Los Lobos de Yorba Linda, California

Our friend Gustavo Arellano has a great article in the Orange County Weekly about the quintessetnial East Los Angeles bands migration to Richard Nixon’s hometown of Yorba Linda.

Arellano and Los Lobos paint a nice little sketch of Orange County:

Perez has enjoyed his 16 years in Orange County, and he has experienced all of its insanity, from immaculate Laguna Niguel (“They must have elves who come out at night with toothbrushes or something”) to Laguna Beach gentrification (“The billionaires are moving out the millionaires”) to SanTana (“I just about expected chickens to come crossing the street”). And since this is an Orange County-centric piece, we’ll end it with Louie’s restaurant picks: Thai Brothers in Laguna Beach, Irvine’s Wheel of Life and El Farolito in Placentia. But don’t bother with any restaurants in Yorba Linda, Perez says: “Food-wise, it’s a wasteland.”

The observation about Yorba Linda being a food wasteland is not entirely accurate. I recommend Wing’s Chinese on Yorba Linda Boulevard and Lakeview.

Wing’s Restaurant
18553 Yorba Linda Blvd , Yorba Linda 92886-4135
714-777-2453

Gustavo Arellano in the New York Times

Gustavo Arellano’s Ask A Mexican is reviewed in the Fashion & Style section in today’s New York Times.

My favorite part:

 “Part of the joke is the assumption that the reader doesn’t know any Mexicans,” said Ted Kissell, editor of The OC Weekly. Mr. Arellano, he noted, “is a surrogate Mexican for our English-speaking readership.”

Mr. Arellano, born in Anaheim to Mexican immigrants, one of them a father who crossed the border illegally several times starting in the 1960s, doesn’t deny that his satire is not for everyone. “I use the column to give the straight dope but also be as rude as possible to people who deserve it,” he explained. Accordingly, his responses often cite studies and statistics in a flurry of profanity. And he tackles some questions with the gusto of someone who not only wants to set the record straight but also wants to settle scores.

“Gracias for illustrating the great double standard in America’s immigration policy,” Mr. Arellano wrote in response to a reader who suggested that Mexicans stay in Mexico to improve their own country. “Centuries of immigrant waves chose not to improve their homelands and to try their luck in a new land, and we rightfully celebrate their pluck as pioneers. Yet when Mexicans follow in the footsteps of our gabacho forefathers, we accuse them of lacking self-motivation and want to shut down the border.”

Then, in typical fashion, he used an epithet to refer to the reader and challenged him to give up his cheap labor and “taco-and-enchilada combos.”

Here is is some video I took with my Treo at Gustavo’s book tour stop in Pico Rivera, California:

Gustavo Arellano’s Ask A Mexican Book Tour

Gustavo’s book “Ask A Mexican” is out and he is promoting it outside of Orange County on the following dates:

May 7: Borders Pico Rivera, 8852 Washington Blvd., Pico Rivera, (562) 942-9919

May 9: Bookworks, 4022 Rio Grande NW, Albuquerque, (505) 344-8139, 7pm

May 10: Barnes & Noble Webster, 1441 W. Webster Ave., Chicago, (773) 871-3610, 7pm

May 13: Third Place Books, 17171 Bothell Way NE, Lake View (near Seattle), 206-366-3333, 5:30 pm

May 16: Barnes & Noble Westheimer, 7626 Westheimer, Houston, (713) 783-6016, 7pm

Or order it online at Amazon.com

Attack of the Tomato King

The Story of How el Rey of Mexico’s New Democracy was Dethroned

Gustavo Arellano
Editor-in-chief, emeritus

Late August 2001, PICO RIVERA

The grandstands at the Pico Rivera Sports Arena are half-filled with people on a sweltering Southern California Sunday afternoon as the smell of dirt, dung, and sweat that is unique to a rodeo permeates the nostrils. “Half-filled” at events usually signifies failure, but for the members of the benefit associations of El Cargadero and Jomulquillo, “half-filled” is a resounding success.

Thousands of miles away from their tiny ranchos that are nestled next to each other in the Zacatecan highlands, expatriates of El Cargadero and Jomulquillo make up the vast majority of the 1,000 or so people in attendance. However, the jomulquillenses and cargaderenses are not here to listen to music or to see the roping of bulls that is taking place inside the ring.

Sure, there’s a <banda> playing the favorites corridos of the two ranchos— “Lino Rodarte”, “Lucio Vazquez”, “El Corrido de los Pérez”, and countless other songs particular to Zacatecas. And scheduled to perform later in the evening is hometown heroes Banda La Auténtica de Jerez (the munincipality that both El Cargadero and Jomulquillo are from), one of the most popular bandas around. But the people are here to see el Rey and, it’s not ranchera icon Vicente Fernández.

The crowd is waiting for Andrés Bermúdez, popularly known as el Rey del Tomate (The King of Tomatoes), who this past summer made history as the first naturalized American citizen to win an election in Mexico. Bermúdez is a citizen of two countries: the Jerez that lies in the southwestern region of Zacatecas and the Los Angeles/Orange County Jerezan community that played a major role in his electoral victory as the mayor of Jerez and which eagerly awaits his arrival. He has not forgotten their help and is paying a visit to his northern Jerezan constituents to thank them.

About an hour and a half after 4PM (when he was scheduled to appear), Bermúdez finally arrives. With the brassy notes of the traditional Mexican ceremonial song La Marcha de Zacatecas as background music, Bermúdez rides around the dirt ring on a horse waving to the cheering crowd. He recognizes some people and offers personal salutations. But mostly, the crowd is made up of his townspeople reveling in the fact that one of them is now making history in both Mexico and the United States. As Bermúdez circles around the dirt ring, the announcer tells his life story and the crowd—who is already familiar with his rags-to-riches story—goes wild.

In a couple of weeks, everyone will be infuriated with the actions of the Mexican government toward Bermúdez and by proxy, Mexican immigrants that live in the United States and are clamoring for representation in Mexico. And in 2002, Bermúdez is back in his home-away-from-home in Northern California, vowing never to return to Mexico. But right now, here in Pico Rivera, everyone is happy. The scene is nearly identical to his historical campaign, a campaign that can still be considered the dawn of the New Immigrant Order of Mexican government but now also serves as an ignominious reminder that corruption still reigns in Mexican politics.

***

JEREZ, ZACATECAS, MEXICO: EARLY JUNE, 2001- Jerez is a city of colonial urbanization. Centuries-old buildings on one-lane cobblestone streets go in tandem with new SUV’s and the graffiti of the Zaragosa gang that plagues the city. But the municipality of about 40,000 inhabitants (which includes the actual city of Jerez and more than 75 ranchos) is bustling. Democracy is in the air as the campaigns for the first elections since Vicente Fox’s victory in the summer of 2000 enrapture the populace. The streets are filled with banners and flyers promoting various stern-looking candidates for the presidency of the municipality of Jerez. But one banner stands out: a bright yellow one promoting a chubby, dark-skinned man with the slogan, ”<Si allá lo logre, aquí con tu voto lo confirmaré>” (If I achieved it over there (the United States), with your vote I’ll do it over here, too).

The candidate is Bermúdez, born in El Cargadero (a rancho about 20 minutes away from Jerez proper) and owner of a life story familiar to lovers of Horatio Alger. After growing up in El Cargadero, Bermúdez’ family moved to Tijuana in search of a better life but to no avail. As the situation worsened, Bermúdez and his pregnant wife were smuggled into the United States in the trunk of a Cutlass Supreme by a young hippie in 1973.

After spending a short time with the El Cargadero community in Southern California (where over 1,000 <cargaderenses> live in the city of Anaheim alone), Bermúdez moved to Winters, California. There, Bermudez worked his way up from a field hand to a labor contractor. He later invented a tomato-planting machine and made millions, earning his famous nickname—”El Rey del Tomate.” Bermúdez’ life has taken many turns, from the poverty of El Cargadero to his current millionaire status. Never once during his trek, though, did he ever imagine running for political office in Mexico. But, after visiting Jerez on vacation a couple of years ago, he was left with no other option.

“When I came back to visit Jerez and invest money, I saw the same poverty that I had left”, Bermúdez says as he prepares for another night of campaigning. “Everything was still horrible, if not worse. How could I just leave things as they were? I couldn’t let a professional who had never worked a day in their life in the field do it.”

So Bermúdez—who hadn’t lived in Mexico continuously in almost 30 years—joined the PRD (Partido de la Revolución Democrática), intending to run for the presidency of the munincipality of Jerez (a combination of the American offices of mayor and the Board of Supervisors). He easily won the primary for the PRD’s candidacy during the winter of 2000, becoming the party’s official candidate.

Bermúdez quickly won a devoted following despite some local rumblings over his immigrant status. “I don’t care if he hasn’t lived here for a long time”, a young boy of about 17 with crooked teeth says while loading banners onto a truck. “What’s great about him is that when he joined the PRD, he immediately made it clear he wanted to help out Jerez and nothing else. He’s not in it for personal glory.”

Bermúdez’ immigrant status would come back to haunt him. A week before his scheduled Sept. 16 inauguration, the Mexican government declared the Jerezan mayoral race results invalid after it was “discovered” that Bermúdez had not lived continuously in Mexico for the past election year. This revelation—which barely registered a blip on a US media that was Bermúdez-crazy during his campaign—would go on to nearly start an armed revolution in Jerez.

But at this point in the campaign, while the elections are about a month away, Bermúdez’ immigration status or the toppling of the Mexican state is not an issue. The most salient aspect for Jerez right now is Bermúdez’ generosity. Legends are already forming around this man who seems to be from a spaghetti western, appearing everywhere in an all-black ensemble of jeans, tejana, shirt, jacket and boots.

Some girls relate a story that they asked Bermúdez if he knew where they could get 5,000 pesos (roughly $500) loan to help fund a church festival. Without blinking, according to the girls, Bermúdez pulled out his wallet and gave them 7,000 pesos with no strings attached. Another legend (this one more dubious) says that President Bush himself made a call to Vicente Fox asking that Bermúdez be allowed to run despite his immigrant status. His campaign is barely starting and he is already turning into a folk hero. “People will vote for him because he is from <el rancho>”, says an older man. “Even with all his millions, <no se le ha quitado el chúntaro> (the backwardness has not left him).”

***

A caravan of about 15 cars and trucks filled with a motley crew of charros, students, professors, and campesinos weaves through the Jerezan countryside in search of more votes for Bermúdez. The rancho vote is crucial to Bermúdez. The city vote, which is mostly PRI and PAN, hates Bermúdez and “his kind.” But rancheros—which make up the overwhelming majority of the population of Jerez—love him <because> of his distinctly non-political ways. And, most crucially (as the future will portend), nearly all Jerezans in the United States come from the ranchos and also support him.

The caravan reaches Los Félix, a rancho about 15 minutes away from Jerez proper and the entire town is out to see Bermúdez—all 30 people. About an hour before his arrival, Bermúdez’ troops had plastered the town with flyers and a truck wove around Los Felix’s dirt roads playing a recorded message announcing Bermúdez’ imminent arrival. The classical American democratic ethos has reached rural Mexico; the atmosphere is not current American electoral corporate politics but rustic, profane, but most importantly, of the people.

It is obvious Bermúdez is not a politician as soon as he gets out of his chauffeured black truck. Politicians bask in their own glory when people wax poetics about their various accomplishments; Bermúdez sheepishly looks down as if embarrassed by his own record during his introduction. “Every time I speak before a crowd of people, I sweat”, he confides in me as he is handed the microphone.

He starts his speech as he does nearly all his speeches, with a disclaimer. “I’m not a politician; I’m a farmer. I come from a place where you put up or shut up. In the US, if you don’t produce, you get kicked out.”

As he fumbles with the microphone and his words, Bermúdez outlines his strategy and beliefs for a better Jerez. For starters, he promises to donate his monthly salary (35,000 pesos, about 3,000 dollars) to the poor and take away 10% of his staff’s salaries towards the same cause. He wants young men and women to go to college with government-paid scholarships and proposes starting a daily bus route from Jerez to Zacatecas (the capital, about 2 hours away) to send people to the state’s only university. Bermúdez also vows to use his agricultural connections in the United States to bring relief to the farmers in drought-stricken Jerez.

But he saves his most important comments for people like himself—immigrants or prospective immigrants. “I want no more immigration away from Jerez”, Bermúdez states emphatically. “We must make opportunities here so that our young people do not leave for the States.” At the same time, he does not forget the importance of the immigrant to democratic reform in Mexico. “Mexicans abroad should be able to vote”, he says. “By giving them the right to vote, corruption in Mexico will end since most of the people in the States hate the status quo.”

But Bermúdez underestimates the power of the status quo. Despite the rise of democracy in Mexico, the ruling hegemony still has a stranglehold. The PRI—desperate for a victory, any victory after the debacle of 2000—worked hard to discredit Bermúdez during the election and after the election results, ultimately succeeding. The person who finally turned Bermúdez in was not a PRI-ista, though, but one of his fellow Jerezan PRD-istas—Ismael Solís. Not surprisingly, after the Mexican government invalidated Bermúdez’ victory, Solís declared himself the new president of Jerez.

Solís’ coup did not sit well with Jerez’ residents. A state of civil war ensued on Mexico’s Independence Day, but it wasn’t of the revolutionary fervor of Hidalgo and Morelos fighting the Spaniards. The new revolutionaries were Jerezans demanding democratic responsibility, shouting “¡Bermúdez o nadie!” (Bermúdez or else!) while occupying the mayoral palace vowing to burn down the century-old building unless Bermúdez was reinstated. A bunch of ladies from El Cargadero beat up Solís when he visited Bermúdez’ hometown attempting to explain what had happened. Even Zacatecas’ governor, Ricardo Monreal, decried the stolen election but ultimately supported Solís when it became politically acceptable to do so.

Mexicans are used to last-second political trickeries, but what most appalled Jerez was that it happened to <their> man, a man that is reflective of Jerez’ increasingly transnational atmosphere. Bermúdez’ charisma and message appealed to his campaign workers from the start and, indeed, had captured the heart of the Mexican people ecstatic at supporting their binational Moses.

“The PRI, like imperial Rome was big and came down, so change is possible”, says Rubén Sánchez, a professor at the Universidad Autonomita de Zacatecas, as Bermúdez wraps up his Los Félix speech. “The good about the recent (presidential) elections is that Fox beat the PRI, the bad is that Fox does not represent the rancho. PAN is the party of the Spaniards, who believe in the Divine Right Theory—only they can rule.” Sánchez then points to a gaggle of youth that are busy handing out flyers to the people of Los Félix. “I’ve lived through it all in Mexican politics. This is serving the youth as experience and will show them that democracy is beautiful.”

As Bermúdez finishes his speech and prepares to leave for the next rancho, a pack of dogs begins to fight in front of them. Contemplating the ensuing chaos for a bit, he offers this explanation: “That’s the PRI. They’re too busy fighting each other to sense the changes around them.”

***

BACK TO PICO RIVERA– Bermúdez finally stops shaking the hands of his fans and sits to watch the rodeo as the sun sets in Pico Rivera. But there is one final treat: a corrido composed in Bermúdez’ honor. The stadium quiets down as the singer for La Auténtica sings the lyrics.

The corrido tells Bermúdez life story, his election victory, and how proud Jerez—both the city in Zacatecas and the expatriate community—are of him. That this concert is even happening attests to the importance of Mexican immigrants in the United States and to Bermúdez’ victory.

Earlier in the year, the Federación de Clubes Zacatecanos, an organization of social clubs representing the various ranchos that now call California home, sponsored a debate in Los Angeles featuring all 7 candidates for the presidency of Jerez. Bermúdez won everyone over precisely because of his non-political ways. After the debates, many of the Southern California Jerezan benefit associations made a concentrated effort to get out the vote for Bermúdez, some going as far as organizing caravans returning to Jerez to vote.

The immigrant push resulted in Bermúdez’ impressive victory (Bermúdez won with 43 percent of the vote; his closest opponent had 33 percent) and confirmed his own analysis: Mexican immigrants can change Mexico for the better. These same clubes also rallied around Bermúdez as he fought the election invalidation. Many of the club presidents went down to Jerez immediately after finding out about the stolen election. Their considerable financial power and importance to the Jerezan economy guaranteed them a spot in the negotiations over Jerez’ presidency.

After much legal wrangling, Bermúdez and his camp grudgingly agreed to drop his contention of the invalidated victory. Solís was to remain as mayor for three months and afterwards, the PRD would be able to appoint a new candidate. But when the three months came, Solís insisted in keeping power, leading to yet another armed revolt in Jerez by people clamoring to have the man who was democratically elected and symbolized a new Mexico finally put in office. Ultimately, Monreal (who is rumored to have ambitions for <los Pinos> in 2006) and the PRD abandoned Bermúdez in order not to upset the status quo.

Bermúdez must live in Mexico for a full continuous year to be able to run again, but he has vowed to not even help his hometown. In the meanwhile, he plans to act as a voice for the new Mexican nation, a country of transnational men and women who remain Mexico’s only hope for salvation—even if Mexico continues to deny them a rightful place in guiding the country

***

The corrido finishes. It is nothing special and if anything, José Alfredo Jiménez is probably spinning in his grave over it. But no one seems to care. Even though La Auténtica is just beginning to warm up, most of the crowd disperses, heading for an air-conditioned haven. They could care less about music; all they wanted to see was their king Bermúdez, a king without a throne but with a following that proves he will never lose his reign.

______________
Gustavo Arellano is the editor of OC Latino and covered the Bermúdez campaign for ultimately no one. He feels that Mexico owes its very existence to immigrants

 

The Ultimate Worthlessness of Cinco de Mayo

by Gustavo Arellano
Editor-in-chief, emeritus

Cinco de Mayo is worthless. There, I said it.

It’s not pointless because it serves the nationalist project of promoting pride in one’s country and its heritage. And for this reason, it’s not stupid since it has worked like a charm of making Mexicans out of all of us come May 5, even if the extent of commitment for México lindo y querido is drinking Corona instead of Budweiser.

But it is worthless.

Celebrating Cinco de Mayo is worthless because it commemorates a supposedly grand victory that ultimately meant and did nothing. Sure, Zaragosa and his troops held off the French that glorious day in Puebla in 1862 but it didn’t drive the frogs away for good; indeed, this humiliating defeat convinced them that they needed more troops. The next time the French and Mexicans fought (a year later), the French whipped some Mexican ass and ushered in the era of the French occupation under the Hapsburg Maximillian.

I do not mean to diminish the actual event itself, since the ragtag Mexican army crushed what was considered the finest military in the world at the time. Nevertheless, celebrating Cinco de Mayo is like remembering Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade” for the charging part while conveniently forgetting the massacre at the end. It’s like celebrating <los niños héroes> for jumping off the tower at Chapultepec Castle while forgetting the reason why (and btw, counter-legend has it that it was American troops who threw those boys from the tower). Call it bravery, call it resistance; I call it ignorance and self-defeatism.

To celebrate the blip of Cinco de May in the ultimate struggle that didn’t do much to stop the French onslaught is to continue the peculiarly Mexican fixation of harping over our losses.

We bemoan the Conquest nearly 500 years after the fact, simultaneously outraged that the Spaniards slaughtered and raped the inhabitants of Anahuac and angry that Montezuma acquiesced so quickly to Cortes. The outright theft of half of Mexico 150 years ago because of Santa Anna’s moronicies gets Chicanos so caught up in misery they actually start comparing themselves to Palestinians (Palestinians! As if someone who speaks horrid Spanish, has parents born in Jalisco that are descended from Europeans and Mexican Indians, and who hasn’t lived a day without potable water can logically compare themselves to people who have lived in the same parched spot since the time of Christ). The PRI bilked us dry year after year. Díaz sold us out to the Americans. That pretty-boy vendido De la Hoya beat our national hero Chávez—twice. Loss is in all Mexicans’ mind in one way or another, as is the bitter thought that there was nothing we were able to do about it and we can’t change it even if we tried.

Cinco de Mayo merely continues that. Cinco de Mayo isn’t a victory at all, as much as we try to tell ourselves and others that it is. The French occupation of Mexico was successful even if we did drive them out. We taste it every morning in our pan dulce, listlessly practice it in our quinceañera waltzes, and praise it to high heaven in whenever the mariachi violins begin their pizzicato coda. Cinco de Mayo is a painful reminder of our failings in trying to confront those who would colonize Mexico and our constant carping over it.

Let’s start getting rid of this fatalistic streak by stopping the Cinco de Mayo celebration. Napoleon III was an egomaniac who during his lifetime began France’s imperialism in Indochina and Africa in the hopes of emulating his uncle (for a great portrayal of how loony the Third really was, check out Claude Rains’ hammy performance in 1939’s Juarez). The Maximillian-Carlota duo that ruled Mexico with a velvet glove is best remembered as two pitiful royals desperate for the adoration of their subjects. Yet we celebrate the memory of their conquest every fifth of May by claiming that we defeated them. If only that were truly the case.

______________

Gustavo Arellano is the senior editor of OC Latino and didn’t even get to Cinco de Mayo’s takeover by American beer companies, though he made a slight allusion to it (last sentence of second paragraph).