Comments
MINORITY REPORT -
"It always seems impossible until it's done."
Nelson Mandela
Today, protests have become universal symbols of conflict, people seeking to alter political, economic and societal agendas, and to give a united voice to minorities. The gripes are countless, and the protesters are innumerable. Of course, the Constitution safeguards peaceful dissent for addressing grievances.
Recently, massive protests across the nation were held where the young and old of all races and politics marched against the government’s deployment of soldiers in California’s immigration sweeps. Protests have also remedied racial injustices when laws and policies were used to perpetuate unfairness.
Certainly, protests with a clarity of purpose have yielded historically important results, while others have fallen into obscurity. But memorable will always be one controversy that turned into a vigorous political debate and gave birth to a legendary grassroots movement, “The Mothers of East Los Angeles.”
With a disproportionate number of inmates coming from Southern California, the California Department of Corrections was ordered by state legislators in the mid-1980s to build a prison in Los Angeles County. Gov. George Deukmejian, while flying home to Long Beach from Sacramento, looked over East Los Angeles and sighed, “Well, look at that, that’s a pretty site for a prison.”
Frank Villalobos, a landscape architect and president of Barrio Planners, disclosed this little-known Deukmejian account to me, and proved its veracity by pointing to newspaper articles.
But for the local community, a new prison there created a grave predicament: three large county jails were already located in East LA neighborhoods which consist of six square miles of unincorporated county territory, as well as Los Angeles districts such as Boyle Heights. Known as an immigrant gateway community, the locale had struggled with existing anti-Mexican American sentiments and anti-immigrant rhetoric. Legislative initiatives frequently targeted East LA.
Villalobos was discussing his work on the Plaza del Sol project at an open counter at the Planning Department at Los Angeles City Hall when he overheard a conversation concerning prison bed numbers, traffic, and a non-essential environmental evaluation. It was unmistakable, the discussion nearby centered on an impending construction of a state prison in East LA.
He sought Assemblywoman Gloria Molina and asked if she was aware of developments over the pending prison location. To Villalobos’ dismay he was told by Molina that the governor had promised the Japanese community a museum—if State Senator Art Torres agreed with his prison location. This was problematic, Villalobos confessed to me, since Torres and Assemblyman Richard Alatorre, were political powerhouses both in the community and in Sacramento. Stunned, he was caught in a game of ugly politics, the pitting of allies against each other. After all, the Japanese community and the Mexican American community related to each other and disunity had to be avoided.
I knew Alatorre well. He was born and raised in East LA, and had been elected to the State Assembly, quickly developing into the most influential Latino politician in the California. He had embarked on his lifelong drive to gain equality and racial justice and would never support the prison location. Meanwhile, Villalobos formed the Coalition Against the Prison in East Los Angeles and unleashed a dialogue on the prison, holding numerous neighborhood meetings. Molina, asserting her power as the first Latina elected to the state legislature, drew wide attention to the prison proposal, and began to rally support in opposition.
A parish priest, Monsignor John Moretta of Resurrection Catholic Church, became fully immersed in the prison opposition and guided the parish mothers who were concerned about the safety of their families. He named them “Mothers of East Los Angeles.” Using church funds, the priest bought white sheet and cut them into mantillas—scarves worn by the mothers to symbolize nonviolent principles. They joined the Villalobos group and unceasing protests, visible and determined, were set into motion. The news media, local and national, paid homage to them and their fame spread. So did their status.
The battle lines were clear from the start, and both sides had powerful advocates. Sen. Robert Presley (D-Riverside) introduced a bill to allow the state to move ahead with the purchase of the controversial prison site. It was opposed by Torres whose district included the proposed site and who tried unsuccessfully to block it by rewriting provisions on the floor, to require a full environmental review before the property could be purchased. But the bill cleared both houses and was sent to the governor.
With passage of the bill, Gov. Deukmejian made it known that he wanted to see Molina. She went, she told me, and it was an unbearable meeting. The governor had in front of him all the bills she had authored, awaiting his signature. He handed her a yellow pad and asked her to write down the bills she wanted him to sign. “All of them,” Molina replied.” I will be happy to do so,” Deukmejian said, “but I need you to accept the prison in East LA.”
“I can’t,” she said. Cooly, the governor told her he was going to sign the prison bill anyway. Resentfully she saw all her bills vetoed.
A foremost point of disagreement was the governor’s position that a required environmental assessment for the East Los Angeles prison site would be undertaken only after the property was purchased. Two other prisons that would be authorized in the same bill—one in Del Norte County and another in Madera County—would have full environmental studies before any steps were taken to purchase property.
David Roberti, the Senate president pro tem, had become a visible and insistent opponent of the East Los Angeles site. He suggested creating a three-member panel to make a judgment on the timing of an environmental review. The committee met and voted 2 to 1 for a review after the purchase. But it was the no vote of a Cal Poly Pomona professor on the committee that gave the prison opponents the right to go to court. “If it was unanimous, if there had been three votes against us,” Villalobos said, “they would have built it.”
Later, as a councilmember, Molina was able to win a one-million-dollar allowance by the Los Angeles City Council to defend a lawsuit filed by Villalobos. The East Los Angeles prison opponents now had funds and attorneys in place to escalate their fight.
A Lancaster city manager worked with his local Chamber of Commerce to find a new prison site. In June 1991, legislators redirected $130 million from the East Los Angeles prison project to a San Joaquin Valley location, marking a major win for the Mothers of East LA after six years of opposition.
The victory energized the Mothers of East LA, who then acted against other neighborhood threats, including a pipeline and a toxic incinerator. Then, as now, the people led the fights against injustice and inequality, not the self-proclaimed leaders and elected officials.
The Mothers of East LA became and remained leaders in fighting environmental racism.
(Nick Patsaouras is a Los Angeles-based electrical engineer and civic leader whose firm has shaped projects across commercial, medical, and entertainment sectors. A longtime public advocate, he ran for Mayor in 1993 with a focus on rebuilding L.A. through transportation. He has served on major public boards, including the Department of Water and Power, Metro, and the Board of Zoning Appeals, helping guide infrastructure and planning policy in Los Angeles. He is the author of the book "The Making of Modern Los Angeles". Parts of this article are drawn from his book.)
