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Showing posts with label Laredo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laredo. Show all posts

Monday, May 05, 2025

Testimony Before the 1836 Project Advisory Committee, Laredo, Texas by Emilio Zamora, Ph.D. May 2, 2025

Emilio Zamora, Professor of History at the University of Texas at Austin,
delivered invited testimony before the 1836 Project Advisory Committee on May 2, 2025, at Texas A&M International University in Laredo, Texas. Established by the Texas Legislature in 2021, the Committee was charged with advising the governor on teaching patriotism and values in Texas history.

Dr. Zamora used the occasion to foreground the importance of Mexican American history by highlighting the lives and contributions of two key historical figures. His remarks underscored the urgent need for a fair and inclusive account of Texas history—one that acknowledges the foundational role of Mexicans and other historically marginalized communities in both the past and present civic life of the state.

Other presenters included Dr. Cynthia Orozco, Professor Emeritus at Eastern New Mexico University–Ruidoso, and Dr. Jerry Thompson, Professor of History at Texas A&M International University–Laredo.

It was a privilege to hear their testimonies—each grounded in deep scholarship and a commitment to historical truth. Together, they issued more than a critique; they offered a call to conscience. At a time when historical narratives are being narrowed and politicized, their words reminded us that telling the full story of Texas is not only an academic duty but a moral imperative.

—Angela Valenzuela


Testimony Before the 1836 Project Advisory Committee,


Laredo, Texas

Emilio Zamora, Ph.D.

May 2, 2025

On May 2, 2025, I had the opportunity to interrogate "old histories" with the historical narratives of marginalized communities in Texas, particularly those of Mexican origin. The occasion was a public hearing in Laredo, hosted by the Texas 1836 Project Advisory Committee. Established in 2022 by the 87th Texas Legislature. The Committee's mandate is to advise the Governor on promoting “patriotic education” and increasing awareness of "the Texas values that continue to stimulate boundless prosperity across this state.”

The Committee, chaired by Dr. Don Frazier, Director of The Texas Center at Schreiner University in Kerrville, Texas, heard from other invited scholars, including Jerry Thompson, Cynthia Orozco, and Roseann Backa Garza. The reception was positive, and we engaged in friendly and productive conversations following each presentation.

To establish my authority and underscore the importance of incorporating neglected or overlooked histories, I referenced my credentials as a professional historian and highlighted two historical figures: Sara Estela Ramirez (1881-1910) and José de la Luz Saenz (1888-1953), advocating for their inclusion in the conventional narrative. Furthermore, I urged the Committee to recommend that the Governor approach Texas history as an inclusive narrative, encompassing both its commendable and contentious aspects that he might envision.

As a scholar of nearly fifty years, I have had the privilege of contributing to the development of Texas and Mexican American history through my academic and public engagement work. I currently hold the position of Professor and Clyde Rabb Littlefield Chair in Texas History at the University of Texas at Austin. My contributions have been acknowledged by professional and community organizations in Texas and Mexican American history. Along the way, I have served in various academic departments and professional organizations, including the Texas State Historical Association (President, 2019-20).
The following two textbook publications should be of special interest to the committee: Zamora and Walter Buenger, Texas History (New Jersey: Pearson Education Inc., 2015); and Zamora and Andrés Tijerina, Eds., Mexican Americans of Texas, A History of Tradition and Struggle, Coauthors, Zamora, Tijerina, Amy Porter, Sonia Hernández, and Guadalupe San Miguel (New York: Kendall Hunt Publishers, 2024).

My work as a professional historian is deeply grounded in the rigorous training and ethical standards that define the discipline. As professional historians, we adhere to a strict commitment to evidence-based inquiry, ensuring that our interpretations are fair, accurate, and grounded in the careful study of primary sources. We engage with our work within a robust intellectual infrastructure, where it undergoes peer review and is disseminated through a wide array of scholarly and public venues. This process fosters a shared responsibility to our profession, colleagues, students, and society, ensuring that our findings contribute meaningfully to the broader and complex understanding of historical change.

One of the key aspects of studying history is the critical examination of historical events within their own contexts. This is particularly important when exploring patriotism and values in Texas history, themes that the 1836 Project Advisory Committee is particularly interested in discussing today.

In my work, I define values as the ethical guideposts used by individuals to navigate decisions and understand the world, while patriotism are expressions of profound affection for one’s country, its people, and its foundational ideals. To understand these themes, we must study and interpret them within the historical circumstances that shaped them, rather than imposing present-day or retrospective assessments onto the past.

I illustrate this approach by revisiting two historical figures from Texas: Sara Estela Ramírez (1881-1910), a teacher, journalist, feminist, and member of a Mexican exiled group called the “intellectual precursors of the Mexican Revolution,” and José de la Luz Sáenz (1888-1953), a teacher, World War I veteran, and a principal co-founder of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), the leading civil rights organization in Mexican American history. Both figures provide insightful examples of how Mexicans navigated the complex issues of values and patriotism.

Sara Estela Ramírez & José de la Luz Sáenz

In The World of the Mexican Workers in Texas, I examine Ramírez's advocacy for the cultural values of mutuality, reciprocity, and altruism popular in Texas civic life during the early 1900s. At a time when modern infrastructure was sparse, communities across Texas Mexicans in Texas formed mutual aid societies, or benevolent organizations, that provided essential services, such as widow funds, unemployment insurance, and language training to their largely working-class members.

These self-help organizations were vital in offering support and fostering collective solidarity in families, communities, and other social groupings throughout the state. Other Black, Anglo, and immigrant communities also experiencing general distress associated with labor exploitation, poverty, disdain, and discrimination established benevolent organizations, including masonic orders, religious confraternities, immigrant societies, and unions. I identify four key features of these organizations:

1. They broadcast foundational collectivist values in their communities.

2. They sponsored mutualist activities like constructing churches and schools, and sponsoring community events.

3. They adhered to strict codes of moral conduct that created upstanding, and self-respecting leaders in their communities.

4. Their embrace of philosophical justifications offered by public intellectuals from Laredo like Ramírez mirrored similar observations by other working-class leaders like Thomas Hickey and E. O. Meitzen from Central Texas and the Reverend G. G. Hamilton in the northern part of the state.

Ramírez's 1909 keynote speech at the 20th anniversary of La Sociedad de Obreros, Igualdad y Progreso, one of the largest and popular binational organization from Laredo, offers a compelling example of the philosophical justifications behind the multi-ethnic self-help movement and the cultural values that sustained it. 

She framed the Golden Rule as a secular ethical framework for understanding mutuality, reciprocity, and altruism, arguing that nature (or God, if you prefer) compels us to recognize the equal worth in others and to commune with them for the sake of the whole. Free will, however, often diverts us from fulfilling our earthly and eternal purpose in life. Compassion and caring unity, however, will prevail in the end, when we realize that our inherently divine purpose always require adherence to the moral laws of nature which elevate the human condition, place us on the path to both moral and social progress (especially in time of need), and ennoble us as caring and compassionate human beings.
The moralistic values of these early organizations have been integral to the development of our society—as Mexicans, as Texans, and as a nation. 

Over time, they have converged with the almost purely rationalist principles embedded in the nation’s founding documents and manifest in the structure of modern institutional life. This convergence helps explain why union organizers have long proclaimed that “in unity there is strength,” why national leaders continue to call us to engage the ongoing project of perfecting the republic, and why religious leaders consistently advocate for a shared moral purpose grounded in the recognition that everyone has equal worth (under the law or in the eyes of God, whichever you prefer) and that we have the ethical obligation to pursue this idea. 

Mutuality, reciprocity, and altruism, which first emerged as moral guides within self-help organizations, the most popular form of organization in Texas during the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, have since permeated contemporary society—manifesting to varying degrees as genuine, even philanthropic, expressions of vital collective action.

I have also examined theme of patriotism in the life of José de la Luz Sáenz from Realitos and the author of a World War I diary entitled The Mexican Americans in the Great War (San Antonio: Artes Gráficas, 1933), the only war diary published by a Mexican veteran and possibly the only one of its kind published by a Texan. His wartime reflections provide a nuanced perspective on what we might now, from the comfort of our secure homes, celebrate as an exalted sense of duty and responsibility to the nation. Society, after all, often accords veterans the status of patriots because they have given so much to the nation, including their lives as sacrifices on the battlefields.

Sáenz, however, reveals that the soldiers who served with him in the 20th Texas-Oklahoma Division rarely self-identified as patriots. They most often perceived themselves as victims of circumstances beyond their control and lamented their service as an everyday experience in the horrors of war. They seldom spoke of patriotism as a motivating force or engaged in self-adulation, despite the exhortations of many of their officers and politicians back home during and especially after the war. Instead, they conveyed a sense of disillusionment and resignation.

Sáenz clearly suggests that labeling servicemen as patriots without truly understanding their military service and how they wished to be remembered constitutes a disregard for their sacrifice and a misuse of the concept of patriotism.

Our discourse on patriotism, therefore, should encompass the full narrative, including the responsibility of a supposedly grateful nation to its idealized veterans. This is particularly pertinent for the Mexican doughboys in Sáenz’s diary, who served honorably in the 90th Texas-Oklahoma Division but saw no appreciable change in their lives as Mexicans at the homefront in Texas.

They enlisted in impressive numbers, contributed to the preservation of democracy in Europe, and shed their blood on the battlefields of France. Sáenz notes that many of the soldiers, including himself, had hoped that the experience of “foxhole democracy” and their demonstration of fidelity would improve their marginalized condition in Texas. They were profoundly disappointed. Despite their significant wartime contributions and LULAC’s emphasis on their sacrifices, which promoted an amplified form of patriotism in their twentieth-century social justice campaigns, society often failed to recognize them as patriots or accord them the respect they deserved.

As with Ramírez, Sáenz represents a distinct historical trajectory and intellectual perspective that coexisted alongside competing viewpoints; thus, neither figure should be seen as representing the entirety of Mexican American history. For example, some Mexican Americans—much like individuals in other ethnic and social groups—adopted more individualistic approaches to civic life or radical departures from the conventional approach to domestic politics. 

In contrast to Sáenz’s appeals for Americanization and the articulation of a collective ethnic identity, others responded to national calls for unity with skepticism, questioning the sincerity of American institutions and, in some cases, evading the military draft.

As suggested earlier, the textbooks that colleagues and I have published offer the committee and the governor an inclusive treatment of the past that they may want to use in their deliberations. The latter one, Mexican Americans of Texas: A History of Tradition and Struggle, is especially important. 

This pioneering work is the first textbook on Mexican American history published for our schools in accordance with the Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills (TEKS), our state’s standard curriculum for our public schools. It spans from the Indigenous past to the present and includes a comprehensive learning system featuring timelines, periodization schemes, definitions, concepts, and classroom activities.

Organized around key themes, the book highlights the integral role of Mexican Americans in shaping both Texas and American history, reinforcing the idea that Mexican Americans are inextricably linked to broader narratives. Their contributions to the history and culture of the United States and Texas are undeniable and must be shared widely if we are to call ourselves a Democratic society.

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Overlooked No More: Jovita Idár, Who Promoted Rights of Mexican-Americans and Women by Jennifer Medina NYTimes

Yes, the truly overlooked Jovita Idár from Laredo, Texas, was a fierce advocate for women's suffrage as early as 1911. Though we take this for granted today, that is, that women have as much of a right to vote as men, it took many decades for this dream to come to fruition. Note: Black men got the right to vote 46 years earlier with the passage of the 13th Amendment on January 31, 1865.  

 Finally, a hundred years ago on August 18, 1920, the 19th Amendment was ratified, extending the franchise together with the rights and responsibilities of citizenship to women.

Idár hasn't yet been interpreted as a precursor to the Ethnic Studies Movement, but the record suggests that she was a pioneer here, as well. Her belief in the "cultural redemption of la raza," could easily translate either to enhancing children's self esteem or positive social identity; and her expressed desire for children on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border might today fall into the somewhat to the notion of "subtractive cultural assimilation," that I advance in my own work.

You can read more about her at the TSHA Online Handbook of Texas website.

Altogether, she was ahead of her times and we owe a great debt of gratitude to one of our ancestral, feminist sheroes. Thanks, as well, to Jennifer Medina for her outstanding contribution to our history in the New York Times.

-Angela Valenzuela

Overlooked No More: Jovita Idár, Who Promoted Rights of Mexican-Americans and Women


As a teacher, writer, editor and activist, Idár preserved Mexican culture in South Texas and encouraged women to pursue an education and push for equal rights.


 

Jovita Idár around 1905. She formed her view of justice as a child and spent her life fighting for the rights of her community.Credit...General Photograph Collection/UTSA Libraries Special Collections


By Jennifer Medina

 

Leer en español

This article is part of Overlooked, a series of obituaries about remarkable people whose deaths, beginning in 1851, went unreported in The Times. This latest installment is one of many ways The New York Times is examining the centennial of the 19th Amendment.


When the Texas Rangers showed up outside the office of the newspaper El Progreso in 1914 with the intent of shutting it down, Jovita Idár, a writer and editor, was waiting at the front door to block them from entering. And she was not about to back down.


The officers, who by then had gained a reputation for their violence against Mexicans, were furious over an editorial that criticized President Woodrow Wilson’s order to send military troops to the Texas-Mexico border amid the Mexican Revolution. Idár argued that silencing the newspaper would violate its constitutional right to freedom of the press under the First Amendment.


The Rangers eventually turned back. But the next day, when Idár was gone, they returned to ransack the office, smashing and destroying the printing presses.

 

Their actions would not stop Idár from writing about her view of justice, one that she had formulated from childhood.


Jovita Idár was born on Sept. 7, 1885, in Laredo, Texas, a city on the Mexican border. She was the second of eight children of Jovita and Nicasio Idár; her father, an activist, worked as an editor and publisher of a local Spanish newspaper, La Crónica.


SUFFRAGE AT 100

 

To mark the anniversary of the 19th Amendment, we’re revisiting the stories of how women won the right to vote in the United States.


Laws of the Jim Crow era enforcing racial segregation also limited the rights of Mexican-Americans in South Texas (they are often referred to by scholars today as “Juan Crow” laws). Signs saying “No Negroes, Mexicans or dogs allowed” were common in restaurants and stores. Law enforcement officers frequently intimidated or abused Mexican-American residents, and the schools they were sent to were underfunded and often inadequate. Speaking Spanish in public was discouraged.


As a daughter of relative privilege, Idár had access to the kind of education she dreamed of for others. Educated in Methodist schools, she received a teaching certificate from the Laredo Seminary and went on to teach young children in Los Ojuelos, a town in southeast Texas. She quickly became appalled by school conditions, including run-down buildings and a dearth of books.

 

She decided she could have more impact by focusing on activism and writing, joining her brothers and father at La Crónica. And after she learned of lynchings of Mexican-American men, her commitment to the civil rights struggle only deepened.


Idár believed in a kind of cultural redemption of la raza, a term widely used to refer to Mexicans and other Latinos. She believed that the poor living on both sides of the border could be uplifted by education and empowerment.


“She was ahead of her time, fighting against the erasure of their history” as well as “celebrating that nobody should feel threatened by the power of women,” Gabriela González, an associate professor of history at the University of Texas at San Antonio who is working on a biography of Idár, said in a phone interview.

 

 

Idár in 1914 with colleagues in the print shop of the newspaper El Progreso in Laredo, Texas. She followed in her father’s footsteps as a journalist and activist.Credit...General Photograph Collection/UTSA Libraries Special Collections

 

 

Taking a transnational approach, La Crónica reported extensively on the borderlands and on the Mexican Revolution, with a particular focus on those Mexican-Americans, known as Tejanos, who had been living in Texas before the modern border with the United States was established in the 1820s.


“Through their newspaper, the Idár family sounded off against separatist and inferior housing and schools, the abysmal conditions faced by Tejano workers that took on the visage of peonage and the gross violations of Tejano civil rights,” the historian Zaragosa Vargas wrote in “Crucible of Struggle: A History of Mexican Americans from Colonial Times to the Present Era” (2011).

 

Frequently taking on pen names — among them Astraea, the name of the Greek goddess of justice, and Ave Negra, Spanish for black bird — Idár also wrote about equal rights for women and regularly urged women to educate themselves and seek independence from men.

She defined the modern woman as someone with “broad horizons.”


“Science, industry, the workshop and even the home demand her best aptitudes, her perseverance and consistency in work, and her influence and assistance for all that is progress and advancement for humanity,” she wrote, according to “Texas Women: Their Histories, Their Lives” (2015).


And she made the argument that educating women would improve society as a whole: “Educate a woman, and you educate a family,” she would often exhort.


Suffrage at 100


To mark the anniversary of the 19th Amendment, we’re revisiting the stories of how women won the right to vote in the United States.


In 1911, she joined the First Mexican Congress in Laredo to organize Mexican-American activists. She then started Liga Femenil Mexicanista, or the League of Mexican Women.

That same year California granted women the right to vote, and Idár urged women in Texas to “proudly raise your chins and face the fight.”


“Much has been said and written against the feminist movement,” she wrote in La Crónica, “but despite the opposition, women in California can vote on a jury and hold public offices.”

In addition to becoming the first president of the Liga, she oversaw its effort to identify and educate poor children, urging schools to teach both Spanish as well as English.

 

The language is “increasingly forgotten, and each day it suffers adulterations and changes that materially hurt the ear of any Mexican as little versed as he might be in the language of Cervantes,” she wrote.


Idár also decried ignorance of Mexico’s national heroes and Mexican-American history as a whole. “If in the American school our children attend, they are taught the biography of Washington and not the one of Hidalgo, and if instead of the glorious deeds of Juárez they are referred to the exploits of Lincoln,” she wrote, “as much as these are noble and just, that child will not know the glories of his nation, he will not love her, and he might even see his parents’ countrymen with indifference.”

 

Idár, right, in around 1914, treating someone who had been wounded in battle during the Mexican Revolution. With her was the activist Leonor Villegas de Magnon. Idár worked for a time with  La Cruz Blanca, a medical aid group.Credit...General Photograph Collection/UTSA Libraries Special Collections

 

By 1913, during the battle of Nuevo Laredo in the Mexican Revolution, Idár had left Laredo to cross the border. She worked with La Cruz Blanca, a medical aid group similar to the Red Cross, as a nurse for the army. She later returned to Laredo and began working for El Progreso.


After marrying Bartolo Juárez in 1917, she moved to San Antonio, where the couple established the local Democratic Club and she worked as a precinct judge for the party. She established a free kindergarten, worked at a hospital as an interpreter for Spanish-speaking patients and taught infant care courses for women, all while editing El Heraldo Christiano, a Methodist Church newspaper.


Idár never had children of her own, but she helped to raise the children of her sister Elvira, who died while giving birth.


Idár died of a pulmonary hemorrhage and advanced tuberculosis on June 15, 1946. She was 60.

 

Monday, February 05, 2018

A Floundering DACA Program with Echoes of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo

February marks the 170th anniversary of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo signed on February 2, 1848.  This was a peace agreement that officially ended the Mexican War (1846-1848).  A pertinent quote from this piece:
    Fast-forward 170 years. The same racial animosity toward Mexican immigrants is demonstrated in a floundering DACA program and preposterous notions of a Trumpian wall, echoing the broken promises of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.
This is a sad, tragic story surrounding the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that yes, echoes in alt-right policies and approaches today.


-Angela




Alfredo Torres Jr., For the Express-News | January 30, 2018
Photo: Allen Holder /TNS

The U.S.-Mexico border, demarcated by the Rio Grande, has proved to be an emotional and actual battlefront for centuries.

“Are you a U.S. citizen?” is a frequent question asked by the U.S. Border Patrol at checkpoints to and from Laredo — the border town where I was born and raised.
Located on the banks of the Rio Grande, Laredo has expanded into an international hub for a globalized U.S. economy dependent on Mexican trade and tourism. Dubbed the “Gateway to Mexico,” downtown Laredo offers a view of a nation a few feet away.
Yet few know that these two countries once had a long, dark and bloody history.
February marks the 170th anniversary of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, a peace agreement officially ending the brutal Mexican War (1846-1848).
One of the most shameful, controversial wars in U.S. history, it was an egregious land grab paraded under the façade of a defensive front toward an “oppressive” Mexican nation. The war was an offensive strategy driven by Anglo-American aggression, disguised and perpetuated under the religious fervor of Manifest Destiny — an arrogant, misconstrued notion that God chose the U.S. to conquer virgin territory west of the Mississippi River.
After the Texas Revolution — and the annexation of the Texas Republic a decade later — U.S.-Mexico disputes over the location of the border erupted into violence. Mexico recognized the Nueces River as the boundary, while the U.S. viewed the Rio Grande as the line of demarcation. A vociferous expansionist, President James Polk ordered Gen. Zachary Taylor to lead troops into the disputed area, along the banks of the Rio Grande, and into Mexican territory, according to historian Richard Griswold de Castillo.
The American invasion of the disputed territory led to encounters between Mexican and U.S. troops, and Polk saw this as an opportunity to declare war on Mexico.
On Feb. 2, 1848, after two years of bloodshed and grief, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed, ceding all territory west of Texas. Within two years, Mexicans became foreigners in their native land, and the hyphenated “Mexican-American” was born.
Mexico sought to secure the fate of Mexican nationals inhabiting the lost northern Mexican territories, which expanded into seven states — Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Nevada and California. An estimated 72 million acres were lost after the Mexican War, according to documentarian John J. Valadez.
The lost territory crippled the Mexican economy but bolstered the U.S. Federal Reserve as vast amounts of gold were found along the California foothills immediately following the war. Later, the Texas oil boom catapulted the U.S. into a hulking superpower.
Articles VIII and IX of the treaty focused on protecting property rights of Mexicans already living in the ceded territories, including their civil liberties, should they choose to stay in the U.S. But the practice of respecting those rights by Anglo-Americans was another matter, impeded through years of warring aggression and stereotypical assumptions. Anglo-Americans viewed Mexicans negatively; they were now a “vanquished enemy.”
Innocent Mexican-American civilians living along these vast stretches of land were victims of fraud, deceit, violent intimidation and a legal system that favored Anglo immigrant squatters encroaching on their property. It was a demoralizing period for Mexican-Americans on the Western frontier.
Fast-forward 170 years. The same racial animosity toward Mexican immigrants is demonstrated in a floundering DACA program and preposterous notions of a Trumpian wall, echoing the broken promises of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.
History repeats itself in strange ways.
Alfredo Torres Jr,. is a copy editor for “CTN: A Journal of Pedagogy and Ideas” and an independent historian working at Palo Alto College.