our colleagues at the blog, who was presenting on a panel with the intriguing title, “Utopian Visionaries, Exiles, and Other Stateless Peoples in the Americas.” Over dinner at the Sheraton with a group of friends, I talked with Brandon and two of the other panelists, Travis E. Ross and Julian Dodson, about their work. I decided to attend their panel the next day.

Following an introduction of the panelists by Colin Snider (University of Texas at Tyler), Travis Ross, who recently defended his dissertation at the University of Utah, discussed his work on the identity of the nation-state in the context of historical memory, studying nineteenth-century interviews of residents of Alta California. One of the points that struck me most was that although ethnic Mexicans and Anglos disagreed on many things about society and politics in the state, they shared common ground with the regional identity of Alta California.

Travis´s research uncovered how people who had lived in Alta California before its transfer to the United States worked hard to maintain their community identity as revolutions and other political unrest threatened this reality. Irrespective of which government was in charge, locals wanted to protect the distinct identity of Alta California. Nevertheless, as new waves of gold rushers and other Anglos flooded into this space, this fight was unsuccessful as most of the Californios, Spanish-language residents who had lived in Alta California under Spanish and Mexican rule, lost everything after California gained U.S. statehood.

Brandon Morgan, who works at Central New Mexico Community College, continued the panel discussing his work on Mormon exiles in Mexico during the late nineteenth century. He described the Edmunds-Tucker Act of 1887 and its aggressive prosecution of Mormons in the nineteenth century over polygamy. Mormons believed the legal proceedings to be a miscarriage of justice and felt that the government not only wanted to punish polygamy, but also eliminate their religion.

In response, some coreligionists decided to relocate to Mexico, establishing settler communities they called “colonies” to continue to practice their religious beliefs without interference from the U.S. government. Brandon argues that by crossing the border Mormons gained the status and economic power that had eluded them in the United States. In doing so, they also reasserted their claim to whiteness, and largely remained separate from the local community even as they benefited from policies of the national government under Porfirio Díaz, which permitted them not to pay certain duties.

Finally, Julian Dodson (Washington State University) studies the social networks that Mexican exiles formed across the U.S. southwest in the early twentieth century. He finds that in exile the political enmities that divided these groups against one another in Mexico largely evaporated once they relocated north of the border. Julian identified the exiles as the “revolution’s losers,” highlighting how they were reviled in Mexico as members of a defeated elite that had benefited from Díaz’s long rule (1876-1911). Across the border, the exile community was sustained on a healthy diet of rumors and conspiracies about the new revolutionary government as it asserted its power. Moreover, the exile community took on a diverse characteristics as members of different failed rebellions and counter-revolutions also headed north to escape their enemies.

Julian described the formation of these exile groups, noting that militant Catholic activists played an important role. They cultivated contacts with military figures who supported the exiles during times of political unrest. Members of the Catholic contingent also operated as intelligence brokers between Mexican officials and the exile community. Later, as the revolution transitioned into its state-building period after 1920, opposition to the political strongman and president, Plutarco Elías Calles, who was a committed anti-Catholic leader, helped to unify aspects of the exile community.

Afterwards, Colin read the observations written by José Angel Hernández (University of Houston) who served as commenter, but was unable to attend. José Angel provided excellent constructive critiques of the work presented, urging the panelists to more clearly identify how the subjects were stateless or to consider using a different concept to identify them. In the audience discussion, someone asked whether location reflected exiles’ loyalties. Julian responded affirmatively, explaining that Catholic exiles tended to go to San Antonio and El Paso, whereas Callistas went to San Diego and Los Angeles. Meanwhile, Huertistsas went to Tucson and also had ties with Los Angeles.

As the discussion continued, Travis posed a question for his other panelists. He acknowledged the difficulty in defining the people in their work as stateless, and wondered about other ways to conceptualize these subjects. Julian said that, perhaps, the idea of “statefulness exiles” rather than stateless exiles was more applicable, emphasizing that the networks these groups formed attempted to take advantage of state ties at different times and in different contexts. Moreover, a point that Brandon and Julian agreed on was that while these exiles lived in states freely, they were to a certain extent out of reach, defying law enforcement in their home countries.

Brandon concluded, saying that Mormon colonies in the late nineteenth century were trying to use policies in Mexico to their benefit, while maintaining ties with the United States. This strategy gave them some choice about identity. For instance, Mormons who naturalized has Mexicans had begun to take up the role of jefe politico in their locality. Many Mormons viewed their time in Mexico as sojourners, ready to return to the United States once the problems had been resolved politically.

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BHB at AHA 2017

We’ll be at the American Historical Association meeting in Denver this week and we’d like to invite you to our panel if you’re in town. Lina, Mike, Kris, and Jenny will be talking about their experience working with the blog and the role that digital humanities can play in thinking and teaching about the U.S.-Mexico border. Their roundtable will be held in room 401 of the Colorado Convention Center (Meeting Room Level) on Thursday, January 5th from 3:30-5pm. Continue reading

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Notes on the 2016 UHA Annual Meeting at Chicago

Greetings from Chicago, Illinois!  From the 13 to the 16 of October, 2016, urban historians, city planners, biographers, architects, and public policy specialists convened at the Philip Corboy Law Center of Loyola University Chicago for the Urban History Association’s Eighth Biennial Conference.  David-James (DJ) Gonzales and I had the opportunity to attend and present at this year’s meeting.

We arrived on Friday, October 14 and were able to visit some amazing panels that interrogated the themes of carcerality and the state, urban history before the “city,” settler colonialism, and the lack of scholarship on urban Latinx history.  It is exciting to see over the years how each urban history conference features more and more panels on Latinx neighborhoods, community activism, and radical political thought.  Some of the panels that were scheduled for the weekend included: “The Fight for Immigrant Rights in Los Angeles, Post-1965,” “Latino Studies and the New Urban History,” “Urban Latinos: Ethnic Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Transnational Communities, and Cities in the Postwar United States,” “Latinos and the Changing World of Urban Work,” and “Rethinking the Boston ‘Bussing Crisis’”

Moreover, there were some great sessions on the connections between ethnicity, immigration, and urban space, as with a plenary on “A City of Immigrants: Immigration Reform since 1965 and its Urban Consequences.”  The panel sought to present post-1965 as a defining point not just for civil rights, but for new groups of Latinx immigrants to the country.  There was also a roundtable titled, “Settler Colonialism in American History?”  This panel was absolutely terrific, especially because of the open conversations the panelists had with the audience.  An individual from the audience posed the question, “Can only native scholars utilize settler colonialism in their research and can settler colonialism only be used to understand native pasts?”  Nathan Connolly, a Black historian of property rights and land in Florida, responded that the moment we start to put restrictions on who can write certain pasts or operate specific optics is the moment white supremacy succeeds.  Llana Barber, a specialist in immigration and Latinx history, concurred and suggested that settler colonialism helps attenuate the differences between different historically-marginalized ethnic groups.  She compared Puerto Rican and Native American pasts, referring to land sovereignty and citizenship rights through the guise of a friendly state.  The roundtable concluded that settler colonialism can and is helpful in thinking through ethnic histories like the Latinx past. Continue reading

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Gender and Intimacy Across the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands Conference

web_bannerCheck out the schedule for this fantastic conference presented by the University of California Santa Barbara!

September 30-October 1, 2016

For more information contact:

Miroslava Chávez-Garcia, Ph.D.

Email: mchavezgarcia@history.ucsb.edu

Tel: 530-219-3933

September 30, 2016
5:00-5:15 pm: Welcome & Introduction, Sharon Farmer, Chair & Professor, History
5:15-6:00 pm: Keynote Speaker, Dr. Alexandra M. Stern, Professor of American Culture, Women’s Studies, History, and Obstetrics and Gynecology at the University of Michigan.
6:00-8:00 pm: Catered Dinner & Informal Discussion
October 1, 2016
8:00-8:45 am: Coffee, Tea, and Light Refreshments
8:45-9:00 am: Welcome & Introductions, Miroslava Chávez-Garcia & Verónica Castillo-Muñoz

Session I
9:00-10:30 am: Cultural Studies, Media, & Personal Narratives in Contemporary U.S.-Mexico Borderlands
Laura Barraclough, Assistant Professor, American Studies, Yale University, “Charro Masculinity in Motion: Gender, Sexuality, and the Family on Hulu’s Los Cowboys”
Juan Llamas-Rodríguez, Ph.D. Candidate, Film & Media, UCSB, “The Familial Ties of the Female NarcoTrafficker”
Jennifer Tyburczy, Assistant Professor, Feminist Studies, UCSB, “Sex Toys after NAFTA: Transnational Class Politics, Erotic Consumerism, and the Economy of Female Pleasure in Mexico City”
Deborah Boehm, Associate Professor, Anthropology and Women’s Studies/Gender, Race, and Identity, University of Nevada Reno, “Divided by Citizenship and/or Geography: Partnerships in the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands”
Commentators: D. Inés Casillas, Associate Professor, Chicana/o Studies, UCSB, & Leisy Abrego, Associate Professor, Chicana/o Studies, UCLA
Audience: Comment

Session II
10:45 am-12:15 pm: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Gender, Marriage, and Intimacy in 20th-Century U.S.-Mexico Borderlands
Celeste Menchaca, Ph.D., Assistant Professor, History, Texas Christian University, “Staging Crossings: Policing and Performing Difference at the U.S.-Mexico Border, 1906-1917”
Marla A. Ramírez, Ph.D., Assistant Professor, Sociology and Sexuality Studies, SFSU, “Transnational Gender Formations: A Banished U.S. Citizen Woman Negotiates Motherhood & Marriage Across the U.S.-Mexico Border”
Jane Lily López, Ph.D. Candidate, Sociology, UCSD, “Together and Apart: Mixed-Citizenship Couples in the Mexican Border Region”
Commentators: Denise Segura, Professor, Sociology, UCSB, & Verónica Castillo-Muñoz, Assistant Professor, History, UCSB
Audience: Comment
Lunch Break: 12:15 pm – 1:15 pm

Session III
1:30 pm – 3:00 pm: Contesting Gender, Family, and Marriage in the 19th-Century U.S.-Borderlands
Margie Brown-Coronel, Assistant Professor, History, CSU, Fullerton, “History Makers in the Borderlands: Josefa Del Valle and Legacy Building in California, 1880 to 1940”
Amy Langford, Ph.D. Candidate, History, American University, “Saints on the Border: Plural Marriage and the Contest for Authority in the Mormon Colonies of Mexico, 1885 to 1915”
Erika Pérez, Assistant Professor, History, University of Arizona, “The Zamorano-Daltons and the Unevenness of U.S. Conquest in California: A Borderland Family at the Turn of the 20th Century”
Commentators: James Brooks, Professor, History & Anthropology, UCSB, & Miroslava Chávez-García, Professor, History, UCSB
Audience: Comment
3:00-3:15 pm: Concluding Remarks & Publishing Timeline
Miroslava Chávez-García, Verónica Castillo-Muñoz, & Marc Rodríguez, Editor, Pacific Historical Review

 

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CFP: Native American and Indigenous Studies Association Annual Meeting

The Native American and Indigenous Studies Association has launched a call for paper for it’s ninth annual meeting, which will occur in Vancouver, British Columbia, from June 22-24, 2017. The organizers are accepting proposals for individual papers, panels, roundtables, and film screenings. Submissions of a broad range of diverse and interdisciplinary scholarly topics are encouraged.  More from the announcement:

All persons working in Native American and Indigenous Studies are invited and encouraged to apply. Proposals are welcome from faculty and students in colleges, universities, and tribal colleges; from community-based scholars and elders; and from professionals working in the field. We especially encourage proposals relating to Indigenous community-driven scholarship.

Visit NAISA’s conference website for additional information, including how to apply.

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