Friday, April 24, 2015


By David Bacon
Dollars and Sense, March/April 2015

Hard camp conditions. Filemon Pineda, his wife Francisca Mendoza, and their children lived in a cabin in the labor camp at Sakuma Farms during the picking season.

In 2013, Rosario Ventura and her husband Isidro Silva were strikers at Sakuma Brothers Farms in Burlington, Wash. In the course of three months over 250 workers walked out of the fields several times, as their anger grew over the wages and the conditions in the labor camp where they lived.

Every year the company hires 7-800 people to pick strawberries, blueberries and blackberries.  During World War Two the Sakumas were interned because of their Japanese ancestry, and would have lost their land, as many Japanese farmers did, had it not been held in trust for them by another local rancher until the war ended.  Today the business has grown far beyond its immigrant roots, and is one of the largest berry growers in Washington, where berries are big business.  It has annual sales of $6.1 million, and big corporate customers like Haagen Dazs ice cream.  It owns a retail outlet, a freezer and processing plant, and a chain of nurseries in California that grow rootstock.

By contrast, Sakuma workers have very few resources. Some are local workers, but over half are migrants from California, like Ventura and her family.  Both the local workers and the California migrants are immigrants, coming from indigenous towns in Oaxaca and southern Mexico where people speak languages like Mixteco and Triqui.  While all farm workers in the U.S. are poorly paid, these new indigenous arrivals are at the bottom.  One recent study in California found that tens of thousands of indigenous farm workers received less than minimum wage. 

In 2013 Ventura and other angry workers formed an independent union, Familias Unidas por la Justicia-Families United for Justice. In fitful negotiations with the company, they discovered that Sakuma Farms had been certified to bring in 160 H-2A guest workers.  The H2A program was established in 1986 to allow U.S. agricultural employers to hire workers in other countries, and bring them to the U.S.  In this program, the company first must certify that it has tried to hire workers locally.  If it can't find workers at the wage set by the state employment department, and the department agrees that the company has offered the jobs, the grower can then hire workers outside the country. 

The U.S. government provides visas that allow them to work only for this employer, and only for a set period of time, less than a year.  Afterwards, they must return to their home country.  If they're fired or lose their job before the contract is over, they must leave right away.  Growers must apply for the program each year.  On hearing about the application, the striking workers felt that the company was trying to find a new workforce to replace them.

When the company was questioned about why it needed guest workers, it said it couldn't find enough workers to pick its berries. But the farm was also unwilling to raise wages to attract more pickers. "If we [do], it unscales it for the other farmers," said owner Ryan Sakuma in an interview. "We're just robbing from the total [number of workers available]. And we couldn't attract them without raising the price hugely to price other growers out. That would just create a price war." He pegged his farm's wages to the H-2A program: "Everyone at the company will get the H-2A wage for this work."

"The H-2A program limits what's possible for all workers," says Rosalinda Guillén, director of Community2Community, an organization that helped the strikers. Community2Community, based in Bellingham, advocates for farm worker rights, especially those of women, in a sustainable food system. The following year Sakuma Farms applied for H-2A work visas for 438 workers, saying that the strikers weren't available to work because they had all been fired. Under worker and community pressure, Sakuma withdrew the application when it seemed probable that the U.S. Department of Labor (USDoL) would not approve it. Sakuma has still not recognized the union, and many workers feel their jobs are still in danger.

A decade ago there were hardly any H-2A workers in Washington State. In 2013, the USDoL certified applications for 6,251 workers, a number that had doubled just since 2011.  The irony is that one group of immigrant workers, recruited as guest workers, is being pitted against another group-the migrants who have been coming to work at the company for many years.

As she sat in her home in Madera, Calif., Rosario Ventura described the personal history that led her to migrate yearly from California to Washington, and then become a striker.


I came from Oaxaca in 2001, from San Martín Itunyoso. It is a Triqui town, and that's what I grew up speaking. My mother and father were farmers, and worked on the land that belongs to the town. It was just enough to grow what we ate, but sometimes there was nothing to eat, and no money to buy food.

There wasn't much work in Oaxaca, so my parents would go to Sinaloa [in northern Mexico]. I began to go with them when I was young, I don't remember how old I was. It costs a lot of money to go to school and my parents had no way to get it. In Mexico you have to buy a uniform for every grade. You have to buy the pencils, notebooks, things the children need. My brothers went to school, though. I was the only one that didn't go, because I was a girl.

When I told my dad I wanted to come to the U.S. he tried to convince me not to leave. When you leave, it is forever-that is what he said, because we never return. You won't even call, he said. And it did turn out that way. Now I don't talk with him because I know if I do, it will bring him sadness. He'll ask, when are you coming back? What can I say?

I would like to return to live with him, since he is alone. But I can't get the money to go back. There is no money, there is nothing to eat, in San Martín Itunyoso. I thought that I would save up something here and return. But it is hard here too. It's the same situation here in the U.S. We work to try to get ahead, but we never do. We're always earning just enough to buy food and pay rent. Everything gets used up.

It is easy to leave the U.S., but difficult to come back and cross the border. When I came, it cost two thousand dollars to cross, walking day and night in Arizona. We had to carry our own water and food. Out there in the desert it is life and death if you do not have any. It took a week and a half of pure walking. We would rest a couple of hours and get up to walk again.

Those who bring children suffer the most because they have to carry water and food for them, and sometimes carry the children themselves. Thank God we all crossed and were OK. But now that I'm here I'm always afraid because I don't have papers. I can never relax or be at ease.

When I crossed the border I came alone, and then found my brothers, who were already here in Madera. They took me to Washington State to work at Sakuma Farms. I met Isidro when I was working, and we got married in 2003. He speaks Mixteco and I speak Triqui, but that did not matter to us. In those times I hardly spoke Spanish, but now I know a little more.

When I came here, they were pruning the plants. That is very hard work because you get cut and the branches hit your face. When I was in Oaxaca, thinking of coming, I was expecting a different type of work. But this is all there is. People who know how to read and write or have papers can get easier jobs. The rest of us work in the fields.

At Sakuma Farms the company was always hard on us. They would tell us, "you came to pick, and you have to make weight." If you don't make weight they won't let you work for a few days. If you still can't make weight, they pull you out of the field and fire you. But when you're working, and you take what you've picked to be weighed, they always cheat you of two or three pounds.

I've always lived in the labor camp during the picking season. We decided to continue living in Madera, and never moved to Washington permanently. When it gets really hot in the San Joaquin Valley in the summer we go to Washington, where it's cooler. Then when it gets cold there and the work runs out, we come back to Madera. We go every season.

When we go to Washington we have to rent someplace in Madera to store our belongings, like our clothes. Then when we return we have to search for a new home again. It is a hassle. This year we left the house where we'd been living with my brother instead, because he didn't go to Washington. We all live here-Isidro, my four children, my brothers and sisters, and their children. The family pays two thousand a month for the whole house, and Isidro and I pay three hundred as our share.

When we're in Washington we have to save for the winter season, because there's no work until April. I don't work in Madera because I can't find childcare. The trip to Washington is expensive-about 250 dollars in gas and food. If we don't have enough money, we have to ask for a loan. That's what we normally do, since by then we've used up what we saved from the previous year. There is a food bank in Washington, which helps when we get there.

With the strikes last year in Washington we were out of work for almost two months. We didn't save anything, so it was very hard for us afterwards. We didn't have enough to pay the bills, and we couldn't find work.

The strikes started when the company fired Federico [a coworker]. We wanted Sakuma to raise the [piece rate] price, and the company refused. They told us if we want to work, work. Then they accused Federico of starting a protest. They went to his cabin, to kick him out of the camp. That's when we stopped work, to get his job back.

We were also upset about the conditions in the labor camp. The mattress they gave us was torn and dirty, and the wire was coming out and poked us. We're accustomed to sleeping with the children, but the bed was so small we couldn't even fit on it. There were cockroaches and rats. The roof leaked when it rained. They just put bags in the holes and it still leaked. All my children's clothes were wet.

They told us they would change things, and the county inspector would come check the cabin. But the company man in charge of the camp told me: "If the inspector comes, don't show him your bed. Don't say anything or you will have a lot of problems." So when the inspector came the company man followed him and didn't let me say anything.

They always try to make us afraid to speak up. If you ask for another five cents they fire you. They threatened to remove us from the camp because of the strikes, and said they'd fire us. They are always threatening us. They fired Ramón also [the leader of the strike and union] because he talked back to them. But thank God he had the courage to talk.

I think there will be strikes again this coming year, if the company doesn't come to its senses, and as long as we have support. We can't leave things like this. There is too much abuse. We are making them rich and making ourselves poor. It's not fair. I think these things can change if we all keep at it. We won't let them keep on going like this. We have to change them. It is important that they raise wages, treat us right, and help the farmworkers. All the mistreatment, threats, everything-it isn't fair.

I want to work, to have money, to be in a better place. I want a little house and to stay in one place with my kids. That's all I'm hoping for. I'd like to see my children reach high school and maybe college. If they don't, I want to go back to Mexico, if I can save money. My kids can go to school there too. I want them to continue studying. I don't want my children to work for Sakuma.

Photos by David Bacon

Women and children sit in the labor camp, and refuse to go into the fields and start picking during the strike. One woman nurses her baby.

During the strike the strikers posted guards at the entrances to the labor camp. At one entrance they also put a blanket with an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Catholic protector of the poor.

To the barricades! Strikers put up a barrier on the road into the labor camp.

Who checks the weights? Rosalinda Guillén talks with three young women, who demanded that the company allow them to do the work of weighing and checking the berries picked by workers. Before the strike this work was mostly done by white people, not indigenous Mexicans, and workers often accused the checkers of cheating them on the weight.

Ramon Torres reports to the strikers in a meeting in the camp, at a moment when it seemed the company really intended to negotiate over their demands. A few days later, however, he was fired.

A boy catches the infectious enthusiasm of the adults during a strike meeting in the camp.

A boy on the bridge at the camp gate.

Back to work, for now. The strike actually consisted of a number of separate work stoppages, and each time, when it seemed like the company would resolve the main complaints, workers would return to the fields to pick. On this morning, strikers walk into a blueberry field at sunrise, ready to start work.

The next generation. On the fence at the gate into the labor camp, the children of some of the strikers do what they've seen their parents and friends doing. They grab a sign, stand on the fence, and begin to chant and shout, ¿Qué queremos?¡Justicia! ¿Cuándo? ¡Ahora!

Monday, April 20, 2015


By David Bacon
Jacobin, 4/16/15

Workers' Parade, Tina Modotti, Mexico City, 1926

A hundred years ago, one revolution had been upending the social order just south of the U.S. border and another revolution was about to begin halfway around the world. These revolutions did more than expropriate the property of the wealthy. They discarded old ideas and created a field in which new ones took their place. This was especially true with photography.

Mexico before its Revolution was a country dominated economically by the U.S., and on its cultural periphery. Through the turn of the 20th century, the main aesthetic framework for Mexican photographers was defined by a Pictorialist tradition that asserted the medium's status as "art."The Pictorialist and Photo-Secession movement, led by Alfred Steiglitz and popularized through Camera Work, established New York City as the center of the photographic world in North America.

The Mexican Revolution, a decade-long conflict in which one of every seven Mexicans died, officially ended in 1920 with the termination of its civil war and the destruction of its old social order.New ideas about art and culture flourished in Mexico City's post-revolutionary ferment, particularly in photography. Suddenly the unipolar photographic world of north America, dominated by Pictorialism and Photo-Secession, became a multipolar one, with a very different approach emerging in Mexico.Photographic ideas developed outside New York City, both about how photographs should be constructed, and about the role of photographers themselves.Artists who saw themselves as agents of social change rejected the old vision and sought a new one.

This period began an exchange of ideas between the U.S. and Mexico about photographic technique, aesthetics, and the stance of the photographer. These ideas did not develop in a vacuum. Instead, the dialogue took place within a context of social movements that grew and waned. The shift was part of a larger debate about the role of photographers, writers, journalists, and painters in relation to those movements -- the post-Revolutionary leftist movements among workers and peasants in Mexico, and later, the rising labor movement in the U.S. in the 1930s.

"What was the center and what was the periphery changed," says John Mraz, a historian of Mexican photography.Mraz is Research Professor at the Instituto de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades, Universidad Autónoma de Puebla (México).He curated the national exhibit for the Centennial of the Mexican Revolution, Testimonios de una guerra, and has written a number of books on Mexican photographers and photojournalism.He suggests that the social cataclysm in Mexico created a new climate of ideas, including aesthetic ones. (1) By the mid-1920s, for instance, painters like Diego Rivera and David Alfaro Siqueiros had rejected their pictorialist training and replaced it with a muralist tradition, promoting in a dramatic new graphic style the social movements unleashed by the Revolution. The muralists viewed artists as participants in those movements, even organizing a union of painters and sculptors (later depicted in a photograph by Tina Modotti) to express the new social stance they believed artists should take.(2)

Mraz calls this a cultural effervescence, in which new social ideas mix with new aesthetic ones in an environment of rapid social, political, and aesthetic change. (3) This effervescence was not confined to Mexico. The Soviet Revolution started in 1917, and its civil war ended in 1924. Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Mexico City all became places where this new climate of ideas flourished.

Into this maelstrom came Edward Weston and Tina Modotti, arriving in Mexico City from California in 1923-24. Weston, not at all political himself, was nevertheless determined not to create stock-in-trade pictorial depictions of colonial churches and exotic (or noble) "savages."

"Weston introduced modernist photography into Mexico," Mraz says. "But he didn't bring it from the U.S. because he didn't do any modernist photography there. He only discovered it and started doing it here in Mexico. The modernist way of photographing is connected to the anti-exotic. Exoticism comes from Pictorialism, like a nineteenth century painting. No ragged edges, no sharp angles. Everything's perfect, the way it ought to be. A very European idea." (4) Weston found himself in the middle of an incredible aesthetic revolutionary ferment in Mexico, which transformed his photography. After a few years, he returned to the U.S., but continued with the same straight, direct approach he had honed in Mexico.

Modotti, originally Weston's student, stayed behind to become one of the most influential photographers, not just in Mexico, but also in U.S. and European photography. She took Weston's approach to form, and gave it a social content. At first she took still lifes in the Weston formalist style that included platinum prints of roses, and abstract experiment compositions beginning in 1924. (5) But as she became more involved in the political ferment of the city, she made one of her first efforts to give social meaning to this modernist form, in the photograph, /Workers Parade/, taken in 1926.

Here, a crowd of marchers is shot from above, creating a scene of men in white sombreros, headed for a destination outside the image. Art historian Leonard Folgarait argues that Modotti does more than document the event as a photojournalist. "Modotti has engaged in the documentary aspect of photography . . . but she has balanced that sense of a visual record by manipulating its information in such a way that it has become an interpretation of the event, with that interpretation becoming a historical occurrence as well." (6) She selected the scene for political purposes, discarding "neutrality," and creating an image whose purpose is to show the strength of workers in their collective numbers, and also their nationality and culture as shown in the sombreros. In today's culture, where each person is inundated by thousands of images, it's easy to forget that this is one of the first efforts to document mass working-class protest, and that it's done, not just to record the event, but to inspire similar activity. In his book, Folgarait quotes journalist Carleton Beals, who knew Modotti:She "no longer contents herself with perfect platinum prints for wealthy collectors but has become desirous of a wider audience." (7) That audience (workers and farmers) was defined by the politics of the Mexican Communist Party, which she joined the following year.

In a modernist departure from recording events, Modotti created another series of images, in which she sought to graft together Mexican nationalist sentiment, strong in the Revolution's wake, with Communist ideology. First she created a striking and stark photograph of a hammer and sickle, the Communist emblem, which bore clear evidence of heavy toil. Then in another image she placed these objects on a sombrero, giving these international left symbols a specifically Mexican context. Finally she mixed symbols even further: a sickle and a bandolier of bullets with a guitar, or an ear of corn. And finally she discards both hammer and sickle, depicting the corn, bandolier and guitar without them.

 Mexican sombrero with hammer and sickle, Tina Modotti, Mexico City, 1927

Bandolier, corn, guitar, Tina Modotti, Mexico City, 1927

In the Communist movement of the late 1920s, which prized political orthodoxy, reinterpreting its most important visual symbol must have caused some controversy.But Modotti's images were widely circulated at the time. They were published in the radical leftwing periodicals that flourished in Germany and the U.S. /Mexican sombrero with hammer and sickle/ was the cover image for the October 1928 issue of /New Masses/, a socialist cultural magazine published in New York City. (8)Her ideas dovetailed with those popularized in the Soviet photographic ferment that followed its revolution, not just her modernism in style, but also her stance as a committed political actor.

She and other photographers of the left in this period were influenced by Soviet photography, which rejected "photography as art" and insisted on its use in connection with social change. Alexander Rodchenko wrote, "art has no place in modern life," and that "we must take photographs from every angle but the navel." (9) Rodchenko, and his fellow photographers in Moscow, pioneered the use of extreme angles, along with diagonal composition and close-ups, as a means to shake the viewer's perspective and liberate them from complacency. This strategy was similar to that put forward by the earliest works of Communist playwright Berthold Brecht, written during the same period. Brecht felt that drama should stimulate people to question social reality in a critical way, and should not just tell stories. (10) "Rodchenko believed that it was necessary to educate people to /see/ rather than simply to /look/, and proposed that ordinary familiar things be photographed in new ways, from new angles and perspectives, effectively 'defamiliarized,'" according to Robert Deane, honorary researcher in photography at the National Gallery of Australia. Additionally, Soviet publications, especially Ogonyok (which began publishing in 1923) "established many of the techniques of the illustrated magazine, such as the use of large visually striking cover images, now considered commonplace." (11)

Modotti did not invent the idea of the photographer as a committed participant in social change. In his book, /Photographing the Mexican Revolution/, Mraz documents the fact that many Mexican photographers became supporters of different factions in the civil war, one of the world's most photographed political upheavals of the time. The style they used came from their prior training and the way they made a living, primarily as studio photographers or working for magazines. "Although the subjects that appear in the images were radically 'other,' it seems that the ways of photographing them were established prior to the rebellion," Mraz speculates. (12) He links specific photographers to particular groups active in the revolutionary struggle: Manuel Ramos with the overthrown dictator Porfirio Diaz, but also Heliodoro Gutierrez and Geronimo Hernandez with Francisco Madero, who overthrew him. Amando Salmeron was Emiliano Zapata's photographer, while Antonio and Juan Cacho were part of Pancho Villa's army. Other photographers similarly took sides, and often those sides warred with each other. (13) Agustin Victor Casasola became the best known, and the Casasola archive is today the repository of a great deal of both his work and that of other photographers working at the time.

Peasant Zapatistas, members of a Mexican insurgent group, are fed breakfast at the famous restaurant Sanborns, Agustin Casasola, Mexico City, 1914.

The revolution had an enormous impact on the left in the U.S.Its precursor battle, the uprising in Cananea in 1907, was planned by Mexican anarcho-syndicalists in Los Angles and St. Louis. Many of their political associates went to Mexico to join the fighting. Radical journalist John Reed covered the battles of Pancho Villa, and his dispatches became the basis for his first revolutionary book, /Insurgent Mexico/. (14) Reed then went on to St. Petersburg, where he wrote the story of the insurrection that ultimately brought the Soviets to power in /Ten Days That Shook the World/. (15)

Reed had no desire to be an impartial observer. He took part in labor struggles in the U.S. (notably the Paterson N.J. silk workers strike), and then traveled through the new Soviet Union in its first years, promoting the Revolution. He died there and is buried in the Kremlin wall. His stance, as a journalist and writer covering a movement in which he participated, was a common choice for many artists in the U.S. until McCarthyism deprived most leftwing cultural workers of the ability to earn a living.

Modotti too chose politics over art. The Mexican government, as it moved to the right, cynically accused her of involvement in the assassination of her lover, Cuban revolutionary Julio Antonio Mella. It deported her to Europe. There she gave up photography, and went to work for the Communist International, eventually shepherding refugees out of Spain after the victory of the fascists in the Spanish Civil War.Even before she left Mexico, she wrote Weston, explaining, "Since the element of life is stronger in me than the element of art I should just resign to it + make the best of it..." (16)

That political stance is as much Modotti's legacy to photography in Mexico (and in the U.S.) as the social content and formalism of her photographs, but it was not taken up by everyone. The U.S. documentary tradition of the 1930s that followed included photographers with a wide diversity of political perspectives.Some saw their role as showing the devastating impact of the Depression, but hesitated at linking their photography to the radical social movements actively trying to change existing economic and political conditions. For example, at the Farm Security Administration, Roy Stryker would not hire photographers he viewed as too left, fearing the backlash from right-wingers in Congress who targeted his funding. (17)

But there were other photographers working at the time who participated in leftwing social movements. John Gutmann left Germany in 1933, where he had already been influenced by the radical photographers of the Weimar Republic, and of the Soviets before them.Some of his photographs were direct warnings of fascism on the horizon, such as /The News Photographer, San Francisco City Hall/, 1935. In this image, a huge U.S. flag is draped beside the Nazi swastika and the flag of fascist Italy, just as the city fathers greet officials from those two countries, while a newsman takes the picture.

The News Photographer, San Francisco City Hall, John Gutmann, 1935

Alexander Alland also came to the U.S. from Europe when fascism rose to power. Here, he connected the rise of the right to domestic racism, and took photographs of anti-racist demonstrations, as well as the Hooverville settlements of the unemployed and homeless. (18)

The two most committed "movement photographers" of the period were Otto Hagel and Hansel Mieth. Both left Germany at 15, and went to work as laborers and farm workers on their arrival in the U.S. They photographed the huge farm worker strikes of the 1930s, and were close to the dockworkers union when the San Francisco general strike in 1934 radicalized U.S. labor.(19)

Outstretched Hands, Hansel Mieth, San Francisco, California, 1934

Their photograph, /Outstretched Hands/, 1934, became an icon of the union, showing the desperation and humiliation of longshore workers trying to get hired in the despised daily shapeup, an abusive system that the union eventually abolished. Mieth also took photographs in the Heart Mountain concentration camp for Japanese "internees" during World War II, where photography was virtually forbidden.

After the war, however, the U.S. lost its socially committed documentary tradition to McCarthyism. Alland was blacklisted in the late 1940s, as the cold war began. After they were called before the House Un-American Activities Committee, Mieth lost her job as a staff photographer for /Life/ magazine, and Hagel's freelance career ground to a halt. He photographed a pioneering work on longshoremen, however, /Men and Machines/; the International Longshore and Warehouse Union was one of the few organizations that would still give him work. (20) Nevertheless, the whole idea of photographers connected to radical social movements ended because they couldn't work, while leftwing social movements themselves were on the run.

In Mexico, successive administrations moved to the right during the cold war as well, and pressured media outlets to use photography for their political glorification.Nevertheless, the tradition of documentary photography, carried on by politically committed photographers, lived on. The Mayo brothers, who fled Spain at the end of the Civil War, became the most productive photojournalists in Mexico City. While most of their work wasn't overtly political, they had close ties with the Mexican left. (21)

Manuel Alvarez Bravo became a photographer during the cultural and political ferment in which Modotti was active. But Alvarez Bravo was not a political militant or an activist photographer, despite images such as "Death of a Striker," purportedly showing the violence of the social turmoil of the time. In a long career he combined documentary work, surrealism, nude photography, and other visual genres. His first wife, Lola Alvarez Bravo, became a pioneer documentarian of the country's indigenous cultural roots, using a realist style to combat the exoticism of the Pictorialist tradition.

Nevertheless, Manuel Alvarez Bravo, the Mexican photographer best known to U.S. audiences, was the mentor of others who did document social reality. Their work was published, despite the fact that the publications in which their work appeared needed to stay on the good side of the government. The work of Nacho Lopez, Hector Garcia, and their colleagues, rebelled against depicting either false cheer or the exploitation of indigenous pre-Hispanic cultures as exotic fare for Europeans and tourists. Lopez' most dramatic images were taken in the police stations (delegaciones) of Mexico City, showing clearly peoples' poverty and powerlessness. But he treated his subjects as human beings, with dignity, rather than representing them as helpless victims.(22) Lopez famously remarked that, "Photography was not meant as art to adorn walls, but rather to make obvious the ancestral cruelty of man against man." (23)

Woman Standing Before Book in Delegacion, Nacho Lopez, 1954

Hector Garcia, who died in 2012 at the age of 89, also tried to use photography as a way to help dissident social movements break through the wall of official silence. He grew up on the streets and went to work on the railroad in the U.S. as a bracero contract worker in the 1940s. After Alvarez Bravo took him under his wing, he began work as a photojournalist. At the same time, he took photographs of social protests in which he also participated, even starting a newspaper that carried his images of student marches.Both Garcia and the Mayo brothers documented the high point of rebellion in the 1950s-the 1958 railroad strike-which led to the imprisonment of its leaders Demetrio Vallejo and Valentin Campa.

One striking Garcia image shows two steel workers, their dark glasses, and cloth wrapped around their noses and mouths as their only protection from fumes and sparks. When muralist David Alfaro Siqueiros was imprisoned in 1960 during Mexico's anti-Communist purge, Garcia took a famous image showing him with his hand raised, behind the bars of the Lucumberri Prison. The image brings to mind Mieth and Hagel's famous photograph of imprisoned labor activist Tom Mooney-a stylized portrait of his face behind the bars of California's San Quentin prison-taken around 1936.Both are direct frontal portraits. In the Hagel and Mieth portrait Mooney face is framed by the bars, while Siqueiros holds up his hand, palm forward, in a gesture undoubtedly meant to say "Stop!" Both portraits clearly convey the idea that these are not passive prisoners, but ones who are resisting an unjust imprisonment.They are profoundly political images."What I've done practically all my life," Garcia explained, "is to be a witness and to make graphic testimonies of the movements and struggles of the social classes in Mexico. This continues to be the most important motive I have to do photography." (24)

David Alfaro Siqueiros, Hector Garcia, 1960

Tom Mooney, San Quentin Prison, Otto Hagel, 1936/1938

At twenty years old, Mariana Yampolsky left her native U.S. in 1945. She became the first woman in the Taller de Grafica Popular (the People's Graphic Workshop), an anti-fascist project started in the late 1930s by Leopoldo Méndez, Pablo O'Higgins, and Luis Arena. Yampolsky was a socialist, close to the Mexican Communist Party. She worked for many years with the Secretariat of Public Education during the period, when the office was staffed by progressive educators dedicated to bringing schools and literacy to rural areas, especially in indigenous communities. She published art and children's' books, including textbooks for schools, and documented indigenous community life in a realist style. One of her best-known photographs, /Martel/, shows a disused railway station -- half a railroad car -- as empty tracks lead to nothing in the distance. The composition's strong graphic elements show her skill as a printmaker, paring reality down to a few essential elements. The image dates from the years when passenger rail service still existed in Mexico, although it's now long since gone. In its atmosphere of abandonment, the photograph is evocative of the migration issues of today. Yampolsky said, "If I have to define my photography, I'd say my studio is the street." (25)

Martel, Mariana Yampolsky, Mexico,  1968

Yampolsky was friends with the U.S. photographer, Milton Rogovin, one of the few U.S. photographers who maintained a commitment to social documentary photography during the cold war. Rogovin, who photographed in Mexico in the early 1950s, knew Yampolsky when she worked at the Taller Grafica. He was called before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee in 1958, and his optometry practice was virtually destroyed, something, he later said, that forced him to make a greater commitment to photography.(26) In the following decades, Rogovin took several series of photographs documenting working people, especially African Americans, in Buffalo, New York, and in Appalachia. "I just use the camera as a way of expressing my thoughts about society," he said. "It is the political awareness of what's happening to people that drives me into the direction of my photography." He cited Brecht's question: "Who built the Seven Gates of Thebes?Was it kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stones?" and responded, "I wanted to show who did the toughest work in industry. I wanted to show them because nobody does."(27)

In 1988, Yampolsky took Rogovin to Pachuca, Mexico, where he took photographs of coal miners. His extensive body of work on miners eventually included workers in ten countries, including Cuba, China, and Czechoslovakia. The images were straightforward and direct, showing the subjects' lives both at work and at home. (28)

Family of Miners, Mexico, Milton Rogovin, 1988

Trabajadores, Hector Garcia, 1950s

By the 1960s, the pressure for social change had built to crisis point in Mexico, the U.S., and much of the rest of the world. In the U.S., the civil rights and anti-war movements gave social protest new life, and with the rebirth of radical social movements came the rebirth of movement photography. In Mexico, battling repression was more difficult. Hundreds of students were shot down in the Tlatelolco plaza in 1968, and others were killed in Mexico City streets in 1973. The government launched a "dirty war," murdering leftists it viewed as political enemies.

Yet in Mexico too, the social movements that grew nonetheless gave new life to social documentary photography. The New Photojournalism movement produced photographers like Pedro Valtierra, and today Antonio Turok, Victor Mendiola and Yuriria Pantoja. (29) Periodicals like /Uno Mas Uno/ and /Proceso/, and later /La Jornada/, were willing to publish their work. A new generation of indigenous Mexican photographers, including Leopoldo Peña, Antonio Nava, Miguel Bravo, and others now work on both sides of the border, as do U.S. photographers like David Maung, Francisco Dominguez, myself, and others.

"I think we have had an influence on photography in the U.S., not just in this digital age, but going back into our history," concludes Valtierra. "Mexican photographers kept alive certain ideas. They were close to social movements. They documented migration all the way back to the 1940s, and the original cultures of indigenous people, which have both become major themes for modern photography."(30)

According to Folgarait, "Mexican photographers influenced U.S. and world photography because of their political engagement: human action with social relevance." (31) "I think there is a way of seeing that is Mexican," adds Valtierra. "Whether it is its heart or its look, I can tell it from others." (32)The use of the camera has a point to make, a critique. As Lopez says, it was not meant to adorn walls.

[1] <#_ftnref1>John Mraz, interview with author, Mexico City, January 31, 2014.

[2] <#_ftnref2> /Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo with members of the artists' union on the May Day march, Tina Modotti, Mexico City, 1929/

[3] <#_ftnref3> John Mraz, interview with author, Mexico City, [Add month and day here], 2014

[4] <#_ftnref4> Ibid.

[5] <#_ftnref5> /Roses, and Experiment in Related Form (Glasses), Tina Modotti, Mexico City, 1925/ reproduced in /Tina Modotti: Aperture Masters of Photography/ (Koln, Germany: Konemann Verlagsgesellschaft mbH, 1999), 21, 59

[6] <#_ftnref6> Leonard Folgarait, /Seeing Mexico Photographed: The Work of Horne, Cassola, Modotti, and Àlvarez Bravo/ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,2008), 48.

[7] <#_ftnref7> Ibid., 125.

[8] <#_ftnref8> Patricia Albers, /Shadows, Fire, Snow: The Life of Tina Modotti/ (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1999) 240-241

[9] <#_ftnref9> Alexandrr Rodchenko, "Trends in contemporary photography", in Varvara Rodchenko and Alexandr Lavrentiev, /The Rodchenko family workshop/ (London: The Serpentine Gallery, 1986), 86.

[10] <#_ftnref10> Martin Esslin, /Brecht: The Man and His Work/ (New York: Doubleday and Company, 1961), 124.

[11] <#_ftnref11> Robert Deane, "The New Photography 1920s-1940," in /Occasional Papers/ (Canberra, Australia:National Gallery of Australia, 2012) 6

[12] <#_ftnref12> John Mraz, /Photographing the Mexican Revolution/: /Commitments, Testimonies, Icons/ (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012), 17.

[13] <#_ftnref13> Ibid., 2.

[14] <#_ftnref14> John Reed, /Insurgent Mexico/ (NY and London: D. Appleton and Co.), 1914.

[15] <#_ftnref15> John Reed, /Ten Days That Shook the World/ (NY: Boni and Liverigh, 1919).

[16] <#_ftnref16> Folgarait, /Seeing Mexico Photographed/, 126.

[17] <#_ftnref17> Mary Warner Marien, /Photography: A Cultural History/ (NY: Prentice Hall, 2002), 278.

[18] <#_ftnref18> /University of Chicago Students Prepare Placards for a Demonstration against Racial Discrimination in the Medical School, Chicago, /and/Hooverville, Alexander Alland, 1946 and 1938/ , reproduced in /Reframing America/ (Tucson, Center for Creative Photography, 1995) 21, 29

[19] <#_ftnref19> For more on the work of Mieth and Hagel, see Janet Zandy, /Unfinished Stories: The Narrative Photography of Hansel Mieth and Marion Palfi/ (Rochester NY, RIT Press, 2013), and Nancy Schiesari, /Hansel Mieth: Vagabond Photographer/ (video documentary, shown on Independent Lens, PBS).

[20] <#_ftnref20> Otto Hagel, /Men and Machines/: /a photo story of the mechanization and modernization agreement between the International Longshoremen's & Warehousemen's Union and the Pacific Maritime Association now in operation in the ports of California, Oregon, and Washington,/(San Francisco: International Longshoremen's and Warehousemen's Union, 1963).

[21] <#_ftnref21> John Mraz, /Nacho Lopez, Mexican Photographer/ (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press2003), 7-8, 20.

[22] <#_ftnref22> Ibid., 127-150.

[23] <#_ftnref23> Nacho Lopez quoted in Blanca Ruiz, "/Travesias / Muestran los fetiches de Nacho Lopez"/ (Mexico City: Reforma, July 16, 1999)

[24] <#_ftnref24> Quoted on the webpage of the Southwestern and Mexican Photography Collection, the Witleff Collections,

[25] <#_ftnref25> Quoted on webpage, Jesse Kitt Photography,

[26] <#_ftnref26> Milton Rogovin and Cheryl Brutvan, /The Forgotton Ones/ (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1985), 10

[27] <#_ftnref27> Ibid, 13-14.

[28] <#_ftnref28> See Milton Rogovin, Social Documentary Photographer, (accessed March 1, 2014).

[29] <#_ftnref29> Mraz, /Nacho Lopez, Mexican Photographer/, 169-170.

[30] <#_ftnref30> Pedro Valtierra, interview with the author, Mexico City, January 5, 2014.

[31] <#_ftnref31> Leonard Folgarait, telephone interview with the author, January 3, 2014.

[32] <#_ftnref32> Pedro Valtierra, interview with the author.