"Remembering La Gloria" by artist Mary Agnes Rodriguez "Each time the bulldozer hit the building I felt it in my own heart and I remembered, I remembered my own history." Virginia Grise, award-winning playwright and poet What happens when a building dies? We know that buildings die if they are left too long without people. Adobe buildings, for example, live through the warmth and the life that people bring to them. Left alone, they soon begin to deteriorate, the adobe bricks disintegrating back into the earth from where they came. Buildings die without their people. We know that buildings die from neglect, from greed, from ignorance of history. What is lost within us when a building dies? When a building dies, it takes part of our memories and our history with it. Buildings are containers for the stories of our communities. They are more than bricks and mortar, more than the sum of their roof and walls and floors. When Museo Urbano a community museum in a turn of the 20th century tenement in El Segundo Barrio on the historic S. Oregon Street, the building drew the people to it. It's woodwork called to one elder who told me that no one knew how to work the wood like that on our porch. He had learned as a young man how to cut the lumber just so and piece it together slowly so that each narrow piece fit into the design. But no one knew the technique any more. Others came to the building to tell stories of the tenements of their youth: shared bathrooms, families crammed into two rooms, walking to the school gym in the morning to take a shower before school because the tenements only had outside showers. Virginia Grise, award-winning playwright and poet, describes the destruction of "La Gloria," a two-story white building built in the late 1920s that housed a bakery, a grocery, and a silent movie theater. Its rooftop became one of the first venues for early Tejano and conjunto music. When its owner of four years decided to demolish it, the community stepped in and requested historic designation for the building. San Antonio's landmark commission denied the designation and a judge denied an injunction to stop the demolition. In 2002 the beloved "La Gloria" was demolished. It devastated the community. Artist Mary Agnes Rodriguez's painting, featured above, hangs on my wall reminding me always that the destruction of a historic building destroys part of us. Please enjoy the video below featuring a poignant poem by Virginia Grise and remember the buildings that mean something to you. "Each time the bulldozer hit the building I felt it in my own heart and I remembered, I remembered my own history."
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My life changed when I became an abuela, a grandmother, thirteen years ago. Becoming an abuela changed my perspective on life, on the future, and the meaning of my life. Author and teacher Carlos Aceves says that sometimes it's difficult to understand the indigenous concept of seven generations. What we do affects our people for seven generations. That seems like a long, long time. Instead, el maestro says we can think of ourselves as existing in the middle of the seven generations. Can you imagine your great grandparents? Yes. Can you imagine your children's grandchildren? Yes. There they are-- the seven generations. When I became a grandmother, I could feel and see the generations coming after my own generations. Suddenly, the future....the long future... was palpable. I understood in a way that I never had before how we are all responsible for the world we leave... our thanks to the generations before us and our legacy to the generations after us. In our communities are grandmothers, those who have borne children and those who have not, who work to leave a better world for the generations that follow us. Who vow to fight for justice until the end. Who teach us traditions they have worked decades to protect. Who show us how to live well in the middle of the seven generations. I am blessed to be here on la frontera where abuelas are respected. Looked after. Loved. Listened to. May we all learn to take our place within the seven generations Antonia Morales, 88 years old, who works to protect her barrio in El Paso, Texas where she has lived for over fifty years. She is known as the abuela of her community. Bea Ilhuicatlahuili Villegas, traditional Mexica abuela, who has spent decades traveling to Mexico to learn from traditional ceremonial teachers so that she could pass on the teachings. .Filomena Cedillo Parra, Coajumulco, Morelos, midwife, keeper of traditional knowledge. Her family has fought against illegal logging in her beloved mountains. Diana Bynum was active in Native American politics in the 1960s and '70s. She has worked with youth for her entire life and has spent the past five years homeschooling her grandson who has autism.
Segundo Barrio, (1975) by Los Muralistas Del Barrio, Arturo Avalos, Gabriel Ortega, Pablo Schaffino and Pascual Ramirez. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. In 1976, UTEP student Cecilia Vega asked Soledad Olivas why she lived in El Segundo Barrio. She responded that it was close to downtown and to Ciudad Juárez and it was all that poor people like her could afford. She described a neighborhood comprised not just of vecinos; they were family. Soledad was born in Chihuahua in 1909 and migrated to the United States in 1914, growing up in El Segundo Barrio where she remained for decades. She described the barrio of her youth as “una cosa hermosa,” a beautiful thing. In the 1970s, the City of El Paso planned to demolish a large part of the barrio through the Tenement Eradication Program. Much of El Segundo had already been lost to demolition and in 1974 organizers and residents responded by creating La Campaña Pro La Preservación del Barrio. Chicana and Chicano activists including Carmen Felix, Oscar Lozano, Juan Montes, and 65 year-old Soledad Olivas were among its founders and earliest members. La Campaña stated that it formed so “that the unique ethnic cultural and religious character of South El Paso not be destroyed to the detriment of its population by economic interests.” The residents believed, and with good reason, that the City would replace their homes with stores in an effort to draw shoppers and tourists. The City eventually requested federal monies in order to redevelop El Segundo through a combination of public and private funds. Residents wondered where over four hundred families would be relocated. They argued that they had not been included in the planning. La Campaña employed numerous strategies to draw attention to the inadequate housing and institutional neglect by the city that allowed landlords to rent apartments that were not up to code. As the city demolished tenements, rents increased although the tenements lacked plumbing and hot water in many cases. Residents took action, Soledad Olivas recalled, walking the streets with protest signs, speaking before the Mayor and City Council, picketing businesses, creating a tent city, and negotiating for landlords to implement a temporary rent freeze. The El Paso Board of Realtors opposed the plan and vowed to go to City Hall, Austin, and even Washington. Although the Campaña eventually disbanded, it left a legacy in El Segundo of cultural preservation, murals, youth activism, and a community that united to stand for itself. Sources: “Interview with Soledad Olivas by Cecilia Vega, 1976, by Cecilia Vega, 1976,” Interview no. 251, Institute of Oral History, University of Texas at El Paso. Sandra Ivette Enriquez, "¡El Barrio Unido Jamás Será Vencido!: Neighborhood Grassroots Activism and Community Preservation in El Paso, Texas.” (PhD Dissertation, University of Houston, 2016) |