“For Purposes of Labor and Lust” Human Trafficking & Enslavement in California, 1850 - 1875

Excerpt by Pamela Nagler
Published 11/17/2021 6:00am

Even though California entered the Union as a ‘free soil state’ rather than as a ‘slave state,’ California’s state legislators immediately set to work to install Native American slavery in such a way as to not arouse dissension from the abolitionists back East. Simply stated, Native American slavery in the U.S. was simply not viewed in the same way as Transatlantic African slavery.

Under California’s vagrancy and indentureship laws, the Anglo-Americans kidnapped, bought, sold and received ‘proprietorship’ over men, women and children. Children were the easiest target - more malleable, and less likely to run away. After a massacre (and there were plenty in those days), ruthless white men would scoop up the orphans for sale, trade or personal use. Women were sought after as well - as one observer stated, “for reasons of labor and lust.” Often, the men were simply slaughtered.(However, that said, there is plenty of evidence of captive men laboring on ranches for no pay.)  

For sure, Los Angeles had its auction block, where Native labors were bought and sold 52 weeks a year, but the slavery enacted under California’s so-called ‘apprenticeship’ or ‘indentureship’ laws was closer to what we would today call human trafficking rather than the chattel slavery of the South - not exactly slavery de jure, but certainly slavery de facto. 

Though California’s slave trade is little known and rarely discussed, it was was enormous, and its effects can only be roughly estimated. Contemporary historian Andrés Reséndez in his ground-breaking book, The Other Slavery, wrote that according to one estimate: “this act may have affected as many as twenty thousand California Indians, including four thousand children kidnapped from their parents and employed primarily as domestic servants and farm laborers.”  

However, not all children were ‘kidnapped’ - ruthless men often slaughtered their parents, their families, their people and took them captive.

Much went unreported - slavery belongs in a shadow world of its own - however, there are plenty of newspaper and court reports, Native testimony and official documents submitted by Indian agents to substantiate the magnitude of it: 


“Ready Gain”

Northern California Colusa County pioneer Henry Clay Bailey wrote in 1897 about what happened in his region in the early years just after U.S. takeover. He explained that the ‘kidnappings’ often began with slaughtering the men, and sometimes the women in a Native encampment:

“Not many of the present generation of Californians know that in the early ’50’s a regular slave trade was carried on in the mountains bordering the upper Sacramento Valley, from Clear Lake to Stony Creek. 
Vicious and desperate characters, for the ready gain to be obtained by the trade, would locate a small band of Indians, make a sudden dash upon the camp, revolvers in hand, shoot as many of the men as possible, and sometimes the women, too, and scatter the rest of the band. The raiders would then catch all the boys and girls between eight and fourteen years of age who had remained near the camp. 

Then they would start out for a market, perhaps to fill orders they had already obtained. These men would stop at nothing in their greed for gain, and in their eyes their captives were legitimate merchandise.” 

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”A Charitable Act”

Ranchers and cattlemen hired men to kill the adults in a Native rancheria or village, before dispersing the children among themselves, which they declared an ‘act of charity.’ Sacramento Times, March 5, 1853, Exciting News from Tehama – Indian Thefts - Terrible Vengeance of the Whites:

 “In Colusa County, local stockmen Thomas and Toombs hired men for $100 a month to ‘hunt down and [k]ill the Diggers, like other beasts of prey…Captain Rose took one child. Mr. Lattimer another, and the others were disposed of in the same charitable manner among the party.’”

Note that the editors likened the Native to “beasts of prey” and used the derogatory racial epithet, “digger.” By dehumanizing California’s indigenous people, it made it that much easier to justify their slaughter and enslavement.

___________

“Stealing and Selling young Indian boys and girls”

Often, these men who killed the adults, killed them in order to obtain their children for sale. The Daily Alta, San Francisco, 1855:

“One of the most infamous practices known to modern times has been carried on for several months past against the aborigines of California. It has been the custom of certain disreputable persons to steal away young Indian boys and girls, and carry them off and sell them to white folks for whatever they could get. 

In order to do this, they are obliged in many cases to kill the parents, for low as they are on the scale of humanity, they [the Indians] have that instinctive love of their offspring which prompts them to defend them at the sacrifice of their lives.”

___________ 

”Abduction Attempt”

Kidnappings often occurred as a result of warfare, but this article revealed that  the attempted abduction of a Native woman or child could happen at any time. Sacramento Daily Union, 1857:

“some white men near Yreka attempted to carry off the squaw of one of the Indians in the vicinity. Her husband interfered, and was knocked down and beaten by the abductors.” 


Note the pejorative use of the epithet, “squaw.”

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“Bright Little Specimens”

This newspaper article reads like an advertisement for native children. Sacramento Daily Union, 1857:

“The Pitt River volunteers have returned to Yreka. carrying with them a number of native children who were given to different families in that place. The Union says some were bright little specimens and no doubt will be of much benefit to those who raise and care for them.”

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“To the Highest Bidder”

This article spoke admiringly of the system that delivered ‘delinquent’ Indians to the highest bidder. Marysville Weekly Express, 1859:

“They have a singular way of dispensing justice to Indians in Fresno County. An Indian sentenced for any delinquency, to be imprisoned for a certain time, to labor, to the highest bidder. The system, naively remarks a paper in Mariposa, works admirably, though we do not know, of its being practiced in any other county.”

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“Indians [were] being hunted for their children”

News of this shameless trade in children reached the East Coast, and was brought to the Senate floor in 1860. The Senate officially condemned California for allowing this practice. However, distracted by the looming secession of the Southern states over African-American slavery, the US Senate took no direct action.


The Boston Transcript in 1860 printed a scathing expose on the child slave trade written by one of their newspaper correspondents. The author noted that in order to capture these children, who sold for between $50 to $100, the slavers had to ‘‘make war on the Indians.’’ He reported that he ‘‘stopped at one house on the trail in the deep gorges of the mountains, and saw six poor naked urchins who had been recently captured.’’ 


Further, he reported that the man who held these children was a ‘‘brutal rascal [who] pointed to one boy and said, with the greatest coolness imaginable, that he ‘had killed his daddy yesterday, and thought he was not quite big enough to kill, so he brought him in,’ and showed us a huge knife with which he had slaughtered the unresisting native.’’ 

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“Loathe to Part with their Offspring”


In an article in the March 1, 1860 Humboldt Times, the author lamented that there were not more indigenous children to work in the homes of the settlers, "but the Indians have been hitherto loath to part with their offspring at such ages as would make them most susceptible of training.”


As if it were a stretch of the imagination that parents would not want to part with their children.

________________

Sexual Captivity

An editorial in the Sacramento Union, 1860, decried the sex slave trade:
“The most disgusting phase of this species of slavery is the concubinage of creatures calling themselves white men with squaws throughout various portions of the State. The details of this portion of the ‘apprenticeship’ system are unfit to commit to paper.” 

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“For Purposes of Labor and Lust”

This editorial made it explicit that Indians were not just traded as servants, but also for sex. Marysville Appeal, 1861:

“it is from these mountain tribes that white settlers draw their supplies of kidnapped children, educated as servants, and women for purposes of labor and lust…


there are parties in the northern portion of the state whose sole occupation has been to steal young children and squaws from the poor Diggers who inhabit the mountains, and dispose of them at handsome prices to the settlers who, being in the majority of cases unmarried but at housekeeping, willingly pay $50 or $60 for a young Digger to cook or wait upon them, or $100 for a likely young girl.” 

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For the Children’s “Protection”

George H. Woodman was arrested for kidnapping thirteen (or sixteen, by some reports) young Indians, with the intent to sell them. However, he was both discharged and exonerated because he made the case that if he didn’t ‘employ’ them - others would, and that he ‘protected’ the children from unscrupulous dealers. The Sacramento Union and Mendocino Herald, 1863 stated that Woodman claimed that living next to an Indian rancheria, he often “employed several of the natives and protected their children and has thus interfered with the speculating purposes of other parties.” 


“When they find a rancheria well stocked with young Indians, [they] murder in cold blood all the old ones” 

In 1862, the Alta California republished an article from the Ukiah Herald:

“Here is well known there are a number of men in this county, who have for years made it their profession to capture and sell Indians, the price ranging from $30 to $150, according to quality. Some hard stories are told of those engaged in the trade, in regard to the manner of the capture of the children. It is even asserted that there are men engaged in it who do not hesitate, when they find a rancheria well stocked with young Indians, to murder in cold blood all the old ones, in order that they may safely possess themselves of all the offspring.” 

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Runaway Captives

Captive slaves escaped, or attempted to escape. After disclosing that one young captive who had been held against her will by a US military officer and his family had managed to escape, the article explained that the captives were not always the perfect slaves that the white settlers had hoped for. Humboldt Times and Maysville Appeal 1861:


“Several instances have occurred lately of Indian apprentices absconding from the parties to whom they have been indentured. One young Squaw that been in service for some months in the family of Capt. Tomlinson, ran away a few days ago, taking wearing apparel, some forty dollars in money and and other valuables which she had stolen from other members of the family. Experience teaches that the natives do not, as a general rule, become reliable servants. Each individual who has one, will of course insist theirs is trustworthy, until the contrary is proven.” 

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Reward Offered for  Runaway Slaves

When children ran away, their captors would sometimes run a public notice in the newspaper, offering a reward. Marsyville Daily Appeal, 1861:




$50
REWARD

LOST

TWO INDIAN GIRLS, ONE ABOUT

Ten, the other fourteen years old.  The oldest

Is tattooed on her cheeks and chin.  Both had on dark

Calico dresses, and the hair of each was cut close.  

Any Information that will lead to their recovery will be

Liberally rewarded: and any person returning them to

Me shall receive the reward above named.

J.H. WRIGT

Plaza, Marysville 


Pamela Casey Nagler, Pomona-born, is an independent scholar, currently conducting research on California’s indigenous people, focusing on the Spanish, Russian, Mexican and US invasions between 1769 and the 1860s. The point of studying this history is to tell us how we got here from there. 

Rape & the Conquest

Photography Julian Lucas 2014

Photography Julian Lucas 2014

Text Pamela Nagler
Photography Julian Lucas

“In the United States, violence against indigenous women has reached unprecedented levels on tribal lands and in Alaska Native villages. More than 4 in 5 American Indian and Alaska Native women have experienced violence, and more than 1 in 2 have experienced sexual violence. Alaska Native women continue to suffer the highest rate of forcible sexual assault and have reported rates of domestic violence up to 10 times higher than in the rest of the United States. Though available data is limited, the number of missing and murdered American Indian and Alaska Native women and the lack of a diligent and adequate federal response is extremely alarming to indigenous women, tribal governments, and communities. On some reservations, indigenous women are murdered at more than ten times the national average.”

  • Indian Law Resource Center

The Conquests did not introduce rape to the regions, but they did introduce rape on a scale not seen before. The Spanish Conquest of California, as it was elsewhere in the Americas, was a masculine conquest and sexual assault having very much to do with it. Rape, sexual assault, was systemic to the Conquest.

The European invaders in the Americas believed that not just the lands, but the people, were there for the taking. It was not just about taking possession of the land, but about taking possession of indigenous bodies as well. Explorers, conquistadors, soldiers, sailors and Padres alike believed that the Americas and the Amerindians simply waited in ‘darkness’ and ‘ignorance’ for them to claim possession. In order to do so, the conquistador arrived with shiploads of weapons and strategies to gain the supremacy that they thought they deserved. Rape - sexual assault - was just one of these strategies.

Rarely did the conquistadors bring their own women. Women were there to be ‘acquired’ along the way, and this kind of thinking permeated everything the conquerors did. They routinely evaluated the lands they encountered as barren or fertile, placing value on the territories as to their usefulness for themselves. They routinely enslaved the peoples they encountered to serve their needs, and they subjugated women by sexually assaulting them.

In the early days in Alta California, it was customary for the explorers and invaders to describe the inhabitants as “quiet” and “tractable” - a projection of what they hoped for. When things did not go well, they instead described them as ‘hostile savages’ (though sometimes, they called them this even when things were going well). Integral to their evaluation of indigenous peoples was whether or not they could be subjugated, and how easily. 

On their explorations, sea captains and land explorers routinely kidnapped or “took” natives to serve as servants or translators - and they also routinely raped the women. Later, when the soldiers arrived to invade, occupy and colonize the Californias, they not only conscripted anyone they could to labor for them, but they raped the women or “took” them as concubines. It was part of the formula. Contemporary historian Virginia M. Bouvier describes that, in California, the indigenous people faced an “explosive sexuality” from their Spanish invaders. 

It is common to think of rape as a single horrible, ‘intimate’ action between an aggressor and his single victim, but rape in California had a scale of its own. It was multiplied hundreds of times by the soldiery. It was not just a single terrible act of aggression against one woman, but the symbolic castration of the men connected with the women. The physical ramifications of the assaults went beyond a single violent act. The rapes restricted mobility and the inhabitants of a rancheria’s ability to procure food. These assaults set up a cycle of fear and hatred, with retaliations resulting in casualties. The indigenous men who struggled to defend the women often wound up dead. In the end, rape became an act against the entire community, leading to the subjugation of everyone. 

Rape was both physical violence and psychological warfare, and it enabled the conquerors to gain territory and loyal subjects for the Crown.

In Las Californias, in both Baja and Alta California, these predatory soldiers were responsible for the spread of syphilis, ‘mal galico,’ throughout the indigenous communities. Disease became just one more way that the revolution was won against them. Syphilis, if it did not kill outright, weakened them, made the people more susceptible to other diseases, living as they were in the unsanitary conditions they endured in the missions, enduring the maltreatment of the Spaniards which included the systematic use of torture and incarceration.

Spanish soldiers, trained for war, trained to kill Indians, trained in the belief of their racial and cultural superiority, raped. They considered both sexual violence and exploitation as the ‘spoils of war’ - something deserved as a consequence for their service as soldiers. At times, they raped because they were bored. They raped for sport. They raped because they could. Their duties as soldiers did not occupy all of their time. Rape became a crime of opportunity. The conquering males, isolated, without their wives, mothers, sisters, cousins, took advantage of their circumstances. Sexual conquest was part of the language of the Conquest and It was fed by a literature and philosophy that promoted race and gender supremacy while romanticizing the vanquishing and the ‘taking.’ The conquistadors - the military and the missionaries - took advantage of the fact that In the Spanish patriarchal casta system in the Americas, indigenous women ranked on the lowest rung on the race, gender, socio-economic ladder.

And while the Spanish Crown, the Spanish government did not officially sanction rape, the officials expected it, anticipated it, and whatever they said about it, they lacked the will or the means to stop it. Tacitly, they recognized that it furthered their goals of  reduccion - of dislocating people from their ancestral lands and placing them in mission compounds modeled on Spanish townships as a means to turning them into loyal, tax-paying citizens for the Crown.

The Franciscan Fathers in California certainly railed against the multitude of sexual abuses. They considered each rape an act against God, but there was also some self-interest in their protestations. They recognized that the rapes were detrimental to their effort to convert California. In the end, however, no matter how much they railed against it, the Fathers had little effect in either stopping or curtailing the widespread, systemic abuse, and they remained complicit because they relied on the military to sustain the mission institutions that they valued so much.

The California military governors only half-heartedly placed any sanctions whatsoever on their own troops. Punishments were few and arbitrary, haphazard, and, in the end, ineffective in curbing the violence. It was a soldiers’ job was to terrorize and control, and the military and government officials simply recognized the efficacy of sexual violence - rape carved out space for them to take possession of the territories and coerce the people into Spanish compliance.


Pamela Casey Nagler, Pomona-born, is an independent scholar, currently conducting research on California’s indigenous people, focusing on the Spanish, Russian, Mexican and US invasions between 1769 and the 1860s. The point of studying this history is to tell us how we got here from there. 

LINKS


Dear BIPOC Artists We Need to Create Our Own Ecosystems Outside of the Systems of White Supremacy

Text By Jessica Ramos
Graphic By Annika Izora

It’s been an entire year since the start of the pandemic, where our fundamental systems have been viewed again with new eyes. While it’s true that we’ve been living in a period of flawed fundamental systems, many people have began to take notice with events that transpired during the pandemic: the murder of George Floyd, lack of government aid, and the need for essential workers to show up during the peak of the pandemic, my dad included, who worked a non-essential sales job during an exceptionally traumatic and dangerous period of our generation. Society is flawed from our legal system to our job market to our politics. This is especially for Black and Brown people who are dying at faster rates during the pandemic than white, wealthy people. 

Rodney Diverlus, the founder of the Canada BLM chapter, wrote in a 2020 article for CBC, “This year is an opportunity to break out of this cycle we know too well...Let us respond with a broad proliferation of Black arts practices, institutions, and practitioners.” He claims that instead of trying to fit into broken institutions that don’t serve us, why not create our own?  Naive as it may be, being a Latina writer who moved abroad and created a freelance career from scratch, I’ve been able to find hope in art and in artists, and in my ability to create a media career on my own. 

In 2020, Black and Brown artists were scared, worrying over how they were going to survive. It was tough enough already as we operated within institutions tied to white supremacy and that are set up to see us fail. But as Diverlus writes, and as I’ve seen discussed in digital spaces on socials like Instagram and Twitter, what if there’s a different route for BIPOC creatives to take? One that sustains us, cares for us, and gives us back power? 

Design Courtesy of Annika Izora

Design Courtesy of Annika Izora

I didn’t grow up in the art world. As a child of an immigrant in a single-income household, surviving was what was important. So the first time I was introduced to the concept of creative ecosystems was through a graphic designer, Annika Izora. Her graphics, reminiscent of 90s nostalgic color gradients, stopped me from the scroll. 

Her stance on interdependent creative worlds inspired me. Her collected database on ‘Creative Ecosystems & Funds That Support Black People’ (which she published during the pandemic) showed me resources I didn't know existed.  She also created a sheet where artists can exchange skills based on their needs and what they can offer, introducing the concept of how a creative ecosystem could work in the digital spaces. 

From her work, I was introduced to the community space she helped design and built by Naj Austin. Ethel’s Club is a club for Black and Brown people to share ideas on wellness, art, and business and feel safe and seen, though I haven’t been able to afford the price point at this time. I also found Brwn Art Ink is a “nomadic community incubator to support the arts ecosystem for artists, cultural practitioners, and communities of color.” And these are just a few of the digital spaces that are highlighting the importance of BIPOC ecosystems, independent of white supremacy. 

A BIPOC ecosystem could be a complex network of interconnected systems that we find within our cities or digitally. From cultural systems to social good, they could provide connection and the sharing of ideas. In a study by the European Commission on what creative ecosystems are, they say “...cultural and creative ecosystems are the nurturing ground for innovation.” For BIPOC artists, these types of contained ecosystems could be a fundamental part of our practices. 

As a Latina freelancer living abroad with no peers, community and mentorship are two things that I crave. So I’d say, consider joining an arts ecosystem through a digital space or by joining a meetup in your area. If you don’t have one, start one. Collectives, like Tyler the Creator’s Odd Future and Jelani Aryeh’s Raised by the Internet have helped push these Black and Brown creatives towards success and production of ideas. 


Creative ecosystems, specifically for Black and Brown people, overcome some of the biggest hurdles that they’re often faced with, like funding and community. By funding Black and Brown artists, we allow them to thrive instead of solely survive. By creating safe spaces with each other in our communities, we give back to the people in those communities who stand to make a difference. We broaden our opportunities by offering communities. And most importantly, we separate ourselves from a system that wants to see us fail. 

Jessica is a Salvadoran freelance writer with interests in cities, art, social justice, and the intersections between. Originally from LA county, Jessica graduated from Cal Poly Pomona with a BA in English Education and took that degree to Madrid, Spain where she now teaches English to high schoolers when she's not busy reading and writing.

@jayaramoss
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Alien

Photography Jacquie Ray  From the Series, “We Shed”  | Courtesy of Bree Leche

Photography Jacquie Ray From the Series, “We Shed” | Courtesy of Bree Leche

Text Bree Leche

During my first pregnancy, I found how people's views of me changed as my body had changed. I learned that there were many unspoken rules to what pregnant people could and could not do. Even though pregnancy is just a natural process (literally, how any single human comes into the world), there seemed to be a strange preoccupation with it and/or desire to control it.

I was often put into a box and infantilized for my decisions. People were appalled at how I rejected their ideas of who a person transitioning to motherhood should be. Even strangers had an opinion about my body, and how I should be moving in it. I was questioned for hiking in my pregnant body, for working, for enjoying a beer at a bar, for engaging in kink, and for showing my bare belly during the summertime.

I've always wanted to do it on my own terms, coming up with my own concepts for new roles I've taken on. As a wife in an open marriage, as well as a sex and relationship coach who guides people how to properly listen to their inner voices. Creating and collaborating artistically through my pregnancy feels like another chance to instill that feeling.

The images presented are a part of a larger art project, which includes images of myself during pregnancy and postpartum that expanded folks’ imagination on who and what “mother” can and can’t be. This set was created in collaboration with photographer and contemporary erotic filmmaker Jacquie Ray. The body of work is all shot on film, and are simultaneously, maternal, erotic, strong, vulnerable, familiar and alien.

I hope that they challenge and expand what pregnancy represents, and make us ask ourselves why we have a difficult time allowing mothers and mamas-to-be as multifaceted and magical as they are.

Not from here, ni de alla: Finding Identity in Liminal Spaces

Untitled-1.jpg

Text L.V. Loya Soto

My mom has always told me, “por que no eres un nina normal” echoing one of the reoccuring punchlines of La familia P. Luche. Like Bibi P. Luche, I was also la rara, a studious quiet child who was unlike the rest of my family. I was someone who relied on this withdrawn nature to mask the struggle and confusion I felt within. I’ve always felt different. At first, I thought that meant I was wrong.


Femininity, especially femininity from a traditional Mexican perspective, was like a heavy beaded gown, fun for a game of dress up every now and then but not sensible for long-term wear. When I was young, and my parents were still together I was their golden child. A sweet and smiley little girl who adored playing dress up as much as she loved climbing trees. My amá took pride in my appearance, picking out darling frilly outfits for me to wear. She would spend hours on my hair, pulling my thick dark brown mane this way and that. Pigtails and braids and curls and barrettes in every color. Time with my mother was so precious, especially after the birth of my first brother and my parent’s subsequent divorce, when her time became dominated by her 40-hour-a-week warehouse job. Before the divorce, my mother would read to me as I sat in her lap and we rocked back and forth in her big plush rocking chair, her accented English the music of a mother’s love in my ears. After the divorce, the only time she had to spare was used to get me ready for school, waking up extra early to do my hair after she had already gotten ready for work, my baby brother packed away in his baby carrier fast asleep. I cherished this time together even if I had to bite my lip to keep from squealing as she stretched hair across my scalp. La belleza cuesta, she’d say the times I did protest. Beauty costs.


She would be exasperated when I returned home each day, sweat plastering stray hair to my face, my pigtails wilting, my pretty clothes covered in thick sap from scaling the surrounding trees. This was the last time I felt some semblance of agency in my body for quite some time, feet searching for the next secure knot, arms pulling me up higher and higher until I was above my apartment complex, looking out over my corner of the world and wondering where I fit in it. I climbed trees and raced neighborhood boys until my developing body suddenly made it improper for a girl like me to be out in the streets. This was around the time my mother married my stepfather after a brief courtship at work. My stepfather was an alcoholic with enough traditional Mexican machismo to be terribly confused and angry at me for failing to meet his expectations of femininity. Especially when my mom is un mujer propio, never leaving the house without her hair or makeup done. Extremely demure, my amá serves it to them in her signature silver eyeshadow, blue eyeliner and pink blush. No lipstick and neither hemline nor neckline showing more than what was appropriate. My stepfather couldn’t understand how someone like me could come from someone like her. Not only was I indifferent about my appearance and developed an aversion to frilly girly clothes, but I refused to play my part as doting daughter. The worst part was that I was smart, which meant I was willfully disobedient, a cardinal sin as a first born girl child.


I kept being struck by how unfair this was—why was my body changing? How could something that once pulled me strong and true to treetops betray me so terribly? At 9, my breasts started budding, and I was already a head taller and several pounds heavier than the rest of my classmates. My body hair turned from golden to dark black and seemed to cover me all over. I had stretch marks across my hips, legs and breasts. I felt like a werewolf mid-transformation. I felt alien and wrong. My children’s clothes did not protect me from the adults who sexualized my body. Men would call out vulgarities from cars, honking their horns as they whistled at me and my light up shoes, my sequined Bobby Jack sweater. At this point I was already a sexual abuse survivor as well, and this new body frightened me to no end. I grew my hair long and wore it down. I lived in oversized sweaters year-round, trying fruitlessly to hide in the fabric. This shame I felt about my developing body extended to shame about my ethnicity as well. Which I also tried to hide.


I developed a healthy amount of internalized racism that manifested in lies to classmates: I was half Italian in grade school, born in Italy in high school. I lied about who I was, where I came from, to try to distance myself from the way I saw my mother treated. I was terrified of ending up like her, a beautiful strong honest woman who was pregnant at a young age and shackled to a full-time warehouse job. I didn’t want to putter around the house, spending all of my free time cleaning up after everyone else. The more I distanced myself from my heritage, the more I assimilated I became the more control I felt over my future. The less Mexican I felt, the less indebted to these sexist traditional ideals I felt. I hated the assumption that I would get married, have children, and serve them all a plate before I sat down. I hated that family would ask me about prospective boyfriends before prospective colleges. I hated being delegated to housework when none of my brothers had to so much as wash a dish. I love my family, and owe my life to them, but the sense of duty that hung over my head was suffocating. Once in high school, I joined marching band, pride club, yearbook—desperate to find obligations and responsibilities at school that could act as fuel on my rocket out of town. The sense of duty I forged, independent of my assigned gender or ethnicity, wholly dependent on my skill and talent, felt earned instead of inherited. It was hard not to feel resentment towards my culture, especially since representation was few and far in-between.


Our Mexican culture exists in liminal spaces—on the car radio, on television, at certain markets or family parties. We have to extend our hands, and ask for bits of Mexican culture, as we seep in American ideals. Although Latinx people were all around me growing up—both in the towns I lived and at school—I never saw them in positions of power. I went to school in Pomona, Ontario, and Chino where all of the teachers I had were white up until college. I didn’t know any whose parents went to college. Parents in our neighborhoods were forklift certified, employed at the various warehouses that continue to pollute communities in the Inland Empire and San Bernardino County. Those of us who expressed interest in higher education were encouraged to seek out practical careers. Many went to vocational schools and became nurses and dental assistants, drawn to a steady paycheck with unwavering demand. Artists, writers, and those of us with stars in our eyes were met with much less support when expressing pursuing things related to the arts. This was seen as a waste of opportunity and potential. My mother hardly spoke of her time in Mexico, but she would often remind us of the struggles she faced to get to school, telling us of the miles she’d trek in the early morning while the sun still slept behind the horizon. Sacrifice, guilt and the shouldering of burdens seemed to be the only constant in our culture, the only things taught.


Although Spanish was my first language, it quickly felt clumsy and heavy on my tongue, worn away by lack of practice or immersion. As my mother’s first born, I have been her translator since grade school, sitting in on phone calls to bill companies, performing alchemy with each whispered word. I’ve witnessed firsthand how quickly patience is lost if you don’t speak the same language. Ditto if your accent is too heavy. I quickly understood that English was prioritized in every conversation, often with little to no Spanish alternative. English became my best subject, a strength hewn by a love of reading born of my mother’s bedtime stories. Meanwhile my Spanish has stuck around conversational grade school level. I can read, if I take my time and sound out each word but can’t write much, at least not confidently. I’m grateful for the scraps I have, since a few of my younger brothers, like many other Latinx first and second generations, can’t speak Spanish at all. Language, like any living thing, must be nurtured and shown love or, like any living thing, it can die. Many families don’t speak Spanish because their grandparents had their knuckles rapped by wooden rulers for every word spoken at school or church. In my neighborhood, foreign languages only mattered on high school transcripts and resumes for part time jobs at the mall. In the real world, no one gives a fuck if you speak Spanish. Value, love and appreciation for our culture must be taught or this world makes us forget, or worse—assimilate.


High school was a major turning point for me. My involvement with marching band and various clubs meant I was on campus often, granting me freedom to find myself. It was my involvement with the pride club in particular that spurred my self-discovery, starting first with the realization that I was not merely an ally, but a member of the community. The more I was able to immerse myself and learn about queer culture, the more confidence I built. Our advisor was wonderful, taking the time to not only teach us about the various categories and labels in the queer community, but queer history through film and documentaries. Even though there was no singular person we learned about that matched my identities exactly, just learning about queer existence was enough to propel me to seek out more. I was delighted to find instances of queer Mexican people and communities especially, their sheer existence a radical act of resistance against our staunchly traditionalist culture. Finding representation and validation in gender nonconforming behavior throughout Mexican indigenous cultures, like in the Zapotec culture of Oaxaca where the muxe reside was life changing. The more I widened my understanding beyond the American and colonized paradigms I was taught and the more I was able to connect to my culture, and ultimately with myself.


I’m queer, nonbinary and Xicanx, identities that exist in liminal spaces, in the in-between, ni de aqui, ni de alla. I’ve spent so long reciting the ways these identities cancel each other out, that I thought someone like me was not allowed to exist. I thought the combination of these identities would make all of them invalid, leaving me with nothing. I thought I was an oxymoron, a negative zero, my string of identities shining like fake pearls around my neck, betraying my secret to the world before I had a chance to figure out who I was. Now I wear them with a newfound pride forged with the help of community, advocacy and intersectionality. I still don’t know exactly where I fit, but now I know that I can make room.


I’ve always felt different. But now, I no longer feel wrong.

L.V. Loya Soto is a writer, multimedia journalist, and artist from California. they are a magazine and opinion writer, with a passion for the radial impact of immersive storytelling.

DRAG Loss

Image Courtesy of Amy Zapata

Image Courtesy of Amy Zapata

Short Story & Photography By Amy Zapata
San Bernardino, CA

In the four years, I have taken photos of the DTLA drag scene. An assorted collection of images and video footage of artists and places, an archive from places that are now closed, from performers that have moved or retired. Remembering nights at bars, watching Ursula Major perform as I staple dollar bills to her arm, watching the blood trickle down. I have seen burlesque dancers capture the attention of audiences. Witnessing short-lived nights and performers creating spaces for other artists, trying to house a place for their fellow Queer performers. Sissy Spastik, who no longer performs, added her Chicago flair to the DTLA scene. Sissy’s look and makeup still some of the best I have ever seen. Memories are created in those moments, when the moments end the photos are what is left.

A part of being an artist is showing up. Being a photographer is bearing witness, documenting what is there, what others are missing, what will never be again. Even in the still, change is the constant. Having spent most of my time this year at home, the times I have driven through Los Angeles, I start to see all the changes that I have missed. Like so many of us, drag performers have adapted. The movement towards digital video performances has given way to a different way to connect, to perform. My brother, the drag artist Jean Decay and other DTLA drag artists made the shift to digital drag nights, and instead of the still images, I once took it now helping film videos 6 ft apart. My participation is tied to the creation of the performances. Showing up means collaborating on ideas, pushing what can be achieved in this new landscape. When this is over, it will be a digital collection of works from that year when we all stopped.


Image Courtesy of Amy Zapata

Image Courtesy of Amy Zapata

Losing the ability to show up, we are perpetually missing out. There are moments happening, unable to be captured that will always be lost. There is something to be said about loss, it makes bearing witness that much more important.  

WHY DO WE CONTINUE TO DEMOLISH AND TRY TO BAND-AID OUR WAY OUT OF BLIGHT?

Illustration Rebecca Ustrell  Concept Julian Lucas

Illustration Rebecca Ustrell
Concept Julian Lucas

Photography Julian Lucas 2020

Photography Julian Lucas 2020

Text & Photography Julian Lucas
Published January 5, 2020 7:13am PST
Updated 01/20/2020
Updated 2/14/2023
Illustration Rebecca Ustrell

I regret to inform you, another cool-ass building with potential has been taken from us. The act of demolition resulted in yet another empty lot. I even left a couple of voicemails inquiring about the space and my call wasn’t returned. 1377 was actually demolished over the summer months. It sure did hurt my feelings, as I am a Mid-Century Modern aficionado.

Built in 1954 and zoned for office use the building was used as an orthodontist who we learned passed away. Naturally, 1377 became a place for squatters and people who had an addiction. Hmm, to think if only we had real affordable housing and if we really believed in HARM REDUCTION, then squatters wouldn’t squat and there would be a nice place for people to get high without trespassing on private property. But, since Pomona would never come to grips of having a safe injection site for people with an addiction, we will continue down the road of squatters and haters.  


Why do so many older buildings face demolition in Pomona while others are pardoned from the bulldozer? Who decides and why isn’t anyone stopping the creation of empty lots?

The Historical Society of Pomona Valley is a non-profit historical society, which is a museum based organization with no legal power. The HSVP has been successful at designating buildings as historical and has advocated for buildings as well however, the powers that would be would be the Historic Preservation Commission. The Pomona’s Historic Preservation Ordinance passed in the 1990s, which stated any application to demo buildings built before 1945 has to be presented before the commission. Currently there is an ad hoc committee that has been established to change the rule to 50 years so Mid Century buildings and other design types as they become older.

Until this rule is changed, buildings built during the 50’s or after can be torn down, at the land owner’s discretion. And if you think the city will help, good luck. Usually developers and city people don’t give a rat’s ass about what the community wants.

There are few safeguards for this kind of thing. Many city staff don’t live in the city so nothing is of value to them, and developers are just there to make a profit.

Photography Julian Lucas 2020

Photography Julian Lucas 2020

Anyway, the building could have been a dope ass coffee shop or a cool ass bakery. We need to be operating towards a vision of today, not 1989. We need sustainable businesses that everyone can enjoy. We need to make an effort to hold commissioners and city leaders accountable. We can’t continue to tear down and put a band-aid over blight.

Links
Safe Injection Sites
Harm Reduction

It is now February 2023, all of the debris from the demolition was cleared and hauled away creating yet another lifeless lot in the city of the Pomona. Maybe housing? Maybe another fast-food chain? Who knows, maybe we’ll wait another 3 years before theres life again.


Julian Lucas, is fine art photographer and photojournalist. Julian loves to create images that evoke emotions. Julian has lived in Chicago, Inglewood, Portland, and the suburbs of Los Angeles County.