Inside Sr. Benjos

“Ah yes.  I have seen this.  This kind of “innocent” or “casual” racism crops up a lot in Latin American societies, including Mexico.”

Before I left the Ship on the Desert at the Guadalupe Mountains last weekend, I met a wonderful surprise bunk mate. Jenna Camp is an amazing artist and preserver of Mexican music. She carries on the work of her late husband, traveling with the folk music band, teaching, organizing women from the border factories, and raising a family. She was one of the cultural groups involved in the 40th anniversary celebration in the mountains. When I later shared this photo with her, she offered an interesting “context statement” for this retro racist art.

She shared a few insights with me about the complexity of black – brown relations and colorism in Spanish speaking countries.

“A Black Columbian, a white Ecuadorian, and I used to edit and publish a mother-tongue literacy quarterly in Chicago together and spend many a lunch hour (our meeting time) discussing whether societal oppression in Latin America was worse for Black or indigenous populations.

As you might expect, the white leftist from Ecuador thought the most profound inequalities were driven by socioeconomic class, with indigenous communities by far the most marginalized, while the editor from Cali was just as adamant about racism against Blacks constituting the worst discrimination. I mostly listened and tried to relate their arguments to what I knew of this society (and Mexico, with more shared history). Since my Zacatecas-born husband looked more African (Yoruba? “Moorish”?) than indigenous (despite also having European and Chichimeca ancestors), he experienced being Mexican in the U.S. differently than the other Mexicans we knew.”

What struck me about Jenna is her deep consciousness of the African-Mexican cultural connection.

“Even in the songs we sing, I have had to intervene, when other Mexican musicians saw no harm.  For example, there’s a popular cumbia called Moliendo Cafe, with a lyric calling the Black coffee plantation worker “Sambo Manuel” instead of “Negro Manuel.”  The song’s lyrics express his hard work, loves, and sorrows, so, since its intent isn’t explicitly racist, none of the Mexican musicians we played with who already knew the song (my husband excepted) could understand why singing about “Sambo Manuel” in the U.S. (and probably anywhere) could be offensive.  Once I explained the history of that term here, they always agreed to change the lyric.  That sign is probably part of the same complex, and I imagine there have been attempts to down or change it.”

According to Jenna, there are other areas in El Paso, some very public with disturbing racial connotations.

“Current, jingoistic conditions make for less concern about all kinds of wrong signs and actions, including the recently erected “Horseman” at the airport, the sculpture that glorifies a colonial-era conquistador who liked chopping off hands and feet when the Natives were perceived as restless or uncooperative.  There was an unsuccessful movement to keep it from going up.  The “compromise” result was not to name him (Onate, with a tilde on the n) and to put him at the airport instead of downtown.  The Zapatistas got it right during the quincentennial:  they filled the streets of the colonial capital, San Cristobal de las Casas, by the 10s of thousands and pulled down and destroyed the statue of Juan Mazariegos (the local conquest thug-hero).  As far as I know, it hasn’t been re-erected. “

Jena explained that, “El Paso is full of complacency about casual racism of all kinds, much of it tied to which language people (don’t) speak.” This is why she engages in co-learning, that is mutual instruction of English and Spanish. “That’s where I do anti-racism work, mostly, but there’s plenty more to do. ”

I’m only beginning how much there is left to do. Next, I’ll talk about how a ghost town called Salt Flats Texas, is the crossroads for Buffalo Soldiers, Mexicans, Anglos, and the El Paso Salt War of 1877.