Historical Presence

The U.S war with Mexico (1846) marked what scholar David G. Gutiérrez calls the “Mexican-American dilemma.” The outcome of the war led to ethnic Mexicans being given the rights of American citizens but denying the possibility to exercise them, thus “Americans planted the seeds of continuing ethnic discord in the region.” (Gutierrez, 1995) The assertion of U.S war with Mexico instead of U.S-Mexico war, is intentional to indicate how this conflict became the precedent set by the large expanding global power fueled by “manifest destiny” at the expense of the citizens from the latter country: the U.S, given their westward expansion, had greater military power, a larger population and more political/economic stability whereas Mexico had greater instability since they were under the dictatorship rule of Profirio Diaz after they had just gained independence from Spain. There were serious repercussions for the ethnic Mexicans of the Southwest: loss of land, loss of ways to make a living, loss of access to making a living, and loss of the possibility of acquiring any generational wealth. The resulting Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848), after the war, falsely promised American citizenship and, despite this, still imposed taxes and duties on Mexicans; Mexicans were particularly vulnerable due to low literacy and the lack of translated documents into Spanish. 

The treaty sparked associations with whiteness as a form of survival, but as Julia Dowling (2014) states in “Mexican Americans and the Question of Race,” legal whiteness of ethnic Mexicans would often actually make it more difficult to combat racial discrimination. Mobilization efforts began brewing, such as LULAC (The League of United Latin American Citizens, founded 1929), which evoked proximity to white identity (emphasizing European or Spanish ancestry), and La Raza Unida politics, which tended to reference indigenous roots and encouraged recognition of their cultural history/identity. Mexico, up to and after the treaty, was itself already contending with racial discrimination with government officials predominantly pushing a “mestizo” mixed heritage ideology/identity that erases the specific histories of the diverse peoples of the country (Native, African, Asian, etc.)

The outcomes of nation-building in both the U.S and Mexico in creating a clear history and identity, although it can be based on certain facts, what is left out can be dangerous. History can often be embellished and selective to maintain a romanticized view of a country’s origin, ignoring the harsh realities of its formation. In the U.S., it was on the grounds of a religious-based “manifest destiny” that it expanded to the west; this expansion resulted in the murder and displacement of the original inhabitants. In regard to Mexico, it was the “mestizaje” ideology that attempted to create a uniformity between citizens, ignoring the great carnage from the initial Spanish invasion. 

Miscegenation/Mestizaje in Mexico worked to create a national identity to remedy confrontations between the Spanish (the conquistadors of New Spain post-Conquest) and the indigenous (Zapotec, Aztec, Mexica, etc that occupied the lands pre-Conquest)—although descendants of African slaves, and those from global networks (Filipino merchants, travelers from other part of Asia, travelers from other parts of Europe and U.S) were largely not included in these imaginaries although were part of the make-up of the population (Oles, 2013). José Vasconcelos (1882-1959), the minister of Education in Mexico in the early 20th century, is known for idealizing mestizaje, notable in his work “The Cosmic Race” (Vasconcelos, 1925).  As Mary Coffey (2012) emphasizes, Raza Cosmica pushes a post-revolutionary mestizaje concept that elevates racial miscegenation to a transcendent eugenic principle: “Vasconcelos argues that  a ‘mixture of races accomplished through the laws of social well-being, sympathy, and beauty’ will lead to a cosmic race ‘infinitely superior to all that have previously existed.’” Vasconcelos, although he indicates the positives of mestizaje, still situates “Indian blood” as part of a race problem that contributes to “Mexico’s lack” in terms of “moral strength” with this “lower breed that produces madly” in the country and other parts of Latin America. (Coffey, 2012, p 7) 

  This transcendent “cosmic” mestizaje ideology resulted in a strategies like indigenismo that supported the mixing aspect but radically opposed the aspect of Indian as a “lower-breed” and, rather, celebrated this indigenous ancestry; however, although there was this is a positive recognition, it still remains problematic in viewing the current, existing, native tribes as a thing of the past. In “Art and Architecture in Mexico” (2013), James Oles argues that to encompass Mexico's cultural diversity, we must shift our focus from mestizaje to a more inclusive concept of hybridity.

 As for Puerto Rico, after 400 years under Spanish rule, it would soon face a new intervention during the Spanish-American War (1898). The country is known as one of the last two Spanish colonies in the New World to have experienced the longest period of Hispanic influence among Latin American countries. Given this, Puerto Rico has also been credited as one of the world's oldest colonies, having been under some form of military occupation or protectorate status since 1508 (Russell Schimmer, 1998). Before Spanish colonial rule, the land was known as Borinquen/Borikén (the land of the brave lord) to the dominant native Taíno occupants. The promise of gold led Christopher Columbus to the island, and upon his arrival, he subjugated the Taínos to servitude and inhumane treatment (primarily working in gold mines), resulting in severe declines in their population. In 1508, Puerto Rican archaeologist Don Ricardo Alegria calculated that, at most, the island had some 30,000 inhabitants; however, by 1530, it was reported that only 1148 remained, and this number only decreased by 1898. Another population prevalent at the time was the African slaves, who were brought in 1513 to work the land after gold reserves were nearly exhausted; they cultivated vegetables (fruits, vegetables, grains, corn, plantains) and tobacco (Russell Schimmer, 1998). 

  The Treaty of Paris (1898) granted the land from Spain to the U.S., and early farming activities evolved into a wealth-generating plantation system focused on cultivating sugarcane, tobacco, and coffee. About a decade later, the Jones Act was enacted in 1917, promising U.S. citizens' rights to Puerto Ricans; much like the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, it also imposed certain limitations on the exercise of these rights. For Puerto Ricans, after the island (or “profit Island”) was claimed as a territory, they were given citizenship status enacted by the Jones Act of 1917. However, it is considered a “second-class” status since they were denied equal rights to political participation; they do not have the constitutional right to trial by jury, they have no representation in Congress, and the President can veto any act of their legislature. Meléndez points out in Puerto Rican Migration and the Colonial State that the effects of the Jones Act falsely promoted the status of Puerto Ricans to U.S citizens, when in reality it was a move to continue “colonial governance,” which involved utilizing their migration to the U.S. or staying in Puerto Rico as labor-based. Once again, there is a clear recurrence of empty promises and liminal rights given by both Mexicans and Puerto Ricans. For Puerto Ricans, specifically, Jorge Duany describes this self-perception as a persistent colonial condition that views them as “Puerto Ricans first, Americans second,” which can become divisive:

 “Demographically and geographically, Puerto Rico is a nation on the move, as well as a nation without a state. At this juncture, Island intellectuals are sharply divided between those who believe that Puerto Ricans should fight for independence to preserve their cultural identity and those who believe that this struggle necessarily invokes a homogenizing, essentialist, and totalitarian fiction called ‘‘the nation.” (Duaney, 2002, p. 13)

The U.S utilized Puerto Rico as an example of modernization and industrial development for the rest of Latin America. Additionally, although Puerto Rico was promised by the U.S. that it would bring investment to impoverished regions, it was ultimately the investors and elites who reaped the profits, resulting in irreversible changes to the Island and its residents. (Fernández, 2012, p. 35)

Since the Jones Act (1917)  granted citizenship to those born on or after April 11th, 1899, it marked both the establishment of the U.S as the controlling government body and the freedom of movement between Puerto Rico and the U.S. In the text “Puerto Rican Chicago,” Mirelsie Velázquez writes how, from the mid-1800s to the early 20th century, Puerto Ricans migrated to cities like New York (groups such as students, merchants, political exiles, etc) to escape unwelcoming economic and political changes. Their migration was particularly encouraged by the U.S and Puerto Rican governments.

Gabriela Arredondo (2008) in “Mexican Chicago” brings forth the stories and lives of Mexicans living in Chicago in the early 1900s, eager to leave the economic and social unrest in Mexico to fill labor shortages resulting from World War I (steel, meatpacking, railroad industries, etc.). She notes that, although the city was a particular attraction for industrial opportunities, it was not always the initial destination for migrants but, often, a journey taken enroute to another destination or after already having experienced Southwestern states (the arena of Mexicans with generations of family before the border crossed them in 1848). Scholar Lilia Fernández (2012), as well, in her book “Brown in the Windy City”, indicates how many Tejanos (Mexican-Americans from Texas) particularly would come to the city in search of higher wages, contributing to the growth of the ethnic-Mexican enclaves at the time, which functioned as ports of entry for Mexican migrants in the expanding urban landscape. 

Puerto Ricans were also prevalent on the routes to fill job shortages, with a majority in New York; Velázquez (2022) writes that by 1920, 45 U.S. cities reported the presence of Puerto Ricans. According to John Flores (2018) in “The Mexican Revolution in Chicago”, the Mexican population in Chicago increased to more than twenty thousand with them representing the following: 40 percent of the maintenance-of-way railroad workforce of the city, 12 percent of steel and metal employees, 5 percent of meatpacking workers, and about 15 percent of all cement, rug-manufacturing, and fruit-packing laborers.

 The landscape by this time, through the Great Migration would see southern African-Americans with similar aspirations of work have been and increasingly began occupying the city which had in its residence as well: ethnic whites (Poles, Italians, Germans, Greeks), native-born “white” Americans, white Appalachian migrants, and in some cases Native Americans (the native Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Miami, Odawa and other nations were largely expelled from the area already)  (Fernández, 2012, p. 2).

Once the war ended, the Great Depression shook the nation, and Mexicans were quickly scapegoated as the reason for the job shortages and suffered from major deportations fueled by anti-immigration rhetoric. As Leonard Ramirez (2011) writes in “Chicanas on 18th street,” the population shifted from 20,000 to 16,000 Mexicans in 1930, resulting in fewer single men, more women and children, and more families with married couples. This is considered one of the stronger “pushes” of the push/pull factors that have and continue to impact the diasporan Latine experience in the U.S. The “in and out” of the population refers to the concept of the “revolving door,” where Mexicans were pushed in for labor and out for a threat to jobs. As Jenkin (1977) says in his journal, “Push/Pull in Recent Mexican Migration to the U.S”, “changes in the rate of migration from Mexico to the U.S. should be consistently related to changes in the economic conditions of the two countries” Therefore, the migration or push of immigrants were reliant on the U.S needs, which decided if they greeted with open arms or not. 

From the depression brought major job shortages from demand drops in sugar and coffee exports which further fueled migration to the U.S. Additionally, the rhetoric pushed by the U.S and Puerto Rican government of “overpopulation” was also a major contributor to leave the Island to “ameliorate the demographic pressures allegedly hampering Puerto Rico Economic development”; the overpopulation argument placed blame on Puerto Ricans for their social ills. (Velázquez, 2022, p. 12)

From World War II Mexicans as well as Puerto Ricans faced another major “pull” and became subjects of state-sponsored mass labor importations programs in the United States, serving as viable labor pools to fill American economic labor needs; “pull” refers to the factors that results in an individual settling in a country whereas “push” refers to the reasons (whether poverty, lack of social mobility, violence or persecution) that may cause an individual to leave their home (Bruzzone, 2020). With the “El Norte” desire still persistent, many programs were created, such as the Bracero and Emergency Farm Labour initiatives for agricultural and railroad work for Mexican migrants. In contrast, for Puerto Rican migration, initiatives like Operation Bootstrap/Manos a la Obra and the Migrant Division program were established for a similar purpose.

  In 1951, Operation Bootstrap was launched to industrialize Puerto Rico by creating work programs—for foundries, steel, and domestic work—that would lure companies to hire people for low-paying jobs. Male seasonal contract agricultural laborers and female domestic servants were sent to the U.S mainland. This act was an effort to modernize the island and serve as a catalyst for economic production, with the push for “autonomy” of a certain homogenized view of the Puerto Rican position in relation to the U.S., which was meant to help the growth of their colonizers (Jorge Duaney, 2002). 

Until the 1950s, mainland Puerto Rican communities were predominantly concentrated in the U.S. Northeast, primarily in New York City. The postwar migration of contract laborers contributed to the increase of Puerto Rican communities in various midwestern cities, including Chicago, Illinois; Milwaukee, Wisconsin; and Gary, Indiana. (Jimenez and Santiago, 2017, p. 4) Operation Bootstrap promoted the exchange of U.S capital for Puerto Rican surplus labor but, as detailed in “Puerto Rican Nation” (Jorge Duaney, 2002), this initiative was an anomaly since instead of capitalizing on the islands abundant resources and labor power it “cast a majority of the population into forced idleness, underemployment, and a restless circulation between colony and metropolis.”

 “Following Operation Bootstrap, came the next step, which is the preparation of Puerto Rican working class before their migration to the U.S. This was called the Migration Division: ‘In Puerto Rico, the government used its bureaucratic institutions, like the Departments of Labor and Education, to advise and organize the flow of migrants to the United States, be it as  individual migrants.’" (Meléndez, p. 11)

As mentioned above, the Migration Division Program was a more organized form of the “Revolving Door” concept, but with a more consistent trajectory movement of migration to the U.S; the difference firmly being the geographic location and the political power standpoint. The program was initiated in 1947 and was meant to provide migrants with information about job opportunities, training programs, and settlement assistance, and to assist in the transition to the U.S. They had four regional offices in New York, Chicago, New Jersey, and Cleveland to supervise these services. Mérida Rúa (2012) writes in “Grounded Identidad” that, after the decline of manufacturing jobs in the U.S., coinciding with the dense concentration of Puerto Ricans in New York, this program was created to assist US industries and manage migration by redirecting it westward. In 1956, the promotional film “Un amigo en Chicago” was circulated by the Migration Division to persuade potential migrants of the relative ease in finding employment, better salaries, and desirable housing options in Chicago; program representatives would also investigate employment opportunities in Chicago for Puerto Ricans in New York and Puerto Rico (Rúa, 2012).

Pérez (2004) writes that the 1940s brought a larger wave of Puerto Rican migration to Chicago, with only a handful of Puerto Ricans arriving from New York in the 1930s. Greatly influencing this migration was the recruitment by Chicago-based employment agencies such as Castle, Barton, and Associates, which hired Puerto Rican men for foundry work and women for domestic labor. These workers resided in both the inner city and the surrounding Chicago suburbs. 

Rúa estimates that by 1954, between 5,000 and 20,000 Puerto Ricans were in Chicago. Puerto Rican women, particularly, were already significant contributors to wage-earning during the 1920s and 1930s for U.S. needlework companies doing piecework in their homes; as a result, they were also part of labor activism to reform it. However, the companies' withdrawal from Puerto Rico led to increased migration from rural areas to urban areas and to the United States (Amador, 2015, p. 70). The women would soon be involved in the Migration Division program, which is known for providing them with a steady bridge to the U.S. to do household labor (live-in and/or live-out, babysitter, mother’s helper, nursemaid, etc.). Regarding Mexican migration to the city, their push/pull factors, although similar, had a particular additive vulnerability due to their legal status.

The Bracero program (1842-1962) resulted from talks among officials from the Departments of Agriculture, State, Labor, and Justice, the War Manpower Commissions, and the Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs exploring the idea of importing temporary Mexican laborers. The first five hundred workers arrived in California and, although initially most then on would arrive in the Southwest, many worked in crops and orchards in Midwestern states (Illinois, Michigan, Ohio, Minnesota, Wisconsin) as early as 1944 (Fernández, 2012, p. 30). 

To U.S. companies, Mexican laborers were an ideal mobile, nonunion, noncitizen workforce, lacking legal protections, and would shoulder layoffs associated with seasonal agricultural work and the fluctuation cycles of industrial production. As John Flores (2018) writes in “The Mexican Revolution in Chicago,” labor agencies typically enlisted Mexicans to work in midwestern agriculture, but after arriving in Chicago, they often used opportunities to work for industrial and manufacturing plants that offered immediate jobs and higher wages. The braceros were predominantly from the Bajío region of Mexico (Guanajuato, Jalisco, Michoacán, and Querétaro).

Even though the Bracero program, specifically, hired Mexican male migrants only, Mexican women were not absent in migration and occupations in the U.S., despite the fact that Mexico had gendered policies preventing women and children from leaving with male migrants for fear of losing too many nationals and decreasing labor for their own railroad and agricultural systems. During World War II, Mexican women contributed to the war effort through their work in defense industry factories. These positions gave them a unique opportunity to enjoy better working environments and higher pay, while providing more autonomy in the home. Many women took pride in their contributions to the war effort, stating they did the job “for their country” (Escobedo, 2013, p. 77). This was contradictory to the treatment many of these women received, often left with the least desirable jobs, lesser pay compared to their male counterparts, and with gender exploitation forcing them to stay at home. One of the women in the article said: “Hitler was the one that got us out of the white folk kitchens.”(Escobedo, 2013, p. 74).

After the war, even though Mexican women would largely be returned to the home as carers and companions, many still worked (albeit on top of home duties). As Arredondo stresses, migration affected women differently depending on the geographical and cultural contexts they were exposed to, as well as the legal and social conditions that shaped their experiences. In particular, the availability of divorce, even though it created a greater financial burden and peer judgment about their full “Americanization,” allowed for greater independence (Ramirez, 2021, p. 3). Participants in consumer culture, Mexican women were also active in labor struggles (such as those in the 1930s) with their labor involvement predominantly in garment industries and in informal economics like cleaning houses, sewing work, laundry, childcare, etc; however, they also had involvement, as their male counterparts, in agriculture and industry (meatpacking houses, steel factories, etc) (Arredondo, 2003).

 Before 1930, Mexican migrants were predominantly urban and middle-class from central Mexico, border states, and northwestern Mexico; but after, unskilled, blue-collar laborer Mexican migrants from predominantly the Bajío region increased (Flores, 2018, p 130). As emphasized by Flores, braceros were not “cheap, docile workers” but, rather, would stand up for their better treatment through filing complaints and by skipping on their contracts in search of fairer, safer, and higher-paid work if their needs were not met; migrant workers often faced underpay, hazardous conditions, substandard housing/rations, and physical assaults. However, if they took the route of opposition, it placed them in danger if they transitioned from bracero to “illegals” or “wetbacks.” (Flores, 2018, p. 130) This would be particularly concerning given the growing anti-immigrant rhetoric that fueled initiatives that targeted them.  

“Operation Wetback” in 1954 is considered one of the largest mass deportations of undocumented workers in the U.S., which sent about a million or more Mexican immigrants, some who came here legally through labor programs tied to labor work, back to Mexico. At this point, to appease the the agribusinesses, many migrant workers had to participate in the “drying out the wetback” process in re-crossing the border as new braceros; this problematic procedure in addition to the increased militarization of the INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service) expanding transportation opportunities for deportation (bus, train and planes) made for a strong border patrol presence felt from the border states and beyond (to the Midwest regions) (Flores, 2018, p. 132). Police would work alongside the INS to carry out multiple raids in predominantly Mexican neighborhoods on the basis of eliminating the threats to national security. 

This presence would put all Latines at risk since particularly many Puerto Rican migrant workers were concurrently recruited for labor (fieldwork, foundries, domestic work) just as labor programs for Mexicans like the bracero program started; thus, many Puerto Ricans would often be targeted as wetbacks and stopped by police, although the majority avoided deportation (Fernández, 2012). This would become one of the strong factors that contributed to Mexicans living in predominantly Puerto Rican neighborhoods to decrease deportation risk, as highlighted by Fernández. 

Overall, both Puerto Ricans and Mexicans tended to avoid being in public to prevent the risk of deportation and/or harassment. Amezcua (2022) notes that Operation Wetback’s campaign in Chicago was not a replication of their operations in the Southwest; rather, it was an opportunity to “dislodge the communities that Mexicans built in the industrial North” (p. 36). Chicago’s Operation Wetback purposely started on Mexican Independence Day (September 16th, 1954), taking advantage of the fact that many Mexican residents would be outside celebrating with floats, performers, marching bands, etc. A more densely populated city, Chicago served as the perfect site not only for greater ease in their search but also for spreading and utilizing their military's manpower, vehicles, and detention powers that had been “rehearsed” in the U.S. Southwest (Amezcua, 2022).

Mexicans and Puerto Ricans were continuously unrecognized as equals, being exploited for their inconsistent status and labor; Velázquez (2022) notes in her book that though Puerto Ricans had perceived citizenship, it did not stop city officials from viewing them as deportable and therefore led to constant profiling. U.S. immigration policy was fairly open before World War II and the end of the 19th century; underpopulation was, in fact, the main concern. However, with the rise of the Mexican population and the increased migration of other Latine migrants in the U.S, concerns based on eugenics emerged, fueling the “Latino Threat” narrative (Chavez, 2008).  “This narrative asserts that contemporary Latino immigrants are not like earlier (European) immigrants and pose a serious danger to the nation. This narrative is constructed based on “taken-for-granted truths'' that get propagated via radio and television news and talk shows, newspaper editorials, Internet blogs, and other media”(Fernández, 2010). The “Latino threat” narrative was coined by scholar Leo Chavez and describes the racialization of Latino immigrants, especially heightened by the media. The Eugenics movement was influential in pushing this narrative in order to conserve the “superior race” against the “unfit”, “feeble-minded” people that bring violence, diseases, and overpopulation (Romero, 2009). 

As Fernández notes, there has been a great lack of acknowledgement of Latinos as a prevalent minority group since Americans tend to conceptualize race and racial prejudice within a strict black and white terms, recognizing primarily Black Americans; this lack would persist even when Latinos or Spanish-speaking descent people surpassed African Americans as the largest minority group in the US as of 2001 (Fernández, 2021).

“In some ways, they are an indecipherable people—conquered or colonized in parts of the continental United States and the Caribbean, but simultaneously voluntary immigrants from other places in Latin America. Because of their diversity and ambiguous status, for decades researchers have struggled with how to study and classify Latinos. Are they a racial “minority” group or are they “immigrants”? (Fernández, 2012).

In the Chicagoland area, this ambiguity is particularly apparent given the large historical migrations of Mexicans and Puerto Ricans. White-ethnic blue-collar neighborhoods would become incubators of anti-immigration and anti-Latino sensibilities, which grew from these drastic demographic changes that residents were witnessing right outside their front doors. (Amezcua, 2022). Puerto Ricans and Mexicans contributed a “brown” experience that disturbed the already existent “Black and white” dichotomy established in the neighborhoods they would start residing in. “Brown, " as Fernández (2012) details, is not a universal color assignment of Mexicans and Puerto Ricans but, rather, a placeholder (within the racial taxonomy of the U.S) to capture the malleability of meaning to the social difference they are believed to embody. (Fernández, 2012, p. 17). It is this social difference and situation between white and African Americans that connects these groups to embrace a shared Latino identity, although there are still distinct histories and relationships to the U.S that impact their perceived legitimacy as immigrants and citizens. 

At the beginning of the 20th century, the major areas of Mexican migration would be to the Near West Side, Packingtown/Back of the Yards (where the meatpacking and slaughterhouses are located), and the South; although urban renewal would push them further out to major locations such as the South/Southwest, particularly. These areas or “colonias,” as described by Amezcua (2022) in “Making Mexican Chicago,” didn’t have Mexicans as the majority at the time but were also occupied by European migrants, Blacks, and Puerto Ricans. Influenced by both the limited employment and encouragement by city officials, Puerto Rican migrants tended to settle predominantly in or near the center of the city in neighborhoods such as Lincoln Park, Lake View, and the Near Northside (Velázquez, 2022, p. 44). Puerto Ricans, specifically, since they were fewer in number than Blacks and Mexicans, formed barrios scattered throughout the city, as described by scholar Felix Padilla in “Puerto Rican Chicago.” Their presence is most notable in the West Town/Humboldt Park area, which was home to the city's largest concentration of Puerto Ricans in 1960. (Padilla, 1987). Though Puerto Ricans were also present in the Near Northside (named “The Gold Coast and the Slum” by Harvey Zorbaugh), living next to Chicago’s wealthiest families, it was due to urban renewal renovations and an increase in rental pricing that they were soon forced to relocate to other parts of the city.  

The neighborhoods relevant (but not limited to) in this project are the following: 1. Pilsen (Lower West Side) 2. Little Village (Southwest side) 3. Gage Park  (Southwest side) 4. Back of the Yards  (Southwest side) 5. Humboldt Park (West side) 6. Logan Square (Northwest side) 7. Uptown (Near North Side) 8. Boystown (Northside). These areas are points of interest due to their proximity not only to the murals but also to the locations where these Latine muralists are based or grew up. 

The Pilsen neighborhood (popularly known as “Eighteenth Street” and “Heart of Chicago”) was the site of mostly Eastern and Central European immigrants (Polish, Czechoslovakian predominantly) up until the 1950s, after which many Mexican immigrants would settle due to its proximity to downtown industrial jobs and inexpensive housing (Sternberg and Anderson, 2012). Around the 1960s, at the same time Mexicans began moving in due to displacement from expressway construction, urban renewal, and the construction of the new University of Illinois campus (UIC), the area’s white population began declining (previous decades of children and grandchildren of European migrants) (Fernández, 2012). This would result in Pilsen becoming a new port of entry for incoming Mexican immigrants and Tejano migrants (Mexican Americans from Texas) arriving through the 60s and 70s. According to Fernandez (2012), several hundred Puerto Ricans would also contribute to this Spanish-speaking population; in 1960, they made up only 14 percent of the Pilsen population, but by 1970, it had risen to 55 percent. As indicated by Sternberg and Anderson (2014) in their study on Bronzeville and Pilsen, unlike the African Americans, it was white-led gentrification that historically displaced the Latino population; this would be seen in areas like Wicker Park, Bucktown, Lincoln Park, and University Village, which led to the displacement of low-income Latinos by affluent Whites since as early as the 1970s. Pilsen, specifically, due to its proximity to downtown and depressed property and land, was a particular interest to developers. However, activism in the Pilsen community, such as groups like the Pilsen Alliance, would be successful in preventing the fates seen in the other neighborhoods described earlier (Wicker Park, Bucktown, etc), forcing the retreat of developers; but it is still an ongoing battle (Sternberg and Anderson, 2012). 

Little Village (popularly known as “26th street” and “La Villita”) on the Southwest/South Lawndale side got its name as part of a rebranding campaign to encourage a neighborhood fix-up, initiated by real estate agent Richard A. Dolejs. Amezcua (2022) details that Dolejs aimed to promote a local heritage to evoke the small Czech and Slavic villages “from which his forebears came”; this promoted a white, even if immigrant, identity to “sever association” with the neighboring Black community (“North Lawndale/Black Lawndale”) (Amezcua, 2022). The official establishment of “Little Village” became more solidified after North Lawndale was designated as the “worst ghetto in the country” by Life magazine. South Lawndale community members quickly voted for the name “Little Village” after much worry about being associated with a black neighborhood with such negative connotations, and instead with the Old World, rural/small-town origins of its early European immigrants. (Fernández, 2012). A Landmark Designation report done by the Commission on Chicago Landmarks (2021) states that Mexicans began arriving in the South Lawndale area in the 1940s and that, despite the name change to “stem white flight,” European descent families increasingly moved out to suburban areas (Cicero, Berwyn, Riverside) by the 1960s. For Mexican families, Little Village offered them affordable housing and a walkable, self-contained community. They migrated for similar reasons as those who migrated to Pilsen: displacement from urban renewal projects and the building of the UIC campus. The report states that as of 2012, the population of Little Village is 84 percent Latino (of which 77 percent is Mexican/Mexican-American), 12 percent African-American, and 3.9 percent foreign-born. Together, Pilsen and Little Village accounted for over one-third of the city’s Mexican population and represented the largest concentration of Mexican people in the Midwest, officially becoming Mexican barrios by 1980 (Fernandez, 2012).

The Gage Park neighborhood was settled by predominantly German immigrants in the 1840s and was known as Lake Town until it was annexed to Chicago in 1889. The area was named “Gage Park” in honor of George W. Gage, a Chicago Commissioner who laid out a plan to build a park there. In the 1920s, many Bohemian and Polish people migrated there and worked at the neighboring Union Stockyards (an area now known as the Back of the Yards).  As stated in the Encyclopedia of Chicago (2005), Gage Park was historically a testing ground in the 1960s for integrating African-Americans into affordable housing complexes and schools, although it was strongly resisted by white residents at the time. Currently, Gage Park is occupied by a predominantly Latino working class.

Back of the Yards was annexed by Chicago in 1889, as it was part of the Town of Lake and experienced great expansion due to the stockyards and its concentration of railroads. Back of the Yards is located at the former Union Stock Yard and packing plants, which were considered the largest livestock yards and meatpacking center in the country until the 1950s (University of Chicago-Chicago studies, 2022). The job prospects in the meatpacking industry attracted many European immigrants (Irish, German, Polish, Lithuanian, Slovakian, etc.) and later Mexican immigrants. The Union Stock Yard officially closed in 1971, which resulted in a serious economic decline and physical deterioration. By this time, the population was becoming majority Latine; 62 percent Latine and 22 percent African American, as reported by the Chicago Metropolitan Agency for Planning in 2023. In the article “The Story of the Back of the Yards” by WTTW Chicago’s Monique Wingard, it is stated that by the 1990s, the area had become a busy industrial hub.

Humboldt Park (popularly known as “Paseo Boricua”) was annexed by Chicago the same year it was named in honor of naturalist and geographer Alexander von Humboldt in 1869. The first wave of migration saw Germans, Scandinavians (mostly Danish and Norwegian), Poles, Ukrainians, Italians, and European Jews; it was given a status as a “cultural hub,” which is reflected by the statues erected of Humboldt for the Germans, Leif Erickson for the Scandinavians, and Thaddeus Kosciuszko for the Poles. (University of Chicago-Chicago studies, 2022) Around the 50s and 60s is when larger migrations of Puerto Ricans settled in the area, which —similarly to the Mexican migrations to Pilsen and Little Village— was a result of the construction of the Congress Expressway, residential redevelopment, and urban renewal that pushed them out of the downtown and Near Northside areas in which they previously occupied. Humboldt Park and also the neighboring West Town area (though also occupied by African Americans and Mexicans) became known as Puerto Rican barrios as a result of the departure of European Americans. By 1980, the white population declined to less than 24 percent. African Americans made up 36 percent, and the Spanish-speaking accounted for nearly 41 percent; even though Puerto Ricans did not constitute the majority, Humboldt Park would still be designated as a Puerto Rican Barrio (Fernández, 2012, p. 154). As of 2024, Humboldt Park has been designated a Puerto Rico Town (the first in the city) by the Illinois Assembly, which works to revitalize the area by promoting economic development and preserving historic traditions (Crain’s Chicago Business, 2024). This is particularly significant because the area is made up mostly of mom-and-pop shops that were hit hard by the COVID-19 pandemic, and because the community has been facing higher rents and taxes as a result of gentrification. This designation also paves the way for other neighborhoods in Chicago, such as Little Village and Chinatown, to receive these protections. 

Logan Square was an open prairie occupied by farmers until it was annexed by Chicago in 1889. The railroad tracks that were built in the area opened it up for development; at this time, many German and Scandinavian immigrants lived there due to its affordable housing. With the “L” rapid transit station established that connects them to neighborhoods across the city, housing construction increased— particularly after World War I, wherein many Poles, Russians, and Jews became a part of the demographic (University of Chicago-Chicago studies, 2022). After 1930, the population declined as properties deteriorated; the Kennedy Expressway construction and the (Blue Line) station were considered a disruption to residential and commercial life. However, complete abandonment of the area was averted thanks to the Logan Square Neighborhood Association, which worked to revive and improve living conditions. By the 1960s, Spanish-speaking immigrants became the majority and, as reported in the Encyclopedia of Chicago, accounted for almost 2/3rds of the population (Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, and Central Americans). Puerto Ricans, particularly those pushed out of areas in the Near North and inner city, would make Logan Square their new home (although to a lesser extent than Humboldt Park and West Town) in the ‘60s and '70s (Fernandez, 2012, p. 149).

Originally part of Lake View Township, Uptown became incorporated into the city in 1857 and was occupied by middle-income and wealthy residents. Early settlers were predominantly German and Swedish immigrants. The establishment of the railroad system, which connected Uptown to downtown and other parts of the city, made Uptown accessible and spurred the construction of new spaces (stores, offices, apartments, etc.) (Maly, 2005). However, after the Great Depression, the area experienced increased unemployment, overcrowding, and a decline in businesses. Suburban out-migration increased as a result, placing a financial strain on landlords due to the excess vacancies they could not maintain. The neglected properties provided accessibility for migrants to live there, and by the ‘50s appeared: Appalachian whites, Japanese, Puerto Ricans, Native Americans from other U.S states (encouraged by the Bureau of Indian Affairs to integrate into cities), and mental health patients who were sent to apartments and halfway houses. Uptown was given negative associations such as “Hillbilly Ghetto”, “The New Skid Row”, and “Uptown the Psychiatric Ghetto.” By the ‘60s and 70s, other groups were more largely integrated into the demographic, including refugees (from Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Haiti, and Ethiopia) and then Blacks and Latinos from other parts of the city who were looking for a diverse community to escape run-down, homogenous communities on the south and west sides. (Maly, 2005). Felix Padilla (1987) in “Puerto Rican Chicago” writes that for Puerto Ricans specifically, Uptown was one of their earlier settlements in the city (alongside Lakeview, Near Northside, and Lincoln Park).

Not far from Uptown, Boystown is in the Lakeview area of Chicago. Widely known as the “gay enclave” of Chicago, it provides a safe space and services to the LGBTQ community and was designated the city's “gay district” in 1997. This area has hosted the Pride Parades since the Stonewall uprising in 1969. The community was formulated as a result of persecution and discrimination against homosexuality. Beginning in the ‘70s, medical clinics, gay community centers, and gay bars gradually opened up, which only attracted more gay businesses and residents to develop into what is now an undeniable LGBTQ identity.

As stated previously, the neighborhoods discussed here are an overview, a condensed version of a richer, deeper history. Additionally, these are not all the neighborhoods in which Latine groups have historically resided or reside, but are the most relevant locations to discuss as they relate to the project. Lastly, given Chicago’s density, which results in a larger concentration of Mexicans and Puerto Ricans, this does not mean that Latines did not migrate to other parts of Illinois. Opportunities for fieldwork would lead migrants to move to other, more rural areas in Illinois, and the impacts of gentrification would push them further out of the city. 

Mexicans who arrived in Chicago during the early 20th century were in the midst of the revolution, whereas in the Southwest, Spanish-speaking communities would develop during the colonial period. It is for this reason that Flores (2018) argues that in many ways, Chicago was closer to Mexico than many of the ethnic Mexican communities in the Southwest. By the 1940s, Mexican-American leadership began to form, as Flores defines, between the liberal, the radical, and the traditional: 1. The radical revolutionary politics would empower Mexican workers whose hard labor was used for the production of goods and services for Mexico, the U.S, and the global capitalist market. They dreamed of creating a Mexico that would allow them the choice to stay there with a high standard of living. 2. The liberals utilized nationalist foundations of Mexican Chicago in the 1920s and aimed to create a community and reform movement that celebrated anticlerical and liberal Mexico as well as the indigenous and “mestizaje” heritage of Mexican peoples. They criticized U.S. racial discrimination, devalorized whiteness, and denounced U.S. imperialism and intervention in Latin America. 3. Traditionalists were faithful Catholics aiming to contain the anticlericalism and radicalism sparked by the revolution. They believed in a sense of morality that does not forsake the Catholic and empathetic ethic that they see as the defining aspect of Mexicanidad. (Flores, 2018, p 135)

From these ideologies, organizations were formed in Chicago, such as LULAC, aiming to increase U.S. citizenship for Mexicans and secure their rights (via proximity to whiteness), or the GI Forum that defended Mexican veterans of World War II after they were denied benefits. The 1960s, particularly, sparked newer generations to reimagine their position in society, especially after witnessing monumental historical moments like the farmworkers movement and the assassination of both Dr. Martin Luther King Jr and Fred Hampton. They worked in collaboration with their Black and Puerto Rican counterparts to create community after struggling to get local institutions to serve their needs. Therefore, Mexican residents in Chicago saw themselves as part of the growing Chicano Movement, which aligned with their objectives to combat institutional racism and instead promote equal labor and political rights. The Southwest narrative of the movement capitalized on the critique of the U.S empire on former Mexican northern lands; and though Mexicans in Chicago could not necessarily claim “the border crossed them,” it did not deter them from their mission and efforts to establish themselves, especially since there is a great connection of migration spanning decades between Mexico and the Midwest area. As documented in “Chicanas of 18th Street,” Chicana activist María Gamboa (2011) writes about how the Chicano movement spread a consciousness in Chicago that recognized a history of struggle in both the U.S. and Mexico. However, Gamboa firmly emphasizes that the struggle in Chicago, in the U.S., was the most imperative to address.

“I don’t agree when people say we’re all Mexicans transplanted here. No! We’re not Mexicanos all transplanted. I’ve never lived in Mexico! I’ve never struggled in Mexico! I’ve never felt the oppression that people in Mexico have.” (Ramirez, 2011, p. 91)

Gamboa says that the movement brought unity among the young, the old, the working class, the undocumented, and among first-, second-, and later-generation Mexican-Americans. From Gamboa’s account, it was the “campañeros” who came from Mexico and struggled there that brought lessons to their fight in Chicago. 

  A notable “hub” (founded in 1970) for this movement was at Casa Aztlan, located in Pilsen, which was designated for community organizing, running a free clinic, supporting the arts, and providing immigration services, among other functions aligned with their self-determination. The Brown Berets, for instance, modeled after the Black Panther Party, considered it “home” (Gómez-Quiñones, 2014). The Brown Berets were regarded as the muscle of the movement, made up of mostly former gang members and Vietnam vets. Although the Chicago Berets saw themselves as militant but nonviolent in their efforts to protect and maintain the free clinic in Casa Aztlan, they were still criticized as just being a new gang. (Montejano, 2012, p. 50) 

Compared to their counterparts in the Southwest, Mexican and Mexican Americans in Chicago found it difficult to gain visibility as a racial minority in need of federal entitlement programs that aim to remedy social inequities (Fernández, 2012, p. 231). El Centro de la Causa is an organization (founded in 1971) that aimed to empower local Mexican residents and provide opportunities for youth; it also worked to supplement Casa Aztlan, which was constantly in demand. As Fernandez writes, since they were largely unrecognized and had minimal political representation, El Centro provided an alternative to traditional patronage systems, establishing community-controlled projects instead. 

  The Chicano movement, praised for promoting unity and a new sense of pride among Mexican-descent peoples, still had a shaky foundation. The formulation of the mythological “Aztlan” (the American Southwest) brought forth claims to Native American and Aztec heritage for Chicanos and to the recovery of a lost homeland, whether physical or spiritual. However, as stated by Alicia Gaspar de Alba (2003) in “Chicano Art,” the idea of Aztlan was largely influenced by patriarchal cultural nationalism that embraces indigenismo and focuses predominantly on race and class struggles without considering gender and sexuality issues; this wouldn’t come to the forefront until closer to the 80s-90s when discussions of the intersectionality between the Chicano identity and feminist politics became more apparent.  

The Puerto Rican experience in Chicago is what island officials and local press popularly labeled “The Chicago Experiment” since New York was considered the more “traditional” center of the mainland population (Staudenmaier, 2017, p. 690). As the farthest from New York, the area was presented to migrants as a fresh start that would have been otherwise contested elsewhere on the mainland. However, as emphasized in Rúa’s “Grounded Latinidad” (2012), their experience has been largely absent in popular accounts, especially the role they played in intervening between whites and Blacks. Sonio Song-Ha Lee (2014) posits that the Puerto Rican racial and ethnic identity is an interplay between their sensibilities as people of color with African Americans, Hispanics with other Spanish-speaking groups, and as members of a distinct Puerto Rican nation. Furthermore, she argues that both African Americans and Puerto Ricans were pivotal actors of Blackness and Puerto Rican-ness that make the boundaries between these categories permeable. 

The Young Lords Organization (YLO), with origins in Chicago in the late 1960s, worked to address this permeability, which led to their experiences of being overpoliced and displaced. Originally a street gang comprised of Puerto Rican youth (women known as “Lordettes”), it soon became a grassroots political collective led by activist Jose “Cha Cha” Ramirez. In addition to their stance against displacement, they demanded low-income housing and, though short-lived, ran a daycare program. They were based in a Puerto Rican community on the north side of Chicago, Lincoln Park, which faced threats of urban renewal. Although women were involved and YLO supported gender equity, it was still primarily masculinist and androcentric in its posture, politics, and leadership (Fernández, 2012, p. 195). Unfortunately, the YLO was not able to halt the high-end housing that pushed low-income Puerto Rican residents out of the neighborhood. This sparked a migration that would lead them further west to areas like Humboldt Park.

As noted by Duaney (2002), ideologies amongst Puerto Ricans existed at a juncture between a national identity and sovereignty. Similar to the use of “Chicano” and the Mexican ideology of “mestizaje,” the Commonwealth government, officially adopting cultural nationalism, presents a dominant image of a Puerto Rican nation with a harmonious integration of three cultures and races (Spanish, Taínos, and African). However, this conflation glosses over inner conflicts and promotes the myth of racial democracy. On the positive side, it allowed the adoption of cultural institutions that revived the study and embrace of the island’s rich diversity and culture, including that of the original inhabitants, the Taínos. This has led to the creation of the identity “boricua”, or “borinqueno” for Puerto Ricans, as an emotional way to recognize this history. This is particularly adopted in the diaspora in the U.S., as a form of yearning or endearment, and as a way to maintain ties with the island despite being generations apart. “DiaspoRican” is another term used to describe the varied experiences of the Puerto Rican diaspora in the U.S. It was originally coined by poet Mariposa to embody the complexity of Puerto Rican identity.

  Puerto Ricans in the city faced displacement, housing discrimination, high unemployment rates, and police brutality. A prominent instance of the brutality occurred in the summer of  1966 during the first Puerto Rican parade in Chicago, known as the Division Street riots, which was sparked after a Puerto Rican youth was shot by a police officer. This is credited as the turning point for the politicization of Puerto Rican Chicagoans, which brought to light the harsh conditions they were experiencing in deteriorating and neglected neighborhoods. In addition to the efforts of the Migration Division regional office, organizations like the Los Caballeros de San Juan denounced the “human slums” conditions in public housing (Fernandez, 2012, p. 145). A key religious institution, the Caballeros supported the integration of Puerto Ricans into Chicago’s mainstream life while also maintaining cultural pride (Perez, Encyclopedia of Chicago, 2004).

Latino Urbanism, or Latino New Urbanism, emerged as a response to unsustainable development patterns and to New Urbanism's insensitivity to multiculturalism. Tracing the genealogy of this term, Clara Irazábal (2012) indicates in “Beyond Latino New Urbanism” that it was proposed as a way to acknowledge and respond to the ethnic needs and lifestyles of US Latina/os in the built environment. One pressing issue is the threat of gentrification to these areas, a phenomenon Latino Urbanism has sought to describe as impacting current community members through the “beautification” to “tropicalization” of the city. According to L.A. city planning, it is a “broad term used to categorize the multiple practices by which Latinos have created and contributed to the forms, functions, and cultural landscapes of American cities.” There is no single, all-encompassing image or concept of Latino Urbanism, since settlements and historical developments can be traced back to pre-colonial periods (pre-Hispanic Missions, Native tribal lands, etc.). 

One of the subjects of this project, Puerto Rican muralist Cristian Roldan (2023), sees mural art in the urban sphere as an alternative space for education since galleries and museums have been notorious for “othering” and “romanticizing” the marginalized. However, when it comes to conversations about muralists' roles in promoting gentrification and development, it becomes more difficult to untangle. In the literature “Heart of a Mission,” Cary Cardova (2017) writes how this tropicalizing of “cold urban space” occurred in the San Francisco Mission District (filled with murals by Latine artists), making “desirable urban bohemia part of the mainstream.” Often, this tropicalization smooths over any conflict in the news, describing the area as “a quaint area for tourism and gentrification” (NYT). Consumption of Latino cultures historically depoliticizes and others the cultures, a “tropicalized borderland, physically and culturally indicative of Latino identity.” The mission is thus described as an “alternative lifestyle”, an expression of nonconformity. Cardova (2017) writes about white anti-gentrification activist Kevin Keating, who says people like him who want to get as far away from the mainstream without leaving the US end up in neighborhoods like the Mission, wherein the whole process of gentrification is “initiated”—at times, though, the tropicalization gives a platform for resistance.

“The difference between graffiti and public art is generally in the eye of the beholder – and for some, they are one in the same. But discerning between the two will get a little easier for city crews in Chicago, thanks to the launch of a mural registry” (Thometz, 2019).

As announced by the public media outlet WTTW Chicago, the 2019-established mural registry is a promise of protection for Chicago-based artists and their work. More than that, this registry is the city's initiative to solve the age-old issue of what is legal, “public art” (i.e., murals), and what is illegal art (i.e., graffiti), given that the lines between these two genres are blurred more each year. The shift in acceptance between what is deemed “street art” and “public art” depends on the community's viewpoint and the surrounding establishment. Scholar Paola Mezzedri’s (2021) article details this condition as dependent on whether a piece is socially recognized as art and/or as beloved artifacts and testimonies, “which spread the values of civilization.” Therefore, the question is less about whether or not to preserve an art piece but “what to preserve and who can decide it?” Mezzedri argues that art becomes “public art” (therefore, accepted art) when administrations and institutions deem it their moral duty to conserve the artwork. 

Now, with the mural registry enacted by the city of Chicago, the decision opens up to artists and the community on what is deemed an artifact to be protected. However, the title “mural registry” suggests a clear association between mural art and its legality, as opposed to graffiti; Chicago graffiti-style work can still be registered (and is) under this umbrella. Though this is a step forward in protecting such—initially criminalized—art forms as the heavily influential and monumental graffiti style, this registry still reinforces those negative connotations and disregards the history tied to this genre. Bruce’s work (2019) argues that conflating graffiti with illegal uncritically adopts social problem narratives, when, in fact, its approach varies across official, unofficial, commercial, and vernacular spheres. Graffiti (a social practice and aesthetic) is more than simple resistance; it is a spotlight for urban communication, a “caption for the urbanity” with transnational possibilities, in addition to its typically regarded status as a counter-hegemonic space for representation. (Bruce, 2019) 

Looking back at the first movements that made art more accessible to the public, whether as audiences or participants, can reveal the varying interpretations of these art styles (graffiti, murals, public art, street art). Before the Chicago mural registry, many public art pieces were unfortunately not afforded these protections, having been lost to whitewashing/removal, which is one of the main reasons this initiative exists. 

As discussed earlier, graffiti has been typically defined as a counter-hegemonic social practice that functions as a stand-in for rupture and cultural transformation (Bruce, 2019, p. 11). Whereas a mural is defined, by Heather Becker’s book (2002), as a painting on a wall that has a particular function in society whether it’s a cave, place of worship, home, factory, school, library, courthouse, or business; in whichever space, the target audience is usually firmly public that is away from personal vision and, rather, to a broader form of communication that is rooted in shared social beliefs. This form is typically tied to restrictions such as the purpose of the architectural structure, fixed spatial requirements, and the appropriateness of the subject matter for its audience (Becker, 2002, p. 47).

In the United States, murals date back to the 17th and 18th centuries, during which time they were primarily regarded as provincial, seen mostly within the interior decoration of private homes. Opportunities to produce more public murals were made possible by the Academic (aka the American Renaissance) mural movement, described by Becker as the “first major American mural movement.” Lasting from the 19th to the early 20th century, this period resulted in murals in more public spaces, such as Trinity Church in Boston and the State Capitol in Albany, New York. These murals tended to be in the academic style, meaning they were heavily influenced by European academies of art. This interest in European-style mural-making especially sprouted during Philadelphia’s Centennial celebration (1876), when Americans felt a particular need to compete with Europe, not just in technological innovation and trade but also in the arts and humanities (Knight and Senie, 2016, p. 108). This led to public buildings like museums, libraries, and universities being built with an emphasis on Greek and Roman classicism, with murals and sculptures seen as complementing the architectural fabric.

Around this time, academic-style paintings also grew in Mexico, particularly in the history genre, attempting to portray a national identity and depicting pre- and post-conquest scenes. Mexican women, specifically those who were not academically trained and whose position in society was relatively sheltered (inaccess to public and professional spheres), their work can be found at the 1876 Centennial celebration in Philadelphia; featured women included, for example, Josefina Mata y Ocampo and Soledad Juárez (Estevez, 2018). Because women were confined to domestic spaces, their paintings in this period tended not to be historical but still lifes, portraits, and domestic interiors. The history paintings, as previously mentioned, would appear in later exhibitions such as Chicago’s 1893 World’s Fair: The Torture of Cuauhtémoc by Mexican academic painter Leandro Izaquirre (1893); and, although not featured in this exposition, it is interesting to note, that another Mexican academic painter Juan Córdero created a work in the history genre as well but of Columbus introducing New World natives to Spanish Royalty (shown in an exhibition in Mexico) So, there has existed an intertwined history and art exchange between Chicago (and U.S generally) with Mexico since well before the mid to late 20th century when it was considered the initial point of exchange and exposure via the growth of Mexican migration to the city that formulated barrios like Pilsen and Little Village.

Around the Chicago exposition (1893), a shift in public interest toward murals and, therefore, public commissions emerged, leading to the formation of national mural groups, such as the National Society of Mural Painters, founded in New York in 1895. Despite this unprecedented exposure of murals and art in general to the public, mural-making would not fully develop until the 20th century (Becker, 2002, p. 48). By the early 20th century, around World War I and after, Knight and Sanie in “A Companion to Public Art” describe that just as the academic mural painting movement was said to have begun, its decline would soon follow. Away from the academic style (with the emphasis on American history and nationalism), the style being called for now is a more lyrical expression of our “contemporaneity” since the idealism, optimism, and nationalism of the academic style translated into excessive motifs and allegories (Knight and Sanie, 2016, p. 111).

This was a time when Mexican muralists' presence in the US, along with the American realist painters engaged with Regionalism and American Scene painting, began to encourage artists and patrons to embrace contemporary subject matter and styles in public murals. The art world has since been wowed by the revolutionary images produced a decade after the Mexican Revolution (1910) which then led to the emergence of the famously titled “Los Tres Grandes”— Diego Rivera (1886), Jose Clemente Orozco (1883-1949) and David Alfaro Siqueiros (1898-1949)— who had commissioned works in both Mexico and the US. (Becker, 2002, p. 50). They were known for using their Italian Renaissance-inspired fresco-style art as a tool of political expression, painting images of the revolution sweeping the country, though, at least in the US, its production relied on commissions from private individuals and institutions. The common subjects portrayed in their artworks largely focused on indigenous peoples and labor, and, in regard to their work in the US, did not necessarily reflect the presence of Mexican-Americans. The Mexican mural movement played a critical role in the inception of Depression-era art when the federal arts program of the WPA (Works Progress Administration) began sponsoring murals to support artists struggling with the nationwide economic crisis.  Chicago muralists such as Edward Millman, Lucile Ward, and Mitchell Siporin traveled to Mexico and studied techniques used there. As Beaker emphasizes, the New Deal policies that supported mural production on a massive scale followed Mexico’s example, since Mexico was known for its art patronage. The Mexican mural movement exposed the U.S. to the potential of mural art as a public forum and a medium for spreading social consciousness and public concern (Becker, 2002, p. 51).

 In the landscape of Chicago specifically, this newfound support allowed for the creation of the Illinois Art Project (1935-1943), which bore an original school of muralists and other art forms that established a “Chicago style which made the project the cynosure of artistic eyes throughout the country” (McDonald, 1969, p.407). It was this need-based program (providing work for unemployed artists and making collections more accessible to the public) that led to the South Side Community Art Center (1941) and aimed to stimulate cultural development across all races, as well as diversify the Illinois project. Eleanor Roosevelt visited Chicago for its dedication, and to this day, it stands as an official Chicago Cultural Landmark, recognized as the oldest African American arts center in the United States. The Illinois Art Project from 1935-1943 commissioned 316 murals (233 throughout the state), of which 150 still exist in Illinois today (Becker, 2002, p. 95). Following an economic surge at the end of World War II, federal sponsorship and government funding of murals were no longer deemed necessary, and abstract art became popular (Knight and Sanie, 2016, p. 116). Artists experimenting with how to create larger-scale murals began nationwide and severed ties with European art traditions, opposing the idiosyncratic individualism and European art associations of the 1920s. (Becker, 2002, p. 95). One of the defining characteristics of Chicago murals—highlighted  by Becker— was their large heroic figures, massive planar shapes, bold compositional elements, and hard-lined contours: symbolic actions and earnest facial expressions were rendered in blocks of light colors and earth tones using dry, visible brushstrokes in sweeping motions.” Additionally, Becker mentions how many of these characteristics were influenced by Mexican muralists. Heroic aspects, specifically, are evident in both the community mural movement and graffiti styles. At least for Chicago Public School murals, they tended to coincide with the history painting genre, showing themes of the New World, American history/leaders, and Chicago, all of which were considered complementary to the curriculum. For example, at least for the Chicago history portrayal, it would feature the Midwest as the “breadbasket and industrial center of America” of manufactured and agricultural goods. (Becker, 2002, p. 99).

Within and after the Civil Rights movement created an unprecedented visibility of murals in particularly neglected neighborhoods. The 1998 edition of Eve Cockcroft’s “Toward a People’s Art,” is a seminal study of the emerging community-based mural movement in the United States and stresses how people wanted to shift away from integrationism to instead move towards radicalism and empowerment: 

“People wanted to control their own media, their own schools, their own lives. This mass quality of the cultural quest for identity necessarily brought great pressure to bear on nonwhite artists and intellectuals…As the myth of the melting-pot America was laid to rest, not just blacks but others— Chicanos, Puerto Ricans, Asians, women, Native Americans, white-ethnics—joined in rediscovering their cultural heritage and with it new pride and dignity in themselves” (Cockcroft, 1998, p.17).

Cockcroft credits Chicago as having the largest concentration of community-based murals, where the movement toward people’s art has progressed furthest in theory, practice, and durability over time. A prominent and famous first of this movement in Chicago was the “Wall of Respect” mural, created in 1967 in response to the “high tide of black resistance” (Lloyd, 1996). The mural celebrated the achievements of African Americans (public figures, athletes, musicians, writers) and was created through collaborative and activist processes, with Black muralist William Walker leading a group from the Organization of Black American Culture (a collective founded in the same year). Breaking from the melting pot ideology, activist groups such as the Black Panthers (founded in California in 1966, with Chicago following in 1968) the Puerto Rican Young Lords organization (founded in Chicago in 1968), and the Brown Berets (founded in California 1966, with Chicago following in 1971) began formulating with the outward facing art a reflection of their struggles. 

Mario Castillo’s “Metafísica” (1968) is considered the first Chicano and Mexican mural in Chicago, and one of the first anti-Vietnam murals in the city. Castillo, following the lead of Walker, worked on the mural, collaborating with neighborhood teenagers (described as “Chicano youth" by Cockcroft) and envisioned it as a “Wall of Peace,” as stated in the “Healing Walls” collection (Lloyd, 1996). This was created in the backdrop of the Chicano movement (1960s-1970s), aligned with the objectives of civil rights for Mexican-Americans, and greatly contributed to the community-based mural movement as a sub-genre of Chicano art.

Gaspar de Alba argues that Chicano culture is “alter-native” within the U.S., both alien and Indigenous to the land base known as the West. This culture, a byproduct of domination, is a form of resistance and a form of survival via the power of reproduction. Guisela Latorre (2008) similarly writes that indigenismo elements, particularly in murals, function politically in the way Chicano/a artists articulate a cultural and gendered identity. This means resisting postcolonialism and capitalism with a strong sense of indigenism; therefore, a decolonial act or consciousness that pushes for a clear, autonomous indigenous voice.

Many activist groups had already existed by this point—the term “Chicano” had existed even longer before that. A pejorative term, Chicano was originally used predominantly by the Mexican-American working class as a way of denouncing land grabs and white privilege. A large part of Mexico was annexed after the US war with Mexico, and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848 was supposed to ensure that existing Mexicans would gain citizenship rights (aka the right to own land, property, vote, etc.). However, this was an empty promise that led to years of mistreatment that pushed an “other” or “alien” rhetoric towards them, citizens or not. The “Chicano” identification allowed for the reclamation of their roots in the US, so they would not be seen as foreigners but as long-time contributors to the country, deserving recognition. The 1950s “Cold War mentality,” as Rosales (1997) calls it in his book “Chicano!,” was an anti-establishment mindset that grew within the “hippie” counterculture. Free expression was promoted as a counter to American conformity, and Latinx youth became increasingly involved in it.  It eventually led to their idealization of “Chicano” as grounds to start a movement.

One significant form of protest—and just a year after Castillo’s first anti-Vietnam mural in Chicago—attached to this movement was the “National Chicano Moratorium” in East LA in 1969. It was anti-Vietnam due to the many Mexican-Americans who were expected to be on the frontlines but were discriminated against when they got home; this further caused already existing unrest (Rosales, 1997).  However, facing racialization, it was considered threatening and was met with beatings and bloodshed, even though families and children were participating. Sprouting from their frustrations, the Chicano mural movement began around this time to push back against the dominant anti-Mexican rhetoric and to promote their autonomy and self-determination through art.

Not too long after Castillo’s mural came the “History of the Mexican-American Worker” mural by Ray Patlán, Vincente Mendoza, and José Nario, created in the mid-70s. During its creation, the city was unhappy with the United Farm Workers emblem depicted in the mural, calling it an advertisement, not art; the city council filed a lawsuit in 1974 to stop the muralists. However, the judge at the time ruled in favor of the artists. This delayed mural production, and it did not help that vandals who opposed the mural would deface it with paint. Despite all of this pushback, they were able to complete the mural, and it is celebrated and repainted to this day: it features a railroad worker, a machinist, a scene of the steel mills, a butcher man, both U.S. and Mexican flags, along with the likenesses of Benito Juárez, José Vasconcelos, and Abraham Lincoln.  

John Pitman Weber, Chicago muralist and co-founder of the Chicago Public Art Group, in “Healing Walls” (1996), said that the influence of Mexican muralism has been strong there since the 30s and in no way was limited to artists of Mexican descent. “Los Tres Grandes” inspired movements throughout Latin America and the U.S., utilizing the medium to raise awareness of political and social situations. Puerto Rico, particularly, is characterized by Jarieth Merced as a “mecca of local and international muralism” that reclaims spaces and articulates identity; from this sprang festivals such as “Los Muros Hablan” and “Santurce es Ley.” Puerto Rican murals would address issues regarding ecological responsibility, heritage, history, and their colonial status. At the transnational level as well, murals by diasporic Puerto Ricans were seen across the U.S., in places like Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York (Roberts, 2021).

The first Puerto Rican mural in Chicago is the “Cruxificion de Don Pedro Albizu Campos” by community artists Mario Galan, Hector Rosario, and Jose Bermudez (1971). It depicts a Puerto Rican flag divided into sections with a white cross and shows Campos being crucified between Lolita Lebron and Rafael Miranda. Commissioned by the Puerto Rican Arts Association, it reflects the struggles of Puerto Rican nationalists. Since the U.S. took over Puerto Rico, various parties have formed, as Margaret Power describes in her book “Solidarity Across the Americas” 1. The Republican Party (1899) supported statehood for economic and ideological reasons 2. The Socialist Party (1915) advocated for statehood for Puerto Rico and better worker conditions. 3. The Union Party (1904) advocated for self-government, autonomy, or independence. 4. Nationalist Party (1919). Conflicts within the previously named party led to the formation of this party from the pro-independence wing of the Union Party. Campos was the vice president of the Nationalist Party in 1924, including members Lebron and Miranda. Against the U.S. presence in Puerto Rico, Lebron is known for her political activism and for leading an assault on Congress and “armed propaganda” not meant to kill but to bring awareness of Puerto Rico’s status as a U.S. colony (Power, 2023).

The mural is an homage to the Puerto Rican independence movement, depicting members like Campos as martyrs (likened to Jesus) of its mission. Although it still stands today as a community garden, it faced threats of removal due to development in the early 2000s. Due to activism and protests that stalled construction, Alderman Billy Ocasio’s threat to chain himself to the structure successfully prevented the mural’s destruction. “Símbolos” (1974), another mural in Chicago by Galan, was created a few years later and featured specific pre-Columbian references to the Taínos of Puerto Rican culture, similar to those seen in Castillo’s “Metafísica.” 

Walking down Paseo Boricua in the Humboldt Park neighborhood reveals numerous murals with clear connections to the area’s Puerto Rican history. You would find a similar presence in Pilsen and Little Village regarding the Mexican presence. These enclaves, a safe place for migrants, both those who came before and those to come, show examples in real time of cultural placemaking and the capacity of this process to preserve. Cultural placemaking, as defined by Feng and Owen (2019), is the creation and expansion of arts and cultural infrastructure to prevent the place from disappearing culturally. This process celebrates the identity and history of the people, highlighting themes of diversity, democracy, and struggle for social justice.

  The efforts of place-making tend to be more context-specific and work against a homogenous aesthetic of modern-day housing and commercial development (Rodriguez-Roberts, 2021). In addition to the archival sites, local businesses (many named after Mexican or Puerto Rican states and towns), art centers, cultural centers, and museums (The Humboldt Park National Puerto Rican Museum or the Pilsen National Museum of Mexican Art) what is most immediate to the eye are the murals decorating these buildings' interiors and exteriors (including residential buildings). 

This project aims to examine a sample of these murals, to look behind the scenes at the Latine artists behind them, and to understand whether cultural place-making was at the forefront (and, if not, why not). With the city as a canvas, muralists take on a more scrutinized role in their approach, the message they intend to convey, and how it is received by the community. Whether the identity of the artist complicates and/or enriches this process is what is to be investigated among the eleven Puerto Rican- and Mexican-descent Chicago-based muralists, examining how they navigate space to become part of the legacy of artists of color seeking to secure a foundation for themselves.