![]() The image, which is both cartoonish and graphic, portrays a smiling Santos with a bloody gunshot wound on his forehead. To create his memorial print, Peña may have relied on a school portrait of the young boy. ![]() Peña, who at the time was an art teacher in Texas, was drawn to the incident because Santos reminded him of his own students. Years later, President Jimmy Carter wrote to the boy’s mother expressing his condolences after the Justice Department refused to file civil rights charges against the officer. The Mexican American community of Dallas erupted in protest, demanding justice for Santos. He fired his weapon again and killed the boy instantly. He fired his weapon once and nothing happened. While they were seated handcuffed in a police car, one of the officers tried to coerce a confession from Santos by playing Russian roulette. Early one morning, police officers took them in for questioning. Santos Rodriguez was a twelve-year-old boy living in Dallas, Texas, in 1973 when he and his brother were accused of allegedly stealing eight dollars from a vending machine. The title of the print, which translates into "Those Who Have Died", immediately foregrounds the theme of death. When I learned the story behind Amado Peña’s print Aquellos que han muerto (1975), it shook my soul to the very core. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Amado M. Peña, Jr., Aquellos que han muerto, 1975, screenprint on paper I’d like to focus on two police brutality-themed works in ¡Printing the Revolution! because they reveal the powerful ways the graphic arts can shine a light on injustice, create a space for communal grieving, and in some cases, facilitate continued activism.Īmado M. In fact, the works in our exhibition remind us that the struggle against police brutality was part of the civil rights movement from the very start. While a major impetus for the Chicano civil rights movement was the labor activism of César Chávez and Dolores Huerta, co-founders of the United Farm Workers union, Chicano activism and politics in the 1960s and 1970s was multidimensional, encompassing anti-war protest, cultural affirmation, educational equality, Third-World solidarity, feminism, LGBTQ+ rights, and, yes, criminal justice. The exhibition, which explores the rise and ongoing impact of the graphics arts boom among Chicano artists and their collaborators during the civil rights era of the 1960s and 1970s, gathers over one hundred works by many artists who channel their creativity to expose racial oppression. Several works in ¡Printing the Revolution! The Rise and Impact of Chicano Graphics, 1965 to Now address police brutality head-on. Last year and still today, I’m reminded of how artists since the 1960s confront themes of police brutality and abuse as a way to express outrage, collective grief, and remembrance. will mark the first anniversary of George Floyd’s death and the worldwide demonstrations that ensued, as people in the United States and around the globe wrestled with how this event resonated with the long history of racism and white supremacy. The witness and expert testimony viscerally exposed the inhumanity of Chauvin’s actions and dredged up a long history of similar cases too countless to enumerate. ![]() ![]() The televised trial of Derek Chauvin, the police officer recently convicted of murdering George Floyd, was excruciating to watch. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Museum purchase through the Patricia Tobacco Forrester Endowment, 2020.51A-MM, © 2014, Oree Originol. Oree Originol, Justice for Our Lives, 2014-2020, 78 digital images Chicanx graphic artists shine a light on injustice and create a space for communal grieving ![]()
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