The protest was organized by the National Chicano Moratorium led by the very likeable and charismatic Rosalio Munoz. The fact that Chicanos were suffering close to 20% of the casualties in Vietnam while being denied equal opportunity at home was the issue that brought Chicanos into the larger context of the world youth rebellion against the established authorities.
Our group arrived at Belvedere Park the morning of August 29, 1970. We were joined by family and friends from San Bernardino, CA, my hometown. It was a beautiful day but there was an expectation of danger. There had been a war, of sorts, between East LA street gangs and the Los Angeles County Sheriffs Department dating back to the early 1940s. The advent of the Chicano Movement only worsened the mutual antagonism.
Thousands at Belvedere began the trek towards Laguna Park and by the time we reached our destination we were more than 25,000. It was a wonderful expression of unity in a movement rife with factionalism. When our contingent arrived at Laguna we prepared to hear speakers including Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzalez, a Chicano from Denver who had captured the imagination of young Chicanos everywhere with his epic poem I Am Joaquin.
After about an hour of sitting around near the tennis courts we noticed teargas coming from a store across the street from the park. Agustin Gurza, Victor Trujillo and I started walking towards the scene to take pictures for La Voz Del Pueblo. As we neared Whittier Boulevard the Sheriffs Deputies suddenly charged towards the crowd indiscriminately pushing and clubbing anyone in their path including women and children. We began backing up just enough to avoid contact but slow enough to be able to take our pictures. That’s when I saw a deputy pushing and prodding a middle aged woman who was dragging two little children. I yelled at the deputy “Hey stop pushing her, she’s moving as fast as she can.” He then turned on me with his club. In self defense I grabbed the club and wrestled him to the ground. I looked around for help but people were just standing around looking shocked. I remember yelling at them “Que chingados esperan cabrones, ayudanme, no sean culedos.” Soon other deputies joined in and beat me to the ground, handcuffed me and escorted me to a squad car (below left). I found out later that Victor, another Frentista, was severely beaten when he tried to help me.
Another young Chicano (below right) was put in the car with me. He began kicking at the windows and the grill separating us from the driver. I didn’t say anything but I was scared as hell. I thought this kid was going to get us both killed. We were the first two arrested in what later turned out to be the biggest urban riot by Mexican Americans in U.S. history.
