Published by the Hispanic Institute of Social Issues in Phoenix, Arizona
|
| HISTORY IS ABOUT TO CHANGE Grassroots Journalism |
Eduardo Barraza is a journalist and writer,
Barriozona Magazine's editor, and director of
the Hispanic Insitute of Social Issues.
E-mail: editor@barriozona.com
Barriozona Magazine's editor, and director of
the Hispanic Insitute of Social Issues.
E-mail: editor@barriozona.com
| Hispanic Institute of Social Issues © 2006-2011 All rights reserved. webmaster@hisi.org |
| march24street |
| The March That Shook Phoenix Text and photographs by Eduardo Barraza |
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In a mighty expression of free assembly, the thousands of people who participated in the
march to demand humanitarian immigration laws on Friday, March 24, manifested not only their
growing discontent with the political oppression directed at them, but also showed a force that
had remained latent for years. The march, Phoenix’ largest ever, visibly and eloquently
expressed what many prefer not to see: the demographic reality of a multiethnic and
multicultural crowd that, with or without documents, is a fiber of the national fabric. This human
fiber, formed by the conglomerate of individuals from Latin America in the United States, cannot
continue to be ignored and much less extirpated without affecting the life of this country. The
immigrant fiber is part of this great nation, and that is why the mainstream felt the effect of the
manifestation.
The march in Phoenix and other multitudinous protests that took place in large cities across the
country, have propagated a cry that is echoing in the deafest of ears, and shaking the status
quo of a society who, accustomed to the clandestinity of a marginal population, scandalizes
and scares before their drive. Thousands and thousands of human beings have come out of
their anonymity, not to be passive spectators, but protagonists in the national debate, and to
take control and responsibility of their destiny and their course. Therefore, aside from being a
historical event, the march in Phoenix posed a peaceful challenge without precedents.
march to demand humanitarian immigration laws on Friday, March 24, manifested not only their
growing discontent with the political oppression directed at them, but also showed a force that
had remained latent for years. The march, Phoenix’ largest ever, visibly and eloquently
expressed what many prefer not to see: the demographic reality of a multiethnic and
multicultural crowd that, with or without documents, is a fiber of the national fabric. This human
fiber, formed by the conglomerate of individuals from Latin America in the United States, cannot
continue to be ignored and much less extirpated without affecting the life of this country. The
immigrant fiber is part of this great nation, and that is why the mainstream felt the effect of the
manifestation.
The march in Phoenix and other multitudinous protests that took place in large cities across the
country, have propagated a cry that is echoing in the deafest of ears, and shaking the status
quo of a society who, accustomed to the clandestinity of a marginal population, scandalizes
and scares before their drive. Thousands and thousands of human beings have come out of
their anonymity, not to be passive spectators, but protagonists in the national debate, and to
take control and responsibility of their destiny and their course. Therefore, aside from being a
historical event, the march in Phoenix posed a peaceful challenge without precedents.
of men and women that perhaps have lived for years in the shadow of anonymity and
uncertainty, were glad with the morning sun of freedom, and breathing the wind of hope that
waived Latin American, Arizona and U.S.’s flags.
Rows of human tide moved with determination northbound, occupying from sidewalk to
sidewalk the width of the street. On the walkways, many were already waiting for the moment
to incorporate into the crowd that for a time seemed endless. Some looked on with
astonishment, perhaps asking themselves what was the cause of this cheerful procession.
Others displayed angerand desperation for finding themselves caught, in what became a
traffic gridlock. Some businesses closed their doors; others took advantage of the occasion.
Police blocked the streets, looking at the demonstrators, emotionless. In the gathering, people
were laughing, talking, and chanting clichéd rally cries, holding up signs in English and Spanish.
Two young boys were playing the drums, while a man sitting on a wheelchair played a
trombone on the sidewalk. The march was turning into a parade, the protest into a
celebration. At street level, the caravan was impressive; from the sky, imposing.
The main organizers, several feet in front, arm in arm, were advancing, talking among
themselves or looking to both sides of the street. They were not aware yet of the extent and
density of those following behind them in perfect unity and coordination, but the news’s
helicopters were transmitting images that were hard to believe. In some, the stress was
evident, others smiled with satisfaction. Elias Bermudez was obviously tense, perhaps due to
the threats made days before the march, while Alfredo Gutierrez showed energy, walking back
and forth from the frontline to pep up the volunteers, and to instruct those keeping the order
of the crowd. Many of those who supposedly are community leaders, and some politicians who
claim to advocate for the immigrant's cause, stood out because of their absence. It was
evident that their influence is not necessary to attract a multitude of these proportions.
Nevertheless, what was worth enjoying, videotaping, photographing and documenting were
the demonstrators, the people in fullness. A flow of young people brought their impetus;
defiantly showed their signs with confidence. Many dressed for the occasion. Entire families
were enjoying as if on a fieldtrip. In some senior citizens, perhaps recollecting old battles, a
new enthusiasm was reflected. The demonstrators were chanting: “It can be seen, it can be
felt, the presence of the people!”, something that couldn’t be more evident.
The multitude arrived to the area of 24th Street and Camelback road, corridor of a world of
luxury office buildings, expensive restaurants, and exclusive shopping centers. There, hate and
xenophobia were manifested, and some insults were uttered. It is there precisely in that area
where Republican Senator Jon Kyl’s, co-author of the House Bill 4437, has his office, and to
whom the protest was particularly directed. By then, the crowd was celebrating with pride,
yelling when the news helicopters approached near them, jumping and pretending to do “the
wave.” Those who were receiving the first news reports, expressed unbelief and astonishment
for the historic event that was unfolding before their eyes. The demonstration would conclude
without major incidents.
The long term effects are still to be evaluated, but the protest began to have results on
Monday, March 27, when part of the legislation was rejected. The movement’s leadership,
without a doubt, will be tested by the inherent pressures of a movement that is just beginning.
The whole country will be expectant of the fate of millions of immigrants without legal
documents. Toward the end of the day, the last volunteers were seen picking up trash in the
parking lot of the church where the walk had started that morning. The sunset of a historic
journey was announcing a new sunrise to a people on the threshold of a long struggle,
galvanized on March 24th walking down on 24th street.
uncertainty, were glad with the morning sun of freedom, and breathing the wind of hope that
waived Latin American, Arizona and U.S.’s flags.
Rows of human tide moved with determination northbound, occupying from sidewalk to
sidewalk the width of the street. On the walkways, many were already waiting for the moment
to incorporate into the crowd that for a time seemed endless. Some looked on with
astonishment, perhaps asking themselves what was the cause of this cheerful procession.
Others displayed angerand desperation for finding themselves caught, in what became a
traffic gridlock. Some businesses closed their doors; others took advantage of the occasion.
Police blocked the streets, looking at the demonstrators, emotionless. In the gathering, people
were laughing, talking, and chanting clichéd rally cries, holding up signs in English and Spanish.
Two young boys were playing the drums, while a man sitting on a wheelchair played a
trombone on the sidewalk. The march was turning into a parade, the protest into a
celebration. At street level, the caravan was impressive; from the sky, imposing.
The main organizers, several feet in front, arm in arm, were advancing, talking among
themselves or looking to both sides of the street. They were not aware yet of the extent and
density of those following behind them in perfect unity and coordination, but the news’s
helicopters were transmitting images that were hard to believe. In some, the stress was
evident, others smiled with satisfaction. Elias Bermudez was obviously tense, perhaps due to
the threats made days before the march, while Alfredo Gutierrez showed energy, walking back
and forth from the frontline to pep up the volunteers, and to instruct those keeping the order
of the crowd. Many of those who supposedly are community leaders, and some politicians who
claim to advocate for the immigrant's cause, stood out because of their absence. It was
evident that their influence is not necessary to attract a multitude of these proportions.
Nevertheless, what was worth enjoying, videotaping, photographing and documenting were
the demonstrators, the people in fullness. A flow of young people brought their impetus;
defiantly showed their signs with confidence. Many dressed for the occasion. Entire families
were enjoying as if on a fieldtrip. In some senior citizens, perhaps recollecting old battles, a
new enthusiasm was reflected. The demonstrators were chanting: “It can be seen, it can be
felt, the presence of the people!”, something that couldn’t be more evident.
The multitude arrived to the area of 24th Street and Camelback road, corridor of a world of
luxury office buildings, expensive restaurants, and exclusive shopping centers. There, hate and
xenophobia were manifested, and some insults were uttered. It is there precisely in that area
where Republican Senator Jon Kyl’s, co-author of the House Bill 4437, has his office, and to
whom the protest was particularly directed. By then, the crowd was celebrating with pride,
yelling when the news helicopters approached near them, jumping and pretending to do “the
wave.” Those who were receiving the first news reports, expressed unbelief and astonishment
for the historic event that was unfolding before their eyes. The demonstration would conclude
without major incidents.
The long term effects are still to be evaluated, but the protest began to have results on
Monday, March 27, when part of the legislation was rejected. The movement’s leadership,
without a doubt, will be tested by the inherent pressures of a movement that is just beginning.
The whole country will be expectant of the fate of millions of immigrants without legal
documents. Toward the end of the day, the last volunteers were seen picking up trash in the
parking lot of the church where the walk had started that morning. The sunset of a historic
journey was announcing a new sunrise to a people on the threshold of a long struggle,
galvanized on March 24th walking down on 24th street.
The demonstration in Phoenix on 24th Street and on March
24th goes beyond a numeric symbolism; it is expressed
more effectively by the colossal amount of people who
traveled on this traffic artery. Knowing the exact number of
participants does not matter. The most relevant aspect
was the evidence itself of the river of people flowing on
the pavement, streaming from a minority demographic
sector and economically disadvantaged, to the core of
economic prosperity and political power on Camelback
road. The river of the multitude stayed within the riverbed,
even though the emotions of many Anglos erupted,
flooding Phoenix’ mayor’s office with phone calls, who
became “upset and frustrated,” and the first City mayor to
have a march of this magnitude.
Thus, on the shady asphalt of 24th Street, a multicultural
diversity, a multiethnic exuberance, and the verbal Latin
American echo of a crowd, changed history and wrote the
first paragraph of a new chapter in a nation of immigrants.
Step by step, and at the rhythm of their shoes, the
demonstrators transformed a march into celebration, and a
local protest into an event of national attention. The faces
24th goes beyond a numeric symbolism; it is expressed
more effectively by the colossal amount of people who
traveled on this traffic artery. Knowing the exact number of
participants does not matter. The most relevant aspect
was the evidence itself of the river of people flowing on
the pavement, streaming from a minority demographic
sector and economically disadvantaged, to the core of
economic prosperity and political power on Camelback
road. The river of the multitude stayed within the riverbed,
even though the emotions of many Anglos erupted,
flooding Phoenix’ mayor’s office with phone calls, who
became “upset and frustrated,” and the first City mayor to
have a march of this magnitude.
Thus, on the shady asphalt of 24th Street, a multicultural
diversity, a multiethnic exuberance, and the verbal Latin
American echo of a crowd, changed history and wrote the
first paragraph of a new chapter in a nation of immigrants.
Step by step, and at the rhythm of their shoes, the
demonstrators transformed a march into celebration, and a
local protest into an event of national attention. The faces
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