In Memory of A Brother

AUGUST 29, 2020

Testimonial by Rudy Salas of Tierra Band, In Memory of a Brother

Saturday August 29 marks the 50th anniversary of the Chicano Moratorium. And the tragic events that followed. I was there as a young man, excercising my constitutional right to protest an unjust war that disproportionately took the lives of so many young Chicanos, as well as many other Americans, not to mention the lives of thousands of Vietnamese men, women and children. I had lost many close friends to that immoral war, and others that did come home, were never the same. And for what? 

It was a hot August day, and we assembled at Belvedere Park. Thousands of Chicanos with their spirits high, and the faces determined. As we marched down Whittier Blvd. among shouts of "Chicano Power", "Viva La Raza", and "Out of Vietnam". There was a beautiful sense of Unity (This was the largest demonstration ever seen in East L.A. I remember at one point in the procession, we passed St. Alphonsus Church, as the wedding of a young Chicano couple had just ended, and the wedding party guests were congregating on the front steps, they all walked to the protesters, and joined the march, shouting all the slogans. It felt like a parade.

We finally settled in at Laguna Park, where the festivities were beginning. Conjuntos, Folklorico Dancers, Teatros, and political speakers getting ready for their performances. It took up the ambience and family atmosphere of one large picnic. But we could see the building up of County sheriffs with riot gear across the street from the park. The temperature was about 90 degrees, so my buddy and I decided to go the Green Mill Liquor store, down the block to buy some drinks and refreshments. It seems like everybody else had the same idea. As we were in the store, the owner started freaking out (I guess he never saw so many "Mexicans" at his store before) that he locked the front door, and wasn't going let anybody out until they paid. Many of the patrons that already paid were locked in, and they decided to walk out the back door (as we did). He subsequently called the sheriffs and yelled out wrongly, that he was being robbed. That became the flashpoint of the problem. 

The L.A. County Sheriffs (along with the L.A.P.D.) got the spark they needed to attack, as they were just waiting in the wings for anything to give the go ahead. They approached the crowd, and started beating anyone or anything in their way. Then they shot the tear gas. People panicked and ran into the neighbors' yards across the street from the park in a futile attempt to flee the mayhem and seek sanctuary, and use the water hoses to relieve to pain and the burn to their eyes and throats. Then people started fighting back. East L.A. was angry. Subsequently, parts of Whittier Blvd. burned, and looted by some of the angriest. 

I had to leave, as I had a gig that night, and I was able to escape the chaos (Yes, I was still playing music in those days). After the gig, we stopped at an all-night restaurant for breakfast (it was about 3am. The morning newspaper had already come out. As I looked at the headlines, I was devasted. Besides the police riot, I read what I had missed. Ruben Salazar had been shot with a tear gas cannister, and killed by the E.L.A Sheriffs inside the Silver Dollar Cafe on Whittier Blvd. 

Ruben Salazar had become a personal hero of mine, ever since he started speaking out against police brutality, social abuses, and poverty against the Chicano community. He was a very articulate man, and a true leader. His voice was silenced that day, and it was a huge loss for the whole Latino population all over the U.S. And to this day, many Chicanos, including myself, believe it was no accident.

The significance of the anniversary of the Chicano Moratorium is huge. 20,000 Americans of Mexican descent, or Chicanos, shouted their anger and opposition to the war in Vietnam, and helped to bring that immoral war to an end. It was also officially the biggest event of the Chicano movement.

I just recently helped to produce a song written by my uncle Art Brambila and performed by Louie Mendez and Lorenzo Martinez, and my daughter Rita Daruvala. I am very proud to be a part of the project. Please check it out. It tells the story of what happened that historic and fateful day. “The Day They Killed Ruben At the Silver Dollar”, produced by Art Brambila; performed by Louie Mendez & Lorenzo Martinez (Trio Los Dados) & Rita Daruvala.