(Mario Garcia ’18 wrote this paper in the fall for HIS 465: Latino Urban History, with Professor Rosina Lozano.)

On the morning of August 2, 1942, the discovery of José Díaz’s dying body sparked a media frenzy as the local press declared that “a ‘Boy Gang Terror Wave’” of Mexican descent had overtaken the city. As historian Edward Escobar argues, police officers responded to this hysteria by arresting several Mexican American boys whom they affiliated with the 38th Street Gang and whom they suspected of murdering Díaz: police officers later followed these initial arrests with the roundup of over a hundred Mexican American youth throughout the city, and these so-called Sleepy Lagoon cases—which completely lacked evidence for the police officers’ claims—resulted in seventeen convictions.[1] Scholar Elizabeth Escobedo paints a similar picture in her study; however, she emphasizes how the Sleepy Lagoon cases marked the beginning of the general populace’s association of Mexican American women with gang violence in addition to Mexican American men. She quotes the Los Angeles Evening Herald and Express in its coverage of the supposed crime wave, “Particularly disturbing in one of the new outbreaks was the participation of several girls. It was hoped that the prevalent delinquency might be confined to the boys who stand accused”.[2] She proceeds to argue that these Chicanas’ embracing of the masculine-dominated zoot suit culture challenged gender roles and garnered this increased attention from the police. Thus, Escobedo’s gender study points to how the intersectionality of race and gender informed Chicanas’ interactions with the police force in the Sleepy Lagoon cases—a finding that Escobar’s overview of the Mexican American community’s relations with the Los Angeles Police Department largely misses.

By failing to consider how such intersecting identities factor into the interactions between Mexican Americans and members of the police force, much of the scholarly literature on police brutality in mid-twentieth century Los Angeles follows in Escobar’s footsteps. Though many of these scholars focus their studies on how these interactions with the police contributed to the formation of a unique Mexican American identity, or chicanidad, this omission of intersectionality leaves their arguments incomplete: rather than exploring how the formation of chicanidad differed among various marginalized groups within the Mexican American community by such factors as gender and sexuality, these narratives often present the Mexican American community as a monolithic force. This paper begins by exploring how scholars of police brutality against the Mexican American community of mid-twentieth century Los Angeles have characterized the community in a way that does not account for how its interactions with the Los Angeles Police Department differed according to the intersection of chicanidad and femininity and of chicanidad and non-heterosexuality; it proposes that future researchers should look into the role that machismo plays in police interactions with Mexican American women and that homophobia played in police interactions with Mexican American members of the LGBT community; and it concludes that this current absence in the literature contributes to a greater historical trend of silencing these marginalized voices in the historical record of an already marginalized ethnic minority group.

I. Chicanidad and Femininity

Escobar, in his study of police brutality and the formation of Mexican American political identity in the early twentieth century, rarely distinguishes between Mexican American men and Mexican American women in his analyses; nonetheless, when he does make a distinction, he often presents Mexican American women simply as additional actors in community initiatives that originated with presumably male activists. He does this when discussing what he describes as a combative relationship between Mexican community organizations and the police force, “The members of most of these organizations, however, understood well that they had also to protect Mexicans from the effects of racism…and more specifically from police abuse…The Sociedad de Madres Mexicanas raised funds to help Mexicans who ran afoul of the law”[3]. In this cursory mention of the Sociedad de Madres Mexicanas, Escobar—while acknowledging the existence of such female-driven groups in the city’s activist community—does not thoroughly explore how female community activists’ experiences differed from those of their male counterparts; instead, he risks presenting the Mexican American community as a monolithic force rather than a coalition of different intersecting identities. A later instance of this conflation occurs when he discusses the involvement of female zoot suiters in the zoot suit riots of 1943, “Mexican American women also defended their barrios and retaliated against attacks on their communities….Like their male counterparts, Mexican American women also developed organized resistance against their antagonists”[4]. Again, Escobar takes an important step in including women as activists against police brutality in his study; however, the superficiality of such mentions limits the extent to which his study explores the relationship between the Mexican American community and the Los Angeles Police Department in an effective way.

A trend of presenting the Mexican American victims of police violence as uniformly male presents itself in other histories of police brutality against Mexican Americans in Los Angeles. In an article published in the Pacific Historical Review, Escobar summarizes the Bloody Christmas beatings of 1951 and the ensuing trials by stating that the case involved approximately fifty Los Angeles Police Department officers beating five Mexican American and two Anglo American men in custody, Mexican American activist groups demanding an investigation of the police officers responsible for the beatings, and the Department’s chief William Parker stifling investigations in a manifestation of the police professionalization model.[5] In the discussion that follows, Escobar presents the Mexican American victims of police brutality—most notably with cases surrounding the beating of Community Services Organization leader Tony Ríos—as homogenous in their goals and experiences due to a lack of gendered analysis of these cases. Hence, for example, when he discusses instances of police brutality that preceded the trials, he either focuses on male victims or he treats the victims as males by default, “Officer Nájera had stabbed a young Mexican American…a Mexican American physician, Dr. Arthur Serra, claimed that a Los Angeles motorcycle officer shot at him…Councilman Roybal charged before the city council that he had fifty ‘provable’ complaints”[6]. In highlighting cases involving male victims or assuming that they do involve male victims, he neglects to engage in a gendered analysis that would nuance the experiences of police brutality that he presents in his history. Escobar’s article provides another example of historians failing to account for differences in intersecting identities within their studies in the way that Escobar highlights solely male victims of brutality.

Kenneth Burt, an historian studying Latino activist groups in twentieth century California which often formed in response to repression at the hands of local police forces, repeats many of Escobar’s shortcomings in his narratives. For example, when noting that the Latino community often relegated clerical tasks to female activists, he fails to explore this gendered division of labor further, “In the Latino community of the late 1940s, women generally prepared the food that was part of most gatherings, including fundraisers, and performed clerical tasks. Most important, they provided the social glue that was the key to the mobilization…in a blue-collar neighborhood”[7]. A more holistic study of community activism in response to police brutality would do better to investigate this gendered division and the effect it had on these activists’ experiences combatting police brutality and, thus, on the formation of their chicanidad.

On the other hand, Burt does well in acknowledging the vital role that female Mexican Americans played in forming El Congreso, “In general, politically active Latinas were union leaders, college students, or professionals. These women first emerged in Los Angeles politics with the formation of El Congreso, founded by union organizer Louisa Moreno and staffed by college educated Josephina Fierro de Bright”[8]. His study would benefit from delving further into how the intersection of chicanidad and femininity factored into such politically active Latinas experiences with their activism and community organizing efforts.

To address the relative lack of Mexican American women in the current historical record, researchers would do well to explore the role that machismo plays in cases of police brutality against Mexican American women in Los Angeles. For example, in Burt’s description of the Bloody Christmas beatings and the ensuing trials, he attributes the Community Services Organization’s decision to assist in defending the cases of the seven victims to a contradiction to the police record, “When the CSO heard an account of the arrest and beating that contradicted the official police record, they responded….Two weeks after their arrest, CSO voted to ‘support the case.’ The defendants were becoming known as the ‘Christmas Seven’”[9]. However, Burt neglects to investigate further into the Community Service Organization’s decision: in particular, he could explore why the Organization put itself behind the cases of seven brutalized men at this particular point in time rather than several other cases of brutalized women, which may lead to a discussion of how dominant narratives concerning police brutality against members of the community focus on these conflicts as showings of hyper-masculinity at the exclusion of female victims from the record. This would, in turn, better nuance his argument by pointing to how community activists contributed to the relative lack of backlash from the community concerning instances of police brutality against Mexican American women.

Though Escobar mentions the sexual harassment of women by male police officers in his study, he does so in a superficial and cursory way that would benefit from further research. For example, he cites Edward Roybal’s account of a reoccurring phenomenon in which male police officers assaulted Mexican American women, “During the 1940s, Edward Roybal recalled that male officers often hand-searched women’s bodies, allegedly looking for weapons or drugs. He also remembered that Mexican American families so feared the LAPD that they counseled their daughters never to accept a ride from a police officer”[10]. Unfortunately, this remains the only mention of the phenomenon in Escobar’s book, and the relative lack of attention paid to predominantly female victims of sexual harassment at the hands of a hyper-masculine police force leaves much need for future research. He briefly references officers’ tendencies to sexually exploit Mexican American waitresses and El Congreso’s efforts to tackle this injustice, “Apparently, officers were in the habit of arresting these young women for prostitution and then offering to release them for sexual favors. The waitresses complained to El Congreso and the organization responded by setting up surveillance of the young women…this ended the exploitative practice”[11]. Again, Escobar quickly passes over a gendered phenomenon that deserves further exploration: doing so would give a better understanding of how these intersecting identities informed interactions between Mexican Americans and members of the Los Angeles Police Department and thus how they informed different conceptions of chicanidad during this formative period.

In his article on Bloody Christmas, Escobar actually acknowledges the machismo that fuels conflicts between the police force and the Mexican American community, but he again does so in a cursory way that does not fully explore its implications. When discussing the professional model of policing that the Department adopted in the mid-twentieth century, he identifies the hyper-masculinity that motivated an “us versus them” mentality within the Los Angeles Police Department under the professional model, “The professional model also developed among officers an excessive sense of occupational identity and fraternalism”[12]. Thus, Escobar identifies the excessive fraternalism that motivates police brutality against members of the community, but he leaves room in the literature for further investigation into how this manifests itself in respect to the victimization of women. He quotes Chief William Parker—perhaps the staunchest advocate of the professional model—in his accusation that a civic group’s advocacy efforts against police brutality served the interests of criminals threatened by the Department, “In a speech before a West Los Angeles civic group, the chief declared that ‘fast money boys’ were behind the accusations of police brutality in order to get him fired…he charged that ‘all that stood between the public and anarchy were the police’”[13]. Parker’s gendered language—his assumptions that activism against the Department entailed masculine leadership and his conflation of this activism with crime—demonstrates the Department’s perception of a link between masculinity and crime within the community, and this perception further enforced a sense of machismo that motivated conflict between the Department and the perceived criminal element within the community. Escobar thus includes a possible lead within his study that demonstrates how machismo motivated many of these instances of police violence. A future, undeveloped area to explore could include how this machismo manifested itself in police officers’ attempts to enforce control over women’s bodies in the aforementioned cases of officers’ sexual assault of Mexican American women.

To provide a more holistic picture of police brutality in mid-twentieth century Los Angeles, these scholars would do well to explore the role that machismo played in informing interactions between police officers and members of the Mexican American community. As a starting point for this endeavor, they could look into the research that scholars like Janis Appier have already done. In her study of the experiences of female police officers in the Los Angeles Police Department throughout the twentieth century, she concludes from the police records that “In theory, the ‘Girls’ Department,’ staffed by policewomen, handled all cases (including all arrests) of female juveniles….In practice, policemen on patrol and investigation sometimes arrested female juveniles…after making the arrest they were supposed to turn the case over”[14]. Appier thus points to how policemen circumvented the Department’s policies in order to arrest young women that they encountered. Furthermore, she calls upon the work of scholar Ruth Alexander to determine that the police force’s belief that socioeconomically disadvantaged young women of color posed a sexual threat to the community often informed these interactions, “According to Ruth M. Alexander…minority female youth received a disproportionate share of police attention in the mid-twentieth century because police…thought that poor teenage girls easily drifted from premarital sexual experimentation to commercial sex work”[15]. The Department linked the sexuality of young female minorities to criminal activity, and this assumption led its officers to engage in the sexual policing of Mexican American women. The studies of these two scholars serve as evidence to the fact that male police officers, in a hyperbolic display of their masculinity, felt that they held the responsibility to control the sexual activity of young Mexican American women: intersecting identities informed these interactions in the way that these officers linked poor economic conditions and criminality to Mexican Americans and sexual promiscuity to young women.

Joan Barker’s twenty-year ethnographic study of the Los Angeles Police Department, though executed during the latter half of the twentieth century, also points to toxic masculinity within the police force that manifests itself in its policing of the larger community. When discussing how her womanhood complicated male officers’ interactions with her during the study, she professes that “I did not need to embody any of the macho attributes so often highly valued among police officers. These are stereotypical criteria, yet the lack of these attributes, and many others, could be considered defects in a man”[16]. From her research, she concludes that much of the police force values machismo to such an extent that many officers look down upon men who do not display their masculinity in a particularly aggressive way. In an interview of a male officer, she quotes him as he discusses his beliefs on the role that women play in society, “What would it be like without the civilizing influence of women? If you try to imagine what a world without women would be like, the turmoil, the inherent violence that men have, the twenty-four-hour sex drive that men have, the competitive attitude that men have”[17]. Through this conversation, the officer demonstrates his various gendered assumptions concerning the inherent nature of men and women. In maintaining these beliefs, he attempts to justify the actions of the male officers in the force: given that men possess this inherent violence, sex drive, and competitive attitude that women need to check, this officer likely feels that these predispositions vindicate the sexual harassment of women by male police officers. Barker’s ethnography indicates that many police officers share in these assumptions, and further research could explore how these assumptions shape interactions between the police and Mexican American women.

In his ethnographic study of the role that territoriality plays in the actions of the Los Angeles police force, Steve Herbert identifies machismo as an important factor governing how officers police the city. In an observation that supports Appier’s finding that male officers often circumvented Department policies in their sexual policing of women in the community, Herbert argues that “An adventurous/masculine officer relishes the thrill of a pursuit, actively seeks out felonious criminals, and values the use of ‘instinct’ (as opposed to bureaucratic regulations) as a guide to behavior”[18]. Hence, Herbert’s study provides further evidence of masculinity playing a critical role in police work: to many police officers, arresting criminals develops a thrill-seeking dimension as they embrace a masculine-centered conception of heroism. He goes further by connecting this widespread sense of masculine adventurism to the Department’s persecution of the city’s Mexican and Mexican American populations under Chief of Police William Parker, “The masculinist aggressiveness of the LAPD has long distinguished it among American police departments…The image [of the LAPD]…as an agency designed to protect white citizens from the influx of dark-skinned immigrants was avidly embraced by Chief Parker”[19]. Herbert thus frames the Department’s prejudice against minority communities under the leadership of Parker as a display of its masculine heroism: police officers saw themselves as defenders of white society from an immigrant threat. Seeing as Herbert’s exploration of masculinity’s role in the police force does not discuss how this machismo informs officers’ interactions with women of color, his research leaves room for other scholars to engage in this pursuit.

II. Chicanidad and Non-Heterosexuality

Another particularly glaring omission of the effect of intersectionality on interactions with the police involves cases of police brutality against Chicanx members of Los Angeles’s LGBT community. Interestingly enough, much of the current literature does not mention the LGBT community at all when discussing police brutality; though this absence may derive from gaps in the historical record itself, it may partially result from the scholars’ assumption and contemporaries’ assumption of heterosexuality for all individuals. For example, Escobar’s book and article do not explore the intersection of chicanidad and non-heterosexuality to any explicit extent: in failing to do so, Escobar risks conflating different identities of Mexican Americans in a way that does not account for differences in experiences resulting from these identities.[20] Nor do Burt and Don Parson do so in Burt’s study of the Community Service Organization’s actions in the Bloody Christmas court trials and Parson’s study of the Mexican American Civil Rights Committee’s fight for justice in Augustín Salcido’s case—though the sexuality of the victims of these instances may remain unknown to historians, they could explore contemporary activists’ decisions to pursue justice for these cases of presumably heterosexual male victims rather than other cases of police brutality.[21] Thus, throughout the literature on police brutality there exists an almost complete absence of mentions of how the identities of chicanidad and non-heterosexuality intersected to inform such histories.

This omission of non-heterosexuality becomes most problematic in Jeffrey Garcilazo’s study of the efforts of the Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born to defend Mexican Americans against police persecution of suspected communists during the McCarthy era.[22] Seeing as how police forces perceived a link between communism and homosexuality during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, and adding the fact that the Department also linked communism to ethnic minorities in the 1950s, one would expect a surge in instances of brutality against homosexual Mexican Americans during this time period under study by Garcilazo, the 1950s.[23] However, Garcilazo’s study of this period replicates much of the literature’s pattern of presenting the Mexican American as monolithic and comprised of a single heteronormative identity: while he engages with the actions of this community group responding to repression in the form of police brutality, he ignores a homophobic phenomenon that played a critical role in the experiences of many Mexican Americans in the community. If the Los Angeles Committee for the Protection of the Foreign Born simply did not protect victims who identified with the LGBT community, then Garcilazo risks perpetuating the Committee’s contribution to the silencing of these cases of brutality.

Scholars would also do well to explore how rampant violence against non-heterosexual identifying individuals, particularly during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, informed interactions between the police force and Mexican American members of the community. As historian Daniel Hurewitz contends, “Indeed, while the Red Scare of the McCarthy era has dominated historical memory, it occurred in conjunction with and was entangled with a Lavender Scare during which federal officers developed stringent policies to remove ‘homosexuals’ from the civil service”[24]. These federal officers, linking non-heteronormative behavior to the politically radical ideology of communism, purged the civil service of suspected homosexual officials; furthermore, Hurewitz notes importantly that historians often focus on the Red Scare over this Lavender Scare, thus contributing to the marginalization of sexual minorities by leaving their histories relatively unexplored. From reading through the trial records of the accused, Hurewitz concludes that “within nine months of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s infamous speech announcing 205 known Communists in the federal government, nearly 600 civil servants were fired or forced to resign. But the bulk of them were pushed out on charges of homosexuality, not Communism”[25]. Thus, he determines that, in the mind of the prosecutors of the era, homosexuality posed perhaps an even greater threat than communism did. For future study, historians of police brutality should research how this perceived threat manifested itself in police-community relations in Los Angeles.

As a possible starting point for this research, scholars could look into the extent to which non-heterosexual identifying Mexican Americans acted as activists working in solidarity with victims of police brutality. Though Hurewitz documents queer activism against police brutality, he fails to consider the intersectionality of non-heterosexual identities with one’s racial identity and thus leaves a gap for future scholars to fill. This gap becomes most prominent when he discusses the founding of the Citizens’ Committee to Outlaw Entrapment, an advocacy group originating with the LGBT community in Edendale which formed in response to the beatings and arrests of five Mexican American boys in Echo Park in 1952. In discussing the Committee’s political motives, Hurewitz distinguishes among ethnic, racial, political, and sexual minorities, “Beyond the Jews, the Communists, the blacks, and the Mexicans, the CCOE now wanted the civil rights group to pay attention to homosexuals…homosexuals were an equivalent oppressed social minority, analogous to all others”[26]. In doing so, he treats these identities as mutually exclusive rather than as intersectional. In his discussion of community activism surrounding the Sleepy Lagoon cases, he mentions how members of the LGBT community in Edendale advocated for José Díaz, “The campaign to overturn their convictions was led in large part by the Edendale left. Local leftists joined with Mexican American activists to form a Citizens’ Committee for the Defense of Mexican-American Youth”[27]. Since Hurewitz does not specify the ethnicity of these Edendale leftists, scholars could look into the fact that—based off of Edendale’s history as a community for members of the Partido Liberal Mexicano—many of these non-heterosexual activists may have formed the Committee as Mexicans or Mexican Americans themselves.[28]

Of course, scholars should also look into the persecution of Mexican American members of the LGBT community at the hands of the police that characterized the Lavender Scare. In this regard, historians Lillian Faderman and Stuart Timmons already provide some direction for scholars to follow. When describing the importance that nightspots played as areas of retreat for queer identifying individuals, they affirm that “those bars were a haven to which they retreated often—so that by the 1950s, there was a considerable choice of nightspots where L.A. gay girls might go…the Redhead in East L.A., which welcomed only Mexican American lesbians…”[29]. From conducting interviews with patrons to these bars, they determine that many owners segregated the gay community by race: thus, bars like the Redhead accepted Mexican American lesbians exclusively. They then expand upon how, armed with this knowledge, police officers often raided these bars, frequently threatening the safety of their patrons in an effort to quell sexual dissent, “Thus gay women living in the mid-century were aware of the danger that awaited should their lesbianism become known. Those who dressed in masculine clothes or frequented bars were often harassed by overzealous and hostile police officers”[30]. Thus, Faderman and Timmons point to a phenomenon that the current literature leaves largely unexplored, and furthermore they expose how the subversion of gender roles by gay women provoked violence from the police: scholars of police brutality against Mexican Americans in Los Angeles should delve further into studying cases like the bar raids at the Redhead.

Using images recovered from ONE National Gay and Lesbian Archives, an LGBT organization called Roots of Equality gathered many instances of police brutality against the LGBT community, demonstrating that these cases did get documented; however, their collection focuses almost exclusively on white victims of brutality. For example, they discuss the Dale Jennings arrest in 1952, in which a coleader of the LGBT advocacy group the Mattachine Society faced charges for soliciting a police officer, as instigating a gay movement, “Soon, Mattachine chapters were forming across America, and membership swelled. The gay movement now had a voice and a public profile”[31]. While Roots of Equality looks almost exclusively at cases involving white victims, it does point to the phenomenon of the LGBT movement itself finding greater momentum after a white member of the community faced brutalization rather than after a case involving a colored victim. Though doing so with a case that occurred before McCarthy’s hearings, Roots of Equality also attests to the pervasiveness of police aggression, “Nathan Hahn was arrested in 1940 for wearing female clothing and refused to wear the male clothing presented to him…Until the 1960s, police in Los Angeles aggressively applied the city’s 1898 anti-masquerading ordinance to intimidate and discriminate against queer people”[32]. Thus, this collection of cases from the Archives demonstrates that many of these cases of brutality against queer identifying individuals exists: scholars would do well to look into such archives in an effort to focus this history more on victims of color.

This historiographical paper focuses on absences in the literature on police brutality against Mexican Americans in Los Angeles in the 1940s and the 1950s. This time period witnessed the formation of what would become chicanidad, or a distinctly Mexican American identity, in response to extreme repression that manifested itself perhaps most prominently in the form of police brutality. Thus, this paper explores how the current scholarship fails to address how the intersection of chicanidad and the identities of femininity and non-heterosexuality informed these interactions between the Mexican American community and the police force, and it suggests directions in which future research could go to fill in these gaps. Namely, it proposes that scholars explore machismo and homophobia as concepts that drove police violence against women and non-heterosexual individuals, especially Mexican Americans. This absence in the literature of police brutality against Mexican Americans in Los Angeles leads to a false notion of uniformity and homogeneity within the city’s Mexican American community that does not account for how different identities within the community affected members’ sense of chicanidad. The experiences of the Mexican American community with the Los Angeles Police Department varied according to their various identities: though many unified under a shared notion of ethnic solidarity, this notion of chicanidad shifted in meaning with respect to the different experiences that different Mexican Americans had.

This paper represents my own work in accordance with University regulations.

Mario Garcia

 

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[1] Escobar, Edward. Race, Police, and the Making of a Political Identity: Mexican Americans and

the Los Angeles Police Department, 1900-1945, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1999, 207-208.

[2] Escobedo, Elizabeth. From Coveralls to Zoot Suits: The Lives of Mexican American Women on the World War II Home Front, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2013, 22.

[3] Escobar, Edward. Race, Police, and the Making of a Political Identity, 133.

[4] Ibid., 241.

[5] Escobar, Edward. “Bloody Christmas and the Irony of Police Professionalism: The Los Angeles Police Department, Mexican Americans, and Police Reform in the 1950s,” Pacific Historical Review 72, no. 2 (2003): 171.

[6] Ibid., 186.

[7] Burt, Kenneth. The Search for a Civic Voice: California Latino Politics, Claremont: Regina Books, 2007, 61-62.

[8] Ibid., 61.

[9] Ibid., 119.

[10] Escobar, Edward. Race, Police, and the Making of a Political Identity, 173.

[11] Ibid., 153.

[12] Escobar, Edward. “Bloody Christmas and the Irony of Police Professionalism,” 181.

[13] Ibid., 190.

[14] Appier, Janis. Policing Women: The Sexual Politics of Law Enforcement and the LAPD, Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998, 116.

[15] Ibid., 154.

[16] Barker, Joan. Danger, Duty, and Disillusion: The Worldview of Los Angeles Police Officers, Prospect Heights: Waveland Press, 1999, 34.

[17] Ibid., 195.

[18] Herbert, Steve. Policing Space: Territoriality and the Los Angeles Police Department, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997, 80.

[19] Ibid., 80-81.

[20] Escobar, Edward. Race, Police, and the Making of a Political Identity; Escobar, Edward. “Bloody Christmas and the Irony of Police Professionalism.”

[21] Burt, Kenneth. The Search for a Civic Voice, 117-134; Parson, Don. “Injustice for Salcido: The Left Response to Police Brutality in Cold War Los Angeles,” Southern California Quarterly 86, no. 2 (2004): 145-168.

[22] Garcilazo, Jeffrey. “McCarthyism, Mexican Americans, and the Los Angeles Committee for Protection of the Foreign-Born, 1950-1954,” Western Historical Quarterly 32, no. 3 (2001): 273-295.

[23] Hurewitz, Daniel. Bohemian Los Angeles and the Making of Modern Politics, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007, 232-233.

[24] Hurewitz, Daniel. Bohemian Los Angeles and the Making of Modern Politics, 233.

[25] Ibid.

[26] Ibid., 232.

[27] Ibid., 211.

[28] Estrada, William David. The Los Angeles Plaza: Sacred and Contested Space, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2008, 154-155.

[29] Faderman, Lillian and Timmons, Stuart. Gay L.A.: A History of Sexual Outlaws, Power Politics, and Lipstick Lesbians, New York: Basic Books, 2006, 88-89.

[30] Ibid.

[31] Dalal, Kersu et al., Lavender Los Angeles: Roots of Equality, Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2011, 76.

[32] Ibid., 71.

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