These Movies Tell American History Through a Mexican Lens

You may have heard that this year on July 4, the United States of America celebrates its 250th birthday. During the ostentatious ceremonies that will mark this day, we'll no doubt hear earfuls of praise for the country's allegiance to freedom and democracy. For Latin Americans, other immigrants, and their family members, it's not hard to see the irony in a government boasting of liberty for all while deportations, denial of asylum cases, and attacks on free speech skyrocket.

As counter-programming to the America 250 fanfare, Carlos Aguilar writes about three movies in this week's newsletter. They all recount U.S. history through an alternative lens, specifically a Mexican American one. Through fiction films and documentaries, we hear the stories of activists and regular people who fight to make the country fairer for all and who dare to reimagine our national identity as a multicultural one.

Happy Watching,

— Vanessa

Conceived by a trio of film industry professionals blacklisted from Hollywood for their “communist” beliefs, this independent production from 1954 centers around Mexican American miners in New Mexico demanding their Anglo bosses provide safer conditions. At the center of the labor drama is the Quintero family, whose matriarch, Esperanza (Rosaura Revueltas), offers a sorrowful narration. Stylistically, the film took a page from Italian neorealism and cast several local Arizona miners to exalt the power of unions and unity in the face of ruthless American capitalism and ethnic discrimination.

Playing at Museum of the Moving Image in NY on July 5 and streaming on Tubi.

Using a mix of archival documents and expressive animation, this short documentary introduces an unsung figure in Mexican American history. A journalist for the Spanish-language newspaper Progreso in Laredo, Texas, in the early 20th century, Jovita Idar condemned U.S. intervention in the Mexican Revolution and faced the wrath of local authorities for her outspokenness. Her life and work were intricately tied to the complex cultural and political context that the U.S-Mexico border continues to embody today.

Streaming on PBS.org.

— By Carlos Aguilar

Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the Catholic priest instrumental to Mexico’s independence, and George Washington, a Founding Father and the first president of the United States, meet every year on the bridge that separates Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, and Laredo, Texas. On the border between their countries, these white-haired historical figures (embodied by contemporary men in costume playing them) profess an enduring binational friendship.

Fueled by theatrical anachronism (the two men never met in real life), the ceremony is one of the most bizarre, if well-meaning, images captured in “Las Marthas,” a fascinating 2014 documentary from filmmaker Cristina Ibarra (co-director of “The Infiltrators”). The film chronicles how the Society of Martha Washington in Laredo has put on multiple events, including a debutante ball, to commemorate George Washington’s birthday since 1940.

The already peculiar event honoring a man who died long before Texas joined the Union takes on an even more intriguing connotation because most participants, including those chosen to portray Martha and George Washington, are of Mexican descent. Yet many can trace their families' roots in the town back for generations, some all the way to the Spanish colonizers who settled the region centuries ago.

At times silently observational, and others making us aware of her camera’s presence, Ibarra follows two debutantes, high school students from a private Catholic school, chosen to participate in the ball that concludes the month-long fete.

Their ostentatiously embroidered, brightly colored gowns with intricate designs and numerous rhinestones each come with a steep price tag and can weigh up to 100 lbs. And the woman who designs each dress, Linda Leyendecker Gutierrez, makes no concessions to her vision. She only makes gowns for girls who surrender to her wishes.

The luxuriousness of these tailor-made garments confirms that these young ladies belong to the local upper crust. But that doesn’t mean that they are the same in everyone’s eyes.

Overly confident, Anglo-passing Laura comes from a family with strong ties to Laredo and the Society—nearly 30 family members have participated in the pageant over the decades. It’s in her blood, so to speak. The dress she will wear belonged to her relatives before her.

Meanwhile, Rosario, a young woman born across the border in Nuevo Laredo, has been invited based on her dedication to community service. Her presence as an outsider with no multigenerational connection to this tradition reflects the organizers' attempt to uphold the notion that the people in their Mexican sister city belong here. Her inclusion ruffles Laura’s feathers, nonetheless.

From their parallel preparation to walk and bow, wearing cumbersome dresses, Ibarra mines deeper insights into identity and into how they understand the role they play in this culture. What unites both Laura and Rosario is that their families have attained financial wealth. What separates them is the claim each of them has to the land. Is Rosario too Mexican to truly understand the significance of the Marthas? Or is Laura just rigidly tribalist?