In the fall of 2021, we lost the pivotal figure of our family, my beloved grandmother. She was the central force that kept our family together. Those solitary days spent together, immersed in sagas of novelas and indulging in popcorn, have been the most cherished ones. On such days, I was fortunate enough to listen to her tales of growing up in Indiana Harbor, scarcely away from Chicago.
Esther Lopez, my grandmother, was brought into this world just after the Great Depression began, in March 1930, amidst the towering steel mills and factories. At that period, some scholars opine that the Mexican community living in East Chicago’s Harbor was the most concentrated within the United States. Nearly 5,000 individuals resided in an area less than a square mile.
As per a historical account by Ciro Harolde Sepulveda, a renowned professor of Chicano and Boricua studies at Wayne State University, East Chicago’s Harbor was referred to as ‘Mexico City’ by train conductors. The district, with its Mexican quarter — La Colonia del Harbor, as it was called back then, played a significant role in molding my grandmother’s personality.
It was only after her departure from this world that I discovered an overlooked detail about my patriotic, lifelong grandma of East Chicago. Apparently, before the conclusion of the summer in 1932, her parents had nearly decided to ‘self-deport’ or ‘voluntarily repatriate’ to Mexico along with their elder children.
This revelation led to an understanding of how the political landscape that instigated the repatriation movement echoes unnervingly with the present scenario. The struggle for jobs and assistance, kindled by the catastrophic economic downturn of the Depression, led some people to advocate for mass deportation of Mexicans.
Although there were instances of high-profile raids by Immigration and Naturalization Services, the federal government largely remained at bay. This void was filled by vigilantes who resorted to intimidating Mexicans and Mexican Americans to persuade them to depart ‘voluntarily’ — often resorting to techniques regarded as ‘often coercive’ by even the USCIS.
The veracity of this story was later confirmed by one of my aunts, corroborating that my grandmother had indeed shared it with her. To fully understand these events, it’s essential to remember that the Mexican community within the United States has a long history, starting well before any notion of them being a ‘migrant community’.
The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848 saw the U.S. engulfing more than half of Mexico, including approximately 285,000 Mexicans. This melding of populations formed the basis for the much-repeated phrase: ‘We didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us.’ However, rampant discrimination against the ‘Mexicanos’ was an unfortunate reality of these times.
The extent of prejudice was alarming, with ‘Mexicanos’ facing incarceration for trivial offenses. As reported by Sepulveda, even a young Mexican schoolboy had to retort to a harassing teacher, ‘I am more of an American than you are because all of my ancestors were born in North America and yours were all born in Europe.’
Sepulveda’s historical accounts also indicate David Curtis Stephenson, a Ku Klux Klan leader, wielding considerable influence in Indiana during the 1920s. While the Harbor was largely spared from the Klan’s influence due to a predominant Slav and Catholic population, its activities found a stronghold in East Chicago’s churches.
These developments laid the groundwork for the culmination of anti-Mexican sentiments propelled by the onset of the Great Depression. The xenophobic sentiment that had been simmering for almost ten years finally bubbled to the surface, marking a significant chapter in the history of the Mexican American community.