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<h1 class="reader-title">The perils of forgotten history <br>
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<div class="td-author-line"><font size="+1"><b>Los Seis de
Boulder find their way back to CU thanks to a timely
piece of art
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By<a
href="https://www.boulderweekly.com/author/joeldyer/">
Joel Dyer</a> - <span class="td-post-date"><time
class="entry-date updated td-module-date"
datetime="2019-08-29T17:18:27+00:00">August 29, 2019</time></span></div>
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<figure><a
href="https://www.boulderweekly.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Web-cover-online-8.29.19.jpg"
data-caption="A new public art project is dedicated
to the memory of Los Seis de Boulder, six Chicano
activists who died in bombings just 48 hours a part.
The art piece is a rectangular sculpture
approximately seven feet tall containing six mosaic
tile portraits that has been placed on a concrete
slab in front of the TB-1 building just east of
Macky Auditorium. The sculpture is the result of a
community art project dreamed up and brought to
fruition by Jasmine Baetz, a Master of Fine Art
student from Canada currently studying at CU. "><img
src="https://www.boulderweekly.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Web-cover-online-8.29.19-640x376.jpg"
alt="" title="Web-cover-online-8.29.19"
width="640" height="376"></a><figcaption
class="wp-caption-text">A new public art project is
dedicated to the memory of Los Seis de Boulder, six
Chicano activists who died in bombings just 48 hours
a part. The art piece is a rectangular sculpture
approximately seven feet tall containing six mosaic
tile portraits that has been placed on a concrete
slab in front of the TB-1 building just east of
Macky Auditorium. The sculpture is the result of a
community art project dreamed up and brought to
fruition by Jasmine Baetz, a Master of Fine Art
student from Canada currently studying at CU. </figcaption></figure>
<p><span>Joel Dyer</span></p>
</div>
<p>If it’s true that it’s the history we don’t know that
dooms us to repeat the mistakes of our past, then
familiarizing ourselves with the story of Los Seis de
Boulder (The Six of Boulder) at this time could not be
more pertinent.</p>
<p>The racism and inequity that once took our nation to
the brink has resurfaced with a vengeance. Today, we
have millions of our Latinx neighbors living in fear of
having their families torn apart by arrest and
deportation. We have brown babies being torn from the
arms of their mothers and locked in cages. We have sick
children suffering from life-threatening diseases being
deported from our hospitals back to countries where they
will die without treatment. We have tens of thousands of
Latinx people being held in tortuous conditions in
facilities so overcrowded as to make laying down
impossible. We have a president who calls all brown
migrants rapists, drug smugglers and MS-13 gang members.
And we have a federal government that is treating
migrants — most of whom came here seeking asylum after
fleeing the violence and severe poverty of their home
countries — as if the president’s lies were true. </p>
<p>The last time this level of racism against Latinx
people was so overt it was the 1960s and ’70s. That era
eventually gave rise to the Chicano Movement, and
Boulder was at the epicenter of this national struggle
for social justice and racial equality. </p>
<p>So, what lessons can history teach us about today’s
struggles, and what does a new piece of public art on
the University of Colorado-Boulder campus have to do
with that history? The answer to both questions is “a
great deal.” </p>
<p>The referenced public art is a rectangular sculpture
approximately seven feet tall containing six mosaic tile
portraits that has been placed on a concrete slab in
front of the TB-1 building just east of Macky
Auditorium. The sculpture is the result of a community
art project dreamed up and brought to fruition by
Jasmine Baetz, a Master of Fine Art student from Canada
currently studying at CU. </p>
<figure><img
src="https://www.boulderweekly.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Buzz-art-1--754x1024.jpg"
alt=""><figcaption><span>Joel Dyer</span> Artist
Jasmine Baetz (right) speaks with Steph Boulton, one
of the more than 200 people who worked on the Los Seis
de Boulder sculpture project. The sculpture is located
in front of the TB-1 building on the CU Boulder
campus.</figcaption></figure>
<p>In 2017, by chance, Baetz attended a screening of the
film <em>Symbols of Resistance</em>, a documentary
telling the story of Los Seis de Boulder and what was
going on at CU in 1974. Baetz says, “I try to impress
upon people how random it was that I went in the room to
see it. I got an email from the Women in Gender Studies
listserv saying, ‘Hey, this film is screening tonight.’
And I happened to be in my studio in the building next
to where it was screening. And I just went over because
I wanted a break from the studio. I had no understanding
of what the content of the film was. And I think at that
point, if I’d ever seen the word Chicano, I didn’t
understand what it meant.” </p>
<p>But the film stuck with her as did the words of the
panelists that night, which included Pricilla Falcon,
Chicana activist, professor of Hispanic Studies at the
University of Northern Colorado and widow of murdered
Chicano leader Ricardo Falcon.</p>
<p>Baetz saw Los Seis as something akin to Kent State,
only in Boulder. That’s to say she understood the
important historical significance of Los Seis and what
was happening in the struggle for educational equity and
social justice on the CU campus in the early 1970s. What
she didn’t understand was why that rich and important
history seemed to be missing from the University’s
conscience. </p>
<p>So Baetz did what artists do. She decided to create a
piece of art that could honor the sacrifice of Los Seis
de Boulder while also serving as a tribute to all those
who fight for justice and equity in education. </p>
<p>From the beginning of the project, which took two years
to complete, Baetz was committed to making this public
work of art a community effort. She posted flyers and
sent out notices that read: </p>
<p>“You are invited to participate in this community
sculpture project that is creating a public art
sculpture to commemorate the activism of the Chicano
Student Movement, during which Los Seis, as they became
known, were killed in two separate and unexplained car
bombs on May 27 and 29, 1974.”</p>
<p>Her efforts were successful.</p>
<p>Baetz says that more than 200 people eventually worked
on the sculpture in some capacity, including creating
the many tiles that make up the mosaic portraits of Los
Seis. If you look closely at the finished work, you’ll
see the names of some 60 or so of those who worked on
the piece written on small individual tiles within the
mosaics. </p>
<p>For now, the sculpture’s location at TB-1 has only been
granted on a temporary basis. But many hope this will be
the sculpture’s permanent home. It is the perfect place.</p>
<p>The statement that encircles the sculpture’s base
reads, “Dedicated in 2019 to Los Seis de Boulder &
Chicana and Chicano students who occupied TB-1 in 1974
& everyone who fights for equity in education at CU
Boulder & the original stewards of this land who
were forcibly removed & all who remain.” And it adds
“Por Todxs Quienes Luehan Por La Justicisa (for all
those who fight for justice).</p>
<p>For most people familiar with the story of Los Seis,
this work of art is a long overdue acknowledgment of
their sacrifice. For those who lived the story in the
1970s and for those now willing to hear and understand
that story, this piece of art can and should serve as a
permanent reminder of what happens when inequality and
racism become the law of the land and the victims of
that inequity are left with no option but to confront it
head-on at all costs.</p>
<p>Forty-five years ago, Boulder was a hotbed of political
activity. Years of anti-Vietnam War activism coupled
with the pursuit of racial justice and women’s rights
had put the CU campus and Boulder on the government’s
activist watch list. And they watched no groups more
closely than those within the Chicano Movement.</p>
<p>Thanks to a number of new student-aid programs launched
in 1970, the number of students of Mexican heritage on
college campuses exploded, and Colorado was no
exception. </p>
<p>For the first time, students from the San Luis Valley,
Pueblo and the greater Denver area were arriving on
campus in record numbers thanks to these new Educational
Opportunity Programs. Activists within the growing
Chicano Movement acted as recruiters across the state in
an effort to get as many young Chicanos as possible into
colleges under the programs, which provided money for
books, tuition, food and housing. </p>
<p>By 1973, there were nearly 1,500 student members of
UMAS (United Mexican American Students) on the Boulder
campus and they were, to say the least, politically
active. But not everyone approved of the school’s
changing demographics. </p>
<p>Joseph Coors was a CU regent in those days, and his
beer company had been the target of a very effective
national boycott started by Chicanos over its lack of
Mexican-American employees and anti-union stance; Coors’
support of conservative politics in general; and his
backing of grape growers who fought against the boycott
organized by Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers in
the 1960s.</p>
<p>As a result of these tensions, according to <em>BW</em>’s
past interviews with a number of those UMAS students
from the 1970s, things began to change on campus around
1973. These former students claim CU administrators and
trustees had decided that there were too many Chicano
activists at the school and that the University began
trying to reduce their numbers by any and every means
possible, ethical or not. </p>
<p>According to those who were there, they say the
University began to lose the aid files of Chicanos
without explanation. Badly needed stipend checks failed
to arrive on time and some students who fell behind on
their tuition while waiting for their money were told to
leave school. This tinkering with student aid only added
fuel to the already growing fire of the Chicano
Movement. </p>
<p>Eventually, frustration erupted into action over the
aid situation coupled with demands from the UMAS
students that two university-hired staff members be
fired. </p>
<p>On Monday, May 10, 1974, eight students, including Neva
Romero (one of Los Seis), went to TB-1 early in the
morning and barricaded themselves on the building’s
third floor and refused to leave until their demands
were met. By evening, a larger group of UMAS students
and supporters had gathered in front of TB-1. This group
then decided to take over the main floor of the
building. </p>
<p>The next day, now holding the entire building, no one
knew exactly what to expect. There were police with
rifles on nearby rooftops but no one seemed willing to
negotiate with the students over their demands and the
phone lines were cut.</p>
<p>The occupation went on for days, then weeks. School
finally let out for summer but the Chicano students
stayed, still holding the building. And then things took
a turn that no one could have foreseen.</p>
<p>At 9:47 p.m. on May 27, the students occupying TB-1
heard, and felt, a massive explosion, as did most of the
residents of Boulder. Emergency vehicles rolled south
past the university and up Baseline Road toward
Chautauqua Park. A few hours later the tragic news
arrived at TB-1; Neva Romero and fellow Chicano
activists Reyes Martinez and his girlfriend, Una
Jaakola, had all been killed in a massive explosion
while sitting in Martinez’ car behind Chautauqua Hall.
Their body parts, along with pieces of the car, were
blown out over several blocks.</p>
<p>The students inside TB-1 were devastated. Their friends
were gone, and they couldn’t understand how or why it
had happened. The next two days were long and filled
with sadness and confusion, and then the unthinkable
happened again; another massive explosion shook the
windows of TB-1.</p>
<p>On May 29, in the parking lot of Pudlik’s Liquor near
what is now a Burger King on 28th Street, four more
young Chicano activists familiar to those in TB-1 were
in a car that mysteriously exploded in a nearly
identical fashion as what had occurred only 48 hours
earlier.</p>
<p>This time the lives lost belonged to Francisco
Dougherty, Heriberto Teran and Florencio Granada. The
fourth man, Antonio Alcantar, was very seriously
injured, suffering terrible burns and losing a leg in
the blast.</p>
<p>Inside TB-1, shock turned to fear and anger. Six of
their own, Los Seis de Boulder, had been lost in
explosions that no one could explain and that were
simply too bizarre to have been some kind of freak
coincidence. </p>
<p>Finally, following the tragic deaths of Los Seis, the
CU administration called and negotiated an end to the
standoff, giving in to most of the student’s demands and
promising that no one involved in the occupation would
be prosecuted. Still, it was a hollow victory. </p>
<p>So, what was happening in Boulder in 1974 that could
possibly explain the tragic deaths of Los Seis? There
are several theories to explain the deadly explosions.</p>
<p>Chicano leader Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales had launched
his nationally influential Crusade for Justice in Denver
in 1967. Having grown weary of trying to work on Chicano
issues within the established Democratic Party, Gonzales
eventually concluded that Mexicans should fight for self
determination over their historical lands in the
Southwest. Following a shootout between some members of
the Crusade and Denver police that included an
explosion, Gonzales and his organization landed squarely
on the radar of law enforcement authorities, including
the FBI. </p>
<p>As the Chicano Movement grew and became more
influential within the community, it was only natural
that there was plenty of crossover between the Chicano
activists within UMAS on campus and the larger Chicano
Movement in Colorado, including the Crusade.</p>
<p>Part of the history of 1974 that has been mostly lost
to time is the fact that a bomb was going off somewhere
in the U.S. on average every four days throughout that
year. These explosions were blamed on the Black
Panthers, the Weathermen, the Puerto Rican Independence
Movement, the American Indian Movement and numerous
Chicano organizations, including the Brown Berets, the
Crusade for Justice and the CU Chicano activists. </p>
<p>Virtually all of these bombings were conducted at times
when people would not be injured. Today they would be
called terrorism. But 50 years ago, they were considered
a tactic for garnering media attention in a world that
was largely deaf to the voices of people of color. </p>
<p>Few who walk the Pearl Street Mall today have any idea
of what was happening here in 1974. The Boulder
Courthouse was bombed that year. The CU police annex and
the university president’s house were bombed. A local
elementary school was bombed because it was considered
to be discriminating against Spanish-speaking students. </p>
<p>And, of course, the other two bombs that killed Los
Seis.</p>
<p>To understand the controversy around the Los Seis
bombings requires yet another dip into history, this
time concerning the FBI’s COINTELPRO operations.</p>
<p>As previously described, the country was coming apart
at the seams in 1974. The Vietnam War was still winding
down and many groups had been formed around racial and
geographical identity for the purpose of forcing
long-overdue political change. These groups,
particularly those seeking self-determination over
certain lands within the U.S., were viewed as a serious
threat by the U.S. government at the time and still
today. Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act and a
lot of great work by journalists over the years, we now
know that the FBI’s COunter INTELligence PROgram,
COINTELPRO, was in full swing in numerous locations
during the 1960s and ’70s. </p>
<p>In South Dakota, for instance, the FBI’s use of this
program is blamed for dozens of deaths on the Pine Ridge
Reservation, where the Bureau’s efforts to disrupt the
American Indian Movement (AIM) were a priority. </p>
<p>COINTELPRO was a hideous, albeit effective tactic from
the government’s point of view. It preyed upon the
natural paranoia that exists within groups organized to
bring about radical political change that required
secrecy and potential violence. </p>
<p>For instance: Imagine the FBI orchestrating the arrests
of 20 activists at the same time at a meeting, but then
letting just one person go after an hour while holding
the others for days or weeks. Then later the FBI puts
that same activist in the back of an FBI car, and drives
them past places where they will be seen and recognized.
And finally, a paid FBI plant within the activist ranks
starts spreading the rumor that the person who got out
early and was seen in the car must be an FBI spy. Mix in
a little fear and paranoia and the next thing you know
that perfectly innocent person turns up dead, likely at
the hands of one of their own. </p>
<p>These are the kind of deadly, dirty tricks that
COINTELPRO employed and likely still employs albeit
under a different name. The government claims that it
officially ended its decades-long COINTELPRO operations
in 1971, which it admits were designed for surveilling,
infiltrating, discrediting and disrupting domestic
political organizations. But the evidence suggests
otherwise.</p>
<p>COINTELPRO also fabricated evidence in order to arrest
and imprison leaders of these groups. Such was the case
for AIM leader Leonard Peltier when the FBI fabricated
ballistics evidence to secure his conviction. And this
happened in 1977, long after the program was said to
have been dissolved. There were also numerous mysterious
killings of activist leaders in the first half of the
1970s that have never been reasonably explained,
including Los Seis and their fellow Chicano leaders
Ricardo Falcon, Luis “Junior” Martinez and Carlos
Zapata.</p>
<p>The Chicano Movement, including people from CU and the
Crusade for Justice, had close ties to AIM during the
period of armed conflict in South Dakota. Considering
the FBI’s operations regarding AIM and its claims that
Chicano Movement activists were responsible for a series
of bombings in Boulder and Denver at the time, it makes
sense that the FBI would have deployed its COINTELPRO
operations among the Chicano activists on the Front
Range. But any documents that the Bureau had regarding
its surveillance and efforts to disrupt the CU and
Denver groups is said to have been destroyed in a fire.
So, for now, we are left with three theories of what
happened to Los Seis.</p>
<p>The law enforcement version of events is that the young
activists blew themselves up accidentally while setting
the timers on bombs they intended to plant at nearby
locations. Space does not allow for a full examination
of the criticisms of this theory here. But issues
concerning the handling of the crime scene and the
actions of the FBI and local police and first responders
in the days and hours before the explosions do challenge
this perspective.</p>
<p>There is also a theory that turf wars within the
Chicano Movement itself could have led to Chicano on
Chicano violence resulting in the deaths of Los Seis.
But that theory has no evidence to support it and, even
if true, would likely have been attributable to FBI
COINTELPRO operations.</p>
<p>And the final theory, which has long been the most
accepted within Chicano circles, is that the government,
by way of COINTELPRO, killed the six young activists by
planting bombs in their vehicles or by rigging the
timers on bombs that were going to be used as a form of
protest to go off prematurely. The ultimate goal for the
FBI under this scenario being to disrupt the growing
Chicano activism on the CU campus, the Front Range,
across Colorado and the nation. </p>
<p>The Chicano Movement was born in response to the
long-held racism and inequitable treatment of people of
Mexican descent living in the U.S. — some who immigrated
here legally, some who did so without proper
documentation and some who were born here after the
border had crossed them. </p>
<p>Los Seis de Boulder are considered martyrs within the
past and current Chicana/Chicano Movement because
regardless of the circumstances that led to their tragic
deaths, they died fighting for justice for their people.
That point is not arguable.</p>
<p>It is good that CU is allowing these six young Chicano
activists to be honored by the sculpture in front of
TB-1 and much good can, and needs, to come from it.</p>
<p>On a recent afternoon I asked 225 people walking past
the sculpture if they knew who the people in the mosaics
were or the story behind the art. A staffer in TB-1 knew
because she had taken the time to research the story
after the piece was sited. Another university employee
from the archive department also knew the story because
of her position of employment. But the other 223 people
— mostly students but also some faculty — had no idea
who Los Seis were or the story of the TB-1 struggle for
educational equity. </p>
<p>That is why this piece of art is so important to this
campus and this town and this country. If the history of
what occurred in the 1960s and ’70s in the struggle
against racism and inequality for Latinx people is lost
or forgotten or simply unknown, then we are surely
doomed to repeat that history. </p>
<p>If we can learn the lessons from our past, perhaps we
can change our current course away from the horrible
racism that has overtaken our government and too many of
our citizens by using the voting booth instead of more
drastic measures. If so, then perhaps the deaths of
young innocents can be avoided this time around. For
many, that is the message and importance of this
sculpture. It is the history we don’t know. It is the
history we must learn. </p>
<p>The sculpture will be officially dedicated on Friday,
Sept. 6.</p>
<p> Everyone is invited. <strong> </strong> </p>
<p><strong>ON THE BILL: Los Seis de Boulder; </strong>Community-created
sculpture dedication and celebration. Sept. 6, 2 p.m.,
TB-1 building, CU campus east of Macky Auditorium and
west of the Rec center at 3:30 p.m., Speakers and a
screening of the film Symbols of Resistance at Case
Auditorium. </p>
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