The Priest and the Hispanic Politician

 

Expelled for being white

 

Maria Varela and Luis Zapata joined SNCC in 1963, pre-dating the 1964 “Freedom Summer” and Elizabeth Mártinez came to Mississippi in 1964. Having each come to SNCC for different reasons, the three activists were joining what was, at the time, the vanguard of the Civil Rights Movement. The group was driven by students and young people and engaged in the direct action techniques that other civil rights groups hesitated to use. Founded in 1960 at Shaw University, with the guiding principles of nonviolence rooted in the Judeo-Christian tradition, SNCC was originally envisioned as a “channel of communication for the student movement.” Historians have remembered SNCC as being young, black and white activists from the Northeast and Southeast. However, the experience of Varela, Mártinez, and Zapata suggests that, in the early years, SNCC’s organizing model appealed to people from diverse backgrounds including activists from the labor movement, older people, people from the West and Southwest United States, and Latino/as. SNCC, which embraced inclusiveness in its early years, grew increasingly closed off and unable incorporate racially liminal subjects. When SNCC forced categorization of white or black, Mártinez and Varela were deemed white and were expelled from SNCC.

...the organization, led by a group working out of the “Atlanta Project,” agreed that “white activists needed to organize in the white community” and that black activists would organize in the black community. They maintained that whites organizing in their communities could still work under the banner of SNCC. However, months later, in December 1966, the SNCC staff met again at the New York estate of black entertainer Peg Leg Bates, where the decision was made, as Mártinez described it, to “expel white staff members.”

...While Zapata left SNCC before the battle over the role of whites in the movement took place, both Mártinez and Varela were deeply affected by the changing nature of SNCC. Writing many years later, Mártinez’s memory was increasingly focused on her identification as Chicana and the improper classification of her and Maria Varela as white during the expulsion. She wrote “as far as anyone seems to remember, we [Varela and herself] were classified as white, even though I did not consider myself either white or black.”

Writing after the Kingston Springs decision to expel whites, Mártinez defended whites put in a seemingly impossible position. “How could they defend themselves,” she asked, “when attacked for their whiteness.” Like Varela’s earlier discussion of white womanhood, Mártinez use of “they” and “them” in reference to whites suggests she saw herself as racially nonwhite, even if those in SNCC disagreed. She wrote: “From time to time, the question of whether I was to be classified as white or Mexican (i.e., non-white) has come up in SNCC. People talked about me but never asked me what I considered myself.” She goes on to make clear that she has always identified as Mexican, and therefore nonwhite. However, in SNCC she found her self reclassified. “One day,” she went on, “I found myself unable to vote in SNCC because I was ‘white.’”

 Cecilia Márquez, “The Strange Career of Juan Crow: Latino/as and the Making of the US South, 1940–2000,” PhD thesis, University of Virginia (2016) 

The Mexican Slave Catcher

The most explosive incident involving runaway slaves in Laredo came ... on November 5, 1860. In a letter written to Henry and William Maltby's secessionist pro-slavery Corpus Christi Daily Ranchero, a forty-one-year-old Irish-born clerk named Michael Lidwell, a political ally of Santos [Benavides] who was living in Laredo at the time, said that a black man claiming to be a "free Negro" had arrived at Laredo with two dun horses and persuaded the ferryman to allow him passage to Nuevo Laredo. After the news was quickly passed along to Santos that the man was probably a runaway slave, he gathered ten vigilantes armed with rifles and pistols and at eight that evening crossed to Nuevo Laredo. "In the face of the entire population of the place," Santos was said to have "seized the negro" and succeeded in "making good his retreat [with] his men to the boat." ... Reaching the north bank of the river, the men dragged the wounded Mussett along with the runaway slave up the steep bank and scurried off to the safety of the town, where their captive was lodged in the city jail.

The Ranchero went out of its way to praise Santos for being "foremost in confronting danger in support of the laws and institutions of Texas." It was not the first time Santos had "distinguished himself in restoring runaway slaves to their owners," the Ranchero went on to say. The newspaper also praised him for his refusal to "receive any recompense for his exertions." The writers hoped that Santos, through his actions, had gone a long way toward alleviating the widely held idea in Texas that people of "Mexican origin" were not loyal to the state. His daring actions had proven that citizens on the Rio Grande frontier were as committed as the most "rabid orator." In a few comments on November 17, 1860, the Ranchero again praised Santos for daringly crossing into Mexico to retrieve the runaway slave."

Jerry D. Thompson. Tejano Tiger: José de los Santos Benavides and the Texas-Mexico Borderlands, 1823-1891. The Texas Biography Series. Fort Worth: Texas Christian University Press, 2017.

Singled out.

At a young age, the South was the place where Cortez learned what it meant to be Jim Crowed, while for nonblack Latinos it was where they learned what it could mean to be free from that violence.  

Growing up, Cortez’s family was upper middle class. She attended a French Catholic private school where she was the only “colored” girl in her class. While she was the only “colored” girl, there were also two light-skinned Dominican girls in her class, the goddaughters of a member of the Trujillo family, a Korean girl and a Filipina. To the Dominican girls, Cortez was “just an American colored girl.”

During her senior year of high school, Cortez’s school decided to take the graduating class on a trip to Washington DC. Cortez, however, was excluded from the trip after the school decided to have the group stay in an all white hotel. Even in her racially diverse group, with a “Korean [girl] who was darker...the Filipina who was about [her] complexion...and the two girls from the Dominican Republic,” it was Cortez’s status as an African American that prevented her from staying in the hotel. Alienated by her classmates who she “lunch with everyday for four years,” Cortez was destroyed. When she spoke to her mother about the incident, Cortez’s mother lamented, “that’s just how white people are.” But “they’re not white,” Cortez responded. “Well,” her mother said, “that’s how they’re considered.” 

Cecilia Márquez, “The Strange Career of Juan Crow: Latino/as and the Making of the US South, 1940–2000,” PhD thesis, University of Virginia (2016)