Source: American Educational Research Journal Vol. 41 Number 3 Fall 2004 The Impact of Brown on the Brown of South Texas: A Micropolitical Perspective on the Education of Mexican Americans in a South Texas Community Miguel A. Guajardo Texas State University, San Marcos Francisco J. Guajardo University of Texas-Pan American This article identifies the Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968 as a pivotal event in the educational history of Mexican American students in south Texas. It presents elements of the Civil Rights Movement, including the Brown decision, the rise of Mexican American political organizations, and the actions of community youth. The authors use oral histories that they and their high school students produced between 1997 and 2002, through the work of the Llano Grande CenterforResearch and Development, a nonprofit organization founded by the authors and their students. Through the use of secondary literature, local stories, and micro-macro integrative theory, this study describes how the Brown decision and other national events affected Edcouch-Elsa schools between 1954 and 1968. Keywords: Brown v. Board of Education, Chicano epistemology, education, leadership development, Llano Grande Center, Mexican American. W e came to this country in 1968, the year that historians claim changed the world. We settled in a place where people committed themselves to taking a stand, to taking political action, and to claiming their constitutional rights. The Supreme Court of the United States modeled this kind of com- mitment 14 years before we arrived, and young people in our new commu- nity were building upon courage similar to what the Court had shown. As these youths sought to remedy their plight in the schools, they searched for their own freedom, and by extension, the liberation of a community. They fought a status quo predicated on a system of values that was not only fun- damentally incongruent with their own, but one that also appeared to destroy rather than sustain a healthy local community. The landmark U.S. Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education in 1954 provided an impetus for profound changes in public schools across the United States. Brown reversed the historic 1896 decision in Plessy v. Fer- guson, which permitted legal segregation of schools and thereby established the "separate but equal" doctrine. As the Court rejected the half-century practice of segregation, however, it also suggested that American schools could proceed "with all deliberate speed"' as they worked toward racial integration. Following the Court's lead, some states changed at a very slow pace. Texas, for example, failed to implement any significant policy until November 1970, when Federal Judge William Wayne justice announced Civil Order 5281, which called on the Texas Education Agency to enforce school integration, as per the spirit of Brown, in all Texas public schools (Kemerer, 1991). States' failure to make changes engendered events of passionate discon- tent. African Americans and Mexican Americans across the country felt that justice was not being served in the aftermath of Brown. In Little Rock, Arkansas, nine African American students were determined to integrate Cen- tral High School in 1957, only to be rebuffed by National Guard troops ordered by segregationist state governor Orval Faubus. In the spring of 1968, more than 10,000 Mexican American students in East Los Angeles organized school "blowouts"2 to vehemently protest segregationist practices and other discriminatory conditions in selected high schools. Later that year, two full years before William Wayne justice's order, students at Edcouch-Elsa High School in Elsa, south Texas, also demonstrated their frustration against a racist educational environment by walking out of school. The Little Rock case was a direct response to a school system's inability or unwillingness to respond to the Brown mandate. Similarly, Mexican American students called attention to the failures of their schools to live up to the ideal of Brown and the promise of fairness and justice in their schools. This article tells the story of the Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968 and its impact on the educational systems in south Texas (see map, Fig- ure 1, p. 507) through the narratives of those who participated. The article is grounded in the voices of people whom we view as collaborators and par- ticipants in the research process and in the creation of the larger community story. The essay combines theory and practice as we use both primary and secondary sources to examine the following questions: • What forces contributed to sociopolitical and educational changes in the Edcouch-Elsa community? • What conditions operated in this particular school in the decade after Brown, as described by residents of this south Texas community? • Who were the main agents for social and institutional change in this community? • What lessons were learned from this research work? Methodology Data Collection As south Texas educators, we have had the privilege of teaching in the local schools and founding the Llano Grande Center for Research and Develop- ment, a nonprofit organization based at Edcouch-Elsa High School. Most of the data used in this article were collected between 1997 and 2002 as part of the Llano Grande Oral History Collection and were woven into the text as an integral part of the narrative. We conducted more than 200 oral histories of elders, walkout participants, and other local community members. We employ grounded theory (Glaser & Strauss, 1967) in a theoretically critical manner3 and collaborative inquiry as a framework for data collection. The collaborative inquiry process commits us to listening and privileging local story, voice, and analysis. Typically, teams of two or three teachers and students visited a com- munity member's home for a formal interview, or the interviewee traveled to the video lab of the Llano Grande Center for an interview. The majority of the interviews were videotaped and transcribed, and many of the stories therein are embedded as part of the curriculum design for classes at Edcouch-Elsa High School. We collected data in written, oral, video, and pictorial represen- tations. Gomez-Pena (1996) and Homi Bhabha's (1994) concept of hybridity have contributed to our thinking; along these lines, we integrate the uses of print, video, and other artistic forms to gather, present, and celebrate our data .4 Students and teachers also organized public seminars and conferences, such as a 30-year retrospective of the Walkout of 1968. More than 100 com- munity members participated in a commemorative daylong symposium orga- nized by high school students, which featured presentations by participants of the Walkout of 1968 and others involved in the event. The conference was conceived as part of an oral history project that students and teachers planned as a way to teach themselves and the larger community about the history of resistance and social change in their hometown. Ontological Issues We grew up in the Edcouch-Elsa community, went away to college, and returned as teachers and researchers. Thus we straddle the fence between insider and outsider status, although we have seldom felt like outsiders. To be sure, we more frequently feel the outsider tension in the context of our roles as university researchers. Furthermore, consistent with Villenas (1996), we feel an obligation to practice research with a different consciousness and for a greater purpose than solely creating knowledge. This research venture is grounded in a reciprocal mode where researchers learn from the researched and the researched learned from the researchers. The intentionality of this prac- tice often allows for relationships to build and even flourish. Being indigenous (insider) researchers also gives us a point of reference and ontological con- gruence with the community that is difficult to find in more traditional research experiences, particularly those of outsider researchers who come into com- munities with what Scheurich (1997) calls "ontological blind spots." The insider consciousness holds us accountable to ourselves and to our research partners. We do not claim to be objective. We are encouraged by critical construc- tivist epistemologies that challenge the notion of objectivity and use research as praxis (Freire, 1973; Guajardo & Guajardo, 2002; Hurtado, 2003; Lather, 1986; Trueba, 1999). In that regard, we find Pizarro's (1998) argument for a Chicana/o epistemology and methodology for the purposes of empowerment particu- larly compelling. We share and collect stories for the purpose of giving power to the stories and the people who tell them. We are all players in making our reality come to life. We employ this critical constructivist epistemology because if we humans created the reality we live as marginalized people and commu- nities, then we too can construct a different reality (Lather, 1991; Scheurich, 1997; Guajardo & Guajardo, 2002). As agents for community change, we use a pedagogy of place that cre- ates a new reality. It is a pedagogy based on the assets of people and grounded in a value system that respects people's dignity. This teaching and learning motivates and invites participation. We do this work in order to grow the mind, the spirit, and the relationships in our community. This process helps us as we strive to make informed decisions about how we teach, learn, tell stories, and shape institutions. We do research in order to privilege this knowledge. We appropriate the research venture to go beyond the traditional scholarly exer- cise, and use it as a pedagogical tool, an organizing strategy, and a community- building venture. Constructing Epistemology This article is reflexive in nature; we (the authors) put ourselves in the middle of the text. Although this approach runs counter to the conventional positivistic paradigm, it is essential as we create space for stories from our community, as well as our own personal stories. Such practice has gained prominence in the recent literature among researchers who have posited clear and compelling Chicana/o methodological and epistemological research positions and strate- gies (Pizarro, 1998; Pizarro & Montoya, 2002; Delgado Bernal, 1998; Villenas, 1996; Trueba, 1999; Guajardo & Guajardo, 2002). These scholars have created a particular discourse within the educational research community that values organic methodological strategies. In this tradition we employ critical race theory's strategy of story as a method of research, as a way to create the nar- rative, and as a vehicle for self-discovery and identity building (Bell, 1992; Del- gado, 1995). Race informs our epistemological position, which builds on the critical constructivist tradition. Family and community fuel the unconditional support and mentorship needed for an organic pedagogy to thrive. Our epistemology provides the space for local intellectuals to participate in the data collection and analysis process (Pizarro, 1998). This action dis- rupts the traditional research mode wherein the researcher is typically the sole inquirer. Because a good amount of the research was conducted through high school classes, the product of this research practice is the emergence of a youth and adult research community. The research process and methodology that we employ create the space for people to develop skills. Through this process we have seen people grow and become advocates for their community and their children. The pedagogical contributions go beyond learning research skills; rather, the process emphasizes the role of youths and adults engaged in dis- covery and recovery of their community, their family, and themselves. We con- sider ourselves learners, teachers, community activists, and researchers who practice a collaborative inquiry process to both engage academia and create teaching and learning material for our students and colleagues. We privilege knowledge that is highly valued at the micro level but rarely present in social discourse, public schools, and college classrooms. Framework for Analysis The theoretical framework for our analysis derives from micro-macro integra- tive theory (Ritzer, 1996). Ritzer asserts that various forms of this model exist, but he advocates a hybrid model that prevents extreme separations of the two; the dual construction restricts the analysis of data through a binary lens. Instead, we construct a constant communication between the micro and the macro. This connection formulates itself as a dialogical process that is reciprocal between the micro and the macro realities. The process makes sense of the relationship and ongoing dialogue between the micro com- munity in south Texas and the driving forces of the Brown decision at the macro national level. Our framework attempts to connect the micro political development of this region, particularly as enunciated by people's stories, with the macro federal judicial mandates. We see the micro-macro deliberation as an organic process that helps us make sense of the world around us both in schools and in the traditional political arena. "Micro" in our case refers to the local community his- tory, its political culture, and its unfolding demographic development. "Macro" refers to the developments that occurred nationally and globally, such as World War II, the G.I. Bill, the Brown decision, and the Civil Rights Movement. This analysis is informed by critical theory and is deliberate in its attempt to disrupt the traditional power structures and the prevailing discursive regimes (Fou- cault, 1984; Foley, 1995). As critical race theory espouses, disruption becomes the agenda because the storytellers demand it (Bell, 1992; Delgado, 1995). This framework is also consistent with the claim that schools are microcosms of the larger society. Within this context we propose that schools as micro commu- nities also employ structural agency and that they, too, help to shape the larger society. This article deliberately focuses on the micro level by highlighting the impact of the Walkout of 1968 on the larger community. The Walkout of 1968: A Summary In the summer of 1968 Hector Ramirez, an Edcouch-Elsa High School student who had just complete his junior year, found a ride to Michigan with a local family that made the trip every year as migrant farm workers. Hector's desti- nation was not the fields of southwestern Michigan; instead, he went to Detroit to work on an automobile assembly line. As Hector worked in the fac- tory that summer, he learned firsthand how powerful, organized labor unions addressed unsatisfactory working conditions. He learned lessons in organizing, planning, and mobilizing people as he came into contact with labor leaders. The labor experience in Detroit would transform him. He returned to south Texas early that fall with a new awareness of the power of mass organization. Hector acted as a principal leader of the Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968. On the morning of November 14, 1968, at precisely 8:10, a number of Mexican American student protesters stormed, out of the classrooms chant- ing "Walkout! Walkout!" thus igniting a massive student boycott of Edcouch- Elsa High School. More than 150 students followed as they chanted phrases of protest against what they charged was an unjust educational system. The Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968 became the tipping point (Glad- well, 2000) in a shift of power from White (Anglo-American) to brown (Mex- ican American) in south Texas. After decades of a dominant segregationist culture throughout the region, Mexican American high school students in this agricultural community forcefully challenged the power structure in the schools and in the community at large. A Political Culture and System: Community Building, Schools, and Access, 1920s-1940s Jose Tamez was born in 1924 in the middle of rich farmland that soon became Elsa, Texas. "I was born in Elsa," he said, "before Elsa was Elsa." The Tamez family came to south Texas as part of a wave of early 20th-century Mexican immigrants who came to clear the south Texas brush, in preparation for the emerging agricultural industry (Cornelius & Bustamante, 1989; Gamio, 1931).5 As the adults worked, the Tamez children went to school. Tamez recalls, how- ever, that for Mexican children access to school was often difficult. "One of the experiences that most shaped me as a child," he said, "was that when it rained we had to walk a long distance to catch the bus.... One rainy day my father walked with us to the bus stop because he wanted to ask the bus driver to drive closer to our home." The bus driver's response would be etched in Jose's mind forever. "When my father asked the bus driver, the driver said, `No! Mexicans aren't supposed to get educated anyway. You are meant to work in the fields.'" Creating schooling opportunities for the Mex- ican American agricultural labor force was counterproductive. The bus driver appeared to have understood the rules of the game. Historical documentation supports Jose Tamez's story. Early 20th-century anthropologist Paul Taylor found repeated testimonials that pointed to the role of the Mexican Ameri- can worker in the economy and social structure of south Texas. Taylor inter- viewed numerous Anglo farmers in central and south Texas who unabashedly argued that Mexican American children had no business going to school. Educating Mexican Americans would upset the roles already defined by the regional political economy (Taylor, 1934; Montejano, 1987; Kantor & Tyack, 1982; Spring, 1996; San Miguel, 1987). Just as the American educational system of the 19th century responded to the needs of an increasingly industrial society, educational institutions in south Texas mirrored the regional economic realities (Spring, 1995). The new south Texas political elite responded to farming interests by building on the com- mon school system of the early 20th century (Beane, 1942; David Mycue, per- sonal communication, April 14, 2003). Shortly after the founding of Edcouch and Elsa, the community leadership sought to convert the Carlson Common School into an independent school district. They created the Edcouch-Elsa Independent School District in 1929 and followed the segregationist policies that governed the Carlson Common School as well as the San Jose Ranch School for Mexican American children (Beane, 1942). Among the early tasks, the founding board of trustees established an elementary school system seg- regated by race. Mexican American children in Edcouch would attend the North Edcouch Elementary School, which would be located in the middle of El Rincbn del Diablo.7 The school would be housed in two army barracks brought in from Harlingen, Texas. In Elsa, Mexican American children would attend Los Indios Elementary School to be located on Lot 25 on the north side of Elsa. This school would also be housed in a wood-frame building, similar to the barracks. In contrast, Anglo children would attend the newly constructed Edcouch Elementary School, otherwise known as the Red Brick School. Jose Tamez's story encapsulates the thinking that informed policies that created towns and schools in south Texas. According to Tamez, Mexican chil- dren were taught just enough English to understand their patrons (bosses). "We rarely made it out of grammar school," he said. Edcouch-Elsa school pol- icy created a segregated system that reflected the values of the ruling power. A group of Anglo farmers founded the school system as an effective vehicle through which the economic, political, and social status quo could be perpet- uated (Spring, 1995; San Miguel, 1987), enabling them to retain power. "There were some things that were not fair in the early years of the community," stated Elsa farmer Niles Anderson. "But that's the way things were.... and we tried our best to take care of one another." Contreras and Valverde (1994) assert that while progress has been made, it has been very slow in coming. Other scholars, such as Gonzalez (1990), argue that a persistent pattern of segregation-particularly before 1954, although the remnants remain strong-is the continuation of the legacy of conquest dealt to Mexican people as a result of Mexico's defeat during the Mexican-American War. Spring (1996) and San Miguel (1987) place Mexican American children as part of a larger group of Americans subordinated and marginalized by the dynamics of economy, politics, and race. They further argue that schools have subjected Mexican American children to the systemic patterns of cultural repro- duction of values and beliefs of Anglo America. Specific case studies by Baeza (1992) and Calderon (1950) support these theses. Through oral history rec- ollections, for example, Baeza found the Centennial School for Mexican American children in Alpine, Texas, operated well beyond the Brown case in 1954, even though attending segregated schools did active damage to the children. Calderon taught at the North Edcouch Elementary School between 1949 and 1950, as part of his fieldwork for his M.A. thesis at the University of Texas at Austin. He documented a profound incongruence between the school for Mexican American children on the north side of town and the school for Anglo children on the south side. Menchaca and Valencia (1990) found, in their research on California schools during the early part of the 20th century, that segregation was yet another manifestation of an Anglo-American racist ideology that called for the control and domination of Mexican Amer- ican people and other minority groups. A series of political and economic developments since early in the 19th century nurtured this pattern of think- ing. Segregation in Edcouch-Elsa schools occurred within this ideological and historical backdrop. Conflict and Political Culture: Challenging Segregation, Creating Access, 1942-1960s Early one morning in the fall of 1942, Tila Zamora drove her 6-year-old daugh- ter, Rosie, to the Red Brick School in Edcouch. Mrs. Zamora and her husband were respected members of the community. They owned and operated Far- macia Zamora, a modest but thriving pharmacy located on the Mexican Amer- ican side of Elsa north of the railroad tracks. Mrs. Zamora understood that taking Rosie to the Red Brick School was a bold move, because she knew that only Anglo children attended it. She was surprised, nevertheless, to find Super- intendent Wilson waiting for her at the front steps of the school. "Good morning Mr. Wilson," said Mrs. Zamora, "I'm here to enroll my daughter Rosie in this school." The superintendent responded by reminding her that Mexican American children already had their own school. Mrs. Zamora was determined. "Mr. Wilson," she said, "I've been prepar- ing Rosie to come to this school since the day she was born. She's ready for this school." Wilson would not relent and effectively denied Rosie enrollment in the Red Brick School. But Mrs. Zamora was resolute. She went straight home that day to write a letter to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt requesting that he take immediate action against the injustice waged against her daughter. Within weeks, Superintendent Wilson received a directive. It came from Wash- ington, D.C., and had been forwarded to the Texas Superintendent of Schools in Austin and then to Edcouch-Elsa. In October 1942, Rosie became the first Mexican American student to attend the Red Brick School in Edcouch. The Rosie Zamora situation forced Edcouch-Elsa to examine its segre- gationist policy for the first time. The response from Washington via the Texas Superintendent of Schools informed the Edcouch-Elsa Independent School District that it could not deny Mexican American children access to school because of their race. The correspondence did suggest, however, that the school district could institute a language proficiency test for the purpose of admitting students although it could not discriminate on the basis of race- except against Negro children (0. Zamora, personal correspondence, Octo- ber 13, 1942). Edcouch-Elsa school authorities reacted to the directive by implementing an English-language test. Rosie passed the test, but it was a clear policy move to conserve the segregationist status quo. Until the President of the United States and the State of Texas intervened, the Edcouch-Elsa Independent School District firmly followed the separate but equal doctrine as articulated in the historic Plessy v. Ferguson case in 1896. Several years after Rosie enrolled in the Red Brick School, her younger brothers were also admitted. Other English-speaking Mexican American chil- dren followed in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Nevertheless, as the Supreme Court suggested, the progress of integration transpired "with all deliberate speed." At the same time, the Mexican American elementary schools gained importance as places to funnel the increasing number of Mexican American children. At these schools children were generally taught by Anglo teachers. Though learning English was a top priority, "many Mexicans repeated first grade," Lupita Guzman recalled. Guzman attended the Mexican American school in Elsa in the 1930s and 1940s and also remembered that many kids had "just stopped going when they were 11 or 12 years old and still in the first or second grade." Calderon observed that the physical structures of the Mexican American school were clearly inferior and created poorer learning environments than the newer buildings and facilities at the Red Brick School. The ethnic com- position of the faculty also added to the inequality. Mexican American students had difficulty in understanding Anglo teachers, and Anglo teachers often had little patience for underskilled Mexican American students. While school and community leaders maintained control and perpetu- ated Jim Crow-like conditions, Edcouch and Elsa were not immune to global forces at work during the 1940s and 1950s (Woodward, 1974). The Japanese invasion of Pearl Harbor and the emergence of Nazism in Western Europe affected south Texas as much as any other region in the country. Dozens of Edcouch and Elsa residents played a central role in defining what some have referred to as America's greatest generation (Brokaw, 2000). Pedro Salinas left his job at the Valshing packing shed in Elsa to volunteer in the U.S. Army. "I helped to liberate Dachau, 1945," he recalled. Ruby Pena of Edcouch took a job in Corpus Christi during the war, processing and working with prisoners of war and Japanese internment camp detainees. Martin Hinojosa Johnston was aboard the U.S.S. Missouri when "we signed the treaty to end the war with Japan in 1945." Guadalupe Garza and Guillermo Carreon of Elsa served valiantly during the Normandy Invasion in June 1944. Carreon earned two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star for his heroism. As south Texans returned from the battlefields of the Pacific and Western Europe, they brought with them a new awareness of themselves as Americans. "When we came back," recalled Pedro Salinas, "we expected more." Salinas and a host of his contemporaries took advantage of the American GI Bill shortly after their return. "I remember carpooling with several others from Elsa to go to barber school," he said. Tila Zamora, buoyed by her victory in the Rosie experience in 1942, mobilized the Mexican American community to vote to gain representation on the Edcouch-Elsa School Board. She was particularly impressed with the efforts of local women as political organizers and cam- paigners. In the decade after the war, Mrs. Zamora led the efforts to gain three seats for Mexican American residents on the Edcouch-Elsa School Board. Jacinto Gonzalez, the lone Mexican American voice on the School Board in the 1930s, frequently addressed issues of inequality in the Edcouch-Elsa schools. He worked to improve the conditions at North Edcouch Elemen- tary, which was the Mexican American school in town. The school district built its physical and policy infrastructure according to the prevailing princi- ples of "separate but equal," said his son Jacinto Jr. "He frequently butted heads with the Anglos." The elder Gonzalez had to present his objections carefully, because it was generally unacceptable that Mexican American peo- ple challenge Anglos in power. Shortly after the Rosie Zamora victory, her father Ben Zamora ran for a seat on the School Board and won. While on the board Mr. Zamora emerged as a strong advocate for the rights of Mexi- can American children, but, like Gonzalez, he found that one sole voice yielded only minimal impact. The growing Mexican American population, coupled with the commu- nity's heightened sense of itself as an American community deserving to be treated justly, brought on further changes. When Juan Moron and E. A. Car- reon gained seats on the School Board in the 1950s, they too contested the status quo. Blanca Moron recalls her father telling her a story about a highly charged debate held at a board meeting regarding the inferior conditions at the North Edcouch Elementary School. When one Anglo board member argued that the facilities at the Mexican American school were tolerable, Mr. Moron whipped back, "If the school is as good as you say, why don't you send your daughters there?" Despite the gains, the broader movement to integrate American schools had little impact on Edcouch-Elsa schools. "Control here was pretty firm," said Esteban Gonzalez, who attended the Mexican American school in Edcouch. Mexican American children who endured the humiliation but were fortunate enough to have teachers who liked them "had a chance to get to the high school," said Gonzalez. "But in the 50s and 60s most of the kids in that school were migrants, and when they fell behind, the school did little to help.... That is how we were kept out of high school." The agricultural economic base clearly affected the educational progress of Mexican Americans in Edcouch- Elsa, and the schools compounded the problems by failing to respond to the needs of an increasing number of migrant students. "As kids left school," said Gonzalez, "they became part of the labor stream, ... some for life. Things may've been different if the schools had encouraged kids to stay instead of encouraging them to leave.... To me, that's where things went wrong." In Edcouch-Elsa, as in other places across the country, progress toward effective school integration after Brown v. Board ofEducation in 1954 occurred "with all deliberate speed" (Wilkinson, 1979). While school leaders delayed policy changes, the rapid demographic shift in the schools could not be slowed. As expectations were raised in the Mexican American community during the postwar period, the number of Mexican American children transitioning from grammar school to high school increased significantly. When Rosie Zamora graduated in 1954, she was one of 21 Mexican Americans in a class of 38, the first year where more than half of the graduates were Mexican American. Even as the population increased and as more Mexican American chil- dren stayed in school, the schools failed to respond to the needs of the evolving demographic. The Central School was built in 1950, although it merely replaced the Red Brick School as the new elementary school for Anglo children; after 1950, Mexican American children were enrolled at the Red Brick School as part of the school district's plan. In 1961, the school district finally revoked its policy of forbidding Spanish from being spoken in school. Countless testimonials prove that high school faculty members and administrations continued to punish Mexican American students for speaking Spanish well into the late 1960s. "We were also completely absent from any of the textbooks," recalled Esperanza Salinas, "except when the Texas history book referred to us as Greasers. They called us Greasers!" Jorge Salinas, who was a staunch supporter of the Walkout of 1968, con- curs with the critics of the Anglo-controlled status quo. "It was an oppres- sive environment for us in the schools and in the economy," he argues, "and we had to stand up for ourselves." The Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968: The Stories Fourteen years after Brown v. Board of Education, our father borrowed a 1962 Ford pickup truck and crossed the Rio Grande River with his wife and young children. Papi and Mami rode up front and the boys rode in the back of the half-ton truck, nestled amid the remainder of our worldly pos- sessions. On the last day of 1968, we immigrated into the United States. The two of us, our older brother, and another little one on the way, would soon enroll in the Edcouch-Elsa public schools, a school district enveloped in deep turmoil as a result of a contentious school walkout that had occurred just one month prior to our sojourn from Mexico. Dozens of students and hundreds of community members orchestrated an impassioned and highly publicized response to what they viewed as a system of educational, political, and economic control defined by historic segregationist policies and prac- tices. The Edcouch-Elsa High School Walkout of 1968 was a manifestation of what Brown was intended to accomplish legally but could not achieve politically or socially. It was a demonstration of power by Mexican American youths against an elite structure rooted in the segregationist culture of Jim Crow, and it became a turning point in the self-definition of a community that had previously been bound by economic and political control. In part, the Edcouch-Elsa walkout was another sign of the turbulence and activism of the 1960s (Gitlin, 1987). Taking inspiration from the antiwar, the Black Power, and the civil rights movements of the time, youth leaders at Edcouch-Elsa High School exerted their own will in protest against educa- tional and political injustice. The Chicano movement of the late 1960s, born out of the political activism of Mexican American college students across the country, also played an important role in the walkout. The walkouts in East Los Angeles in the spring of 1968 provided a model for Edcouch-Elsa. Chicano college students in Los Angeles pushed their civil rights agenda by helping to organize student demonstrations. The United Mexican American Students (UMAS), the Brown Berets, and other East Los Angeles organizations helped mobilize high school students as they staged successful boycotts. The historic walkouts in Los Angeles precipitated the demise of the old Anglo school administration and replaced it with a more diverse body of leaders that included a significant number of Mexican Amer- icans (Navarro, 1995). The Edcouch-Elsa case also received inspiration and assistance from a Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO) chapter based at Pan Amer- ican College in nearby Edinburg. Freddy Saenz, a 15-year-old student at Edcouch-Elsa High School, emerged as a key figure in the context of MAYO's participation. Freddy's older sister Lali was deeply involved in the work of the organization; she would later be involved in the Colegio Jacinto Trevii o chapter. "As far back as the spring of 1968 Freddy complained at home about things that were going on in the school," she recalled. Lali understood Freddy's story all too well. As a 1965 graduate of Edcouch-Elsa High School, she had first hand experience of the adverse conditions at the school. By the spring of 1968, Lali began to share Freddy's story with her peers at MAYO. "We just wanted a better education," she said. A semblance of burgeoning activism leading into the summer of 1968 was measurably altered because many of the student activists headed north with their families as migrant farm workers. While Hector underwent his politicization on the assembly line in Detroit, the Saenzes and many others toiled away in the fields of southwestern Michigan, the San Joaquin Valley of California, and the Texas Panhandle. Summers were for work; political activism would have to wait for the fall, when everyone returned to Edcouch and Elsa. "The summers were for going with our families to work in the fields," recalled Esteban Gonzalez. "That's how we made a living." Both young men and women played essential roles in creating the Walk- out of 1968. Hector Ramirez inspired students, organized meetings at his house, and became one of the spokespersons for the students. Mirtala Villar- real surfaced as a strong leader and inspired other female students to become involved. She, too, organized numerous meetings at her house in Edcouch. Esteban Gonzalez and Raul Alaniz emerged as emotional and outspoken lead- ers. Lali Saenz played a critical role in organizing the students effectively and leveraging outside resources. Lali brought in MAYO. "And those guys really taught us how to organize ... we had structured meetings, wrote goals and objectives ... that kind of stuff," said Freddy Saenz. Lali, Mirtala, and scores of other young women played a pivotal role in executing the Edcouch-Elsa Walkout of 1968. Delgado Bernal (1998) argues that Chicanas were invaluable participants in the 1968 East Los Angeles School blowouts. Although they have not received proper credit for their leadership roles in the blowouts, Chicanas were crucial to the movement, particularly as they used their sophisticated social networks to organize large numbers of participants. In Edcouch-Elsa, women exercised very similar roles. Nelda Trevino spoke of the numerous occasions where she and her sister Mirtala organized large numbers of students and adults for meetings in their home in Edcouch. Nelda also suggested they were expected to perform certain gender specific roles, such as preparing food for the gatherings and organizing materials for the meetings. They accepted some of the traditional gender expectations, but they rejected others. In short, like Chicanas else- where (Gandara, 1982; Segura, 1993; Vasquez, 1995), these women used a sense of power as they determined the roles they would play. Lali became focused on organizing in September 1968 after she and her family "returned from working in the fields up north." When Freddy came to her, she claimed she was ready to organize because she had "worked during the summer in Michigan as a Migrant Education Aide and had met political people including some Quakers who educated [her] on how to address issues." Lali also alerted Raul Yzaguirre of the new Colonias del Valle Organization, who then encouraged her to "organize the parents." Lali's important role, then, was about bringing in MAYO and other outside resources. MAYO was born in the mid 1960s as an offshoot of the political activism of older Mexican American civil rights organizations such as the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and the United Farm Workers labor union. In 1967, MAYO's clarified mission called for an aggressive strategy aimed at addressing the historic discrimination against Mexican American children in Texas public schools. The central focus of MAYO's initial activity was in the barrios on the west side of San Antonio and on the campus of St. Mary's University. Young Chicano leaders such as Jose Angel Gutierrez, Mario Compean, and Willie Velasquez provided the initial leadership at St. Mary's. Within a few years, these student leaders created institutions such as the Southwest Voter Registration Project and the Raza Unida Party. Under their leadership, MAYO would also lead the organization of thirty-nine school walkouts throughout the state of Texas (Navarro, 1995). The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and other civil rights activists sought to desegregate schools for Black children by looking strategically for court cases such as McLaurin (1950), Brown (1954), and Swann (1971). Similarly, organizations such as the LULAC and the American G.I. Forum supported litigation to integrate brown children in cases such as Mendez (1946) and Delgado (1948). Working outside the courts, however, MAYO activists in Texas looked strategically for communities such as Edcouch and Elsa, where a growing discontent toward the schools fomented. MAYO's emerging strategy focused on mitigating the laws of discrimi- nation against Mexican American children in schools. It proposed to do this by advocating bilingual education curricula, hiring more Mexican American teachers and administrators, and expanding school curricula to include Chi- cano history and culture courses. Contemporary research persuasively argued for the value of each of the issues on MAYO's agenda. The research of George I. Sanchez (1940) in education, Americo Paredes (1959) in anthropology, and Julian Zamora (1972) in sociology all supported MAYO's positions. Interest- ingly, MAYO's bold platform fell short of challenging the public schools sys- temically. Its approach called for changing the curriculum and training new personnel, but it did not challenge the manner in which educational policy was created, how students and teachers were trained, or how anyone was evaluated. In the fall of 1968 when Lali Saenz began to brief her fellow MAYO members about Freddy's stories, the group began to mobilize. At Edcouch- Elsa High School MAYO found fertile ground of profound discontent among Mexican American students and their parents. The history of American schools is replete with stories of the placement of certain minorities according to the values of the dominant ruling group. The Edcouch-Elsa experience was no different. Greta Davison reflected those values, applying them conscientiously to her work as a high school coun- selor and pre-college placement officer. Mrs. Davison's display of power with the Mexican American children was consistent with what oppressive educa- tors have done with Native American children, African American students, and others (Spring, 1995; Fowler, 2000). In April 1968, 17-year-old Alicia Tamez walked into Mrs. Davison's office at Edcouch-Elsa High School. Alicia asked Mrs. Davison for help in filling out a college application. "I want to go to Pan American, Mrs. Davison, to study to be a teacher. It's been my dream since I was a kid," said Alicia. "Now, Alice, I don't believe college is a good idea for you," the coun- selor said. "Why don't you think about going to secretarial school instead?" Alicia was in shock. While growing up in Elsa in the 1950s, she had fre- quently played school with her cousins, always convincing them that she should be the teacher. Mrs. Davison had dealt her a crushing blow; Alicia did not know how to respond. "I walked out of her office humiliated, sat out- side her doorsteps, and wept," she recalled years later as she sat in her office as Superintendent of Edcouch-Elsa Schools. Alicia's story points to the per- sistent attitude toward Mexican American students as innately deficient (Valencia, 1997). The story further supports the growing literature that describes the historic marginalization of women of Mexican origin in cul- tural contexts and in institutional scenarios (Flores-Ortiz, 1997). Unfortunately, Alicia's story was not an isolated incident. "I went to la oficina de la Davison," said Esteban Gonzalez, "and she told me that I should go to the army to serve in Vietnam." "La Davison told me," said Raul Alaniz, "that I shouldn't even apply to col- lege. `The military is your best choice....' She said this as she was giving out college applications to a bunch of the Anglo kids. And I was an A student." Numerous other Mexican American students share similarly painful sto- ries of being insulted, humiliated, and "put in [their] place." As for Raul Alaniz, he simply "had had enough." His encounter with the guidance counselor alone, he suggested, was enough reason to stage a boycott of the school. Dalia Hemandez was 15 years old and a freshman at Edcouch-Elsa High School on November 14, 1968. She walked out without hesitation because she, too, had endured repeated humiliation in the schools. "I'm not one who hates others, but I hated the Anglo coaches who made fun of me because of my weight and because of my language," said Dalia. Anglo coaches apparently singled out overweight Mexican American girls. "They made you wear shorts, run laps, and do push-ups, ... but they didn't make the White girls do that," Dalia continued. The thin girls, regardless of race were treated better, unless they spoke Spanish. "We got spanked for speaking Spanish in school," she said. According to Dalia, only thin, English-speaking Mexican American girls had a chance to be treated well. "Imagine the pressure," she said, "of having to be like them." Dalia was clearly developing a consciousness of resistance. This consciousness is what Anzaldua (1990) refers to as la conciencia de la mestiza. Indeed, even as the coaches exercised a perverse power over Dalia, demonstrated a distinct bias against many of her peers, and practiced outright use and abuse, the experience helped Dalia build still greater resiliency. Mari Rodriguez was an eighth-grader who walked out." "I knew there was some organizing going on ... my brother was involved in some of it, but I was not," she recalled. "When I heard the commotion that morning, and all the yelling in the hallway, I decided to go, too." It was an easy deci- sion for Mari. She recalled that as an eighth-grade cheerleader, it was diffi- cult to make the cheerleading squad because tryouts were held during the summer. Many Mexican American girls who wanted to be cheerleaders could not try out because they were migrant farm workers. For those who did make the squad, things were tough. "It was the Mexican cheerleaders who did all the cleaning and all the work that we were all responsible for." As they cleaned the restrooms, Dalia, Mari, and other Mexican American female students were expected to play roles that resembled those of domestic laborers. This echoes the findings of Zambrana (1994) and Zavella (1987), who suggest a variety of ways that young Mexican American women are expected to prepare for employment as domestic workers for White, middle-class families. To Mari's dismay, her participation in the walkout had humiliating effects. "The School Board forced my mother to publicly apologize for my behavior and to say that I was wrong in walking out," she recalled tearfully. High school administrators took great care in documenting every participant of the walk- out. Within days after the walkout, the school announced that all participants were expelled. They could return to school, however, if the students (with some exceptions) took their parents to a School Board meeting where they would publicly read a statement of apology prepared by school administrators. "My mother was so humiliated," said Mari. "She was basically put to public shame ... because I stood up for justice." In addition, the school stripped Mari of her homecoming queen honors, which she had earned just days before the walkout. "I cried when they took that away from me," she lamented, still tearful 30 years later. Emotions were intense that historic autumn in 1968, and to this day many people who were close to the event remain angry. "At the hearings, Pipken [the high school principal] said they had no rule that punished stu- dents for speaking Spanish ... what a lie!" said Raul Alaniz, "He paddled me, and he paddled a bunch of other Mexicanos." Most of the students had deep disdain for administrators. "To me, they were just a bunch of rats.... I didn't respect any of them." Not even the lone Mexican American admin- istrator on staff, assistant principal Juan Godena, was immune from being loathed. "Godena era un vendido [he was a sell-out]," said Alaniz.9 Esteban Gonzalez recalled that Anglo teachers generally did not respect, Mexican American students. He felt he was unjustly branded as troublemaker by the teachers, who formed that opinion of him without knowing him. "Only Rudy Cisneros respected me," he said. "He was the only teacher that took the time to get to know us.... and to this day we remain good friends." The walkout unleashed passions and emotions that many of the participants had not experienced before, and have not felt since. Those who opposed the walkout also displayed deep emotions and viewed it as a big mistake. Frances Anderson served on the high school fac- ulty for many years before the walkout. She thought it was one of the worst experiences in community history. "We lost some very good people because of that boycott," she said, referring to the rapid exodus of Anglo teachers from Edcouch-Elsa High School in the years that followed. A long-time resident of Elsa, Mrs. Anderson also left the faculty a few years after the walkout, for polit- ical reasons. Gloria Garcia, a close friend of Mrs. Anderson's, taught at the high school in the late 1960s, and she too disagreed with the student boycott. Ms. Garcia claimed that the students were misguided rabble-rousers who were misled by outside agitators. Willie Rae Fisher also taught at the high school and similarly found the walkout to be "unfortunate" and "unnecessary." Fisher acknowledged that she was aware of some trouble with "discrimination against the Latins, but it wasn't bad enough" to merit a massive walkout. For Principal Pipkin and Superintendent Bell, the walkout would not be tolerated. Although both saw it as a serious act of insubordination, they initially misjudged the students' resolve. In the days leading up to November 14, Mex- ican American student leaders drafted a list of grievances against the school. With the assistance of MAYO organizers, the students developed a list of 15 demands that they presented to the School Board. Students demanded that they be allowed to speak Spanish on campus. They demanded that the school create programs to address the obstacles faced by migrant students. They demanded that courses on Mexican American history and culture be offered. They demanded that the notorious and discriminatory college counseling prac- tices become inclusive. They demanded that the facilities at school be repaired or updated: "Give school buildings a facelift.... [We] want to be proud of our school," they said. They demanded that "blatant discrimination" against Mexi- can American students at the school stop immediately (List of Demands, 1968). The student committee presented the demands to the School Board on November 4, 1968. The board, however, did not acknowledge the demands. Instead, it passed a policy to respond to student and community grievances. According to the policy, people with grievances must follow a specific process. Grievances must first be taken to the school principal. The principal then noti- fies the superintendent, and the superintendent reports to the School Board. According to student protesters, the board ridiculed the student demands. "We were not taken seriously.... I don't think they could accept that we could have power," said Esteban Gonzalez. Many Anglos saw Mexican Americans as laborers and little else. Bill Foerster was one example. "I was shocked when I first went to the bursar's office my freshman year in college and the person on the other side of the counter was Mexican," he said. "There was something wrong with that picture." Similarly, the Anglo administration at Edcouch- Elsa had difficulty in viewing Mexican Americans as capable of mastermind- ing an effective movement. When the board emphatically rejected the student demands, the students resolved to walk out. The administration acted firmly and swiftly with the student protesters. More than 150 students walked out, and each was identified through a diligent identification process that included teachers, counselors, and administrators. "Pipkin had teachers taking notes of who was out there," recalled Freddy Saenz, "so I told the students to scramble, move around, in order to confuse them." But Pipkin's staff was efficient and every student on the list of partici- pants was effectively dismissed from school, pending further action. After the first day, many students found strength in the protest and encountered wide support from the community. So they followed with a second day of protest on November 15. On that day, Pipkin exhorted the police to incarcerate sev- eral of the youths whom he viewed as particularly troublesome. "I remember I was getting ready to eat [while on school grounds]," recalled Freddy Saenz, "when all of a sudden a cop came from behind and said, `You're under arrest.'" Nine students were incarcerated that day. Immediately, approximately 175 community members shifted their protest from the school to an area out- side the county jail for an all-night vigil (McAllen (TXJMonitor, November 17, 1968; see Figure 2, p. 508, for photograph that appeared with that issue's arti- cle on the walkout-one of many newspaper articles that covered the event). The series of highly-charged events convinced the students and their supporters to seek legal recourse. Within days, local attorney Bob Sanchez and lawyers from the nascent Mexican American Legal Defense and Educa- tion Fund (MALDEF) filed suit against the Edcouch-Elsa Independent School District for violating the students' rights to exercise their First Amendment right to peaceably protest. On December 17, 1968, Federal District Judge Rey- naldo Garza heard the case before a spirited audience crowding the room at the federal courthouse in Brownsville. "I heard from both sides," recalled Judge Garza, "and I ruled that the school was wrong because they had vio- lated the students' right to hold meetings and to protest." At one point dur- ing the hearing, Freddy Saenz was on the stand outlining the series of student grievances. "All of a sudden," recalled Saenz, "Superintendent Bell jumps from his seat in the audience and begins to argue with me. Judge Garza snapped at Bell and said `Sit down, Smiley; nobody's talking to you.' You should've seen la Raza yell and laugh with excitement. No Mexican had ever talked to Bell like that and gotten away with it." Beyond its political and historical importance, the December 17 case is rich with cultural meaning. Judge Garza's nuanced comical retort to Bell directly disrupted the traditional discursive court-speak. As he lashed out at the superintendent, he disrupted the traditional power structure that sug- gested that no Mexican American could speak to an Anglo in that manner. He used humor in an environment where only legalistic language is used. Furthermore, he spoke in a south Texas vernacular English that elicited an uproarious response. Judge Garza turned his court of law into a court of public opinion-clearly a counter-hegemonic practice. Judge Garza's ruling on December 17 also marked the first education- related victory for MALDEF, an emerging civil rights organization born just months before the walkout. MAYO similarly gained great notoriety as an organizing vehicle. Edcouch-Elsa would become the first of some 39 school walkouts that MAYO helped to orchestrate between 1968 and the early 1970s (Navarro, 1995). The activist energy and spirit of many Mexican American communities were unleashed during that time. The movement forced many changes in school leadership, particularly in the ethnic representation among principals, superintendents, and School Board members. Closing Reflections Shortly after our arrival from Mexico, our father found employment at the Gal- loway dairy farm, where Mr. Galloway allowed our family to reside in one of the one-room frame houses that he provided for his laborers. A year later we moved into a three-bedroom unit in a federal housing project on 3rd Street in Elsa; we would spend the next eight formative and terrific years in that hous- ing project. Patsy Jacinto and her parents lived next door to us. There was a certain mystery to Patsy. She attended the local college, and her father fre- quently spoke about the excitement and turmoil that had surrounded Patsy's life when she was a student at Edcouch-Elsa High School during the late 1960s. Mr. Jacinto spoke of the courage she had displayed at such a tender age, and how she was part of a group of youths that had transformed the life of the community. We didn't know it at the time, but our next door neighbor Patsy had been in the middle of the historic Walkout of 1968 (see Figure 3, p. 509). Neither the Mendez case in 1946 nor Brown in 1954 provided the nec- essary conditions or power to implement progressive changes in commu- nities such as Edcouch and Elsa. Fourteen years after the Brown decision, and in the aftermath of an impressive display of power by Mexican Amer- ican youths in this community, the public schools were more segregated than ever, as Anglos began to leave the community; the Walkout of 1968 effectively precipitated the flight of Anglos from Edcouch and Elsa. As the Anglos left, they also took most of their economic resources from the com- munity. This process left a void in positional leadership that would be quickly filled by Mexican Americans. Still to be determined, however, was the question of where the power rested. Landmark judicial decisions such as Brown do not always change the face of local communities, but data from the Edcouch-Elsa High School Walk- out of 1968 suggest interplay between macro events and micro activity. The students who walked out took control of their schools, their politics, and their history. As we uncovered this reality, current high school student researchers gained awareness about the history of their community and their school, and the power of organized action. Through this work we have learned lessons that inform a research agenda for this historically marginalized community. We identify four areas where this research can have an impact: (a) the way we do research; (b) the way we define policy; (c) the methods and strategies used for teaching and learning; and (d) the interconnection between the expe- rience of local people and the influences and forces of the macro politics and events. We join others who posit alternative epistemologies based on race, class, and gender (Pizarro, 1998; Pizarro & Montoya, 2002; Delgado Bernal, 1998; Villenas, 1996; Trueba, 1999; Guajardo & Guajardo, 2002). Using these epis- temological and methodological strategies in traditionally marginalized com- munities opens new opportunities for researchers and communities alike. Grounded in praxis, this research creates opportunities for action-oriented results that contribute to the literature, the creation of new theories, and solu- tions for responding to oppressive conditions. As part of the decolonizing methodologies (Smith, 2002), we have also employed multiple strategies that contribute to the process of self-discovery and historical reconstruction. Through the use of critical pedagogical processes, we have trained youth as researchers and storytellers and have created spaces for community partners to analyze their own texts. Through these strategies we have created new knowledge and precipitated community change. This change has also contributed to the way in which we approach pub- lic policy. The practice of formulating, defining, adopting, implementing, and evaluating public policy has traditionally been left to the "experts."" Research on the Edcouch-Elsa Walkout of 1968 teaches us that people who are most affected by policy should be part of creating it, just as they should be part of defining it. Equally important, those who research the policy (such as our high school student researchers) have a stake in how the past is told, and how the future is shaped. Adopting policy does not always equate to change. Brown as well as other landmark decisions passed with little support for implementation in many communities. States and municipalities across the country, especially in the South, resisted the spirit of Brown. Indeed, change occurred "with all delib- erate speed." The need for change is critically important because it relates to issues of representation, advocacy, and resources, particularly as demographic shifts move toward a Latino majority population in states such as Texas. In this context, appropriate representation and advocacy are important if Latino communities are to exercise the power to affect policy and affect change. Schools in this country have historically been charged with preparing an edu- cated citizenry-the present time is no different. An educated citizenry is needed to inform, define, and implement policy that will respond to com- munities' needs (Wilson, 1997). The Edcouch-Elsa Walkout of 1968 teaches us that youth citizen action can create community change, perhaps even the kind of change that nurtures sustainable communities. The Brown decision and the Edcouch-Elsa Walkout of 1968 show an interesting interplay between the macro and micro social and political devel- opments. The historic and ennobling promise of Brown is profound, but it remains unmet in many communities and for many children. Since the Brown decision, segregation has persisted in public schools across the country; but resistance to persistent segregation has also occurred. In November 1968, more than 150 youths from a rural south Texas community challenged their school system. They were determined to enforce the change that the United States of America promised but failed to provide.