The Bracero Program and Mexican Indigenous Communities

‘In Modern Mexico… Indians would be productive citizens or be damned!’

Robert Buffington

The assumption that indigenous communities were ‘unproductive’ and unfamiliar with ‘labor’ before their entry into the Bracero Program plays into long-standing narratives of indigenous racial deviancy, one that had to be corrected through state intervention. It is precisely this narrative that the Bracero Program used as it attempted to incorporate indigenous populations into the interconnected Mexican projects of modernization and mestizaje. The program was supposed to facilitate this inclusion, a promise of the Mexican Revolution, not through ‘costly state programs’ of land and wealth redistribution but through a system of labor management abroad, ‘reliev[ing] the [Mexican] state of this perceived burden’ (Loza p.9, 15). Inclusion was based on Mexican concepts of racial flexibility in which ‘being indigenous’ was a matter of culture that could be overcome through a ‘civilizing process.’ But racial flexibility was based on a rigid dichotomy between ‘Indian’ and ‘modern,’ assuming that both were incompatible. In practice, many indigenous communities were rejected from the program for not speaking Spanish. Those who made it negotiated these norms and often defied the expectations that Mexico and the US had of them, blurring boundaries of legality, challenging heteronormative constructions, and organizing for their rights. Rather than simply becoming ‘productive citizens’ learning ‘labor,’ many indigenous braceros navigated this system and both adapted and resisted.

The discursive apparatus of ‘productivity’ and ‘upskilling’ supporting the Bracero Program tied in Mexican modernization efforts with the patriarchal nuclear family, which acted ‘as a vehicle for transforming the lives of poor mestizos and indigenous communities alike’ (Loza, p.8). The ‘modern, nuclear family’ was supposed to be a ‘productive’ family, based on male, disciplined labor as opposed to the stereotyped ‘lazy Indians’ who only cultivated for their own subsistence (Loza, p.9, 29). Together with the nuclear family, strict labor management and mestizaje were the devices through which the Mexican government attempted to control indigenous communities. These narratives did not originate with the Bracero Program but go back to the Porfiriato (1883-1911) and to the writings of Manuel Gamio in the 1920s. The ideas of the latter were influenced by the work of Anglo-American anthropologists with Native American populations, showing ‘how racial scripts could cross national boundaries’ (Loza, p.30, 32). Through the migratory ‘right of passage,’ indigenous communities would learn to labor in a way that contributed to the capitalist world-system. Indigenous welfare was only a secondary consideration (if considered at all), subsumed to their ‘productive’ capacity.

From the U.S. perspective, the Bracero Program was designed to ‘alleviate labor shortages in agriculture and railroad industries’ (Loza p.1). It therefore required highly productive and docile workers that would not request better conditions or pay. This led in some cases to the targeting of indigenous communities because employers perceived them as vulnerable subjects, coming from a situation of severe poverty, or not speaking Spanish and thus not being able to challenge contractors. Racialized structures of management developed in the camps, with indigenous groups often ‘targeted as expendable laborers’ and given tasks considered ‘appropriate’ for them (the dangerous date-palm industry, agriculture over railroad work) (Loza, p.43, 56). Again, productivity was framed in terms of increased profitability and not of indigenous welfare. Any increases in welfare were attributed to modernization, exemplified by doing away ‘with symbols of indigeneity and regional identity’ through the incorporation of American consumer goods (Loza, p.36). Changes in attire represented increases in welfare only because indigeneity and poverty had become intertwined, and the only permissible way to become a ‘productive citizen’ was through mestizaje.

            At this point, it is important to recognize the diversity within indigenous communities in Mexico, and the differential and gendered impacts of the Bracero program in these communities. First, what constituted an ‘indigenous’ person or community in Mexico was not always clear cut, and there was some fluidity in the meaning of indigeneity. While some ‘claimed indigenous identities because of language, others did so through narratives emphasizing family history and culture’ (Loza, p.27). Fluidity was often tied to language, and those who did not speak Spanish were more likely to be cast in ‘rigid racial terms’ (Loza, p.51). Moreover, hierarchies and tensions existed within Mexican indigenous populations, (Loza, p.46). Thus, talking about a monolithic and easily identifiable ‘indigenous community’ within the Bracero Program is not realistic, even more so when Braceros themselves changed their identifications over time. Second, the project of modernization attributed to the Bracero Program only had potential for the ‘male indigenous rural peasant,’ but not for indigenous women (Loza, p.37) These women were required to become modern on their own, but with the paternalistic help of both social workers and their male bracero family members (Loza, p.40). The impacts of the Bracero program thus differed according to gender, language, and personal identification. Some may have seen themselves as ‘modernized’ subjects who transitioned from being ‘indigenous’ to ‘mestizo,’ but these strategies signaled ways of avoiding shaming, exploitation and marginalization rather than a transition into ‘productive citizenship.’ Others, such as Dominguez, proudly shared their indigeneity and rejected U.S.-Mexican ‘narratives of racial transformation’ (Loza, pp.42-43). Ultimately, many braceros performed ‘particular identities to their advantage,’ showing their agency and contestation within the program (Loza, p.44).

            The notion that the Bracero Program turned Mexican indigenous workers into ‘productive citizens’ by ‘learning labor in the US’ obscures the real intentions behind the program, the agency of indigenous Braceros, and the diversity and differential impact of the program among indigenous communities. This is not to say that indigenous Braceros did not take advantage of the program to provide for their families or to settle in the US and achieve a higher material standard of living, as a student shared on bCourses from personal experience. For some, the program indirectly provided an opportunity to learn Spanish, allowing them to ‘circumvent discrimination’ and better navigate both camp life and the ‘broader social world upon their return to Mexico’ (Loza, p.52). Yet the main impetus for the program was, in the US, to cover labor shortages and to provide cheap labor with lesser rights and, in Mexico, to achieve a higher degree of disciplinary power over indigenous populations. The Mexican project of ‘modernization’ and ‘mestizaje’ was not only based on racial prejudices and hierarchies, but prioritized an homogeneous-but-stratified ‘Mexicanness’ over the welfare of all peoples inhabiting the Mexican territory. Productivity, if achieved, was not for the betterment of oneself but for the benefit of growers. Citizenship, on the other hand, was never completely granted in either the U.S., where indigenous Braceros had little rights, or in Mexico, where their political participation was dependent on them becoming mestizos.

Works Cited

Loza, Mireya (2016) Defiant Braceros: How Migrant Workers Fought for Racial, Sexual, and Political Freedom (Chapel Hill).