Chronicles of Revolution and Nation: El Taller de Gráfica Populars &#39;Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana&#39; (1947)

Theresa Avila

My dissertation concentrates on the key 1947 portfolio “Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” (“Prints of the Mexican Revolution”) produced by El Taller de Gráfica Popular (The Popular Graphics Workshop) or TGP, a graphic art collective founded in Mexico City in 1937. The album’s eighty-five prints recount Mexican history from the l870s to the 1940s, as well as address the human condition and denounce social and civil injustices. These images are anchored in the diverse narratives and legacies of the Mexican Revolution (1910 and 1920). My analysis of the visual, textual, and historical components in the TGP’s 1947 portfolio, a seemingly singular and one-dimensional narrative of the Mexican Revolution, reveals the presence of numerous, and at times conflicting, narratives within the graphic series. This study interrogates how nationbuilding and social activism motivated many of these narratives. An exploration of the visual representation of gender, race, and class magnifies the ro...

University of New Mexico UNM Digital Repository Art & Art History ETDs Electronic Theses and Dissertations 5-1-2013 Chronicles of Revolution and Nation: El Taller de Gráfica Populars 'Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana' (1947) Mary Theresa Avila Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalrepository.unm.edu/arth_etds Part of the History of Art, Architecture, and Archaeology Commons Recommended Citation Avila, Mary Theresa. "Chronicles of Revolution and Nation: El Taller de Gráfica Populars 'Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana' (1947)." (2013). https://digitalrepository.unm.edu/arth_etds/7 This Dissertation is brought to you for free and open access by the Electronic Theses and Dissertations at UNM Digital Repository. It has been accepted for inclusion in Art & Art History ETDs by an authorized administrator of UNM Digital Repository. For more information, please contact disc@unm.edu. Mary Theresa Avila Candidate Art and Art History Department This dissertation is approved, and it is acceptable in quality and form for publication: Approved by the Dissertation Committee: Dr. Kirsten P. Buick, Chairperson Dr. Holly Barnet-Sanchez Dr. Linda B. Hall Dr. Suzanne Schadl i Chronicles of Revolution and Nation: El Taller de Gráfica Popular’s “Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” (1947) by THERESA AVILA A.A., Art, Southwestern College, 1993 B.A., Art, California State University, Fullerton, 1999 M.A., Art History, University of New Mexico, 2005 DISSERTATION Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctorate of Philosophy Art History The University of New Mexico Albuquerque, New Mexico May 2013 ii DEDICATION To my husband, Zan Suko, and children, Zinedin and Azra, whose presence, love, and support has been integral to the completion of this project. To David Craven, who introduced me to the Taller de Gráfica Popular and their 1947 portfolio, “Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana.” Your passion for Latin American Art and social justice was motivational throughout this project. I have and will always appreciate, more so now than ever, your generosity in recognizing and acknowledging my efforts, growth, and accomplishments. Your determination that my work was good or well done made me feel seen and accomplished, and it lifted me up and most importantly it made me feel like my work and this project matter. I was especially moved on the day you told me I taught you something with my Madero chapter. The last months of this project were especially difficult without you. I ache to continue our conversations about the TGP, their portfolio, and Latin American Art in general. I wish we could have celebrated together the completion of this stage of this project. Professor Craven, you have left an indelible mark on all that have known you and your legacy lives on in all of us who worked with you, as we strive to agitate the seemingly smooth veneer of Art History. May you rest in peace! iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I want to recognize Dr. David Craven whose advisement guided me through my twelve years of graduate work at the Universtiy of New Mexico (UNM). Dr. Craven first introduced me to the TGP in the Spring of 2001 in a seminar that he co-taught with Kathleen Howe, the then print curator of the UNM Art Museum. Topics addressed in this project that I developed under the advisement of Dr. Craven include nation building, imperialism, labor, and indigenismo. For over a decade Dr. Craven aided and supported my dissertation’s development. It saddens me greatly that his name is not included as a member of my dissertation committee. His contributions to this project were numerous and key. It has been a pleasure to have developed and completed this project under the tutelage of Dr. Kirsten Buick my dissertation chair. My work on how systems of differentiation operate and how difference is reflected in the TGP’s portfolio was developed under the advisement of Dr. Buick over the course of numerous years and these concerns have become ongoing projects of their own. Other subjects I worked on with Dr. Buick and will continue to expand on include gender and landscape. I have worked with Professor Buick for a decade and in that time she has taught me meaningful lessons about the world we live in, the field of art history, and myself. She has been and is a generous mentor, important role model, and a wonderful source of encouragement who has guided me through some of the more difficult trials and tribulations on my academic journey. Her gifts to me have been great and I am truly grateful for her presence in my life. iv I also thank my committee members, Dr. Holly Barnet-Sanchez, Dr. Linda Hall, and Dr. Suzanne Schadel for their valuable recommendations pertaining to this study. Dr. Holly Barnet-Sanchez is the scholar who drew me to UNM for graduate school. Although I veered away from Latino Art as I moved toward Mexican Art, our jouney together both academically and personally has come full circle in unexpected and glorious ways. She has bestowed upon me some of the most generous gifts a scholar can offer. I am overwhelmed by her goodwill, which will stay with me always. I wish to recognize Dr. Linda Hall for her important insights with regard to Mexican history and the Mexican Revolution. Professor Hall has been a generous and wonderful teacher and adviser. I especially appreciate her understanding and efforts to support me in any way I have needed over the years. Suzanne Schadl was very supportive and encouraging of my work, particularly through her sponsorship of an exhibition that I curated in 2012 entitled, Civil Rights and Social Justice: Works of El Taller de Gráfica Popular that was on display at the Hertzstein Reading Room at Zimmerman Library, UNM. Another scholar I would like to thank is Dr. Ruth Capelle, my first mentor and guide in academia. Her encouragement served to jettison me into graduate school. Although we did not see eye to eye on this project, our conversations about Mexican Art and the TGP’s portfolio were meaningful and helpful. I have benefitted greatly from numerous relationships and conversations I have had with my colleagues in the Department of Art and Art History over the years. Dr. Elizabeth Olton has been a good friend and colleague over the years. She is a great source of support and inspiration. In particular, I want to thank my Art History writing group cohort, Corey Dzenko and Gay Falk, who have been generous and crucial in their v support and critical feedback on my dissertaton. They made what seemed impossible, easier. They have been teachers, sounding boards, editors, and good friends. Both have helped me become a better scholar and writer and I will always reflect on our sessions together as some of the best Art History I have ever known. Santosh Chandrashekar has also served as a great facilitator for this writing group. His insights and challenges have been helpful and thought provoking. There are also a number of folks across the UNM campus to whom I am thankful for in terms of their support, guidance, help, and friendship throughout my doctoral program. Gina Diaz is a great friend and source of support and dialogue. Her thoughtful approach to academia, art, and friendship is impressive and enlightening. Leah Sneider organized some of the first graduate writing groups on the UNM campus and was the first writing group facilitator I worked with. Her insights and advisement were very helpful. Another writing group cohort that was important to my productivity and success in producing this dissertation included Elena Aviles and Estela Vasquez. It was refreshing and helpful to work with and around people who understood some of the unique pressures one struggles with in academia. Anna Cabrera helped to organize my writing group with Elena and Estela, which was a gift unto itself. She also served as an important leader and motivator through numerous UNM Graduate Resource Center Writing Boot Camps. There are many who have contributed to this project and I wish to honor all those who remain unnamed. Exchanges with colleagues and faculty at the University of New Mexico that have taken place over the past twelve years have definitely made their imprint on this project. Additionally, institutions on the UNM campus that have been vi crucial to my research, productivity, and success include: The University of New Mexico Art Museum; Center for Southwest Research, Zimmerman Library; The Fine Arts and Design Library; and the Graduate Resource Center. The personnel and staff at all of these sites have supported my efforts in very important ways and I am truly appreciative. Doug Weintraub at the Office of Graduate Studies was particularly helpful in the last stage of the dissertation project. Teresa Law was an important part of my team at UNM. She helped me wade through the academic, professional, and personal. Her commitement to and concern for my well-being was always evident and generous. The University of New Mexico (or UNM) holds the second largest collection in the United States of work by the Taller de Gráfica Popular. This resource has been invaluable to my examination of numerous group productions and individual works by artists of the collective and in particular to my dissertation project. The UNM Art Museum owns a copy of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, which provided me the unique opportunity of relatively unlimited access to the prints from this album. Although I have been looking at and thinking about prints by the TGP for over a decade, I realize there is still so much to discover, investigate, and write. Financial support throughout my doctoral program has come from various sources including: The Wallace Endowed Scholarship in Latin American Art History through the Department of Art and Art History, UNM (Fall 2010-Sp 2011); a Dean’s Dissertation Scholarship from the Office of Graduate Studies, UNM (Fall 2010-Spring 2011); a Ph.D. Fellowship from the Latin American & Iberian Institute, UNM (Fall 2008-Spring 2010); Graduate Research, Project, and Travel Grants from the Office of Graduate Studies, UNM (Fall 2009 and Spring 2007); The Friends of Art Award, Albuquerque, NM (Fall vii 2007); a Field Research Grant through the Tinker Foundation and the Latin American & Iberian Institute, UNM (Spring 2007); a Hispanic Scholarship Fund Award (Fall 2006 – Spring 2007); and a Student Research Allocation Committee Grant from the Graduate Professional Student Association, UNM (Summer 2006). viii Chronicles of Revolution and Nation: El Taller de Gráfica Popular’s “Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” (1947) by Theresa Avila A.A., Art, Southwestern College, 1993 B.A., Art, California State University, Fullerton, 1999 M.A., Art History, University of New Mexico, 2005 PhD., Art History, University of New Mexico, 2013 ABSTRACT My dissertation concentrates on the key 1947 portfolio “Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” (“Prints of the Mexican Revolution”) produced by El Taller de Gráfica Popular (The Popular Graphics Workshop) or TGP, a graphic art collective founded in Mexico City in 1937. The album’s eighty-five prints recount Mexican history from the l870s to the 1940s, as well as address the human condition and denounce social and civil injustices. These images are anchored in the diverse narratives and legacies of the Mexican Revolution (1910 and 1920). My analysis of the visual, textual, and historical components in the TGP’s 1947 portfolio, a seemingly singular and one-dimensional narrative of the Mexican Revolution, reveals the presence of numerous, and at times conflicting, narratives within the graphic series. This study interrogates how nationbuilding and social activism motivated many of these narratives. An exploration of the visual representation of gender, race, and class magnifies the role of national and transnational institutions and mechanisms in dictating parameters that shape, if not dictate, identity via concepts of nationalism and citizenship, as well as power dynamics ix established through systems of differentiation that traditionally legitimate the power of elite males. Examination of the illustrations of iconic figures of Mexican history, such as Francisco Madero, Emiliano Zapata, and la soldadera works toward unraveling how distinct narratives of the Mexican Revolution operate and interact within the portfolio, as well as elucidates the significance of the institutionalization and construction of these historic figures. My dissertation concludes with an address of the TGP’s assessment of the post-war political regimes’, policies and practices. x TABLE OF CONTENTS LIST OF CHAPTER IMAGES ....................................................................................... xiii DEFINTIONS OF TERMS AND CONCEPTS ............................................................. xxii INTRODUCTION............................................................................................................. 1 CHAPTER ONE: El Taller de Gráfica Popular and Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana .......................................................................................................................... 25 El Taller de Gráfica Popular ............................................................................................. 26 The Portfolio ..................................................................................................................... 37 The Contributors ............................................................................................................... 38 The Prologue ..................................................................................................................... 44 Format ............................................................................................................................... 55 Visual Models and Sources ............................................................................................... 59 Types ................................................................................................................................. 67 Circulation......................................................................................................................... 70 CHAPTER TWO: The Porfiriato and Systems of Differentiation ............................. 72 Systems of Differentiation – Expropriation of Land ........................................................ 75 Systems of Differentiation – Pax Porfiriana .................................................................... 94 Systems of Differentiation – Development and Industrialization................................... 100 Systems of Differentiation – Mestizaje and Indigenismo ............................................... 117 CHAPTER THREE: The Mexican Revolution and The Master Narrative ............ 127 The Mexican Revolution................................................................................................. 129 Chronicles of the Mexican Revolution ........................................................................... 135 The Master Narrative ...................................................................................................... 137 The Revolutionary Family .............................................................................................. 141 xi CHAPTER FOUR: Counter-Narratives of Francisco Madero ................................ 147 CHAPTER FIVE: Counter-Narratives of Emiliano Zapata .................................... 176 CHAPTER SIX: Counter-Narratives of Women of the Revolution ........................ 244 Women of the Porfiriato ................................................................................................. 251 Women of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution ............................................... 253 Women of Post-War Mexico .......................................................................................... 293 CHAPTER SEVEN: Mexico after the Civil War ...................................................... 299 CONCLUSION ............................................................................................................. 329 CHAPTER IMAGES .................................................................................................... 346 APPENDIX 1: PORTFOLIO IMAGES ..................................................................... 433 APPENDIX 2: PRINTS PRODUCED BY ARTISTS ............................................... 451 ENDNOTES................................................................................................................... 452 BIBLIOGRAPHY…………..……..……………………………………………..……524 xii LIST OF CHAPTER IMAGES Figure 1. Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................ 347 Figure 2. “Federal troops guarding Yaqui families who were sent to the interior of the Republic.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 49. .......................................................................................................... 348 Figure 3. “The rural police,” September 16, 1910. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 80. ...................................................... 349 Figure 4. Gentile da Fabriano, “Adoration of the Magi,” Altarpiece for the Strozzi family cahpel, Church of Santa Trinità, Florence, 1423, Tempera and gold on wood panel, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 629......................................................... 350 Figure 5. Masaccio, “The Expulsion from the Garden of Eden,” Brancacci Chapel, Santa Maria del Carmine Church, Florence, Italy, 1425, Fresco. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 632. ...... 351 Figure 6. Pieter Bruegel the Elder, “The Triumph of Death,” 1562. Image Source: Symbols and Allegories in Art (The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2002) 84-85. ..................... 352 Figure 7. Alfredo Zalce, “‘¡Matalos en caliente!’ Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879,” No. 5, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 353 Figure 8. Alfredo Zalce, “‘¡Matalos en caliente!’ Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879,” (detail, Bottom Register) No. 5, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947). ..................... 354 Figure 9. “Execution in Chalco, April 28, 1909.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 95. ...................................................... 354 Figure 10. “Anotaciones del censo hecho en la capital el dia 12. El Hijodel Ahuizote, October 1890. .................................................................................................................. 355 Figure 11. “The Trinity of today…,” El Hijo del Ajuizote, July 1889. ........................... 355 Figure 12. Prints 4, 5, and 6 as triptych altarpiece .......................................................... 356 Figure 13, Alfredo Zalce, “Trabajos forzados en el valle nacional, 1890-1900,” No. 7, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 357 xiii Figure 14. Pablo O’Higgins, “La huelga de Cananea: Los obreros Mexicanos reclaman igualdad de derechos frente a los obreros yanquis,” No. 11, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................................................................... 358 Figure 15. “Colonel Greene adressing a group of strikers in front of the Company store. Cananea Miners Strike, 1906.” Image source: C. L. Sonnichsen, “Colonel William C. Greene and the Strike at Cananea, Sonora, 1906.” Arizona and the West Vol. 13, No. 4 (Winter, 1971) unnumbered page. .................................................................................. 359 Figure 16. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “La huelga de Rio Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha, 7 de Enero de 1907,” No. 13, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................................................................................... 360 Figure 17. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Epilogo de la huelga de Rio Blanco. 8 de Enero de 1907,” No. 14, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 361 Figure 18. Jacques-Louis David, Oath of the Horatii, 1784-1785, oil on canvas. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 932. ....................................................................................................................... 362 Figure 19. Jacques-Louis David, 1789, The Lictors Bring to Brutus the Bodies of His Sons, oil on canvas. ......................................................................................................... 362 Figure 20. Ignacio Aguirre, “Prision y muerte de los descontentos en el norte del país. 1909.” No. 17, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 363 Figure 21. Alfredo Zalce, “La dictadura Porfiriana exalta demagogicament al indígena 1910,” No. 19, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 364 Figure 22. “Moctezuma” (top) and “Hernan Cortes” (bottom), Centenary Historic Parade (1910). Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 173. ....................................................................................................................... 365 Figure 23. “Indians” (left page) and “Spanish” (right page), Centenary Historic Parade (1910). Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 174-175. ................................................................................................................ 366 Figure 24. Pablo O’Higgins, “El General Obregon con los Yaquis,” No. 48, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................... 367 xiv Figure 25. Alfredo Zalce, La prensa y la Revolución Mexicana,” No. 82, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................................ 368 Figure 26. Isidoro Ocampo, “Francisco I. Madero redacta en la prisión el plan de San Luis. 5 de Octubre de 1910,” No. 20, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................................................................................................................................... 369 Figure 27. Everardo Ramírez, “El Plan de San Luis ateroriza a la dictadura,” No. 21, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 370 Figure 28. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada. 18 November 1910,” No. 22, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................................................................................... 371 Figure 29. Alfredo Zalce, “La Revolución y los estragos,” No. 23, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................................ 372 Figure 30. Alfredo Zalce, ““El Ipiranga”:El pueblo despide “30 Años de Paz” 31 de Mayo de 1911,” No. 26, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................... 373 Figure 31. Leopoldo Méndez, “Leon de la Barra, “El Presidente Blanco” 1911,” No. 27, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 374 Figure 32. Isidoro Ocampo, “La entrada de Francisco I. Madero en la ciudad de Mexico, 7 de Juno de 1911,” No. 28, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................... 375 Figure 33. “Francisco Madero, The President of the Republic, arriving to the National Palace the morning of February 9, 1913.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 6 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 488. ............................... 376 Figure 34. Julio Heller, “Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular,” No. 29, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................... 377 Figure 35. “Francisco Madero.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 876. .................................................. 378 xv Figure 36. Isidoro Ocampo, “Francisco I. Madero (1873-1913),” No. 30, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................................ 379 Figure 37. Francisco Madero.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 5 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 389. ................................................................ 380 Figure 38. Francisco Mora, “Francisco I. Madero es rodeado por el antiguo aparato Porfiriano,” No. 31, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 381 Figure 39. Alfredo Zalce, “La Decena Tragica, 9-18 de Febrero de 1913,” No. 32, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 382 Figure 40. Leopoldo Méndez, “El embajador Lane Wilson “arregla” el conflicto,” No. 33, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 383 Figure 41. Alfredo Zalce, “El criminal Victoriano Huerta se adueña del poder 19 de Febrero de 1913,” No. 34, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................... 384 Figure 42. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Victoriano Huerta abandona el país 20 de Julio de 1914,” No. 51, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 385 Figure 43. Alberto Beltrán, “Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta,” No. 43, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................ 386 Figure 44. Mariana Yampolsky, “La Juventud de Emiliano Zapata: Leccion Objectiva,” No. 8, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........................................ 387 Figure 45. Gustave Courbet, “Stonebreakers,” 1849. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Combined Volume (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 974..................................... 388 Figure 46. Ignacio Aguirre, “Emiliano Zapata hecho prisonero en su lucha en favor de los campesinos 1908,” No. 16, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........... 389 Figure 47. Andrea Mantegna, “Saint Sebastian,” 1480. Image Source: Hugh Honour and John Fleming, “Part Three: Sacred and Secular Art,” A World History of Art (Laurence King Publishing, 2005). .................................................................................................. 390 xvi Figure 48. Francisco Mora, “Emiliano Zapata, lider de la revolución agraria,” No. 24, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .......................................................... 391 Figure 49. Eugene Delacroix, “Liberty leading the people,” Image Source: Helen Gardner and Fred S. Kleiner, Gardner's Art Through the Ages: The Western Perspective, Volume 2 (2010) 623. ................................................................................................................... 392 Figure 50. Photographer Unknown, “Emiliano Zapata, Equestrian Portrait”, 1911-1919. Image Source: Enrique Krauze, El amor a la tierra, Emiliano Zapata (Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2000) 38. ..................................................................................................... 393 Figure 51. Hugo Brehme, “Emiliano Zapata, General of the Southern Forces,” May 26– June 10, 1911. Image Source: Zapata Iconografía (Tezontle, 2000) 19. ....................... 394 Figure 52. Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .................................................................................... 395 Figure 53. Photographer Unknown, “Emiliano Zapata, Death,” April 1919. Image Source: Zapata Iconografía (Tezontle, 2000) 77. .......................................................... 396 Figure 54. Diego Rivera, “Blood of the Revolutionary Martyrs,” 1926, Mural cycle at The College of Agriculture in Chapingo, Mexico. Image Source: Desmond Rochfort, Mexican Muralists: Orozco, Rivera, Siqueiros (Chronicle Books, 1993) 71. ................ 397 Figure 55. “Suspension of guarantees.” (Lynched figures.) Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 238............................... 398 Figure 56. José Clemente Orozco, “Hidalgo,” 1937, Mural in the main staircase of the Palace of the Government in Guadalajara, Jalisco. Image source: Luis Cardoza y Aragón, Orozco, (UNAM, 1974) 119. .......................................................................................... 399 Figure 57. Caravaggio, “The Conversion on the way to Damascus,” 1601, Oil on canvas. Image source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conversion_on_the_Way_to_Damascus, October 16, 2012. ............................................................................................................ 400 Figure 58. Ignacio Aguirre, “Las Tropas Constitucionalistas hacen el primer reparto de tierra en Matamoros. 6 de Agosto de 1913,” No. 38, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .......................................................................................... 401 Figure 59. Alberto Beltrán, “Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta,” No. 43, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........................................ 402 xvii Figure 60. Alberto Beltrán, “Intento de la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta por liquidar el Zapatismo,” No. 44, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ................ 403 Figure 61. Mariana Yampolsky, “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .................................................................................... 404 Figure 62. Photographer Unknown, “Constitutional Army.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 595. ......... 405 Figure 63. Isidoro Ocampo, “La entrada del ejercito Constitucionalista en la Ciudad de Mexico. 20 de Agosto de 1914,” No. 52, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ................................................................................................................................. 406 Figure 64. Alberto Beltrán” La Convencion de Aguascalientes 10 de Octubre de 1914,” No. 53, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........................................ 407 Figure 65. Díaz Soto y Gama. Image source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Antonio_Diaz_Soto_y_Gama.png, October 12, 2012. ......................................................................................................................................... 407 Figure 66. Alfredo Zalce, “Venustiano Carranza, Prometor de la Constitución de 1917 (1859-1920),” No. 56, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ................. 408 Figure 67. Isidoro Ocampo, “La Muerte de Emiliano Zapata,” No. 57, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .................................................................................... 409 Figure 68. Comparison between Prints 56 and 57 .......................................................... 410 Figure 69. Luis Arenal, “Lazaro Cardenas y La Reforman Agraria, 1934-1940,” No. 67, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. .......................................................... 411 Figure 70. (Left) Photographer Unknown, “The general Ramón F. Iturbe accompanied by the women of Topia, Durango who contributed openly to the revolutionary cause of Madero.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 241. ....................................................................................................................... 412 Figure 71. (Right) Photographer Unknown, “Sonoran women who offered their help to the government.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 8 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 711. ..................................................................................... 412 xviii Figure 72. Photographer Unknown, “Mr. Madero and his wife, Mrs. Sara Perez Madero, en the vehicle that drove them to the National Palace.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 806. ........................... 413 Figure 73. Photographer Unknown, “The leader of the Revolution with his wife, Señora Sara P. de Madero and her sister Emily in Yautepec,” August 20, 1911. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 336. ......................................................................................................................................... 414 Figure 74. Photographer Unknown, “Serdán Family Portraits: Filomena Serdán (wife of Aquiles Serdán) @ bottom left and Carmen Serdán @ bottom right.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 203. ............... 414 Figure 75. Photographer Unknown, “Armed women in rural setting.” Image source: Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991, (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) (left) 290 and (right) 346. ..................................................................... 415 Figure 76. Photographer Unknown, “Las mujeres del Estado de Michoacán . . .”. Image source: Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991, (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) 439. ....................................................................................................... 415 Figure 77. Photographer Unknown, “[Camp Follower] or La soldadera mexicana tenida como la impedimente como lastre de las columnas militares.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 666. ......... 416 Figure 78. José Clemente Orozco, “Tortillas y frijoles” (Beans and rice), Series of drawings and lithographs on the Mexican Revolution based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917. Image Source: Alma Reed, José Clemente Orozco (Delphic Studios, 1932). .............................................................................................................................. 417 Figure 79. Alfredo Zalce, “La soldadera,” No. 50, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................................................................................... 418 Figure 80. “Zapatistas,” La Revolución Mexicana a través de sus imágenes. Instituto Nacional de Estudios Históricos de la Revolución Mexicana (INEHRM), Dirección General de Servicios de Cómputo Académico de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México y la Dirección General de Actividades Cinematográficas de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (Mexico, 2004). CD Interactivo. ................................. 419 Figure 81. Photographer Unknown, “La soldadera” [Women on Trains] Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 666. ......................................................................................................................................... 420 xix Figure 82. “Mujeres revolucionarias.’ Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 242. .................................................. 421 Figure 83. Photographer Unknown,“Zapatista Esperanza Echeverría,” Participant in Madero’s triumphal entrance into the capital, June 1911. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 572. ...................... 422 Figure 84. Ignacio Aguirre, “El Pueblo Es Soberano,” No. 58, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................................................................... 423 Figure 85. Alfredo Zalce, “Escuelas, caminos, presas: Progama y realización de los gobiernos de Álvaro Obregón (1920-1923) y Plutarco Elias Calles (1923-1928),” No. 60, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................ 424 Figure 86. Alberto Beltrán, “Plutarco Elias Calles, El Jefe Maximo,” No. 65, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................... 425 Figure 87. Alfredo Zalce and Leopoldo Méndez, “Plutarco Elias Calles es deportado por ordenes el gobierno del Gral. Lazaro Cardenas, 1936,” No. 69, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................................ 425 Figure 88. Ignacio Aguirre, “El Presidente Lazaro Cardenas recibe el apoyo del pueblo Mexicano por sus medidas a favor del progreso del país,” No. 72, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................... 426 Figure 89. Alberto Beltrán, “Lazaro Cardenas y la guerra de España 1936-1939,”No. 73, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................ 426 Figure 90. Francisco Mora, “Contribución del pueblo a la expropiación petrolera 18 de Marzo de 1938,” No. 74, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................... 426 Figure 91. Ignacio Aguirre, “El hundimiento del ‘Potrero del llano’ por los Nazis, en Mayo de 1942,” No. 77, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ......................... 427 Figure 92. Antonio Franco, “La declaración de guerra al Eje el 10 de Junio 1942,” No. 78, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ................................................ 427 xx Figure 93. Alfredo Zalce, ¡Quitemos la venda! (Campaña de alfabetización),” No. 80, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. .................................................................. 428 Figure 94. Alberto Beltrán, “El nuevo ejercito nacional,” No. 83, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. ............................................................................... 429 Figure 95. Arturo Garcia, “La industrialización del país,” No. 84, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ....................................................................... 430 Figure 96. Ignacio Aguirre, ““Si por tierra en un tren militar” (La Adelita),” No. 85, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........................................ 431 Figure 97. Cover, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. ........... 432 xxi DEFINTIONS OF TERMS AND CONCEPTS Campesino The term campesino refers to a rural laborer who is either an independent farmer or someone who works on a hacienda or large agricultural estate in perpetual enslavement for a variety of reasons. The latter is a state of being that a large part of the rural lower classes found themselves during the period of the Porfiriato (1876-1910). Campesinos are typically low class mestizos meaning that as agricultural laborers they had been coerced, indoctrinated, and integrated in some respects into the mainstream political structure and economic operations of the Mexican nation. Class Class, as I use the term in this study, refers to enduring and systematic differences in access to and control over resources, production, development, and consumption and is fundamentally about economic inequality.1 Economic status in turn affects social organization based on one’s relationship to the national economy. As identity, and class specifically, is usually based on the relational differences between individuals, one cannot refer to any social group without a discussion of what marks each different from the other. The significance of social class group within any given image of the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana is a point of focus of my discussion of what shapes a nation’s citizenship and systems of differentiation. xxii Icons In this study I refer to Franciso Madero and Emiliano Zapata as icons of the Mexican Revolution. Traditionally, the term icon refers to the representation of a holy person that was governed by strict theological rules and conventions developed between the 4th and 12th century. These images were deemed sacred and some were even believed to possess and exercise miraculous powers. However, in contemporary use the term icon is applied to prominent and recognizable figures of history and culture. I engage the term with every intention of evoking both sets of meanings, which speaks to the significance and fame of these two figures, as well as to the religious connotations ascribed to the Mexican Revolution and the key figures associated with this important event of Mexican history. Ideology The term ideology has a range of meanings. Terry Eagleton provides a concise list of six different possible ways to define ideology: We can mean by it first, the general material process of production of ideas, beliefs and values in social life. . . . A second slightly less general meanings of ideology turns on ideas and beliefs (whether true of false) which symbolize the conditions and life-experiences of a specific socially significant group or class. . . .[A] third definition of the term . . . attends to the promotion and legitimation of the interest of social groups in the face of opposing interests . . . A fourth meaning of ideology would retain [the] emphasis on the promotion and legitimation of sectoral interests, but confine it to the activities of a dominant social power. . . . [A] Fifth definition, in which ideology signifies ideas and beliefs which help to legitimate the interest of a ruling group or class specifically by distortion and dissimulation. . . . There is, finally the possibility of a sixth meaning of ideology, which retains an emphasis on false or deceptive beliefs but regards such beliefs as arising not from the interests of a dominant class but from the material structure of society as a whole.2 xxiii Furthermore, Barbara Jeanne Fields explains: “An ideology must be constantly created and verified in social life; if it is not, it dies, even though it may seem to be safely embodied in a form that can be handed down. . . . The ritual repetition of the appropriate social behavior makes for the continuity of ideology, not the ‘handing down’ of the appropriate ‘attitudes’.3 In this project I focus on the production of ideas, beliefs, and values through nation building practices in Mexico. I explore different ideological constructs and the systems and practices that serve to perpetuate them particularly through history, civic activities, and art. I also investigate how the TGP artists and their images from the portfolio engage, perpetuate, and/or respond to particular ideological constructs and practices. Indians In my application of racial terms, I do not mean to perpetuate the use of race as an organizing device, but rather engage the concept to demonstrate the TGP artists’ critique of the ideologies and systems of enforcement that work in concert to define human beings as racial types for the purpose of political organization and economic domination.4 The label Indian is a generic category that is typically understood to refer to all native peoples of the Americas. However, in Mexico there exists more than one Indian group, who are distinguished by regional affiliation, language, and cultural practices. Additionally, there are vestiges of Indian groups in Mexico who by choice and/or circumstance have maintained cultural practices that counter the mainstream social and political identity of a modernized Mexican citizenship. When I apply the term “Indian” I refer to individuals xxiv and groups that are either representative of the people that lived in the Americas prior to the conquest or to twentieth-century individuals and groups who in the portfolio are portrayed on the fringes of Mexican society and as members of the lower classes who are not mestizos, meaning not indoctrinated, assimilated, Westernized, or part of the homogenized Mexican citizenship. Often, the TGP present Indian figures in the portfolio as non-distinct and ambiguous. This serves to connect shared experiences by all Indian groups throughout Mexican history. It is through the text, however, that distinctions regarding particular Indian groups are made by the TGP. In this study, I investigate what figures marked as Indians signify historically, nationally, culturally, and socially. Indigenous I only apply the term indigenous to pre-Contact Americans. Otherwise, I deem the term applicable to all Mexico-born groups after the conquest. However, the TGP, in their titles, and the historian Alberto Jímenez Morales, in the text caption of each print, engage the term indigenous, along with a number of other stereotypical labels to discern distinct groups in the portfolio. When they use the term indigenous it is often meant to refer to members of Mexico’s Indian populations. In this study I define most of the Mexican figures within Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana as both Indians and mestizos.5 Historically, these labels were developed to identify perceived biological differences that were argued to reflect distinct characteristics and attributes that in turn were utilized to justify a hierarchy in social and xxv political organization. However, my definition for and application of these labels is as constructed, performed, and malleable cultural and social identities. Mestizo/Mestizaje Initially in Mexico, mestizo describes a person of mixed blood origin, usually of European (particularly Spanish) and non-European (specifically Indian in the Americas) heritage. During the Spanish colonial period (sixteenth-eighteenth centuries) ideologies defined and constructed the importance of physical and cultural differences between members of society resulting in an attempt to hierarchically structure the multiple actors that converged as a result of the conquest and colonization of the Americas. This new society consisted of European-born Spaniards, American-born Spaniards, the pre-Contact indigenous of the Americas or Indians, persons of African descent, Asians with whom contact was made and maintained along trade routes between the Americas and Asia, and their offspring. Regardless of national institutional modes of differentiation and separation particularly between European born Spaniards and the indigenous of the Americas, those of African descent, and Asians, inter-mixing between groups occurred. 6 Thus from the earliest stages of Mexico’s development it is evident that socially prescribed constructs for identity were neither necessarily followed nor accurate. By the mid-seventeenth and throughout the eighteenth century the hybrid offspring population of Spaniards and indigenous Americans known as mestizos, flourished. A taxonomy of castes or castas, one of many systems of differentiation instituted during the Spanish Colonial era, developed to chart the racialized social position of the offspring produced from mixing between Europeans/Spanish, Indians, and persons of xxvi African descent, which organized the new society of mestizos. Magali M. Carrera explains that the casta taxonomy “listed casta generations or lineages . . . that emphasize[d] the diminishing of Spanish blood and the polluting quality of mixed blood.7 Casta paintings were the material formulation of the charted racialized social positions of members of society. The caste system was abolished by Spanish legislature in 1812, which promised formal equality regardless of racial status.8 By the time of the Porfirian regime (1876-1910) Indian groups were few and most Mexicans were mestizos. Casta paintings do not necessarily reflect the reality of people’s day to day existence, meaning people and their relationships are complex and rarely do we neatly fit into or stay for long in any one category. These paintings do reveal an ideology of difference and hierarchical power based on these differences, which forms the basis of modern Mexican society. Although the term mestizo initially referred to a person of mixed-blood heritage and marked one’s social position or class, by the time of the Porfiriato (1876-1910) the term reflects less a biological interaction between groups and more of a process of cultivation through education, assimilation, and integration into mainstream Mexican society. Anne Doremus explains how during the era after the Mexican civil war (1920s and beyond) the process of mestizaje was redefined by intellectuals and politicians: Anthropologists, such as Alfonso Caso and Manuel Gamio, redefined the they reduced the number of Mexicans considered Indians, made mestizaje seem easier to achieve by eliminating the need for racial mixing, and stressed that culture, not biology, distinguished the Indian from the nonIndian (thus discrediting the idea that the Indian was biologically incapable of participating in the civilized world). They further spurred efforts to westernize the Indian while at the same time preserving and fomenting indigenous artwork, an important expression of national identity and source of employment for Indians.9 xxvii In Mexico racial characteristics are based on language, dress, religion, and social organization, among other things.10 Accordingly, Mexican identity is fluid and ethnic status, and in turn social status or class, could be changed through marriage, housing, occupation, civic educational projects and/or other means.11 Meaning membership into any social group did not solely depend on biology and Indians could become mestizos through a variety of ways. When I apply or engage the label of mestizo I refer to individuals that have integrated, sometimes by force, into mainstream Mexican society. There are definitely levels of mestizaje and not all mestizos are equal, which results in the social organization of Indians and mestizos into class groups that reflect historical biases and assumptions made based on inventively perceived physical and cultural differences, as well as social/political power or lack there of, economic position, and social roles. This dissertation considers the multiple levels of mestizaje and what each reflects in terms of nation building, citizenship, and systems of differentiation. Popular Throughout this study I engage the term popular to refer to the lower and middle class groups of Mexico, most of who were oppressed and disenfranchised by national operating policies and practices, resulting in their taking a position in opposition to the elite classes. In particular instances, I will indicate which group I am directly referring to, because within distinct contexts the actors change. For instance, the popular groups associated with the Zapatistas are predominantly from the lower class agrarian communities. On the other hand, when referring to the popular classes that followed the xxviii northern armies of Venustiano Carranza and Pancho Villa the community consists primarily of members of the urban and industrial working class. xxix INTRODUCTION 1 History [that becomes] the fund of knowledge or ideology of nation, state or movement is not what has actually been preserved in popular memory, but what has been selected, written, pictured, popularized and institutionalized by those whose function it is to do so. . . . [A]ll historians, whatever their objectives, are engaged in this process inasmuch as they contribute, consciously or not, to the creation, dismantling and restructuring of images of the past which belong . . . to the public sphere of man as a political being. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger 12 The focus of my dissertation is the Taller de Gráfica Popular (The Workshop for Popular Graphic Art) or TGP, a graphic art collective founded in Mexico City in 1937.13 In particular, I concentrate on the TGP’s 1947 portfolio Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (Prints of the Mexican Revolution), which consists of eighty-five prints. The portfolio narratively emblematizes Mexican history between 1876 and 1947 and centers on three periods: the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz (1876-1911), the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920), and the reconstructive phase after the war (1920s-1940s). The central focus of my dissertation is to investigate the essence, significance, and the variegated narratives of the Mexican Revolution incorporated within the TGP’s portfolio. Another key point of exploration for this project is to probe the TGP’s assessment within the graphic series of post-war regimes. The field of Mexican art is typically circumscribed by images from three symptomatic achievements: Pre-Columbian or Ancient American Art, the late nineteenth century graphic work of Jose Guadalupe Posada, and the early twentieh century frescoes of the Mexican Muralists: Diego Rivera, David Alfaro Siqueiros and, José Clemente Orozco.14 Such foundational work has made it possible to focus on and develop scholarship on another crucial field: Mexican graphic art, namely, El Taller de Gráfica Popular, which has traditionally been overlooked in art history.15 Historically, Mexican 2 graphic art history has been assumed to start with the early Spanish Colonial period and end with José Guadalupe Posada (1852-1913).16 However, a shift has occurred, as there have been efforts on multiple fronts to fill this gap. Yet, even when the artists of the TGP are discussed, they are mentioned within the narrative of Mexican art largely as an adjunct to the Mexican Muralists. Notable attempts to locate the TGP in the larger art historical context of Latin American art have usually resulted in a chapter or section of a book that introduces the workshop and identifies group and individual projects. The better known examples of these efforts include the chapter “The Taller de Gráfica Popular” in Dawn Ades’ Art in Latin America (1989) and a section entitled “The Taller de Gráfica Popular and Estampas de la Revolución” in David Craven’s Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 (2002).17 Few scholars probe beyond the general history and infrastructure of the TGP, with an exception being Susan Richards’s unpublished dissertation, “Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948 (2001).18 In the end, Helga Prignitz-Poda’s Spanish language publication (based on the original German text she wrote), El Taller de Gráfica Popular en México, 1937-1977 (1992), remains the single most comprehensive examination of the TGP in any language. A recent publication related to the TGP is Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and The Mexican Print (2007) by Deborah Caplow. This monograph is dedicated to Leopoldo Méndez (1902-1969), a Mexican artist who is primarily recognized for his graphic work and as a founding member of the TGP. The book was organized into an introductory essay and nine chapters arranged around crucial stages of Méndez’s career.19 Caplow provided a chronological presentation of Méndez’s life and graphic work, which 3 allows for a methodical understanding and appreciation of his artistic development. The first chapter begins with the artist’s life as a youth and his artistic training, thus providing insight into important political and cultural developments in Mexico both during and after the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). Chapter two provides a historiographic overview of Estridentismo or the Stridentist Movement, a self-proclaimed avant-garde group of writers and artists active between 1921 and 1927. Chapter three addresses a variety of issues related to the development of Méndez’s artistic techniques and style, as well as his growing commitment to social and political issues. Chapter four examines the Liga de Escritores y Artistas Revolucionarios (LEAR), a group active between 1933 and 1937 or 1938. Chapters five to eight concentrate on the period when Méndez was affiliated with the TGP. The final chapter of the book discusses Méndez’s important contributions to the publication of numerous books on Mexican art and culture and the last years of his life. In her book, Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and The Mexican Print described the general organization of the TGP and the group’s official philosophy, as well as the prickly political problems that eventually led to Méndez’s departure. Limited information and space is dedicated to the work of the group as a whole or members other than Méndez, even when group projects are mentioned. This abbreviated discussion of Méndez’s work within the context of the TGP tends to divorce him from the overarching narrative of the TGP. Furthermore, a misleading element in Caplow’s examination of Méndez’ life and work is the lack of attention regarding his relationship with Pablo O’Higgins in particular, an equally significant graphic artist working in Mexico who was also a principal figure in the leadership of the TGP. The two artists began working 4 together as early as the 1920s and were equally involved as founders of LEAR and the TGP.20 Thus, in Caplow’s book O’Higgins role in the TGP was minimized and his relationship with Méndez and the interplay that took place between Méndez and the other artists of the Taller are hardly acknowledged. This unduly narrow approach to the TGP results in a diminished comprehension of Méndez’ work within the period of his membership in that organization. The most recent and substantial writing on the TGP has appeared in the form of catalogues that document exhibitions organized in Mexico, the United States, and Europe. Unfortunately, most of these catalogues offer limited text, which primarily focus on the development and organization of the exhibitions. Their authors generally approach the images in a restrained manner that is primarily documentary and descriptive. These recent exhibition catalogues include (in chronological order): Mexico and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphic Arts, 1920 to 1950 (2006); Gritos desde el archivo: Grabado político del Taller de Gráfica Popular (Shouts from the archive: Political prints from the Taller de Gráfica Popular) (2008); Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009); and Para la gente: Arts, Politics, and Cultural Identity, Select works from the Charles S. Hayes Collection of Twentieth Century Mexican Graphics (2009). Shouts from the archive: Political Prints from the Taller de Gráfica Popular was an exhibition of sixty-six prints belonging to the Academia de Artes in Mexico. The catalogue includes essays from both Mexican and American scholars. For the show and publication the TGP’s work was organized into themes that include Fascism, Soldiers, Caricature, The Press, Horses, The City, Construction, and Workers. The thematic 5 approach to the exhibition and its catalogue allowed for an edited and limited display of the Mexican Academy’s collection of TGP work. This resulteds in some of the more well known artists of the group being left out, such as Alberto Beltrán and Mariana Yampolsky, but allows for the inclusion of lesser known artists that were part of the TGP. Thus, one contribution of the display and publication was to provide access to images by the TGP that have not been seen in other publications and are otherwise not commonly available. The combination of Spanish and English text in the catalogue makes clear a conscious effort to to expose an English speaking public to this significant collection of the Mexican graphic collective. Mexico and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphics Arts, 1920 to 1950 (2006), edited by John Ittmann, begins with a presentation of the history of graphic art in Mexico from the Spanish Colonial period to the 1950s. Significant accomplishments of the catalogue range from the inclusion of early and rare twentiethcentury Mexican graphic images to the invaluable historical overview of U.S. art galleries and dealers specializing in Mexican graphic art production. However, a concentration on the print collections of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the McNay Art Museum of San Antonio limits its general application. The catalogue for the British Museum’s recent exhibition, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009), with essays by Dawn Ades and Alison McClean, makes available scarce documentary information pertaining to the development of the history of graphic art in Mexico. The essays go beyond the traditional narrative of Mexican graphic art to feature discussions of little-known artists, including Manuel Manilla, and the generally overlooked groups of the 1920s and 1930s like El 6 Estridentismo and ¡30 30!. Another contribution is McClean’s discussion of the role of Hannes Meyer within the TGP provides new insights into the relationship between the Mexican collective and U.S. institutions, patrons, and artists. Rarely do we see an exhibition dedicated solely to any one group of twentiethcentury Mexican graphic artists. Instead, the trend has been to address the artists and their images in a sweeping manner that brackets them all into a simplified genealogical narrative. This has routinely entailed an effort to narrativize the modern history of twentieth century Mexican graphic art as a sequential series of events that began with Posada, continued with the Mexican Muralists (specifically Rivera, Siqueiros, and Orozco), and ends with the TGP. This problematic approach sets up a linear progression that presupposes a hierarchical relationship between the Mexican Muralists and Mexican graphic artists of the twentieth century. Such an historical construct asserts that Posada is the antecedent to twentieth-century Mexican art; that the Mexican Muralists were central to the development of graphic art in Mexico after 1920; that many Mexican artists come to graphic art only because of the Muralists; and that the Muralists’ imagery is, along with that of Posada, one of the significant models on which subsequent Mexican graphic artists drew. One telling reason behind the development of this linear chronology of Mexican graphic history is that most collections of Mexican graphic art include a substantial number of prints by the Mexican Muralists, despite the fact that the graphic oeuvres of the major muralists were actually small in size.21 A collection of art is more a reflection of the predilections of the collector than a measure for how much artwork was, in fact, made historically. Yet, recent exhibitions of Mexican graphic art have not examined the broader panorama of artistic productions and 7 instead have developed shows around existing collections. This results in shows and catalogues that largely mirror the collectors’ preferences for graphic work by the most famous Mexican muralists.22 Of course, positioning the muralists’ prints as the predecessors and models for later graphic art has helped to elevate the significance of these prints. In sum, to base an art historical narrative on the predispositions of collectors and institutional collections misdirects scholarship and undercuts a more expansive history of Mexican graphic arts. In reality, Mexican graphic art developed simultaneously alongside Mexican muralism, although the trend has been to focus on the Mexican painters.23 Many of the artists in Mexico during the twenties, thirties, and forties participated in the reconstruction of their nation through their art and were members of large organizations and specific coteries that incorporated and celebrated graphic art such as El Estridentismo, ¡30 30!, and Liga de escritores y artistas revolucionarios (LEAR).24 One such key group was the TGP. This dissertation works to insert Mexican Graphic Art more fully into art historical discourse and to enrich the possible meanings and impact of work produced by the TGP. I hope that my contributions direct more scholarly attention to the TGP and its graphic work, as I strive to locate them within the context of art history and the global production of art. In particular, I highlight the group’s participation in the construction of Mexican national art and their contributions in support of the civil rights of the Mexican people. Although I identify the TGP’s portfolio on the Mexican Revolution as one of the most significant of its productions, it has been ignored by most scholars and only mentioned briefly in most work on the group.25 Prignitz-Poda’s address of the album is 8 limited to snippets of interesting facets around the production and exhibition of the series, and includes brief commentary on a handful of prints. Richards is one of the only scholars who wrote about the TGP’s portfolio on the Mexican Revolution. However, she interprets the album as indicative of the TGP’s conformity to Alemánismo and the official narratives of the war. My study closely examines the relationship of the TGP’s print series to the political regimes of the 1940s and I counter Richards assertions and argue that in fact the TGP critique the politicians of the 1940s through their portfolio. Craven’s sole reference to the graphic series is as illustrations for his book and he never directly discussed the portfolio itself nor any of the images he borrowed from it. The five pages in which Wechsler addressed the TGP’s print series are primarily limited to large reproductions and offer minimal interpretive text. A major contribution Wechsler makes toward understanding the development of the portfolio is his mention of an exhibition poster that indicates that at least thirty-four of the eighty-five prints if the TGP’s album were displayed in 1945. In a chapter in Ades’ and McClean’s Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960, McClean wrote briefly about the TGP’s portfolio and dedicated a paragraph focused on the representation of Cárdenas within it. A brief reference by Caplow to the TGP’s 1947 series on the Mexican Revolution can be found in chapter seven of her study on Leopoldo Méndez. She restricts her truncated discussion of the eighty-five prints to a mere six of them. The images include Plutarco Elías Calles es deportado por órdenes del General Lázaro Cárdenas (print sixty-nine in the album and figure 4.6 in Caplow) by Alfredo Zalce and Méndez; Chóferes contra las “Camisas Doradas” en el Zócalo de la Ciudad de México, 20 de noviembre de 1935 (print sixty-eight in the series and figure 6.16 in Caplow) by Alfredo 9 Zalce; Francisco I. Madero (print twenty-nine in the portfolio and figure 7.7 in Caplow) by Jules Heller; El embajador Lane Wilson “aregla” el conflicto (print thirty-three in the album and figure 7.8 in Caplow) by Méndez; El hambre en la ciudad de México, 19141915 (print fifty-four of the TGP’s sequence and figure 7.9 in Caplow) by Méndez; and Entrada de Madero a la ciudad de México (print twenty-eight in the portfolio and figure 9.3 in Caplow) by Méndez. Two of the images discussed in Caplow (figures 7.7 and 9.3) are not found within the set I used for this project, or rather two prints present different images than in the portfolio I had access to.26 This raises the question, Are there multiple versions of the TGP’s graphic series? Caplow’s abbreviated address of the portfolio does not consider its relevance to the complexities of the social and political history of Mexico. Although it seems many of the scholars noted above had access to the portfolio, it was not deemed a significant contribution in the oeuvre of the TGP. This lack of interest in and scholarship on the print series, along with its complex nature, is partially what motivated my investigation of the portfolio. The TGP developed a nationally and culturally specific style and visual language that not only captures, but defines and impacts Mexican history and identity. Typically the graphic work of the TGP is contextualized in relation to an individual artist’s practices or the group’s publicly declared ideology. At other times work by the TGP is attributed to the ideological platform of social affiliations and political groups that commissioned work from the collective. The lack of critical visual analysis of the imagery is problematic; consequently, what is most unique to the TGP’s effort as active agent(s) of history and change is ignored. In this study, I work from the images in an attempt to understand the political ideology and social concerns of the group. 10 This dissertation underscores the significance of the legacy of the Mexican Revolution to the work of the TGP. The war is often a starting point or reference in the TGP’s graphic productions. The rebellion marked a rupture within an age old and corrupt political system that had carried over from the nineteenth century and is emblematic of the promise of a “new” Mexico in the twentieth century. The uprising involved various political and social factions that were concerned with issues ranging from instituting a democratic political system to supporting agrarian reform. Beyond the armed conflict, revolutionary demands resulted in national programs that promised to address and fulfill the demands of the rebellion’s ideologues. In the 1920s and 1930s, alliances between distinct political groups, that had at one point been at odds during the decade of fighting, and the blending of rival traditions produced national narratives of the civil war. These narratives of the Revolution that emerged were altered by the individual interests and ideologies of each succeeding post-war presidential administration. Many of these perspectives informed and were incorporated into the pictorial production of the TGP, such as in the print series dedicated to the Mexican Revolution. Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana presents seventy years of Mexican history, between 1876 and 1947, while it narrates the Mexican civil war of 1910. In the album three temporal sections can be distinguished: The Porfiriato (1876-1910), The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920), and post-war Mexico (1920s-1940s). Within each of these segments the TGP spotlights particular figures and complex issues and reduces them to characters and scenes constructed through visual and textual fragments. It is important to note that this project is not an inclusive investigation of all the prints. Instead, I focus on prominent moments, actors, and issues in the graphic series and chose prints that embody 11 these points. Key figures I consider are Porfirio Díaz, the dictator against whom the nation rebelled in 1910; Francisco Madero, the man that called for revolt against Díaz; Emiliano Zapata, the General of the Southern Forces of the Revolution; and women of the war. In general, I assess what statements could be interpreted and what meanings are potentially invoked and constructed through the prints about the decade long rebellion. I am particularly interested in how institutions define, construct, and inflect history through art and culture within a national, as well as a global, context. Issues and themes explored within the portfolio include ideology, nation building, citizenship formation, systems of differentiation and the subjugation of the lower classes, the inventive nature of history, and industrial development and foreign economic imperialism.27 In the “Prologue” the TGP described the graphic series as simple and the incorporation of well-known figures and historical events promotes the portfolio in line with master narratives about the war.28 The chronological and sequential presentation of historical events implies an objective narrative of history. What I have discovered through my examination of the album, however, is that there is nothing simple about this series. Quite the contrary, as I will show here, it is inventive and complex in its narration of Mexican history. I also consider how the TGP artists construct and allude to the movement of time and history in the portfolio. Although history seemingly flows in a chronological order throughout the series, time regularly fluctuates throughout. As part of my analysis of the prints I assess the significance of such shifts. Although other fields of study, such as history and literature, acknowledge the revisionary nature of history, in general, and of the Mexican Revolution, specifically, the field of Art History, as a whole, does not. A substantial part of my dissertation focuses 12 on the construction and manipulation of the legacy and the polyvalent meanings of the Revolution within the TGP’s album about the war. I investigate and expose the multiple, sometimes conflicting and contradictory, narratives of the rebellion incorporated into the TGP’s portfolio through analysis of the historical, textual, and visual components.29 To demonstrate the construction and manipulation of history in the series, it is beneficial to compare the content of the prints to historical events and their narratives. I examine how, where, and why the TGP presents a counter narrative to the dominant accounts of the Mexican Revolution. In order to disassemble the narrative constructs of Mexican history I examine the structure, format, and organization of the portfolio, in particular the groupings and juxtaposition of images. I also probe the historical texts that accompany each image in terms of their contribution and significance to building toward and and countering narratives. From start to finish in this study I identify and probe some of the historic and traditional visual sources, references, and models engaged by the TGP artists and investigate through comparative analysis how these visual precedents operate within their prints. These include colonial era codices, religious art, traditional depictions of monarchs or rulers and other types of leaders, Baroque Art, and German Expressionism. Additionally, ethnographic engraving and photography definitely contributed to the visual illustrations of the various social groups.30 Mexican traditions of Casta Painting, Costumbrismo, tarjetas de visita, and picture postcards also serve to inform the depictions of types.31 Photographs taken during the Mexican Revolution and graphic images that circulated as illustrations for news reports and broadsheets during the war are significant 13 to this study because they are significant models for many of the prints in the TGP’s portfolio. These were some of the first and most lasting images of the rebellion, many of which became symbolically associated with the events and figures of the decade long war. Many of the TGP’s prints are literal copies of photographic images found in the Casasola Photographic Archive. I address the Casasola photographic collection in relation to this project and critically compare photographic images found in the Archive to numerous prints found in the TGP’s album. My address of the Casasola Archive is limited to photographs found in the publications Album Histórico Gráfico (1946) and Anales Gráficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (1991), which were produced under the direction of Gustavo Casasola and Miguel Casasola.32 Furthermore, José Clemente Orozco’s series of drawings and lithographs on the Revolution based on sketches made during the war between 1913 and 1917 are significant to consider. These images are unique in their portrayal of the civil war, directly relating in a seemingly scathing manner the stark realities of war. His were not romanticized images of heroic figures and epic battles, instead he revealed atrocious acts of violence and brutality, the hardship of those victimized by the rebellion and its warriors, and human vices exercised during battle. Besides the photographs, Orozco’s series is one of the earliest representations of the Mexican Revolution and a definite model for the TGP’s own portfolio. In order to distinguish who the actors are within any given image in the TGP’s album I analyze visual markers (physical characteristics, clothing, roles, activities, and environment) that indicate gender, social class, citizenship, and power dynamics. My exploration of the representation of types magnifies the role of national and transnational 14 institutions and mechanisms in shaping Mexican social organization, citizenship, and identity. Because identity is not fixed and social positions are relative, I examine how group associations and oppositions are established within the prints.33 The various social groups and issues pertaining to Mexican identity presented in the series are assessed in an effort to investigate if and how the TGP articulated the complexities of Mexican identity. Also considered is the fluid nature of Mexican identity and in particular mestizaje, Indigenismo, and modernization of the nation’s citizenship through acculturation. The complexity of these distinct yet intertwined issues is addressed throughout the portfolio, which works to tie identity politics to the legacy of the Mexican Revolution. Of equal importance to this project is an analysis of who is included and who is omitted from the series. Understanding the codified visual depiction of types in the TGP’s album requires investigation of art historical trends that contribute to the construction of these types. In Chapter One I provide an overview of the Taller de Gráfica Popular as an organization and introduce the reader to Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. The first half of this chapter looks at the TGP as a whole. Key member artists and significant group projects produced between 1937 and 1947 are noted. Here the political concerns and ideology of the group are first addressed, but come up again in relation to the album. The financial issues of the organization and the matter of patronage are also examined. The second part of Chapter One centers on the TGP’s portfolio. Hannes Meyer served as the technical director for the series and Alberto Morales Jimenez wrote the captions for each print. Here I question the roles and contributions by these two figures and I probe their collaboration with the contributing sixteen member artists of the TGP who produced the album. I also assess the background and training of the contributing 15 artists and their personal connections to the Revolution. In order to clearly understand what motivated the Workshop to produce this series and the group’s objectives for the portfolio I consider each statement the TGP made in the “Prologue” of its print series. This declarative statement describes the political climate of the 1940s, evokes the legacy of the Mexican Revolution, and notes key issues that concern the TGP. I also analyze what they say about the intended audience for these prints, the medium of graphic art in general, and the aesthetic choices they made.34 Modes of dissemination for and sales/purchases of the portfolio are also investigated here. In the third and final section of Chapter One I identity and briefly survey a number of the visual models the TGP artists engage in their images. This includes colonial era codices, Roman Art, Christian Art, Baroque Art, and German Expressionism, the Casasola Photographic Archive, and José Clemente Orozco’s series on the Revolution.35 How types are constructed in the TGP’s album and for what purpose are also points of discussion in this chapter. Formal analysis aids in the identification of the attributes of these artistic traditions, as well as enhances the ability to recognize and understand what the TGP appropriate from them. Evaluating what is referenced historically also serves to facilitate recognition of what is distinct to the TGP. The TGP’s graphic series on the Mexican Revolution begins by recounting the injustices and dire conditions that motivated the civil war. The first nineteen prints chronicle the tyranny of the Porfiriato or the period of Mexican President Porfirio Díaz’ dictatorship (1876-1910). The most egregious systems and tactics of the Porfirian regime to pacify, control, and modernize Mexico are the focus of this set. These tales are grounded in various issues of human and civil rights, violence, oppression, 16 disenfranchisement, unjust persecution and imprisonment, torture, and censorship. There are numerous studies that address the Porfirian era, its institutions, development, the shaping of Mexico’s citizenship, as well on the rampant tyranny of the period, but images tend to be divorced from these discussions.36 In Chapter Two I deploy the TGP’s prints as critiques of Porfirian era stabilization and modernization efforts and analyze how these systems and practices motivated the insurgency of 1910. Additionally, I probe the complex policies, practices, and social relations that have shaped membership in communities and rights to citizenship, and the material conditions of subject formation within the context of the Porfiriato in particular and Mexican history in general as seen in this album. This chapter addresses disenfranchisement and subjugation of the lower classes; the expropriation of land; the fight over labor rights; along with national development through industrialization; foreign intervention; and efforts to acculturate the populace through education and other civic projects. I also consider the potential significance of the Pofiriato and the moments the TGP chose to foreground in relation to the graphic series as a whole. The second phase of history presented in the TGP’s portfolio is the Mexican Revolution and in my dissertation this section culminates in a multi-chapter examination of the narratives and iconic figures of the war. In Chapter Three, I provide an abbreviated narrative of the events that occurred between 1910 and 1920 in order to provide a fundamental understanding of when, what, and who make up the episodes of the civil war. Here I also examine how history is invented, revised, and depicted through dominant narratives. Additionally¸ I address issues that pertain to the development of master narratives of the Revolution within the context of nation building in Mexico. 17 My primary focus in this part of my study is the examination and untangling of the complex meanings of the icons of the Mexican Revolution. I specifically target Francisco Madero, the man who instigated the revolt, in Chapter Four and Emiliano Zapata, General of the Southern Forces of the war, in Chapter Five because they are the most emphasized figures in the TGP’s portfolio.37 Additionally, they are commonly presented as key to the iconography of the Revolution, although often as symbolic of varied and contradictory meanings. If and when the images of Madero or Zapata are addressed by scholars, it is usually as simple illustrations of key events and issues or within the context of an artist’s oeuvre.38 I am invested in a more complex investigation of these figures as signs. In particular I carry out an examination here of how and for what purposes Madero and Zapata have been remembered, constructed, and transformed both historically and within the album. This chapter investigates the narratives associated and the roles ascribed to these icons of the civil war, and addresses how these narratives and roles are affected through interaction with the other prints in the portfolio. Illustrations of Madero and Zapata often represent them in manners similar to images of religious figures. In this study I analyze how spirituality is attributed to them. To highlight the multiplicity and variations of narratives about Zapata, I engaged three of the principal biographical texts on Zapata: Jesus Sotelo Inclan’s Raíz y razón de Zapata (1943), John Womack’s Zapata and the Mexican Revolution (1968), and Samuel Brunk’s ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico (1995).39 The repeated invocation of Madero and Zapata as icons of history and symbols of the nation is part of a long tradition that locates men as the primary protagonists in the narratives of the nation. Juxtaposed to my address of Madero and Zapata is my 18 investigation of women of the Mexican Revolution. The participation of women in the war was initially downplayed, or presented in a limited capacity in the majority of historical accounts about the war. These narratives generally described women of the rebellion as soldaderas, a term I deem pejorative because it literally describes them as camp followers who were dependents on a soldier and often thought of as immoral. Additionally, women of the insurgency are often treated as interchangeable, which erroneously implies they shared similar experiences beyond the battlefields and plays down their diversity. In Chapter Six I follow the portfolio’s narrative chronological presentation and assess the roles and stereotypes of women of the Porfiriato (1876-1910), the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920), and post-war Mexico (1920-1940s). In particular, I examine the gaps and intersections between the historiographies of the participation of women in the war and visual depictions of them.40 Another focal point of this chapter is an assessment of the TGP’s construction of women of the war in comparison to visual precedents, in particular those found in the Casasola photographic archive and in José Clemente Orozco’s series on the Revolution. There are a handful of commonly-known photographs of women of the civil war.41 Therefore, there is more than one iconic image of women of the Mexican Revolution.42 However, although highly circulated and familiar these photographs have not been problematized. Rather than engage the thirdperson narratives of the rebellion that typically evoked stereotypes or omitted the roles and contributions of women, I contextualize the images of women of the war within the recent recovered historiography that is often based on interviews with women of the rebellion. Through my interrogation of the constructions of women of the Revolution, I 19 strive to understand how discourses about them produce and relate to the national master narratives and to expose the sources for stereotypes about them. By examining the masculine icons of the Mexican Revolution and the representation of women of the war, I seek to better understand how and for what purposes certain symbols of remembrance are produced, while others were practically erased. The final segment of the TGP’s album presents the post-war period between the 1920s-1940s. In the Seventh and final Chapter of my dissertation, I address the drive to develop and modernize Mexico after the war and the connections that can and are made by the TGP between this era and the Porfiriato. Examined here are the developments and issues that served as an impetus for the production of this portfolio. How the political regimes of this era faired in the eyes of the TGP is central to the last section of the portfolio and this chapter. I conclude this dissertation by reviewing what I have done here. I reflect on my approach into the TGP’s portfolio and the key points and issues I consider here. Finally, I explain what I have accomplished through this study, as well as what is still left to investigate. Roland Barthes maintains: “all images are polysemous; they imply, underlying their signifiers, a ‘floating chain’ of signifieds, and the reader able to choose some and ignore others.”43 In its portfolio the TGP incorporates various chronicles of the Mexican Revolution, which results in a web of potential meanings for any visual element. In this project I trace the multiple and sometimes contradictory meanings of the key figures and events of the civil war that often operate as signs or symbols. I apply Stuart Hall’s definition for signs, “words, sounds or images which carry meaning” in my examination 20 and discussion of the signs and symbols within the images of the TGP’s album.44 Hall argues that meaning attached to signs requires an interpretation, which is based on a conceptual map and a language system. A conceptual map relates to the process of making sense of the world in terms of the meanings of the things around us that requires a common understanding or shared culture, which makes signs and symbols the food of ideology. A language system is the representation of thoughts and concepts and an established mechanism that directs us to read these representations as intended. In this study, I untangle the sources for the meanings and language system that inform the readings and interpretations of what have become signs and symbols of the Revolution. My work intersects with various disciplines by incorporating visual culture, cultural and critical theory, Latin American studies, history, political science, literary arts, gender studies, ethnic studies, and museum studies. Although I engage a variety of methodological approaches in my dissertation including formal analysis and narratology; the most valuable for my dissertation is the social history of art. Employing these different approaches allows me to investigate the TGP and its artistic productions from a variety of vantage points.45 Social history of art is generally defined as “an approach that attempts to identify the social factors relevant to the production and full understanding of a given artistic phenomenon”.46 B. Aulinger’s discussion of the socio-historical analysis of works of art lays out at least five levels for consideration: the general meaning and function of art in a society; the general form of interaction between producers and recipients, the general form of interaction among producers, the relationship between artists and patron, and the particular motives underlying the production of a specific work. In his significant essay 21 “On the Social History of Art” T.J Clark asserts that art history must attend to a range of relevant social relations between artists, artworks and institutions, as well as to political arguments and economic conflicts without giving explanatory priority to any one of them.”47 Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonk describe social history of art as “the analysis of the specific historical circumstances in which a work of art was produced” where “the social roots of works of art are . . . identified . . .”.48 Within this approach they explain that consideration is given to religion, politics, and gender, as well as economics. Additionally, they assert that it is the nature of the relationship of art in society and its consequences that are of primary importance to social art history. With the various sources noted above and their descriptions of social history of art in mind, I approach the TGP and its artwork from a variety of angles. Factors that I take into account in this dissertation include: the political and social structure of Mexico between the 1870s and 1940s; foreign interests in Mexico; international political events and the art produced in response; the artistic ideas of the period; aspects of artistic traditions that informed the 1947 graphic series; the various representations of Mexican history and society available to the TGP; the rhetoric and visual language that develops to represent the Mexican Revolution in all its manifestations and the TGP’s use of it; the dominance of Mexican Muralism after the war; and what made the work of the TGP distinctive and effective at a certain moment in time. This is not an exhaustive list, however many of the key issues that impact art produced in Mexico during the period under investigation in this project are noted. In his study of Gustave Courbet, Clark provides a model for the application of social art history as a method for the “careful reconstruction of the artist’s intentions and 22 his milieu, as well as making extensive use of the documented reactions to Courbet’s work by contemporary critics.”49 Clark declares that artists and their art are not simply passively “‘reflecting’ ideologies, social relations, or history,” but rather active participants of history and change.50 In an effort to document the TGP’s efforts to impact society in a manner that affects change I will investigate their 1947 portfolio in regards to social historical context, subject matter, visual language, patronage, intended audience, and mode of dissemination. Erwin Panofsky developed and practiced the iconography-iconology method. This approach provides a foundation for my interpretation of the TGP’s graphic imagery. Description and identification of figures make up the initial examination of the image, which is identified by Panofsky as pre-iconographic analysis. The next stage in Panofsky’s process is the interpretation of what is described by means of a variety of sources including literary references, which in the case of my project includes a variety of historical texts and narrative. Visual references to non-literary sources are equally important to the symbolic meaning in work by the TGP. In preparation for producing Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana the TGP conducted research and investigated various resources including historical and visual archives and publications, scholars, and other artists. This type of preparation alludes to the depth of meaning and network of significations within the prints of the TGP’s album. In general the iconographyiconology method lends itself to the approach of social art history and proves helpful in the contextualization of the numerous components in any given image, and in discerning the multiple meanings of these elements. 23 I engage Narratology, or the theory of narrative, in my interrogation of the portfolio, which includes historical, fictional, textual, and visual modes of story and meaning production. For this methodological approach, I built on Mieke Bal’s Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Texts (1997). In particular, I consider narrative structures and techniques, as well as how the story of the album compares to other stories about the Mexican Revolution. Additionally, I assess the way the multiple narratives presented in the series are constructed and examine the variations that are possible. 24 CHAPTER ONE: El Taller de Gráfica Popular and Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana 25 El Taller de Gráfica Popular The work of the Taller de Gráfica Popular (TGP) or The Workshop of Popular Graphic Art is usually considered representative of “the” national narrative of Mexican history by most scholars, a mistake to which I return later. The graphic work of the TGP was meant to engage, inform, and educate the people of Mexico, as well as to challenge an international audience.51 Political and social issues, both domestic and international, were therefore the focus of TGP productions. As activists, the artist members of the TGP demonstrated and lobbied for the improvement of social and political conditions in Mexico such as progressive labor laws, access to education, and the control of natural resources. Topics at the core of their prints include: Mexico's divided heritage and fragmented history, the poverty and oppression of the Native American population, human rights, defending the nationalization of oil, and civil liberties for labor movements.52 In alignment with international efforts, the artists in the TGP opposed fascism, confronted violence as a state-sanctioned means of social control, encouraged socialism, and were conscious of the relevance of an image in regards to global issues. The legacy of the TGP is of far-reaching cultural significance because its work circulated worldwide and involved, as well as impacted, international artists.53 The importance of the TGP’s contributions tends to be understated in art historical literature, particularly outside of Mexico.54 Founding artists of the TGP included Leopoldo Méndez, Luis Arenal, and Pablo O’Higgins. Other members of the early phase of the workshop were Ignacio Aguirre, Raul Anguiano, Alberto Beltran, Angel Bracho, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Jesus Escobedo, Arturo Garcia Bustos, Isidro Ocampo, Everardo Ramírez, Antonio Pujol, 26 Gonzalo de la Paz Pérez, and Alfredo Zalce.55 Most of the members of the TGP that had studied art did so at the national art school in Mexico City, “La Esmeralda.” Méndez, Ocampo, and Zalce were the only artists with formal training in graphic art. Although membership fluctuated, the TGP consisted approximately of twenty-six active members, but included guest artists, totaling up to fifty artists.56 All of the artists of the TGP were from the lower classes, “L. Méndez’ father was a shoemaker, A. Zalce’s a photographer, F. Mora’s a band musician, I. Ocampo’s a lighthouse keeper” and Hannes Meyer informs, “Many [were] rooted in indian peasant stock on their mother’s side.”57 Additionally, many of the TGP artists were Marxists and belonged to the Communist Party. The group as a whole promoted socialist ideals, advocating for the ownership and control by the popular classes of the means of production and distribution of capital, land, and national resources.58 The TGP took the traditional concept of the artisanal workshop and transformed it into a site for artistic production and training motivated by a sense of political action. Méndez explains, “The initial individual 1937 membership fee . . . was fixed at fifteen pesos (about four US dollars) in order to build a “war chest.” Members of the Taller were not remunerated for their work on collective projects. They still kept their day jobs; most of them were poorly paid teachers. Everyone was welcome to work in the Taller save those who espoused fascism.”59 This latter point is not officially declared until 1945, even though, when the TGP initially formed, it had established its objectives in the 1937 “Declaration of Principles,” Article 1: The People’s Graphics Workshop [Taller de Gráfica Popular] is a collective work center for functional promotion, and for studying different branches of engraving and painting and different methods of reproduction. 27 Article 2: The T.G.P. will strive to ensure that its work helps the Mexican people defend and enrich their national culture. This can be achieved only if Mexico is an independent country in a peaceful world. Article 3: The T.G.P. believes that, in order to serve the people, art must reflect social reality of the time and have unity of content and form. By applying this principle, the T.G.P. will strive to raise the artistic standards of its members, in the belief that art can only truly serve the people if it is of the very highest plastic quality. Article 4: The T.G.P. will co-operate professionally with other cultural workshops and institutions, workers’ organizations, and progressive movements and institutions in general. Article 5: The T.G.P. will defend freedom of expression and artists’ professional interests.60 The first set of principles issued by the TGP is crucial to understanding what directives the organization operated under at its initial founding. As the first article indicates, the educational nature of the Workshop was the most significant. The group pledged to preserve and contribute to Mexican national culture. Parameters for artistic production set by the TGP included: immediacy of subject, a cohesive approach to form and content, and standards for the highest aesthetic quality. The TGP’s collaborative approach to art production and activism is clearly indicated when it expressed willingness to collaborate with various cultural and political groups, regardless of geographic location. Lastly, the group vowed to defend artistic freedom and professional interests. Leopoldo Méndez described the early days of the group as informal. He explained, “There were few bylaws in the beginning save for the most pedestrian of rules: pay your dues regularly; miss three Friday meetings and you are out; participate in group critiques and groups projects; and so on.”61 The group’s principles and Méndez’ statement make clear the importance of members’ participation in workshop projects, 28 meetings, and critiques. Within the confines of the group, imagery and production were directed by ideological values set in their declaration of principles. The manner of evaluating workshop art production was based on a democratic group process termed críticas colectivas, or collective critiques. This process of decision-making occurred at weekly meetings and assured broad unity of purpose among members, but not mechanical conformity in their approaches to image making. In the TGP, personal style was encouraged, but homogeny of meaning and intent was required. Investigating and identifying the distinctions between each artist’s style is important to this project, as it allows recognition of each artist’s unique aesthetic and for the evaluation of the exchange that occurred between the artists.62 Additionally, the financial situation of the TGP did impose the need to take on commissions and engage in projects that countered its espoused principles. Political and social concerns of the group changed over time and they produced new versions of their declaration of principles. In 1945, the TGP issued a new “Declaration of Principles,” which is re-stated in Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana portfolio, and asserted: The T.G.P. is a center of collective work for a functional production and study of the different branches of engraving and painting. The T.G.P. undergoes a constant effort in order to benefit by its works the progressive and democratic interests of the Mexican people, especially in the fight against fascist reaction. Considering that the social aim of plastic art is inseparable from good artistic quality, the T.G.P. strives to develop the individual technical capacity of its members. The T.G.P. lends its professional cooperation to similar workshops and cultural institutions, to popular or labor organizations and to all progressive movements and institutions. 29 The T.G.P. protects the professional interest of all artists.63 Changes to the TGP’s principles between the 1937 version and that of 1945 were grounded in political developments and alignments. What remained constant was the importance of technical development.64 Art historian David Craven explains a lack of agreement between the TGP and the Soviet Union on the aesthetics of realism and its socialist applications as one of the reasons the TGP changed its vocabulary in its “Declarations of Principles” to reflect, “pungent images in response to social ‘reality,’ [rather] than on . . . ‘objective’ commitment to so-called ‘socialist realism.’”65 Another point that was new was the anti-fascist position of the TGP. For the intents and purposes of this project, I build on the principles laid out in both the 1937 and 1945 version because each provides distinct parameters for the group, which when combined help to explain how the organization operated during its first decade of production The most prolific period of production for the TGP occurred between 1937-1960, and can divided into three phases: the first period ranges from 1937 to 1949 and is framed by the foundation of the organization and the catalogue-album edited by Hannes Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: Doce Años de Obra Artística Colectiva; the end of the second phase, 1949 to 1957, concludes with the publication Taller de Gráfica Popular, Vida y drama de Mexico: 20 Años de Vida del Taller de Gráfico Popular; and the third episode, 1957-1960, is a marked by the departure of many founding members, including Leopoldo Méndez and Pablo O’Higgins.66 The TGP remains in operation today, and although a few members remain productive, the focus of the workshop has shifted toward the training of young artists. The current director of the Taller is Jesús Alvarez Amaya, who joined the TGP in the 1950s. 30 Leopoldo Méndez and Pablo O’Higgins, two of the founding artists of the TGP, were principal in the leadership of the organization.67 These two artists began working together as early as the 1920s and were both involved in the Liga de Escritores y Artistas Revolucionarios (LEAR), an important predecessor to the TGP that was active between 1933 and 1938. Méndez and O’Higgins were the most prolific and consistent producers of material. During their tenure, they remained intent on working within the set parameters and ideology of the workshop. There was a great amount of collaboration that occurred between Méndez and O’Higgins, as well as with other TGP artists.68 Many of the TGP artists took part in the government instigated “cultural missions,” in which the Secretary of Education sent out artists to the remotest Indian minority groups of Mexico for such varied projects as painting a mural in the school or studying the folklore of the region.69 José Vasconcelos’ cultural missions promoted literacy and education in rural areas. Fourteen teams were part of the project and worked in different states of the country. Teams consisted of eight specialists: a painter, a music teacher, a teacher of industrial techniques, a physical education teacher, a communication and radio operator, a nurse, and organizer and coordinator, which was a qualified teacher.70 A campaign for literacy under the direction of the Minister of Education between the years of 1944 and 1947 worked in 21, 587 centers with 22, 656 teachers and taught 1,393, 596 persons or 19% of the population to read and write.71 Many of the TGP artists, including all of the sixteen that worked on the portfolio, took part in the campaign, and all of them participated in the design of individual educational primers (or “cartillas”) which were given mass distribution by the Department of Public Education.72 31 Money making ventures were not the focus of the TGP’s efforts, which resulted in financial hardship for the workshop and its members. In relation to the financial status of the organization, the TGP stated in 1947: The members of the Taller contribute to the Workshop’s financial upkeep in three ways: one third of the income from the sales of a member’s personal work is given to the Taller; twenty percent of the earnings made on any contract between the Taller and other organizations; and personal contributions. The members willingly give a large part of their time and energy to projects developed at the Taller, even though this work does not bring in a living.73 Susan Richards expands on the artist’s contributions to the Taller and their financial situation. She explains, Most members were teachers of art in primary and secondary schools. . . . Employment outside the workshop limited the time members could spend on making art for the masses. They worked on graphic art as their daily schedules permitted, using the workshop largely in the evenings. Limited time, plus the group’s collective criticism requirement, meant that the TGP could not issue daily news flyers, in the tradition of their predecessor, Posada. Furthermore, the irregular release of their work subsidized by unpredictable commissions resulted in intermittent finances for the Taller and its members. . . . Taller members assessed themselves monthly dues to cover rent and utility expenses. . . . Méndez sought donations of artistic materials and equipment from Universidad Obrera and the Mexican government; other equipment was donated by Americans . . . The Taller suffered chronic financial shortages due to a number of business problems. Frequently the group underestimated the cost of their services, or donated them to compatible organizations.74 As the above statements make clear, the TGP struggled financially as an organization and in turn the artists suffered personal economic hardships that required them to take day jobs. In turn the organization’s mode of operation and productivity was irregular. Thus, it is understandable that the TGP would seek to develop its clientele and would welcome patrons willing to provide the financial support that would allow the organization to keep afloat and productive. 32 In relation to patronage, Dawn Ades’ essay, “The Taller de Gráfica Popular” suggests that state patronage of the TGP was continuous and benign in the late 1930s through the 1940s. However, it is crucial to discern the distinct relationships the TGP had with each political regime. The TGP enjoyed a collaborative relationship with President Cárdenas’ (1934-1940) based on shared ideological values regarding the goals and legacies of the Mexican Revolution.75 Historian Susan Richards’ dissertation, Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948 (2001) elaborates on state patronage of the TGP during the 1940s. In her study, Richards examines the political climate of Mexico in the 1940s and discusses the varied groups and projects with whom the TGP engaged and for whom they produced prints. Richards incorrectly argues the TGP moved away from its initial leftist political stance to a conservative position in line with the new political regimes that came into power in Mexico and she asserts that financial support from state agencies impacted the type of artwork the TGP produced.76 She is adamant that as artists and teachers the TGP artists were bound to the Ministry of Education (SEP), “and during the 1940s the workshop was careful to avoid offending SEP officials with its designs.”77 Richards further cites instances, such as the conciliatory efforts towards the Avila Camacho regime in producing a poster that memorialized an assassination attempt on the President’s life and the modification of the TGP’s “Declaration of Principles,” as proof of the TGP’s move from leftist politics toward a more conservative political stance, which she finds reflected in their artwork. In reality, the relationships the TGP had with Mexican Presidents Avila Camacho (1940-1946) and Miguel Alemán (1947-1952) were contentious due to each’s 33 distinct ideological values and views on the legacy of the Mexican Revolution, which is clearly elaborated on in the 1947 portfolio. David Craven recognizes patronage for the TGP as multi-front, identifying “sporadic institutional funding from popular organizations, state agencies, and private collectors (particularly in the U.S.A.).”78 He further explains that it is due to an independence from any one patron that the TGP enjoyed, “an austere form of relative autonomy”.79 This statement regarding the group’s autonomy infers the TGP’s entire period of production was one of relative independence and that their imagery, therefore, promoted their own interests, concerns, and political ideology. Based on the conflicting interpretations of the impact of patronage on the TGP’s ideology and graphic work, by Craven who saw the TGP artists as independent of their patrons and Richards who interprets the work of the TGP through the filter of patronage, it is evident that there exist contradictory interpretations and understandings of the relationships between the TGP and their patrons. Patronage of the TGP and commissions for graphic work was manifold. The group often received project commissions for various social and political efforts, to which they donated their time and art; accepted commissions from a variety of domestic public institutions and organizations, such as the Mexican government and labor unions alike; as well as sought commissions and projects from the United States, which proved to be lucrative ventures. Many of these patrons and institutions were in opposition to one another. Initial group projects produced by the Workshop include in 1937 the first poster dedicated to the newly founded Federation of Workers of Mexico (CTM); in 1938 caricatures dealing with the expropriation of the oil fields; three calendars for the Workers’ University (UOM); the 1938 portfolio of fifteen 34 lithographs La España de Franco; the eight cartoon posters of 1938 aimed at the eight week lecture series Liga pro Cultura Alemana; the eight lithographs from 1939 condemning fascism; and the seven lithograph portfolio In the Name of Christ, which dealt with the assassination of rural school teachers.80 In 1948 the TGP accepted 4500 pesos from then president Miguel Alemán as a gesture of gratitude for their support during his electoral campaign, which was for the publication of their important El Taller de Gráfica Popular: Doce Años de obra colectiva (1949).81 I argue that the TGP was conscious of what was necessary to acquire commissions and maintain the organization, which at times may have challenged its politics but never changed them.82 Furthermore, the assumption or accusation that artists relinquish their autonomy when they accept a commission from a patron who is ideologically opposed to their own values discounts the complexity of the day to day demands of being a working artist or arts organization, of patronage, and of the successful negotiations of the contradictions that exist. Issues I am concerned with and that should be considered in future work on the TGP in relation to patronage include, but are not limited to: ideology of the group versus their patrons, the circumstances of particular commissions, and the type of projects commissioned by particular patrons. The TGP took the traditional concept of the artisanal workshop and transformed it into a site for artistic production, training, and exchange motivated by a sense of political action. The collective working method of the group did allow for individual autonomy. Mariana Yampolsky explained the TGP’s collaborative process when she described the group’s working method for the production of prints. She stated: Final prints were fabricated from three source materials—wood blocks, lithographic stones and linoleum. Initial drawings guided the carving of 35 the source material. Woodblocks and lithographic stone became difficult to acquire and were limited in reproductive quantity, so linoleum was preferred for large editions. Group participation in the process frequently involved a division of responsibility for each stage of production; different artists drew the image, engraved the source material, and supervised the technical reproduction effort.83 Based on numerous descriptions regarding the collaborative nature of the TGP workshop and the regular coming together and interactions between the TGP artists with scholars and other artists, I determine that the physical space of the TGP’s studio functioned much like cafes. Historically, cafes have been significant sites for artists, philosophers, scholars and the like to meet, dialogue and exchange, learn from one another, formulate social and political consciousness, and collaborate. Cafes have also historically served as key locations for the development of various types of insurrections and rebellions. The artists active in this mileau in Mexico during the nineteen-twenties, -thirties, and -forties interacted on multiple fronts and were members of large organizations and specific coteries that brought them together.84 For instance, many of the TGP artists participated in mural projects and many Mexican painters collaborated in graphic projects. Photographers and those involved in Mexican cinema too intersected and engaged with painters and graphic artists. Additionally, there were a multitude of international creative and politically minded individuals that went to Mexico for various reasons, many of them were invited to work with and sometimes join the TGP.85 The atmosphere of the Workshop was one of great activity between members of all aspects of creativity. Examples of gatherings and exchanges that took place are provided in numerous documentary images included in the publication El Taller de Grafica Popular: Doce Años de obra colectiva (1949) and elsewhere. Thus, I put forth that the physical space of the TGP, like cafes throughout Europe and the United States, operated as a significant 36 site in Mexico for focused intellectual life, where contemplation, debate, and the production of political ideology and Mexican visual culture took place.86 The Portfolio The TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana consist of eighty-five linocut prints that narrate Mexican history from the late nineteenth century up to the 1940s.87 The portfolio features issues that include oppression and subjugation, national development and industrialization, foreign intervention, land and labor rights, and efforts to assimilate and homogenize the populace as part of the modernization of the nation through education and other civic projects. In the portfolio the TGP heroicized particular figures who enacted the various ideologies that mobilized the Mexican Revolution and demonized those considered opposed to its progressive beliefs. The prevailing ideologies of the collective directed the version of history that the portfolio presents, commemorating as it does the tenth anniversary of the founding of the Workshop. Therefore, the album can be read as exemplifying the group’s principles and efforts, as well as its contradictions and conflicts. The portfolio remarks on three distinct periods of history and focuses on, or around, particular political figures and issues. Porfirio Díaz and the period of his dictatorship, 1879-1910, are addressed in prints one through nineteen. The violent phase of the Mexican Revolution and the leaders of the war are presented in prints twenty through fifty-seven. Prints fifty-eight through eighty-five deal with the period after the war. 37 The Contributors Hannes Meyer, an architect, is identified as the technical director of the portfolio. Meyer joined the TGP in the fall of 1947 and stayed through 1949. His impact on the TGP is understudied, but Prignitz-Poda’s discussion of what was accomplished under his tenure as a manager/administrator gives significant insight into his impact on the group’s productions.88 Lena Bergner, an artist, is identified as responsible for the artistic layout of the portfolio. What these two individuals contributed and what their jobs actually entailed and the decisions that were made by Meyer and Bergner are unclear. PrignitzPoda asserted that Meyer suggested the publication of the portfolio in the Fall of 1947, which would have been at least two and a half years since the first set of sixteen prints were exhibited in April of 1945.89 Autonomy in making decisions separate from the group seems highly unlikely, based on the manner the collective typically operated. Nonetheless, both Meyer and Bergner would have participated in the decision making process in regards to the portfolio. Perhaps Meyer’s greatest contribution was to commandeer the portfolio project and push it to fruition. Prignitz-Poda tells us that in the TGP’s annual report of 1947 Meyer communicated the immediate importance of the project, particularly because it constituted the first major production of the group as a collective.90 Another important contribution on Meyer’s part may be his efforts to construct a façade of unity among the artists where in reality there was friction.91 It is unclear who wrote the text of the “Prologue,” but it definitely strives to promote the TGP as unified on all fronts. Perhaps Meyer’s hand is evident in projecting an idealized image of the organization in harmony. For future exploration, I deem it beneficial to examine 38 the individual work of both Meyer and Bergner in order to tease out their distinct contributions to the portfolio, as well as the artistic production of the TGP as a whole. Although multiple scholars worked with the TGP in preparation for the production of the portfolio, the historian Alberto Morales Jimenez is the only one identified by name in the portfolio.92 Morales Jimenez wrote the captions for each print.93 John Mason Hart provides an important outline of the development of Mexican history from the 1920s to the 1950s, which serves to inform how the master narratives were formulated through official historical texts and what the historian’s role was in theire development. Pertinent to this project, he locates Morales Jimenez within the development of a version of a master narrative of the Mexican Revolution during Miguel Alemán’s regime. Hart explains: By the early 1920s, the most erudite—Francisco Bulnes, Manuel Calero, Emilio Rabasa, and José López Portillo—stood out as the foremost figures of the post-revolutionary historical dialogue. Their disputes were as profound as those of the causes with which they sympathized. . . By the 1930s, however, a new school of historians was emerging. . . . José T. Meléndez published two edited volumes to complete the first comprehensive history of the revolution. Meanwhile, Luis Chávez Orozco, one of the more salient figures in this new group, openly complained about the personal objectives of his predecessors and moved toward the development of documented essays. . . . Lázaro Cárdenas underscored the importance of popular heroes such as Emiliano Zapata for national cohesion. He saw, and wanted the masses to see, Francisco I. Madero, Zapata, and the others as men pursuing just causes, men of whom Mexicans could be proud. To further that aim, the Cárdenas administration approved the publication of Meléndez's work by the government press. In 1949, the rightist government of Miguel Aléman went further: it sponsored a national history book prize and a distinguished panel of historians awarded Alberto Morales Jiménez the first prize. Morales Jiménez argued, as had the surprised first secretary of development in the Madero administration forty-eight years earlier that the revolution had been agrarian in nature, a struggle, in effect, for social justice. The government later placed the book in every school in the nation as a basic reference. In 1953, the Adolfo Ruiz Cortines administration took the next 39 step when it created the Instituto Nacional de Estudios Históricos de la Revolución Mexicana, a still prolific publisher of revolutionary histories.94 That the Aléman regime recognized Morales Jiménez after the production of the TGP’s portfolio is interesting. It suggests that the TGP, rather than seeking out an historian who had ties to the government and a nationally recognized narrative, selected an historian that resonated with the group’s ideological platform and interpretation of the Mexican Revolution. Instead, it appears as if Aléman’s regime intended to build on the TGP’s narrative and associate itself to the political edge of the workshop by bringing Morales Jiménez into the fold. Additionally, I wonder if Morales Jimenez’ work with the TGP did not somehow serve to promote his version of history, which suggests the TGP’s narrative of the Revolution was recognized on an institutional and national level. The text Morales Jiménez wrote for the TGP’s portfolio is essential to the way we read and understand the prints and album. However, it is unclear which came first, the text or the images.95 Whether or not the text served as the basis for the images is difficult to ascertain based simply on a comparison between the prints and text. At times, the text and image correlate directly. In other instances, they diverge completely. These discontinuities are of great interest to the portfolio’s narrative and this project as a topic of investigation. Although both the images and texts are significant to the TGP’s portfolio, in this study, I tend to forefront the images. Therefore, I often treat the text as the exposition of the portfolio meaning it provides additional information rather than directs the viewer/reader in what is primary to the narrative and images. The sixteen artists, listed below, all made prints for the portfolio. Below they are presented alphabetically in the same manner they are found in the album’s index. 40 Additionally, I indicate below how many total prints each artist contributed to the portfolio. Ignacio Aguirre - 9 prints Luis Arenal - 1 print Alberto Beltrán - 10 prints Angel Bracho - 1 print Fernando Castro Pacheco - 11 prints Jesus Escobedo - 2 prints Antonio Franco - 1 prints Arturo García Bustos - 6 prints Julio Heller - 1 print Leopoldo Méndez - 6 prints Francisco Mora - 7 prints Isidro Ocampo - 5 prints Pablo O’Higgins - 3 prints Everardo Ramírez - 2 prints Mariana Yampolsky - 3 prints Alfredo Zalce - 18 prints This group consists of fifteen men and one woman, Mariana Yampolsky.96 It is interesting to note that Alfredo Zalce produced the most prints and that his contributions make up twenty-five percent of the portfolio’s images. Zalce produced four prints for the section on the Porfiriato (1-19), seven prints around the Mexican Revolution (20-57), and seven prints for the post-war period. Thus, Zalce appears to be the lead artist on the project, yet nothing, including the group’s meeting minutes, the portfolio itself, or the TGP’s address of the portfolio identify Zalce distinctly in this role. This may be due to the fact that Zalce left the organization in 1947, possibly due to his frustration with the dragging out of the production of the portfolio or perhaps it was the new management he was responding to.97 It seems to me that part of the reason Zalce is responsible for so many of the prints is that he simply decided to work on it when the other artists had perhaps lost interest or more likely were taxed with other obligations. It is difficult to 41 know what the conversations were around the portfolio during the two year period between the initial impetus behind the production of the portfolio and its final manifestation, but I speculate that financial straits of the organization and the artists themselves affected the time and energy available to produce the prints of the portfolio. Fernando Castro Pacheco (11 prints), Alberto Beltran (10 prints), and Ignacio Aguirre (9 prints) each produced approximately ten prints for the portfolio. This is a substantial number of images, but in each case the artist addresses the various periods in the portfolio and a variety of issues. In other words, no one artist is assigned nor dominates any one period or topic. Francisco Mora (7 prints), Leopoldo Méndez (6 prints), Arturo Garcia Bustos (6 prints), and Isidro Ocampo (5 prints) each produce an approximate equal number of images, less than ten and at least five. Castro Pacheco and Ocampo also left the TGP in 1947, likely equally frustrated as Zalce or perhaps in solidarity with him. It is noteworthy that the artists who are typically identified as the founding artists and the leaders of the group (Arenal, Méndez, and O’Higgins) are not necessarily assigned the most number of prints, nor do they dominate the project. This speaks to the democratic organization and working style of the TGP. It is evident based on stylistic quality of the prints in the portfolio that participating artists were at different stages of their artistic development. Thus, the album was not necessarily about showcasing the best artists or work of the TGP. Instead, like most of the group’s projects the portfolio meant to showcase the most crucial issues that concerned the organization. Few of the TGP’s artist members were directly involved in the Mexican Revolution. One exception is Ignacio Aguirre, who produced nine prints for the 42 portfolio, fought in the civil war under Carranza at the age of fifteen.98 However, for most of the TGP artists, the insurgency was an impression of their youth. Of the artists that worked on the portfolio that were alive and in Mexico during the war, most were children:99 Ignacio Aguirre born in 1900, was a young man between the ages of 10 and 20. Luis Arenal born in 1908, was a child between the ages of 2 and 12. Angel Bracho born in 1911, was a child 0 to 9 years old. Fernando Castro Pacheco born in 1918, was a child of 2 to 12 years old. Jesus Escobedo born in 1918, was a child of 2 to 12 years old. Leopoldo Méndez born in 1902 was a young man of 8 to 18 years old. Isidro Ocampo born in 1910, was a baby to 10 years old. Everardo Ramírez born in 1906, was a youth of 4 to 14 years old. Alfredo Zalce born in 1908, was between the ages of 2 and 12 years old. Luis Arenal’s father died while fighting in the revolutionary armies.100 Angel Bracho’s father was a captain in the Federal Army during the war of 1910 to 1920. That Arenal’s and Bracho’s fathers fought on opposing sides during the Mexican Revolution is worth noting and indicates the diversity of political positions in the nation and within the TGP. What the TGP artists personally knew or did not know and had to learn about the rebellion is unclear. However, we do know that most of what was learned about the civil war of 1910 came from secondary sources. As previously noted, the TGP researched and studied the Mexican Revolution, at times with the assistance of “experts.” Méndez described these exchanges: A typical evening at the Taller, when we were working on the Estampas de la Revolución, would usually find a group of historians and poets in the workshop eager to discuss any and all of the principal events of the Mexican Revolution with those of us who had volunteered to work on the project. . . . Members consulted the visiting historians and poets for factual data or word pictures from which to prepare preliminary sketches. These would lead to “trial proofs,” which we would pull, after some time and much labor, from the linoleum blocks. Then with the entire membership in attendance, standing in a rough sort of circle, you would place your proof on the floor at the center of the group and wait for what would come 43 next. At this juncture, individual members of the group offered suggestions to improve the composition, critiqued it to bits or on rare occasions praised the proof. You either utilized their recommendations or not and proceeded to work on the final version of the 21x30 cm linoleum block, eventually turning in several signed prints to the Taller.101 In this statement, Méndez indicates the rather informal approach to edification on the Mexican Revolution conducted by the TGP artists, which I would relate to exchanges that similarly would occur in a cafe setting. Furthermore, one must recognize the subjective nature of the varied sources on the war utilized to inform each image, as well as the biases of the artists that resulted in a “version” of history about the civil war, which is true for any historical narrative. The Prologue The following is the translated text, in its original format, of the “Prologue” provided in TGP’s portfolio: In the summer of 1945, at the end of the Second World War, we the artists of the ‘Taller de Gráfica Popular” in Mexico City, D.F. met with the objective of planning a work program, taking into consideration the repercussions of the new national and international situation in the field of artistic activities. The War had ended with an overwhelming victory of the democracies over Nazism and Fascism. Mussolini and Hitler were dead, but Nazism and Fascism continued, and are still continuing to lurk in the ideological field. The world had entered the “Atomic Era,” thanks to the combined efforts of several nations, but imperialism seized upon the fruits of science for its own profit, thus menacing the peace of all freedom-loving nations, amongst them the Mexican nation. Seeing the imperialistic danger over Mexico, and the menace of reaction both within and without the country, we decided to help our country 44 actively, by means of graphic art, in the battle against the enemies of the Mexican Revolution and its social conquests. We studied again the last stage of our history recalling the principal events of the Mexican Revolution, its beginnings, its results, its heroes, its victories, with the idea of reviving in an “illustrative form” the heroic struggle of our country for “Land and Liberty.” Because it is of recent occurrence and a matter of common knowledge, there is no need to insist upon the unbroken foreign intervention, sometimes military, other times economic, that has tried to disturb the organic process of the formation of the Mexican Nation, for which its absolute sovereignty is indispensable. And so we present, in this monograph, a series of the most important episodes that have taken place from the time of Porfirio Díaz to the present time. We start our work at the very moment when imperialistic pressure on our country is most acute, and when it has to face many postwar economic and social problems.102 We recount, therefore, in this portfolio, a series of major events that have occurred since the Porfirian era until today. We present our work at a time when imperialist pressure over our country intensifies and we face the economic and social difficulties that emerged in the post-war period. On September 1, 1947, President Miguel Alemán declared the following in his first Political Message directed to the people of the Republic: “The rules and principles of our Constitution, forged in the heat of our greatest struggles, inspired by the democratic spirit of our people--which is based on the firm belief in human equality--are the same as of those in the world who have fought the great battle for a free world. This is why we commemorate our heroes with dignity…, who austerely, in the midst of the misfortune that plagued the country, saved with their sacrifice our patriotic honor and gave us something more valuable than glory, a duty: honor and aggrandize Mexico." As a patriotic response to this desire of the president of our country, we give the people of Mexico, these "85 Prints of the Mexican Revolution," our collective work. No need to explain the essentially simple presentation of this work, because in a country like ours, with an illiteracy rate so high, the printed image is one of the most direct ways of disseminating social and historical events. 45 The simplicity of our graphic interpretations has been one of our main concerns with the objective of making it useful for teaching, both among the masses, and in the hands of the schoolmaster. We hope our prints will serve as a lesson in understanding the significance of the revolutionary struggle of our people thus far in this century and symbolize the desire of the artists in our workshop to contribute to the regrouping of all the progressive forces of the country in defense of the principles of the Mexican Revolution against all its enemies. What we have discussed would require us to first present a popular edition. Unfortunately, our modest resources limit this first edition of "Prints of the Mexican Revolution" to only 500 copies. We are also limited technically, as we lack the proper apparatus for distribution. The eighty-five prints were executed by sixteen artists from our Workshop of Popular Graphic Art. Despite the diversity of topics, we sought to preserve a unity in the edition, thus, each print is made from linoleum and they are all the same size. Each one of the prints, during its production, was directed by the collective critiques of all members of the workshop, leaving full freedom of artistic expression to its author. The preference for colored paper to print the portfolio is due to the fact that this form of presentation continues to be the popular taste and it breaks the monotony of a black and white presentation. In making this collective project we answer our patriotic and revolutionary convictions, what would not have been possible had it not been for all of us being tied to the life and struggles of the Mexican people. Mexico, D.F., November 20, 1947 The artists of the TGP The TGP’s lengthy statement in the “Prologue” provides a rare opportunity to hear the artists’ intentions for the portfolio in their own words. Prignitz-Poda explains the initial concept for the portfolio when she reported, The idea of making an album about [The Mexican Revolution] arose from a competition of the Section of the Social Action Department of the Federal District (DDF). The TGP had eighteen prints for the competition and won second prize. The press reception was so positive that the artists planned the publication of an album recorded with thirty more. However, the album was completed two years later, but during that time history and 46 role of the Mexican Revolution and how to represent this theme was debated. Ultimately, the album was about twice as big as planned.103 The exhibition that Prignitz-Poda refers to above was held in April of 1945.104 PrignitzPoda indicates that the TGP also participated in an exhibition on November of 1945 that was on the visual history of the Mexican Revolution. James M. Wechsler also references a TGP poster dated 1944 for the November exhibition paying homage to the civil war and notes that by November of 1945 at least thirty-four of the portfolio’s prints had been finished.105 Unfortunately I have not come across any information detailing which of the eighty-five prints of the final version of the portfolio were included in these shows.106 The “Prologue” also indicates the portfolio project began in 1945. It is unclear whether the objectives and issues that are presented as the motivations for the final version of the portfolio, as laid out in the “Prologue” were already addressed within the group by April 1945 and how these concerns served to contextualize the first eighteen prints or the sixteen prints that were generated between April and November of 1945. There is a possibility that as the TGP solidified what would become its official statement regarding the motivations and objective for the portfolio, as presented in the final version of the “Prologue,” its editing and selection process of prints shifted. There are notes in the official meeting minutes of the group that indicate the acceptance and at other times the inclusion of particular prints.107 However, we are not told whose image was rejected or why, which is a typical example of the vague information available in the group’s meeting minutes. The lack of detail in terms of the discussions, issues, decisions, and conflicts in the groups meeting notes may indicate an effort to maintain a united front in terms of the manner the organization operated. 47 The initial period of production is set as the summer of 1945, when World War II had come to an end as the threat of the atomic age loomed.108 The TGP clearly labeled fascism, Nazism, as well as imperialism as the enemies of democracy, Mexico, the Mexican Revolution, and itself and declared an ongoing fight against them through the prints of the portfolio.109 The militaristic and economic interventions by foreign agencies, namely those that were U.S. based, were of extreme concern to the TGP and a key issue addressed throughout the portfolio.110 John Mraz asserts, “Since 1848, the United States has represented the most powerful foreign influence over Mexico, which is essentially a neocolony of its great northern neighbor.”111 Therefore, the fluctuations of the global political landscape of the 1940s provoked the TGP to re-evaluate its mission and objectives, but not to shift its political convictions, as others have asserted.112 The TGP plainly asserted in the “Prologue” that Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana was produced in direct response to then President Miguel Alemán election, political ideology, and his call to “honor and aggrandize Mexico.” James Wechsler suggests that the TGP’s portfolio is dedicated to President Miguel Alemán. Interestingly, Alison McClean in her brief address of the TGP’s portfolio contends, “The TGP had hoped that its favourable representation of President Alemán’s industrialization programme might result in government sponsorship for the portfolio. However¸ Alemán’s continually refused Méndez’s repeated requests for funding leading to considerable delays in publication.”113 McClean’s problematic assessment of the representation of Alemán and industrialization in the TGP’s print album as positivist indicates she herself has not closely looked at the prints. However, her statement regarding the possible financial support of the portfolio by Alemán raises key issues in 48 terms of the portfolio’s development, patronage, and objectives.114 As it is not indicated anywhere, it seems that Alemán decided not to sponsor the portfolio. Furthermore, I actually wonder if McClean has not confused Alemán with Ávila Camacho, as it would make sense that the TGP was seeking financial support for the portfolio while they were developing it between 1945 and 1947. The direct reference to Alemán’s first political statement on September 1, 1947, in the portfolio’s “Prologue” serves multiple purposes. First, it establishes the timeliness of the TGP’s portfolio. Second, it highlights that the notion of the ongoing Revolution was alive and well in 1947, and it continued to be harnessed afterwards. Third, it draws attention to the irony of Alemán’s claims and invitation to commemorate the heroes of the Mexican Revolution, many of whom opposed the conditions created by foreign imperialism, while his policies encouraged an infrastructure that enabled imperialistic oppression of Mexico’s lower classes. Finally, it creates a space for the TGP to address the Mexican president with its own analysis and response to his statements, principles, and policies. In the portfolio’s “Prologue,” the group was precise in terms of what it identified as the key issue of the Mexican Revolution and the group’s own ideological platform. Here the Workshop declared upfront the intended purpose to battle against enemies of the Mexican civil war and its social achievements and to revive in an illustrative form the heroic struggle of our country for ‘Land and Liberty.’” The group clearly intended to align itself with those that had fought for agrarian reform and democratic process, namely Emiliano Zapata, the General of the Southern Forces of the Mexican Revolution who was famous for his demand for agrarian reform, and Francisco Madero, the man who initiated the war in the name of democratic process. The slogan “Land and Liberty” also asserted 49 the TGP’s affiliation with distinct revolutionary organizations and leaders, namely that of the Liberal Party that was active in the anti-reelection campaign against Porfirio Díaz, the Dictator against whom the Mexican Revolution erupted. John Womack asserts that the Liberals developed the phrase “Land and Liberty” in 1910 and used it from then on.115 The slogan “Liberty, Justice, and Law” is the last declarative statement is attached to Emiliano Zapata’s manifesto The Plan of Ayala and his call for land reform. Thus, the phrase “Land and Liberty” in the “Prologue” highlights the TGP’s overall ideological political alignment with Madero and Zapata, which I will examine further in chapters three and four respectively. The TGP alluded to the shifting nature of revolutionary forces and history in Mexico after the war when it stated the desire to “contribute to the regrouping of all the progressive forces of the country.” The artists also set up an oversimplified dichotomy between those that are for the principles of the Mexican Revolution they deem worthy and those against them as a battle between the good guys and bad guys respectively. The TGP knowingly invoked master narratives in setting up these dichotomies. However, it complicated the issue by addressing in its album the numerous groups involved in the civil war and afterwards. The TGP did not simply present a one-dimensional narrative within its portfolio with a simple beginning and end, but instead interwove text and image to present history and stories that actively fluctuate in magnitude with each subjective interpretation and the passing of time. As Roland Barthes posits, the audience of the portfolio is not expected to passively receive information, but instead is actively engaged, as are the contributing TGP artists, in the construction of the narrative of the Mexican Revolution, Mexican 50 history, and Mexico.116 This shared experience of exchange between the portfolio’s artists and audience creates community. The TGP openly indicated the pedagogical nature of their portfolio and their intent to teach the public about the revolutionary struggle of 1910 to 1920 in the portfolio’s “Prologue.” The TGP explained other objectives for the portfolio in a related statement: Another purpose of this album is to show the working class that art and artists are not strangers to it; that some artists faithfully fight beside them, faithful also to the traditions of Mexican plastic realism, trying always to put their creative capacity at the service of the people, conscious that thus they raise the desire of the development of art to the heat and height of the daily battle that the workers can also realize that art is a career and a social activity that is useful, and not the idle pastime that the bourgeois philosophers pretend it is. The artists and the workers will understand that the artists can be a useful collaborator with whom it can acquire an affective, solid and permanent collaboration.117 In this statement, the artists identify workers as a primary audience. The “Prologue” identifies the illiterate masses as the target audience for the portfolio. Additionally, the TGP distributed the portfolio internationally. Thus the TGP’s audience for the prints on the Mexican Revolution is varied. According to David Craven the particular traits that made the TGP’s graphic work distinct in an international arena include its engagement of artisanal, pre-industrial techniques, as well as its collective critiques and plurality of languages and approaches.118 I disagree with Craven’s assessment that the TGP’s choice of medium and working methods can be identified as pre-industrial. On the one hand, this judgment makes the case that the TGP artists turned to more traditional art forms, such as indigenous art and encourages connections with significant predecessors like Posada. 119 On the other hand, Craven’s evaluation of the TGP’s technique as pre-industrial is based, 51 partly, on the contrasts that can be made between the organization’s material and aesthetic choices versus contemporary “mechanical” modes of artistic productions including photographic and collage art. Craven asserted that the founding TGP artists rejected the mechanical modes of artistic production by groups like LEAR and, instead, returned to a more traditional and artisanal mode of artistic production. He wrote: The Taller preference for more artisanal forms in defiance of the urbanoriented “age of mechanical reproduction” provided evidence for a strong identification with campesino cultural forms at a period when campesinos were still the preponderance of the work force before 1950. Unquestionably, the TGP’s “crude” images and inelegant print media articulated a political embrace of Cardenista agrarianism.120 I understand Craven’s argument as one directed toward paralleling the labor intensive process of the TGP’s printmaking techniques with that of the laborious efforts of the rural masses, constructing distinctions between the TGP’s aesthetics and that of their contemporaries, and aligning the TGP with a socialist ideology. However, if one considers the history of graphic arts, particularly in Europe during the nineteenth century and in relation to the Industrial Revolution, it becomes difficult to think of the TGP as independent of the developments, techniques, applications that stem from that era of printmaking and what followed. In fact, there are many parallels one can make between the work of the TGP and artists of the era of the industrial revolution in terms of subject, intent, and audience.121 Furthermore, the members of the TGP were not rural people divorced from historic and contemporary developments. Most were living in urban spaces by the time they were adults and trained as artists in formal art centers in Mexico.122 Luis Arenal studied between 1930 and 1934 painting in Independent School of Painting in Guadalajara and moved to Mexico City in 1934. Angel Bracho was born in Mexico City and starting in 1928 attended special night classes for workers at San 52 Carlos Academy. In 1921, at the age of three, Jesús Dosamantes moved to Mexico City to live with his grandmother, where he studied at the Santiago Revuill Open-Air School of Painting from 1928 to 1934. Leopoldo Méndez was born and lived in Mexico City and studied at the San Carlos Academy of Fine Arts as a youth. Francisco Mora moved to Mexico City from the state of Michoacan in 1941, as a young man in his twenties, to study at Esceula de Pintura y Escultura, also known as La Esmeralda. In 1928, an eighteen year old Isidoro Ocampo moved to Mexico City to study at la Escuela de Bellas Artes de San Carlos. Pablo O’Higgins grew up in Utah and California, and studied at the Art Academy of San Diego between 1922 and 1923 before moving to Mexico in 1924. Everardo Ramírez was born and lived in Mexico City and studied under Alfredo Ramos Martinez in the Open Air Schools. Mariana Yampolsky was born, raised and studied art for four years at the University of Chicago in Chicago, Illinois. Alfredo Zalce lived in Mexico City from the time of his youth and studied at the Academy of San Carlos between 1924 and 1927. Thus, the TGP artists’ personal experience and consciousness, political ideology, and artistic techniques and aesthetics were not pre-industrial, if anything they stemmed, partly from, the industrialization of the Mexican nation and the issues that came with it. The “Prologue” also emphasizes the functional and effective purpose of graphic art. In terms of the production and distribution of the TGP’s portfolio, the “Prologue” informs that 500 were produced, which speaks to the characteristic of multiplicity of an image and the album. Important to the TGP was the legibility of an image, relevance of an image to the global population of marginalized citizens, and that its work would motivate action. The artists of the portfolio engaged a nationally and culturally specific 53 visual language that evokes Mexican history in familiar ways because they understood the need for recognizable events and figures for direct communication. Concerned with historical and visual accuracy, the group incorporated well known photographic images. Perhaps, in highlighting the effectiveness of graphic work to promote, if not construct, a master narrative of Mexican history, the TGP also reference the government’s nation building efforts. In the “Prologue,” the TGP explained some of the aesthetic choices made by the artists of the portfolio, in particular the decision to create formal visual unity in the series through the consistent use of linoleum, the same size of each print, and use of varied colored bond paper of Mexican manufacture. The colors are laid out in the following order: pastel pink, pastel blue, pastel peach, pastel blue, and a striking dark gold. Each consecutive sequence of five images makes up a complete color set and each fifth image is demarcated by gold color. The choice of color is associated in the “Prologue” with popular tastes.123 One could make the argument that each fifth image is particularly highlighted indicating its significance over the rest of the prints. The paper choice is claimed as useful in breaking up the monotony of a straight black and white background on eighty-five prints. Howerver, the colored paper at times counters the gravitas of the subject matter of the prints. Thus, it is likely the TGP’s financial challenges that led to the use of poor quality and oddly colored paper. The TGP’s utilization of linoleum as its matrix for its portfolio stems from financial issues and material availability. Meyer explains, “In search of faster and cheaper duplication methods, our members increasingly came to prefer the linoleum cut for everyday use. Really good wood blocks are hard to find and hard to finance. Big 54 lithograph stones are scarce, so posters of large formant are generally cut in linoleum.”124 TGP artists embraced linoleum’s material characteristic qualities and maximized its applications. Antony Griffiths notes that the inexpensive linoleum cut is the most popular alternative to woodcut, because the material is easy to cut due to its pliant softness.125 In particular, linoleum lacks an obvious grain and allows for flat areas of color to be printed, which result in stark contrasts of light and dark and bold and expressive visual statements. Format Each print is assigned and marked by a number that indicates its numerical order in the portfolio. Additionally, each print includes the title of the image and the name of the artist that created it. Other texts that are part of the portfolio include: an alphabetized index of the artists and other contributors; the “Prologue;” and narrative captions or historical notes that coincide with each print. In a booklet that accompanies the prints the TGP provided the number, title, and caption for each of the eighty-five prints. The portfolio consists of a hard outer cover that envelops the prints, much like a book cover does. Some of the prints of the portfolio are presented in a horizontal orientation and others in a vertical manner, and no specific details are provided in regards to the significance of either. One imagines it is likely the composition of an image that dictates its orientation. As part of the portfolio, the individual prints sit one on top of the other. Much like the pages of a book, the viewer/reader would leaf through the portfolio. As each print is assigned a unique number in ascending order, it would seem that the prints are intended to be viewed/read in a particular order. In general, I discern the album 55 of prints is meant to be read horizontally across, rather than vertically, similar to a book. However, the loose nature of each print allows for the prints to be placed in various orders and to be viewed in various ways, including on display in an exhibition or as autonomous images. I see similarities between the portfolio and panoramas, dioramas, and tableaux vivant in line with the idea that the prints project the viewer through history and they are meant to be educational.126 These displays were three-dimensional and ranged in size from miniaturized to life-size displays. Panoramas were large circular paintings that enveloped the spectators as they stood on a platform in the center of a darkened room. The panorama presented the viewer with a bird’s eye view, as if standing on a hill overlooking the scene before them. Vanessa Schwartz explains, “The original point of view offered visitors was clearly inspired by the tradition of landscape painting; spectators were placed in privileged position, most often above the scene represented.” 127 However, in an attempt to enhance the spectacle’s “realism,” the viewer was moved closer to the action and surrounded by and incorporated into the sets and objects that were part of the display. The traditional panorama formula consisted of illustrating either a single moment or a timeless landscape. Additionally, there was a proliferation of military and historical panoramas. Eventually, the diorama à double effet was introduced by Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre in 1831, which “incorporated the illusion of a significant temporal change into each scene, injecting a narrative progression into what might have been thought of as a freeze frame.”128 Tableau vivants or living pictures, displays that involved costumed actors or models who posed in presentation of a common narrative, function similarly to 56 panoramas and dioramas. These displays presented significant scenes of history and literature and would occur at festivities for royal weddings, coronations, royal entries and religious ceremonies. During the centennial anniversary of Mexico’s Independence in 1910 a parade of tableaux vivant scenes presented scenes of Mexican history, which the TGP reference in print nineteen of their portfolio. All of these various displays followed a chronological and didactic approach to narrative. They had an entertainment value, but also were engaged to educate the public particularly during the nineteenth century. The TGP’s series shares a number of qualities with panoramas, dioramas, and tableaux vivant, including its didactic or educational nature; the historic focus of its subject; the narrative quality; and compositional structure in terms creating an interactive experience with the reader/viewer. One way the TGP interact with the viewer is the incorporation of a columnar pattern that moves through the portfolio. This formation is present in many of the prints, but manifests in distinct ways. The viewer sees the column from different angles in different prints, at times from the side and in other images we confront it head on. The pattern begins as a column of people forced from their homes in print one. It the group of striking miners in print eleven. In print nineteen it is presented as the Porfirian independence centenary parade. Zapata’s forces rising in print twenty-four form a column that charges at the viewer. The form of the revolutionary trains that stretch across the compositions of print forty-nine and fifty are part of it. The political body of Carillo Puerto in print fifty-nine creates a columnar form. Braceros, or Mexican migrant workers who moved to the U.S.A. for work in the 1940s lined up waiting to be processed in print seventy-nine literally form a human column. With the revolutionary train in print 57 eighty-five the procession ends and begins again, depending on how one reads the narrative. These are not the only examples of prints from the portfolio with columnar patterns running through them, but as examples they provide a sense of how this pattern materializes. Marking the most sacred and holy figures and moments the column frames our pilgrimage through history. The columnar pattern frames the portfolio’s pageant of history, figures, and ideas. As a narratological device, the columnar structure unifies the portfolio. In framing the narrative the columnar motif seems to emphasize particular figures and point or could be read as a reiteration of particular points. Addtionally, the advancing columnar presence creates a sense of movement that builds momentum and tension as it draws one through the portfolio, but I also relate it to the passing of time. In the chapters that follow, I explore the significance of the column within each image and its overall impact on the narrative of the portfolio. Although I typically refer to the viewer of the portfolio and prints, it should be understood that the viewer is also the reader of the TGP’s narrative. Numerous narrative devices are engaged throughout the portfolio. The general layout of the portfolio presents, in a narrative style, the actors and events.129 Focalization within the album shifts perspective from that of the external narrator(s), presented in the text captions as the historian Morales Jimenez and in the prints as the TGP artists, to the various characters in the narrative resulting in a plurality of perspectives and orientations. Often the viewer is pulled in and included in the frame of the image in a manner that they become a focalizer within the narrative, particularly when affected by what the scene before them narrates. 58 Typically each group of prints follows a sequential order that establishes a chronological passing of time and history. Often, interspersed within a narrative group of prints about a particular figure or historical moment are images that interject, interweave and interconnect other figures and themes. The re-visioning of the national past and present by post-war leaders and the TGP is made obvious by the interventionary presentation of the portfolio and the sequential relationship(s) of individual prints. This brings to light the juxtaposition of conflicting themes. Chronological deviations in the portfolio serve to emphasize particular elements. Mieke Bal asserts that shifts in logical sequence, “bring about aesthetic or psychological effects, to show various interpretations of an event, to indicate the subtle difference between expectation and realization, and much else besides.”130 Other narrative components within the portfolio include foreshadowing, which creates anticipation, and repetition, which serves to change, add, or emphasize meaning or significance.131 Visual Models and Sources Artists active during the period after the war were all conscious of the many legacies of the Mexican Revolution and witnessed, as well as participated in, the reconstruction of their nation through the images they created. As such the TGP contributed to the construction and establishment of visual markers of the Mexican civil war, both within official and unofficial capacities. Each context has a potential for different meanings for these symbols. When read within an official context, the images have the potential of serving nation-building purposes and are often read as singular in meaning. Within other contexts, such as independent projects, like the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, the same images may be recontextualized and meaning could shift. 59 In May of 1945, Leopoldo Méndez wrote in his diary about the issue of representing figures of history and stated that he thought the TGP should distance itself from representing men outside of reality, which could otherwise result in the reduction to an official representation that idealizes these men.132 Here it is evident that the TGP, or at least Méndez, was interested in moving away from an idealization of the heroes of the Mexican Revolution within the album on the war. Visual language of the portfolio stems from both an established codified system of representation of art history, as well as of Mexican history and culture. The established visual elements incorporated in the TGP’s portfolio are extensions of imagery developed in other graphic work, photography, murals, and film. The interchange between graphic artists and painters, particularly the muralists, is crucial to the establishment of the visual language. Through that intervention, visual depictions of Mexico were developed, selected, engaged, and countered. Producing an image that is immediately recognizable and understandable was important to the artists of the TGP. Part of the process in creating legible images was conducting extensive research of artistic and political precursors and building on their visual language. Resources investigated include: pre-conquest codices, retablos or devotional images, the work of European and Mexican graphic artists, photographs, the Mexican murals, and newspapers and periodicals of the past. Through additive and/or subtractive means the artists could easily manipulate a recognizable symbol. An easily read and loaded illustration allowed for clearer communication of the artist’s messages. 60 Hannes Meyer describes the simplified and symbolic presentation in the prints of the TGP artist as reminiscent of Mexican codices.133 Other visual connections I make between the TGP’s aesthetic and codices include line quality, which is pronounced, thick, even, and serves to outline figural elements. Likewise, a simplification of forms results in a reduction of details and a flattening of space. There is a dramatic theatricality in the codices and the TGP’s portfolio, which is both engaging and provocative. The same can be said of Baroque art, which influenced the work of the TGP artists. The Baroque has a prodigious history in Mexican visual culture that extends from the period of the conquest in the sixteenth century to the present. Examples of the Baroque abound in Mexico and the members of the TGP would have encountered it regular in their quotidian activities. The strong contrasts of blacks and white, dark and light, good and evil in the TGP’s prints evoke the tenebrism of the Baroque, which at once directs the viewer as it infuses the image with sacred light. Bold and dramatic linear elements project throughout every image and beyond each composition, which emit the force that motivated the Mexican Revolution and extends the trajectory of action and participation to include the viewer. In one instance, in print twenty-five the diagonal position of Zapata’s torso is reminiscent of a number a common stylistic practice in Baroque Art to create bold linear patterns that project into the space beyond the composition’s frame in order to activate this space and engage the viewer [Figure 52]. Another Baroque quality present in print twenty-five is the theatrical role of the torch, which creates a dramatic lighting effect that contrasts with the dark shading of Zapata in the background and suggests a religious sphere within the composition. 61 The TGP’s political ideology resonated with that of German Expressionist artists and lead to the collaborative project El Libro negro del terror nazi en Europa (The Black Book of Terror in Nazi Europe) in 1943, which was underwritten by Mexican President Avila Camacho.134 Hannes Meyer, former Bahaus director, was a key figure in the TGP and operated as a bridge between the Mexican and German artists. Meyer and his wife Lená joined the TGP in 1942 and were active in the group providing support in terms of organizing, designing, publishing, and circulating a number of graphic álbum projects including Estampas de la Revolucion Mexicana and El Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva (The Workshop for Popular graphic Art: a record of twelve years of collective work).135 El Libro negro contained the first-known image outside of Europe of the Holocaust, including Méndez’ image of deportation to the concentration camps and the first portraits outside of Italy of the Marxist thinker Antonio Gramsci, a victim of fascist political repression.136 A collection of essays by Mexican and European commentators, including Thomas Mann, Anna Seghers, and Leon Feuchtwanger, provided graphic accounts of Nazi atrocities that were often accompanied by photographs. El libro negro included thirty-two illustrations by TGP artists and 10,000 editions were produced. This book is an instance of international collaboration between artists of the TGP, the Mexican Government, and German artists. The book is also an instance of creative intersections between both groups of artists, which lead to an exchange of ideas and skills resulting in a heightened presentation of the artists’ political and social concerns. In particular, the artists’ corresponding opposition to Fascism and Nazism allowed for a true collaboration.137 62 The expressionistic quality of line in numerous prints of the portfolio also reflects the emotional intensity associated with the German Expressionists. Each artist’s stylistic aesthetic is distinct, yet, they all share a similar concern and evoke a unified sense of outrage. The prints of the portfolio on the Mexican Revolution emulate the stark quality and focus on the human condition of Kathe Kollwitz work, which is particularly true of Kollwitz’ series The Weavers (1892-1896) and Peasant War (1902-1908). The TGP artists also seem to model their expressionistic aesthetic on Kollwitz and other German Expressionist artists evoking similar affective intensity from the viewer. The TGP, like Kollwitz, focus on the victims of oppression, poverty, and war. Through their work, these artists clamor for human rights and social justice for the oppressed and impoverished. However, the TGP, more so than Kollowitz, reflect the agency of this community Many of the prints of the revolutionary leaders are modeled on photographs taken and utilized during the Mexican Revolution. Images created for this portfolio directly reference photographs from the Casasola Photographic Archive and film stills by Salvador Toscano, which were familiar and recognizable to people in and outside of Mexico. The incorporation of recognizable events and figures, many of which were based on well-known photographs, validated the TGP’s mediated images by enhancing their “truth-value” and thus the apparent perception of their historical accuracy. Agustín Víctor Casasola was a Mexican press photographer, as well as a collector of photographic images, who worked in Mexico during the early part of the 20th century.138 Additionally, Miguel Casasola, Agustín’s brother, was contracted by the Mexican government as a photographer and contributed to the Casasola collection of 63 photographs. Through their photographic work, the Casasolas aligned themselves with every government administration of Mexico between 1900 and 1938.139 Thus, much of their own photographic was pro-government and focused on “official” government activities; promoting a stable and modern nation; the social activities of elite society; and notable figures of history. In 1903, Agustín Víctor Casasola coorganized the Association of Mexican Newspapermen to protect journalists’ rights. In 1911, he founded the Agenica fotográfica Mexicana, the first Mexican news photo agency, and in 1912, he cofounded the Mexican Agency of Photographic Information.140 These agencies supplied images to national and foreign newspapers. During the Mexican Revolution, the demand for photographs of the war rose to a level that required that Casasola purchase and commission photographs from other photographers, foreign reporters, and even amateurs.141 Since the Casasolas remained primarily in Mexico City during the fighting of the Mexican Revolution, their photographs are usually limited to scenes in the city and the counter-revolutionary forces. Additionally, war is dangerous and many photo journalists chose not to risk their lives and venture out of the city. Agustín Víctor Casasola has generally been misidentified as the photographer of the Mexican Revolution due to his family’s promotion of him as such, his collection of photographs of the civil war and the lack of information regarding their authorship, as well as his practice of erasing the names of photographers and replacing them with his.142 In terms of the erasure of name, this may have been an act of appropriation on Casasola’s part. Another reason for his misattribution as the author of all the photographs from his collection is that Casasola engineered the use and circulation of these photographs. 64 Casasola multiplied the possible meanings of any one given photographic image as he distributed them through various agencies and publications. Today, the collection of photographs amassed by Casasola forms an archive, which serves as the largest resource for images of the Mexican Revolution.143 The donation of the Casasola archive to the government initiated the founding of the Fototeca of the National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) in 1979. 600,000 negatives by at least 483 photographers make up the archive, which was built up between 1900 through 1970.144 The purpose of the Fototeca is to preserve, research, and disseminate cultural patrimony of Mexican photography.145 As part of a national archive, each photograph became part of a historic and national discourse. The incorporation of photographs into a collection impacts and transforms their function, significance, and value. However, the Casasola family still runs a photography studio in Mexico City today and operates independently of the national collection in their use and circulation of the photographs. Additionally, there are numerous international collections that own photographic images from the Casasola Archive that further circulate and multiply the exposure to the photographs.146 These images gained iconic status through circulation and publication through news and journals, postcards, books, and exhibitions, which transformed them into “the” photographic representations of the Mexican Revolution.147 Another visual model for the TGP’s portfolio is José Clemente Orozco’s series of drawings and lithographs on the Mexican civil war based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917. Orozco produced his sketches during the period of the war. Desmond Rochfort provides some insight into Orozco’s experiences and art production during the Mexican Revolution when he writes: 65 He drew biting satires for the two anti-Madero newspapers, El Imparcial and El Hijo del Ahuizote. . . . In November 1914, with the competing armies of Francisco Villa, Emiliano Zapata, and Eulalio Gutiérrez about to enter the capital, Orozco left Mexico City, with other student colleagues from the Academy to follow Dr. Atl to the town of Orizaba, a move prompted by General Carranza’s decision to evacuate the city and go south to the state of Veracruz to set up his headquarters. Atl, a fervent supporter of Carranza . . . had decided to lend support and live and work in Orizaba, where he edited the Constitutionalist army newspaper La Vanguardia. While in Orizaba, Orozco made drawings and cartoons for La Vanguardia, which was produced in a church and ‘distributed by its staff from troop trains that shuttled endlessly in darkness from bivouac to battlefield to hospital to bivouac.’ . . . Although Orozco was not directly involved in combat during the revolution, he nevertheless witnessed its ravages firsthand, which provoked a mass of contradictory reactions in him.148 Thus, Rochfort informs that Orozco worked in opposition to Madero, Villa, and Zapata, which is an interesting point to pursue in relation to Orozco’s images related to the Mexican Revolution. Orozco’s images of the civil war, in particular the drawings and sketches produced during the violence, are scathing in their unheroic and unromanticized documentation of the horrors of the Mexican Revolution. Orozco was much admired by the members of the TGP. Méndez is reported to have carried a copy of Orozco’s autobiography around and a delegation of TGP artists was once sent to Orozoco’s studio to invite him to join the organization, which he declined.149 Thus, Orozco’s images of the Mexican Revolution likely served as a visual model for the TGP’s portfolio on the Mexican civil war. What relationship exists between Orozco and the TGP will be explored in relation to a select number of images. 66 Types While most societies are diverse the TGP’s portfolio seemingly focuses on the extreme poles of the Mexican social spectrum—the wealthy and the poor, the oppressor and the oppressed, the transgressor and the victim, the bad guys and the good guys—the elite class and the lower class. However, the figures of the portfolio do symbolize Mexico’s stratified society in the representation of an urban and rural elite, usually portrayed by government and military officials, hacendados or the agrarian elite who owned large agricultural estates, and church officials; a middle class that is often aligned with the elite and usually represented by henchmen, including military figures and the rural police; and the lower classes defined by Indians, rural villagers, and laborers. These social types tend to remain primarily static throughout the narrative of the portfolio, which in itself can be read as an indicator of how much remained the same even after the Mexican Revolution. The engagement of Mexican social types allows for an address of social groups versus individuals. The focus on social groups maintains the portfolio’s narrative focus on national and social issues of Mexico, rather than on individual stories. When individuals are recognized they tend to be elite political leaders who are iconic figures of Mexican history. However, these individuals have become abstract markers of phases and issues within the national narrative rather than serving as a reference in terms of their personal biographies. Thus, the nation and the masses are the primary focus of the TGP’s portfolio. In the portfolio affiliation with a distinct social group is indicated by particular characteristics and qualities, by assigned duties and roles, and by relational power 67 dynamics. Although in reality social categories overlap and social identity is complex, stereotypes allow for fixed boundaries, where in reality there are none.150 An example of the complexity of social identity is evidence by middle class figures in the portfolio who are repeatedly shown in the service of or in cahoots with the elite class, yet, they themselves came from the lower classes. Stereotypes are an effective form of ordering the figures in the portfolio in that it allows for the amplification of characteristics that serve the viewer to distinguish social groups in the narrative drama of Mexican history.151 However, these conventions are not simple or one-dimensional in what they represent and reference; stereotypes connote multifarious meanings, a wide range of information, and complexities.152 Gender, race, and class are part of a visual technology comprised of an elaborate web of intertexutal mechanisms that tie the present to the past through familiar representational tropes. The meaning of a particular sign or type is generated by the broad iconographic history of that sign or type. The visual tradition of Genre, which is a subject and style of art, focuses on the ordinary life of common people who are transformed into representatives of social orderings or types.153 Elizabeth Johns explains the development and purpose of types when she writes: People variously distinguish those around them by class, gender, age, intelligence, and manners and set up targets for satire or condescension that satisfy their need for superiority. To distinguish from one another, and from oneself . . . provided social order for the ones doing the distinguishing. Among other things, it set apart some as “others,” both those on the way up and those on the way down, and it posed some as vicarious figures who embodied the desirable qualities . . . Typing in simple description and in more complex joke, story, dramatic presentation, and even moral exemplum created the repertory of characters that in turn appeared in genre painting through the 350 years of the tradition.154 68 Thus, typology is part of the systematized visual organization of society, from the top down. This system is deployed by the TGP to explain and portray social ordering in Mexico, which inevitably results in stereotypical reductions of the figures in the portfolio, some of which have a long history. Types in the portfolio are based on an already established visual culture of gender, race, and class. Many of the stereotypes found in the TGP portfolio stem from historic, cultural, and national practices that include type engraving specific to Latin America that began in the sixteenth century, costumbrismo, ethnographic photography of the nineteenth century, casta paintings from the nineteenth century, photography, and muralism in the twentieth century. However, I distinguish the work by the TGP from the picturesque depictions of social groups of Mexico, particularly when dealing with the lower classes. Within portfolio on the Mexican civil war figures are assigned roles that represent social categories based on constructed notions of difference and hierarchy. Types convey the historically hierarchical stratification of Mexican society and within that context evoke pertinent narratives that are often omitted from institutional versions of Mexican history. The presence and active role assigned to these types within the portfolio reveal the complex reality of Mexican history and society, as well as critique the institutional and one dimensional narratives of Mexican history and nationalism. The intersections with art historical traditions and trends, such as religious imagery and biblical narratives, genre, and types within the portfolio speak to the artists’ training and comprehension. It also reveals their intentions for an interplay between their prints and the traditions of art, as well as an interchange with historical and global political and social issues. 69 Circulation The TGP made a conscious effort to circulate its portfolio nationally, as well as internationally, expanding its audience base. Distribution of the TGP’s graphic work was accomplished through a variety of venues, which included plastering images on walls throughout Mexico City, publishing in journals, circulating public posters and illustrated leaflets, and producing cinematic illustrations, calendars, books, and portfolios. 155 The price of the portfolio was set at fifty Mexican pesos, or fifteen U.S. dollars, which would have been prohibitive for the working and rural classes. To reach the masses the TGP regularly published prints from the portfolio in El Nacional, a widely distributed publication, during the early months of 1949. Hannes Meyer recorded that two-thirds or of the portfolios were sold within a year of its release.156 The price of the portfolio seemingly distinguishes it for a group with expendable cash, and was most likely only affordable to the middle and upper classes. Additionally, fifty percent of the portfolios were produced with English text. The price, combined with English text implies that the intended audience, for at least half of the total production was an international one. According to Hannes Meyer, ten percent or 55 of the portfolios produced “were presented to progressive cultural organizations all over the world—Cape town, Buenos Aires, Jerusalem, Montreal, Moscow, New York, Lisbon, Berlin, Geneva.” 157 Ease of reproducibility and legibility made these prints ideal for inclusion in educational or historical publications of a wide range.158 The importance, as well as familiarity, of these images to the larger population was due to their inclusion in many publications that address the Mexican Revolution and the TGP as an organization. Meyer also took it upon himself to disseminate the work of the TGP in general and the Estampas de la 70 Revolución Mexicana particularly after his departure from the group and Mexico due to illness in 1949.159 Meyer organized an exhibition of work by the TGP in Zurich, Switzerland in 1951 that ran between February and May, which likely included work from the 1947 portfolio, since he considered it one of the best examples of the TGP’s efforts as a collective. The adept circulation and distribution of the portfolio and its images greatly expanded its popularity, making it a familiar and significant narrative of the Mexican Revolution. As previously stated, producing an image that was immediately able to be understood was important to the TGP. This is one of the many reasons they incorporated and built on the dominant master narratives of the Mexican Revolution, numerous visual models and sources, and stereotypes in the portfolio on the civil war. It is the application of the familiar that allowed the TGP to connect with its audience while it promoted its own distinct narrative and statements about post-war Mexico. Through additive and/or subtractive means the artists manipulated recognizable details and symbols. Incorporating or combining elements that were common added validity to the images and narrative created within the album and their potential message. In some instances, poetic license put a new twist on an actual account. Occasionally, an entirely new narrative was spun out of elements from an actual and/or recognizable event or situation. As I will demonstrate, it is through these methods the TGP in the portfolio on the Revolution highlights the inventive nature of history, constructs its own narrative, communicates its ideological tendencies, as well as transforms the symbols of the Mexican Revolution. 71 CHAPTER TWO: The Porfiriato and Systems of Differentiation 72 The first section of the the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana confronts the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, 1876-1910. Twenty-five prints of the album address this period. Six images represent Díaz visually and nineteen evoke him or his regime through textual references.160 Three of the prints that depict Díaz were produced by Alfredo Zalce (5, 23, 26) and Fernando Castro Pacheco (14), Alberto Beltran (15), and Everardo Ramírez (26) each contributed one. Díaz’ presidency, which is also referred to as the Porfiriato, began in 1876 with a term that ended in 1880. Díaz returned to office in 1884 and ruled the country for twenty-six more years until the revolt against his regime in 1910. During the era of the Porfiriato, government was centralized and authority rested primarily with the executive branch, specifically Díaz. Thus, the President was a very powerful figure who was calculating in developing political relationships based on personal friendships. Díaz avoided the development of a concentration of strength that might have challenged his position by playing individuals and groups against each other. Citizenship was reserved for urban and rural elite males and the majority of the population, who lived primarily in the rural regions of the country, was geographically and politically removed from national life. In the late nineteenth century foreign intervention via capital investment, particularly from the United States, was important to the economic development of Mexico due to the lack of local capital and experience in industrial enterprises. Rodney D. Anderson documented the efforts and actions taken by the Porfirian regime to industrialize Mexico when he wrote: During the 1880s . . . Díaz moved toward more active facilitation of private economic activity. Tariff revisions in 1880, 1885, and 1887 73 reduced duties on certain raw materials and industrial equipment and increased the duties on many consumer products in order to encourage their manufacture in Mexico. The new Mining Code of 1884; the Mining, Agriculture, and Industry Act of 1886; the revision of the mining tax law in 1887; the abdication of the traditional national ownership of subsoil rights in favor of private ownership; the lowering of mineral taxes, and various tax exemptions given to a number of industries—all were designed to encourage foreign and domestic investment. . . . European and American capitalists responded in large numbers . . . By the end of the Porfiriato, foreign investment accounted for 67 to 73 percent . . . of the total invested capital in the country. . . . United States’ interests represented between 50 and 60 percent of the total foreign investment and upwards of 75 to 90 percent of the capital in mining.161 In its portfolio the TGP underscores the unequal nature and impact of Porfirian efforts to develop and modernize Mexico, which in addition to tariff revisions required pacification of the countryside and making land available for development. In the portfolio the Porfiriato’s narrative is grounded in the efforts to stabilize and develop the nation. During this period some prospered, but it was at the expense of most of the populace. Those closest to the ruler benefitted economically and in turn they became ardent supporters of the regime and of Díaz remaining in power. The majority of the Mexican population, however, did not participate in the material progress and prosperity of the Porfirian era. Accelerated economic development and industrialization of the country demanded extreme measures. Paz Porfiriana, or Porfirian peace, refers to the policies and practices of the Porfirian regime that were enacted to establish order and stabilize the nation after a long period of turmoil throughout the nineteenth century. Opposition to the Porfirian regime was ruthlessly suppressed and justice was the prerogative of the few. The Law of flight, for instance, served as an acceptable explanation for what was otherwise an execution without due process of those that were often in opposition to the regime. Other methods of pacification and persuasion during 74 the Porfiriato included forced migration or relocation, forced conscription into the army, and labor camps. Porfirian efforts to develop the nation are essential underpinnings of the ideology that defined citizenship, regulated material disenfranchisement of the lower classes, and imposed social dominance over the lower classes The development of the Mexican nation during the Porfiriato was encouraged through various national projects. These enterprises built, ordered, and defined the nation through institutionalized processes that involved development of a centralized form of government, legislation, civic planning, civic activities, education, artistic and cultural productions, and force. In general, these systems informed and shaped the imaginary nation-state’s history, citizenship, and social order. Systems of Differentiation – Expropriation of Land From the start, the TGP confronts the viewer of the portfolio with the egregious practices and policies of the Porfirian regime. In the first print of the graphic series, Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras (The indigenous peoples of Mexico are dispossessed of their lands), Francisco Mora visually relates the extremely violent and destructive nature of Porfirian land expropriation policies and practices [Figure 1]. The scene is one of violence, destruction, and displacement as a procession of figures is forcibly led by a figure on horseback. The accompanying text reports: The indigenous communities were dispossessed of their legitimate and centuries old agricultural property with the intention of benefitting the favorites of Porfirio Díaz’ regime. In Sonora, for example, the Yaqui tribe fought for more than a quarter of the century in defense of their patrimony against well-equipped federal forces that were superior in number. The same can be observed in Yucatán and other areas of the Republic. 75 Print one’s text highlights, in particular, the resistance to the Porfirian regime by Yaqui Indians. During the Porfiriato, land would be taken from its rightful owners and in turn was made available to the Mexican rural elite or foreign companies for development. Unjust seizure of private and communal lands held by rural Indians, villagers, and laborers was a regular practice legitimated by the 1883 land law, which was “designed to encourage foreign colonization of rural Mexico.”162 The law required land ownership be proven through legal title, which most low class rural Mexicans could not produce, resulting in loss of property that was deemed public. Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds explain the impact of the land law: Within five years after the land law became operative, land companies had obtained possession of over sixty-eight million acres of rural land and by 1894 one-fifth of the total land mass of Mexico. Not yet completely satisfied, the companies received a favorable modification of the law in 1894, and by early twentieth century most of the villages in rural Mexico had lost their ejidoes and some 134 million acres of the best land had passed into the hands of a few hundred fantastically wealth families.163 Although the land law was enacted prior to Díaz taking office, according to Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds “the abuses of the system were exacerbated markedly during the Díaz regime . . .”.164 The Yaqui Indians occupied land that was recognized as the most fertile in Mexico. Their unwillingness and resistance to relocation was considered a barrier to Porfirian progress and resulted in deportation from their home in Sonora to the Yucatan [See documentary photo, Figure 2].165 Cynthia Radding describes the Porfirian regime’s policies and treatment of the Yaqui Indians: The Porfirian regime in Sonora . . . [was] determined to break Indian resistance and to advance colonization of the Yaqui Valley by foreign and 76 national interests. Federal troops occupied the valley, setting up permanent garrisons at Potam, Torim, and in the Bacatete mountains. In 1890 the Scientific Commission, formed under federal auspices, began, under armed guard, to survey and divide the lands of the lower Yaqui Valley. Subsequently, foreign-based surveying companies, empowered with generous land concessions from the Porfirian government, built an extensive network of irrigation canals and sold farming plots to Mexican and American colonists. . . . From 1890 to 1910 the Yaquis endured severe repression.. . . Determined to destroy the[ir]. . . base of support, federal troops, at the behest of the state governor, summarily arrested thousands of Yaqui workers over the course of nearly two decades and deported them to . . . Oaxaca and to [the] Yucatan. It is estimated that from five thousand to fifteen thousand Yaqui men, women, and children were sent to forced labor on the Yucatan henequen plantations, where many of them died. . . . Systematic deportation of Yaqui peons from the entire state in order to remove all native resistance to colonization in the Yaqui Valley clearly valued the occupation of their land more highly than the use of their labor.166 The top left of print one serves as a backdrop for the image and reports the brutality, destruction, and displacement of Porfirian land expropriation marked by acts of violence and destruction by Mora. A village of natural materials provides the setting for the chaotic scene. Mora directs the viewer’s eye through the mayhem of vignettes via linear patterns that represent landscape and action. The top left corner is a lynching scene, as two figures hang from nooses on either side of a large tree. Adjacent the tree is an active scene of violence and destruction, which is multiplied in the numerous scenes throughout this section of the print.167 The forced displacement of the villagers is made clear through the purposeful destruction of their home structures. The individual vignettes and silhouetted figures merge with the procession of villagers marching toward the foreground of the image. Moving from the top to the bottom of the image, violence is tempered and less explicit as each scene escalates in scale. Print one centers on an Indian family in the bottom half of the print. Mora positions a male figure at the head of the family, which also locates him in front of all 77 those who walk and form a column behind him. He holds the hand of his diminutive son walking next to him, while carrying a large rolled woven mat over his shoulder. Both male Indian figures wear cloth that scarcely covers their torsos, as it exposes their chests, arms, and legs. The matriarch of this family, whose hair is long and loose and wears a dress or skirt of draped fabric, walks behind her husband and son while she carries her baby in a sling on her back. The eyes of all members of the group are averted, while their faces are expressive. One could argue that the central Indian group and rural laborers equally refer to the Yaqui Indians, who have been identified historically as both.168 However, the Indian group is non-descript in terms of any particular markers that indicate geographical or cultural specificity and this is true for most of the images of Indians in the portfolio. This allows for symbolic generalizations and connections between those figures identified as Indians or of Indian descent throughout the portfolio. The title and text is where specific Indian groups would be identified and evoked and print one does specifically refer to the Yaquis in that way. The clothing of the male Indian’s clothing is the most tattered of those in the column. This could speak to the poverty suffered by the Yaqui. However, nudity or exposed flesh, among other signifiers of the “primitive,” has become codified markers for identifying Indians. Jolene Rickard further expands on the signification of the native body explaining that it also “stands in for the desired occupation or ownership of land,” which is exactly what is being pursued during the Porfiriato and within the print.169 The juxtaposition of the almost nude Indians and clothed figures constructs a dichotomy between the “civilized” and “uncivilized.” Mora represents all members of the Indian family in pock marked black tones.170 78 Through attire and close proximity, I identify the figures behind the family group who make up the rest of the column as campesinos. The first figure is a male who wears a straw hat and the typical campesino calzones or agrarian uniform of loose white cotton shirts and pants, which were particularly suited for the physical demands of the environment and agricultural activities.171 He also carries either woven mats or baskets on his back. He walks alongside a female figure whose body is obstructed and represented solely by part of her skirt-covered left leg. A female figure wearing a dress and braided hair walks behind the leading campesino couple. At a distance behind her looms another sombrero and calzon wearing male figure. It appears as if the adult figures in the column are coupled, particularly the Indian pair at the head of the group and the set of campesinos behind them. Mora suggests movement of all of the figures by bending their knees and raising their feet, as well as extending legs of some. The manner the column of figures are being driven suggests they are being treated as animals, without their own free will. The treatment of the figures in the column as animals combined with the fact that they are coupled frames them as breeding pairs. To the right of the column is a rural or rural policeman who supervises the marching figures before him and directs the column with a grimace and a raised whip in his right hand that threatens to strike. Behind him an agricultural field serves as a backdrop that frames him particularly. Mora presents the typical uniform of the Porfiriato rural police force, which consisted of “a leather jacket and vest embroidered and trimmed with silver galloon, trousers of gray arm cloth, long doeskin leggings (chaparajos), a red tie or scarf, an immense gray felt hat trimmed with silver embroidery 79 and a silver emblem designating the corps number, and an ornamented cartridge belt [See documentary photograph, Figure 3].”172 The Mexican Guard, which was originally formed in 1857, was reorganized into a rural police force known as Los rurales. Cristina Palomar Verea explains the historic role of the rural lawmen who, had a role in public safety . . . when banditry proliferated, prior to the Porfirio Díaz regime. [They] provided protection for haciendas. Wearing the uniform of rural horsemen, since that was their field of action, they fought highwaymen and cattle rustlers and kept an eye on town fairs. These forces, which also assisted the federal army in putting down antigovernment revolts, were much feared and widely admired.173 During the Díaz Dictatorship Los rurales were transformed into a brutal force and agents of Pax Porfiriana. Their duties included to project the presence of the federal government, rid the countryside of “banditry,” repress revolts, and generally they ensured things went the dictator’s way.174 Los rurales operated as the direct hand of the government and were often symbolic of its tyranny. 175 This police force ceased to exist during mid-1911, just as the Mexican Revolution began.176 In print one Mora reveals the rural lawmen’s methods to establish and maintain Pax Porfiriana, as it particularly relates to the Yaqui Indians and industrial development. Díaz promoted the rural police force as representative of stability and order in Mexico and the glorification of them was a conscious and even strategic effort by the Porfirian regime to promote Mexico as secure, stable, and favorable for foreign investment and development. Thus, the Los rurales symbolize Pax Porfiriana and Porfirian Mexico’s commitment to industrialize the country.177 Simultaneously, however, the rural lawmen , emblematic of the Porfiriato, personified the oppressive and brutally violent force applied to pacify Mexico. 80 The rural policeman’s horse in print one also serves as a loaded symbol of history. In the Americas the horse historically signifies the conquest and hierarchical social structure established in Mexico by the conquistadores and early Spanish settlers.178 As the rural areas were inhabited by the mestizos, the horse became a primary tool for these charros to perform chores associated with livestock and agriculture.179 Between the sixteenth and mid-eighteenth centuries, Indians were not allowed to own, ride, or use a horse.180 As the horse is associated with the conquest of Mexico and the rural elite it is traditionally symbolic of the higher classes of Mexico and accentuates the issue of power dynamics that Mora addresses within the image. Later in the dissertation I address the horse as a symbol of revolutionary leadership, particularly in relation to Zapata, which evidences the multifarious meanings in Mexican art that the horse connotes. In terms of coded color application it is interesting to note that black horses were the official horse of Los rurales, which were handsomely adorned with “richly wrought saddles, headstalls mounted in silver, and brilliant red hacamores or headgear with a noseband, martingales used on horses to control their headgear, and saddle blankets.”181 The horse in the print, however, is white, which is contradictory to the traditional representation of the Los rurales. However, the white horse frames through contrast the Indian group at the head of the line, while simultaneously serving to connect the rural policeman with the rural laborers who wear the typical white uniform. Mora represents all the groups in this print similarly through silhouette and representational forms. In other words, neither silhouette nor representational figuration defines any particular group nor distinguishes one from the other, which indicates that all of these groups have similar origins as indigenous people of the region. Furthermore, the 81 silhouettes’ ambiguity in terms of a distinct identity suggests the multiplicity of Mexican identity. The fluidity of identity and geographic affiliation due to relocation explains the evident diversity of the figures in the print. Black color and white stipple patterns indicate the form of the individual members of the family group at the head of the line. The black skin coloration distinguishes them from all the other figures in line behind them, while at the same time connecting them with the figures in silhouette in the background also represented with black color. The color black in this context does not seem to make a specific statement about any one group, as the silhouetted vignettes in the background include all the groups that are part of this print and narrative. Yet black, as the most striking visual element in the print, punctuates the connection between the family group and the background scene while anchoring them both within the narrative of destruction, violence, and oppression. The skin of the rural policeman is void of markings or color, which reads as white or at the very least different from that of the dark skinned figures. The skin of the campesinos in line is identical. Through scale, location, and action Mora sets up the relationship between the rural lawman and the campesino. The Rural is monumental and looms over all in the columnar procession before him, as he grimaces and strikes out at them with his whip. He is in a position of power and the other figures are positioned as his victims. Visually the mounted figure is stationed above the figures in the column, yet compositionally he is positioned in close proximity to both the Indians and campesinos in the foreground and middleground. Thus, Mora anchors him to both groups denoting his origin and social political position as similar to those he persecutes. 82 The personal background of the recruits who volunteered to become part of Los rurales ranged from campesino to merchant.182 In society, the rural lawmen are relationally positioned in opposition to the lower classes they police, both in their life and in print one. As active agents within a fluctuating social network, the rural policemen jockeyed for financial, social, and political gains. In reality members of Los rurales did not gain social or political power through their actions and instead were equally powerless and victimized by the Porfiriato as were the lower classes of Mexico. Another indicator of similar origins of the different groups in the print is the sharply angular profile of both the rural policeman’s and the male Indian figure’s nose. Yet, another sign regarding similar origins and cultural backgrounds is the rolled woven mat, most likely used to sleep on, that both the dispossessed figures in the line and the Rural carry.183 Although the figures of the column all emerge from the same place, which references their similar origins both historically and culturally, Mora assigns them distinct identities through visual markers that presents them as symbols for particular social political groups. References to religious narratives and visual motifs are abundant and repeated throughout the portfolio. The Indian family and the rural lawman visually evoke a number of religious narratives including the “Adoration of the Christ Child” and/or “”Nativity of Jesus Christ,” “The Flight from Egypt,” “Passion of Jesus Christ,” and “The Fall of Adam and Eve.”184 In particular with the element of mother and child, combined with the presence of a human column the artist Mora evokes the fifteenth century (1423) Adoration of the Magi by Italian artist Gentile da Fabriano in which several scenes portray the path of the three Magi and ends with their meeting with the Virgin and the 83 newborn Jesus [Figure 4]. This image is the main panel of an altarpiece that has a predella that contains scenes of Jesus' childhood including the Nativity, the Flight into Egypt and the Presentation at the Temple. The swaddled Indian baby, who is carried on her mother’s back, alludes to Nativity and Adoration scenes that often depict the newborn Christ child swaddled. Diane Apostolos-Cappadona explains that in Byzantine Nativity scenes the cloth that wrapped the newborn infant also referenced a shroud, emphasizing he was born to die.185 Print one evokes the fate of Indians under Porfirian rule with the presence of campesinos and the agricultural crop behind the rural policeman, which connote the hacienda system that served to oppress and subjugate the Indian through forced or bonded labor. Many of the visual elements that make up the narrative references to the Virgin and child are present in Mora’s print, however, they are recontextualized to tell a different story. Diane Apostolos-Cappadona describes The Fall of Adam and Eve as: Scriptural event signifying the fall of humanity and the entry of sin into the world. Adam and Eve’s sin was in disobeying God’s command and eating of the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. Eve was tempted by the serpent . . . Eve then tempted Adam by offering him the forbidden fruit. The apple became the forbidden fruit . . . Having eaten of the apple, Adam and Eve “knew they were naked” and tried to hide from God. They attempted to cover themselves with garments made from fig leaves. As punishment for their act of disobedience, Adam and Eve, and all their descendants, were condemned to die; further, during their lives men were to labor in the fields and women to suffer in childbirth.186 The male Indian reads as an Adam figure and the female Indian as an Eve. The shreds of fabric the Indians wear suggest the scant coverings Adam and Eve constructed for themselves after eating the forbidden fruit and experiencing shame due to their nudity. The village and the agricultural crop behind the rural policeman represent a concept of 84 Eden. The print image suggests the moment in the narrative when Adam and Eve were literally expelled from and walking out of Eden, forced to leave its sanctity. The snakelike pattern on the Rural’s jacket lapel, who is representative of the Porfirian regime, associates him as directing the expulsion from Eden, as is done by the angel in Massachio’s Expulsion from Eden [Figure 5]. The cross that hangs around his neck combined with his violent actions toward the Indians, which punctuates the harsh treatment involved in their forced removal, evokes the wrath of God. If Adam’s and Eve’s sin was to disobey God, then the Indian’s sin was to disobey and rebel against then President Porfirio Díaz. Mora’s integration of visual elements specific to the narrative of Adam and Eve associates the Mexican Indian family with them, which in turn elevates the significance of what the print depicts. As the symbolic first man and woman, the Indian couple represents the origins of the Mexican nation, which follows in line with an ideology that positions the Indian as distinct to the Americas and representative of the nation’s origins. This practice of Indianism stems back to the earliest movements for independence from Europe and becomes an institutional practice after independence is gained in 1810.187 The scene also conveys what the process of mestizaje meant as an imposed form of social reorganization that relates specifically to national development. The rural policeman then becomes a model of an assimilated mestizo or exemplary citizen of modern Mexico who, although equally a victim, participates and further perpetuates the Porfirian systems of oppression and differentiation. The punishment of Adam and Eve, and all of their descendants to labor and condemnation to death parallel the fate of those that fell victim to the Porfiriato and, at times, mestizaje. 85 The narrative of the “Flight of Egypt,” centers on the “necessary journey of the Holy Family,” which had been warned of the Massacre of the Innocents and escapes potential harm traveling to Egypt for shelter.188 Diane Apostolos-Cappadona explains, “The story of the Flight of Egypt was also interpreted as a sign of the revelation of Jesus as the Christ to the heathens.” Key to the representations of the Flight into Egypt are victorious palm, which marks the Entry into Jerusalem and a setting of palm trees oasis, which is a motif of the paradise or Enclosed Garden. Mary and the Child were often sitting on or riding astride the donkey. Joseph is usually either gathering fruit or water for his family or walking before the donkey. There are direct and indirect connections that can be made to the narrative and traditional visual depictions of the “Flight of Egypt”. The first is the representation of an exodus within the print, which relates to the numerous depictions of the Holy Family escaping from their home. The male adult of the group walks before his family, while the female adult carries her infant. The village that is being demolished and the villagers that are being attacked, represents the Massacre of the Innocents from which the Holy Family flees. However, if associated with the oasis or paradise of the Flight of Egypt narrative it also depicts a paradise lost. Although there are no palms to speak of within the print, the agricultural crop that frames the Rural marks the entry of all in the column into a life of oppression and slavery on haciendas or labor camps. Building upon the communicative role of religious narratives the TGP engaged religious visual motifs as sources and models for the graphic images of its album. The Passion of Jesus Christ describes the events prior to the Crucifixion of Christ. 189 The term “passion” referred to Jesus’ sufferings. I correlate the narrative of Christ’s life 86 journey and sufferings with that of the lower classes of Mexico and read the visual reference to religious narratives and re-enactments of the plight of the lower classes as the narrativizing of the Passion of the lower classes of Mexico. Additionally, I identify Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Triumph of Death (ca.1562) as another model for print one [Figure 6]. The lynched figures in the background, the barren landscape, the violent battle between death and his battalion against the living, and the figure of death on a white horse in the foreground all have visual correlation with print one. I parallel Bruegel’s figure of death with the rural policeman in print one, which alludes to the fate of those that suffered at the hands of Los rurales. Lynchings are performative acts often engaged to send a message about power dynamics and subjugation through coersion.190 In relation to print one, the people that will come upon the razed village the lynched figures communicate that those who oppose the will of the Porfirian regime will suffer a similar fate. Within both, the religious references and Bruegel’s image, brutality against and suffering of humanity are key topics that embody the plight of the lower classes of Mexico, which is also a primary theme in the TGP’s address of the Porfirian regime. The use of religious symbolism by TGP artists reflects their awareness and comprehension of the Christian tradition of art, the connection between the Mexican nation and Christianity, which I will expand on further along in the dissertation, and ultimately the conquest of the Americas and the forced conversion of the indigenous peoples to Christianity. The natural elements in the background (sky, mountains, and tree) mark the beginning of this narrative, very much like they would in an origin myth. Moving through the print, from the background forward, one gains a sense of chronological 87 development that begins with a communal and organic setting (exemplified by the natural material and rudimentary nature of the village structures) and ends in a modern time where land is stolen from its citizens to make it available for (foreign) development. Through the depiction of forcible removal and the violent and destructive scenes that were part of a dislocation effort Mora offers a very critical view point about the Porfiriato specifically, but Mexican government in general. In print one of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana Francisco Mora evokes the despotic regime of Porfirio Díaz and introduces Pax Porfiriana as the framework for the systems and mechanisms of power and differentiation including, forced land removal, Los rurales, and the hacienda system. The text and image both delieniate the multiplicity of groups that suffered similar fates of injustice and disenfranchisement throughout the Porfiriato. The ideologies and systematic practices that were enacted during the Porfiriato are grounded in historical attitudes that stem back to the conquest and colonization of the Americas by the Spaniards. Subordination based on difference in Mexico was not a new concept in the sixteenth century, but it had new implications during this period. An end result of European expansion during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was possible and aided by technology and industry and translated into conquest, exploitation of the people and places “discovered” by Europeans, and visualization supported by the printing press. Alexander Saxton explains the power dynamics that result as a consequence of European expansion: “Since Europeans are generally white-skinned, while the peoples they encountered are generally dark, for three and a half centuries basic human relationships centered on the domination of whites over people of color.”191 The Spanish justified their (pre-determined) mission of colonization 88 upon differences of physical characteristics and cultural practices they defined as negative qualities. Saxton explains how difference is racialized: Physical differences between groups may be easily visible and are certainly real, but racism reaches beyond them to assert that moral, intellectual and psychological qualities are also racially characteristic; that they are transmitted, along with physical traits, by heredity; and that these together constitute a major chain of historical causation. Racism is thus fundamentally a theory of history.192 I would add to Saxton’s descripton of racism, that is also fundamentally a theory of vision. Discrimination against the Indians social and cultural practices resulted in condemnation, interference, and an attempt to obliterate every aspect of indigenous culture in the Americas. Through distance the background vignettes allude to the expansive impact of the Porfiriato across Mexico, and more significantly distance infers a historic tradition of unjust and violent oppressive acts committed against the indigenous of the Americas that can be traced back as far as the conquest of Mexico. Thus, what is narrated in print one and the rest of the first set of images in the portfolio does not pertain solely to the Porfiriato, but rather refers to historical systems and practices at work in Mexico from the time of its founding and beyond the Mexican Revolution. Print one builds on formulaic, codified visual traditions while simultaneously assigning idiosyncratic meanings. All the figures in print one who are in the columnar formation are walking away from the ashes of the village that is under attack in the background, which suggests that they all lived together, but on a larger level that they all have the same roots or shared heritage. Yet, Mora distinguishes particular figures as members of distinct social groups by engaging a codified system of representation, which evokes particular historical narratives and relational power dynamics. The foundation for this system is historically and socially based on notions of difference between the groups. 89 Moral visually characterizes difference through relational juxtapositions and comparisons between groups. Visual determinants of physical difference are skin pigmentation, physiognomy, body type, hair texture, and so on. In general within the portfolio particular physical markers are utilized to construct and reference particular social groups, such as the Indian, the rural laborer, and the mestizo; sometimes all at once within the same figures. Mora depicts and constructs relational differences and class associations between each figure via numerous visual codes including contextual environment, placement and scale within the image, physical attributes, nudity and/or attire, and actions or activities performed within an image. For instance, characteristics of a particular class group is often inferred through nudity, as well as the quality and state of clothing, so that nudity was reserved for the Indian to mark as the least civilized; unkempt, soiled, and torn clothing identified figures of the impoverished and destitute lower classes in contrast to fine and formal attire of the upper-class groups. As the inaugural presentation of visual language and modes, which repeat throughout the portfolio Mora’s image serves to establish a visual index for the historical moments, issues, and actors that are part implicated in this narrative of the Mexican Revolution. Mora’s graphic image builds on the Yaqui oppressed experience to concretize the reality of the Porfirian era, while simultaneously expounding on the ongoing injustices in Mexico. As the introductory print, the first image frames and structures the portfolio in terms of the primary narrative(s) and issue(s). In particular, the columnar formation that begins in print one is a motif repeated throughout the portfolio, indicating the portfolio can be read as tour through history; which I addressed in chapter one. This image and the portfolio in general can be read as the culminating response by the TGP to oppression of 90 Mexico’s lower class citizens via nation building, industrial development, foreign intervention, political corruption, and efforts to homogenize Mexican society. These themes are addressed throughout the graphic series. A key example of how time is manipulated in the portfolio is found in the first print. On one hand, the distance between the background and the foreground of the composition could suggest that the violence in the back drop occurred in a historical past and be a commentary about the historic oppression against the indigenous peoples of Mexico. On the other hand, the image depicts figures emerging from outside the the left frame. If the main activities of print one are taking place in a present or during the Porfiriato, then what lies to the left could also refer to the past or a pre-history. Thus, what lies outside the right frame would indicate a present, in that prints one through nineteen address the Porfiriato, as well as a future, in terms of what lies beyond this section and the Porfiriato, and for the portfolio this point holds true. The eighteen prints that follow print one continue to address the tyrannical and oppressive policies of abuse that persisted during the Porfirian regime. Print two, Despojo de la Tierra a los Yaquis (El ejercito de Don Porfiro al servicio de las empresas Yanquis) Dispossession of Yaqui land (The army of Don Porfiro serving Yankee companies) by Leopoldo Méndez extends the narrative of the land issue and the Yaqui Indians. [Appendix 1] Central to the image is the presence and active role of U.S. enterprises, which is represented by signage in the graphic image that reads, “Charles Conant Sonora and Sinaloa Irrigation Co.” This sign raises the issue of U.S. economic imperialsim, which was distinctly noted in the portfolio’s “Prologue.” The image directly 91 implicates U.S. enterprises for the brutal nature of enforcement required to implement Porfirian policies and practices on land use, ownership, and dispossession.193 Print one and two of the portfolio function as a pair in their narratives of land ownership and the Yaqui Indian. Although each visually evokes the brutality of the forced dispossession of land, the text for both focus on the intense resistance put up by the Yaqui. Thus, within the narrative of the Yaqui they are transformed into symbols of resistance, a point I will return to at the end of this chapter. Multiple prints of the first section of the portfolio (three, four, eight, and twelve) focus on the hacienda system. The repeated emphasis on this topic magnifies its significant role within the Porfiriato as a tool of power that promoted uneven development of Mexico. In particular, the repeated reference to haciendas in the first section of the portfolio draws attention to the major role this system played in what led to the Mexican Revolution and their significance to the dialogue around agrarian reform and land distribution. In Mexico, haciendas primarily grew wheat, sugar, maize, and pulque generally for commercial production.194 Hacendados, the owners of these large agricultural estates, had methodically expropriated campesino land as they expanded their agribusiness enterprises. These actions usually involved challenging villagers’ ancestral claims to land their family had lived and worked for generations and forced land removal. The actions of hacendados were commonly condoned and supported by the Porfirian political system. Adolfo Gilly notes, “During the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz . . . capitalist haciendas grew at the expense of communal landholdings. It has been estimated that at the beginning of the nineteenth century 40 percent of the arable lands in central and southern Mexico were village communal properties, but by 1910 this fraction 92 had dropped to 5 percent.195 Gilly makes another point about landholdings during the Porfiriato and states that in Mexico, “At the start of the Revolution in 1910 there were 8,431 haciendas and 48,633 ranchos in existence, making a total of 57,064 properties; 96.9 percent of the heads of rural families, however, owned no land at all.”196 As a result rural villagers were pushed off their lands and forced to work as sharecroppers or as field hands on the haciendas. The wealthy hacendados, also identified as the agrarian elite, lived opulent lives, while most on the haciendas were destitute and existed in abject poverty under horrid conditions.197 The TGP correlates the hacienda system to the Porfirian practice of stripping land from owners of the lower classes in print three, El Peon Acasillado by Arturo García Bustos. This graphic image evokes the punitive existence of the hacienda laborer whose skeletal torso communicates he is being worked to death. [Appendix 1] Print three focuses on the hardship of agricultural labor on haciendas, while print four, El descontento de los campesinos obtiene su repuesta by Arturo Garcia Bustos relates the violent tactics of the Porfirian regime toward those subjugated by the hacienda system who dared to protest or rebel. [Appendix 1] The image is of an execution of a rebellious campesino by firing squad conveying the egregious treatment by the regime of the rural laborers in general. 93 Systems of Differentiation – Pax Porfiriana The caption for print five, “¡Matalos en caliente!”Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879” (Kill them on the spot! Veracruz, June 25, 1879) by Alfredo Zalce explains: Apprehended red-handed, kill them on the spot," reads the telegram sent by General Porfirio Díaz to Luis Mier y Terán, military commander of Veracruz, to instruct him to shoot, without trial, various people whose only crime was to yearn for a democratic regime. On June 25, 1879 the leaders of the thwarted revolutionary movement were executed by a firing squad, a precursor to the events of 1910. In the image, Díaz holds a piece of paper with the words “MATALOS EN CALIENTE” or kill them on the spot, which references his orders sent via telegram [Figure 7]. Díaz and his entourage fill three-fourths of the composition. The bottom quarter of the image contains a sequence of scenes that depict murder and brutality in a horizontal register. The first scene, to the far left depicts an execution by firing squad; following, a man is whipped; the third image represents two lynched figures who hang from a tree; and in the final section, a figure is stabbed in the back while two other figures, one on their knees and the other standing with his back to the scene, are oblivious to what is happening around them as they drink out of jugs [Figure 8]. The victims in every scene are rural laboreres and the rurales are the transgressors. In the main part of the image Zalce locates the viewer in the moment when Porfirio Díaz ordered the execution of rebels in Veracruz via telegram, as well as simultaneously making them witness in the bottom register of the print to the treachery of the regime. The multiplicity of the scenes below expands beyond the image’s implied narrative, which is set up by the text that accompanies the image. The inclusion of multiple scenes of violence extends the implications of a single instance, the executions that occurred on June 25,1879, and amplifies the brutal character of the Porfiriato as it reveals the Dictator’s response to any challenge from those (literally in 94 this print) under his rule. Furthermore, the source for the first image actually depicts an execution in Chalco, Mexico on April 28, 1909 [Figure 9].198 Thus, Zalce extends the temporal reference of the Porfirian narrative from 1879 to 1909, which alludes to the continuous practice throughout the period of the Porfirian regime of violence and oppression. All the actors in this image are determined by their attire, groupings, and their activities within each scene, as well as by the narrative that frames the image. Diáz is surrounded by various figures of his administrative cabinet, most of whom are military generals although only Díaz and the figure to the far right, whom I identify as General Bernardo Reyes, wear military uniforms. The identity of the group as the Porfirian cabinet is substantiated by the multitude of photographs that document this administration throughout its thirty year rule.199 Most of the figures in the group wear formal urban attire with top hats. This is likely a commentary on the fact that all of these men have over the thirty years of the dictatorship become bureucrats, as a result of their administrative roles. In fact most of these men operated more like capitalists than politicians in their support and efforts to industrialize Mexico and increase their own personal wealth at the expense of the country, an issue that continues to be a major theme throughout the portfolio and that will I will address in more detail later in this chapter. The individual identity of each figure of the group is irrelevant rather the group renders the regime as a whole. This is reinforced in the visual organization of the figures. Díaz is prominently located at the front of the group, but all are equal in stature. A significant symbol of the Porfirian regime’s pernicious nature is Díaz’ sword, which is prominent and activated within the dictator’s grasp. During the Porfiriato, the sword was 95 infamously referred to as “La Matona” (or The Killer), which is captured in numerous caricatures produced throughout the era [See examples, Figures 10 and 11]. Social and political differences are relationally evoked by position and scale of the figures. The Porfirian retinue dominates the composition, and more importantly the figures located at the bottom of the image. As the symbol of the Porfiriato, Díaz, through a hierarchical placement follows codified trends of indicating the significant figures in an image, but more importantly it also indicates who is responsible for the atrocities depicted below. Additionally, the menacing nature of the Díaz regime is seemingly personified by the cloaked figure to Díaz’ left. His hood shadows his facial features and his cloak hides his body and uniform, both alluding to the sinister nature of Porfirian administration. As a whole, the figures of the regime create a mass that is visually and politically impenetrable. The horizontal arrangement of the scenes below mirrors the horizontal layout of the Porfirian regime. This series of violent acts serves as the foundation (literally and visually) upon which the Porfiran regime stands, which speaks volumes in regards to the systematization of violence and its application within national policy. Prints four, five, and six operate as a distinct group within the portfolio that has multiple intersections [Figure 12]. The compositional organization of this particular group of prints evokes a triptych altarpiece. The top section of print five serves as the main panel of the triptych and the bottom portion of the image operates as a pradella. Print four and six function as the wings of the triptych. An alterpiece is typically attached to or placed behind the altar, a table which is the central focus of Church services. The altar served numerous functions over time, such as the site of sacrificial 96 offerings, symbolizing the Last Supper, a place of sanctuary and refuge, and the site of liturgical offerings and symbolized the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Traditionally, in an alterpiece, the main or central panel depicts the Virgin and Child or a great event from Christ’s life. The wings usually depict images related to the liturgical feasts. On a triptych’s outer face, visible when the wings or panels are closed, are decorated with motifs that prefigured the iconography of the central panel. The interior wings, visible when the panels are opened, worked in unison iconographically with the central panel to create an overall narrative or scriptural theme. A predella is the platform or step on which an altar stands, but in painting, predella refers to the paintings or sculptures running along the frame at the bottom of an altarpiece. In later medieval and Renaissance altarpieces, where the main panel consisted of a scene with large static figures, it was normal to include a predella below with a number of small-scale narrative paintings depicting incidents from the life of the dedicatee, whether Christ, the Virgin Mary or a saint. Typically there would be three to five small scenes, in a horizontal format.200 The artist Alfredo Zalce utilizes the narratological frame work of a triptych altarpiece to educate the viewer, which is the primary role of religious imagery, in regards to the Porfiriato. The altar-like arrangement of the three prints characterizes the Porfirian regime’s systematic use of violence and oppression to enforce its political power. Within the group of three prints, print five serves as the central panel indicating that the visual elements of this series augment the subject of the main panel, namely the Porfirian regime and more specifically the methods developed and engaged to maintain stability across the nation or Pax Porfiriana. For example, print four is the magnification of the first scene at the bottom of print five and print six can be read as a continuation of 97 the atrocities committed by the Porfirian regime in the name of peace, stability, and progress. Thus, the central panel and in turn the Porfirian regime is framed on three sides by images exposing its sadistic practices and oppressive policies. Labor as a form of suppression during the Porfiriato is evidenced in print seven, Trabajos forzados en el valle nacional, 1890-1900 (Forced labor in the national valley, 1890-1900) by Alfredo Zalce [Figure 13].201 The text states: El Valle Nacional, en Oaxaca, fué uno de los sitios predilectos de Díaz para confinamiento. A esos infernales lugares eran llevados los indiginas que no estaban de acuerdo con el despojo de sus propiedades o los intelectuales que en alguna forma luchaban por la instauración en México de la justicia social. Los prisioneros trabajaban de sol a sol, bajo las inclemencias de la Naturaleza y rodeados de fuertes contingentes de tropas federales. The scene and the text refer to actual hard labor camps that existed during the Porfiriato, where those who opposed the President were incarcerated. In the foreground, a heavy set, uniformed male figure is seated on a boulder with his rifle across his lap. This soldier, representing the Díaz regime, menacingly stares at a laborer, whom he appears to be vigilantly guarding. The peasant wears ragged clothing, is barefoot, and is seated on the ground with his hands tied behind his back. The prisoner, with his back to the viewer, draws the viewer into the scene, as if s/he were also facing the guard and experiencing a similar fate. In the middle ground, three prisoners struggle as they attempt to move an enormous boulder using wood slabs. The figures are represented in outlines, and thus simplified and without detail. Eight other prisoners, located in the background, wield picks and are each at a different stage of a swing cycle as they break the ground. This series of figures, as a representation of the larger population of Mexico, alludes to the hopelessness of their plight and of the nation’s dire situation. All of the figures, with the 98 exception of the soldier, are faceless and generalized, possibly a reference to their perception and treatment as worthless and disposable. The disparity of clothing between the soldier and the prisoners communicates, not only the living conditions of the camps, but the disparity between their stations, not only socially but politically. Zalce embraced the material characteristics of linoleum. Line in his work is minimal and limited to the outlines of figures and objects. The continuous line is very likely due to the soft, pliable quality of the synthetic matrix. Linoleum has no grain and offers a smooth surface, which is highlighted by the artist’s choice not to model any of the figural elements, resulting in a very simple and direct image. In turn, the flatness of the composition is emphasized and serves to communicate notions regarding the conditions found at the labor camps, where space was closed, limited, and cramped. The composition is framed on either side by boulders, the soldier, and by the prisoners in the background, whose bodies imply a horizontal line. Thus, all of the framing devices function as barriers that encircle the prisoners in the camp. The soldier and boulder are equal in size and mass, and thus mirror each other and balance the composition. The soldier represents the obstinate, menacing, and armed presence that persecuted and victimized Mexico’s poor during the Porfiriato. The boulder through its scale and placement seems to embody a looming and inflexible presence. The futile act of trying to move the boulder without the proper equipment and little more than sheer physical strength echoes the plight, frustration, and grimness that many confronted during Díaz’s dictatorship. Similarly, the figures in the background can be read either as representative of the multitudes who suffered in the labor camps or as a single figure forever locked in the cyclical act of fruitless labor. The decreasing size of forms within 99 each plane, largest in the foreground and smallest in the background, creates a shallow space and thus a sense of limited depth within the composition. However, the height of the horizon line enhances the sense that nothing exists beyond the camp. The visual construction of space evokes the dismal reality, which the prisoners faced at these camps. Trying to escape oppressive circumstances, they now find themselves in an even more hopeless situation. Systems of Differentiation – Development and Industrialization The Porfirian regime’s policy toward the foreign companies operating in Mexico was to treat them as if irreproachable and above the law. For example, no accident compensation requirements existed during the Díaz regime. The common scenario if one was injured or killed on the job was for the worker or their family to receive, if anything, a couple of weeks pay. Another major issue among industrial workers was the length of the workday, which on average was fourteen to sixteen hours a day.202 During the Porfiriato, foreign economic imperialism was invited and resulted in massive disruption and reconfiguration of the local labor force. In particular, the industrial labor system became perversely abusive of the average Mexican worker resulting in protests and strikes against “low and eroding wages, hazardous working conditions, ill-treatment by foreman, and favoritism shown to foreign employees over Mexican works.”203 The TGP’s portfolio documents two major strikes that occurred during the Porfiriato, the 1906 miners’ strike at Cananea in print eleven and the Rio Blanco textile workers strike of 1907 in prints thirteen and fourteen. 100 In 1906 a strike by Mexican miners, who were working for the Green Consolidated Copper Company of America in Cananea, Sonora, protested the unequal treatment of Mexican citizens and United States citizens working at the Cananea mine. Mexicans were paid far less than their U.S. counterparts and were routinely assigned to more undesirable and dangerous posts. 204 The exchanges between workers and employers, and the Mexican military forces were intense and escalated into open violence. Print eleven of the portfolio, “La huelga de Cananea: Los obreros Mexicanos reclaman igualdad de derechos frente a los obreros yanquis” (The Cananea strike: The Mexican workers demand rights equal to those of the American workers), by Pablo O’Higgins visually describes the event and uprising [Figure 14].205 The text for the print reads: Manuel M. Diéguez, Esteban Baca Calderón and numerous glorious miners organized the strike in Cananea, Sonora, in order to improve working conditions for their comrades. In great force and with the help of American troops, the strike was dissolved and labor leaders sent to the murky waters of San Juan de Ulua. Both the image and text refer to the initial collision between striking Mexican miners and the men defending the Green Consolidated Mining Company.206 In the upper left corner of the composition, five vertical geometric forms can be seen. These forms can be read as smoke stacks that allude to buildings that were part of the industrial mining complex. The left side of the image contains a group of miners who march toward a mining company building. At the head of the marching mob are the only two legible figures in the image who may represent the supposed leaders of the strike Esteban B. Calderón and Manuel M. Diéguez.207 The figure on the left is crouched on one knee and holds a sign in his left hand that reads, UNIDAD OBRERA IGUALIDAD 101 (LABOR, UNITY, and EQUALITY) while he reaches for a stone with his right hand. The figure at the immediate head of the miners has stopped directly before the entrance to a mining company building marked by a wide rectangular doorway with a sign that states, “GREEN CONSOLIDATED MINING COMPANY.” He holds a pick in his right hand and waves a very large flag in his left hand. The other miners, located directly behind the kneeling figure, are depicted by silhouettes and linear patterns that suggest an anthropomorphic mass; their intensity and motion are conveyed through expressive gestures. Finally, numerous bayonets project through the entrance of the mining company and are aimed directly at the miner group. Rodney Anderson explains that the striking miners were engaged by water hoses and then rifle fire from two American supervisors. The workers responded by killing the supervisors and set a structure on fire. A reference to the fire may be indicated by the expressionistic linear patterns that make up the mass of striking miners and the flag, which also alludes to the crowd propelling objects ablaze toward the entrance of the mine. Following traditional pictorial idioms of portraiture, the lead miner, in a rigid fulllength pose, is centrally placed in the foreground with feet separated. However, he is depicted in profile view. A thick outline frames his face and multiple lines shade it to suggest the soot covered faces of miners. The clothing of the two lead figures is distinct in that they are not wearing the typical overalls of urban laborers, such as construction workers or welders, or the rural laborers uniform of calzones, but instead wear small brimmed hats, button down shirts, a loose jacket, and closed leather shoes, although the lead figures shirt is in shreds at the forearm. A version of the events at Cananea describes striking mill workers as wearing their best clothes possibly to assert a civilized protest. 102 A documentary photograph taken during the events of the Cananea Strike shows the mill manager addressing a crowd of workers who are likely the same individuals involved in the strike, which reveals the workers wearing an array of hatware including sombreros and bowlers and came from all walks of life [Figure 15]. Thus, there seems to be a conscious effort by O’Higgins to depict the miners as a unified group through their clothing and to distinguish them visually from other type of laborers, even at the expense of the truth. The axe not only functions to signify the laborious tasks that mining requires, but it could also serve as a weapon. Additionally, the rock that the kneeling figure reaches for could also be read as a weapon. These makeshift weapons raise the point that the miners were unarmed, yet attacked with weapons. The lead miner appears to thrust the Mexican flag towards the guns pointed at him and the company doors. The flag, like the sign carried by the kneeling miner, serves as a symbol of protest. The central position and monumental scale of the flag denotes its significance and highlights the issue of foreign intervention both through capitalist development, as well as in terms of the intervention by U.S. military in response to the strike. The architectural and industrial elements in the background, rather than highlight the company’s or the miners’ accomplishments are an oppressive presence. In this instance, the issues of industrialization of Mexico and labor are raised through protest, as a proactive demonstration of workers’ rights against a system that promotes perpetual oppression of the working class. The image directs attention to Porfirian de-nationalizing policies and its practice of prioritizing and protecting foreign interests, such as the Green Consolidated Mining Company over those of Mexico’s working population. This event, 103 along with a series of others, identifies one dimension of the social unrest in Mexico, which motivated the revolution. The particularly momentous year of 1906 marked a surge in labor strikes in Mexico during the Porfiriato, including the Mexican Central Railroad mechanics’ strike in late July. The Cananea miners’ strike and the railroad mechanics’ strike are of significance because unlike previous labor disputes and strikes that took place during the Porfiriato, which were not common knowledge to most middle-and upper-class Mexicans, for different reasons these two strikes affected and were acknowledged by the general Mexican public.208 Thus, these strikes formed part of a series of events that foreshadowed the Mexican Revolution. In prints thirteen and fourteen, Fernando Castro Pacheco narrates four key moments in (one version of) the Río Blanco Strike, which occurred during the Porfiriato.209 The Río Blanco Strike was the culmination of a series of events that began with the unionization of textile workers in the state of Puebla.210 The unionization of workers in mills in the state of Puebla threatened mill owners who responded with a joint effort to impose a unified set of factory regulations, which addressed everything from resetting work hours to behavioral codes, as well as setting fines for defective material produced by workers and the requirements of workers to replace mill equipment out of their own wages. These new regulations instigated the Puebla Strike of December, 1906. Workers stopped production at thirty mills in Puebla and the strike spread to the neighboring state of Tlaxcala, where ten more mills were shut down by striking workers. At the request of the workers’ union, President Díaz was brought in to arbitrate between the workers and the primarily French mill owners. However, the owners of the mill 104 rebuffed Díaz and instead they called for a nation-wide lockout of all textile mills with the intention of crushing the workers’ union. Ninety-three of the one hundred and fifty mills in the country complied and shut their doors, which left many workers without financial support and/or food for themselves or their families. The lockout is a complicated issue and not all mill owners were necessarily in line with the foreign instigators. Rodney Anderson asserts, “The industrialists were divided on whether to give concessions to the workers. Representatives of mill owners from the state of Mexico, the Federal District, and some of the Puebla mills were willing to compromise, but others, principally from the large, French-owned mills, opposed any concession.”211 Eventually mill owners agreed to arbitration by President Díaz resulting in a laudo, or his declaration as arbitrator, which put an end to the battle between workers’ union and the mill owners. It was the declaration of the laudo’s set of articles that instigated events in the Orizaba region and at the Río Blanco Mill in particular. Rather than accept the laudo and return to work, the Río Blanco textile workers responded to the factory whistle that announced the start of the work day hostilely. Numerous accounts of the events that took place at Río Blanco have developed over time and the TGP’s album provides a version of this occurrence in a pair of prints, thirteen and fourteen. Each print depicts two scenes that are vertically stacked one on top of the other, for a total of four scenes pertaining to this narrative. In prints thirteen and fourteen, Fernando Castro Pacheco reiterates a version of the Río Blanco Strike narrative. The top image of print thirteen, La huelga de Rio Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha, 7 de Enero de 1907 (The Rio Blanco Strike: The textile laborers take to the fight, January 7, 1907) locates the viewer at the 105 Tienda de Raya, or the company store [Figure 16]. This is where workers for the mills were forced to buy goods, which were often overpriced, with discounted script in which they were paid. Rodney Anderson asserts that Monday morning (January 7th) the Río Blanco company store was overrun by upset mill workers when store employees shot at the crowd descending upon them. Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds describe that a shooting occurred in the store after a scuffle broke as a result of several wives of the striking workers were refused credit for food.212 There are multiple versions of the events that took place at the Tienda de Raya during the early stages of the strike, but most conclude that the company store is key to issues mill workers’ were protesting through the strike. An open doorway on the left side of the image indicates the entrance to the store. The front and side walls of the building converge at the center of the scene and create an angle that directs the viewer’s eye across the front of the building and down the right wall. Through the open doorway one can see, moving from the top of the doorway to the bottom, the outline of bags of food stuff, the partial forearm of a company store employee who points a gun out the door and the same figure’s outstretched leg wearing a boot. In front of the door, two women appear to have been forcibly projected out of the store; one is still falling from the force indicated by her horizontal torso and outstretched arms, the other lays on her side on the ground with an overturned basket. To the right of the woman and in the foreground of the image are a massive number of male mill workers who charge the store. Locating the store outside, the presence of the mob, and the depiction of the women being tossed out the store conflates the two versions of what occurred at the company store during the strike. 106 Castro Pacheco depicts the striking miners in the same uniform seen in print eleven of a loose jacket and long pants and situates them along the side of the building, which visually ties the Río Blanco Strike to the Cananea Strike. The mob attacking the store is in two groups¸ the first in the forefront and the second are made to appear in the distance through diminution and less detail, which suggests the high volume of striking miners, all of whom have their backs to the viewer. Many of these figures hold torches and direct them towards the building, which is in flames. The burning of the company store marks it as a target of the strikers and is particularly poignant to one’s comprehension of what motivated the strike. Rodney Anderson describes how these stores operated when he writes: In remote areas it was usually the only source of dry goods and household supplies or even of food, and wherever it existed, the company store was a source of credit for the workers, who bought this week’s groceries on next week’s paycheck. Often the workers were paid partly in company script, called vales, redeemable only at the store and usually at a discount from 15 to 25 percent. . . . Most workers in company towns, particularly in textiles and mining, were never free of debt to the company store . . .213 Thus, the company store operated to perpetuate the bondage and subjugation of the mill worker and was particularly despised by them. This illustration of the store aflame evokes the actual events of the Río Blanco Strike and the fact that all but one of the buildings burned during the strike were company stores of the various textile mills in the region. A confrontation between striking textile workers and the military force is the topic of the bottom scene of print thirteen. The text for print thirteen outlines the focus of the bottom portion of the graphic image. Within the scene two groups converge at the middle of the image, creating an angle and tension that depicts a standoff between mill 107 workers and federal troops. A female figure who the TGP identified in the print’s caption as Lucrecia Toriz, carries a flag that separates the two groups. The central female figure gestures with her right arm to the group of all male workers on the left side of the image and behind her to stop, an action that identifies her as a leader of the group. These striking mill workers appear as a mob in motion with clenched fists and expressive facial features backed by a burning building, which I would identify as one of the company stores that burned during the strike. The female leader stands before a group of uniformed men, located at the right side of the image, who according to the text caption for the print are the federal troops under General Rosalino Martínez. The federal troops uniformly hang their heads bent forward, hold their weapons across their torsos, and stand with feet apart wearing the same dark federal military uniform. They stand before a building and an entrance with rounded archways, which indicates the exterior of the Río Blanco Mill. The TGP conflated multiple events into one in the bottom scene of print thirteen. The linear patterns behind the mill workers suggest flames and the burning of the company stores, which indicates we are still located within the events of January 7th. The TGP’s narrative identifies the group of military figures in the image as federal troops under General Rosalino Martínez, the Subsecretary of War of the Porfirian regime. In fact, Martínez did not arrive in Río Blanco until the morning of January 8th, after the violence of the strike had been suppressed. In actuality, the rural police and two companies of the 13th Battalion under the command of Colonel Jose María Villarreal were engaged in direct encounters with the striking workers on January 7th.214 However, the caption for print thirteen targets General Martínez as a key figure of the Porfirian 108 regime’s response to the strike at Río Blanco. The dictator personally chose Martínez to carry out the execution of the leaders of the strike. However, Martínez who had political aspirations is reported to have refused Díaz because he recognized that a blood on his hands would end any chance of his becoming governor of Veracruz. Martínez even tried to implicate Díaz directly by requesting that he put his orders in writing. Instead, Díaz sent Colonel Francisco Ruiz, the former chief of police of the Federal District, to carry out his wishes.215 Martínez, however, is infamously and incorrectly remembered as the executioner of those that had been found guilty of instigating and leading the strike at Río Blanco. Interestingly, Martínez is also the individual remembered to have carried out the execution by firing squad of the rebels referred to in print five. Thus, in the portfolio, in particular prints five and thirteen, which reflect a version of public memory, Martínez was recognized as henchmen of the Porfirian regime. Regardless of the truth and the numerous variations of what took place at Río Blanco in January of 1907, Castro Pacheco transforms Martínez into a symbol of Pax Porfiriana and the wrath of the Porfirian regime, marking the military as an integral mechanism in maintaining the systems that subjugated the working class. Additionally, the execution of the so-called leaders of the strike functioned as part of the politics and practice of repression of all working class citizens with regards to their rights and the regime’s position toward any one that would challenge it. The bowed heads of the soldiers evoke an unwillingness to participate in the slaughter of the striking mill workers or shame revealing the complex reality faced by soldiers who were turned on their own. Interestingly, the rural policemen who were at the mill during the strike were reportedly all executed for their lack of action against the 109 striking workers and their failure to prevent the workers from assaulting the company stores.216 This point further enhances that the relationships between the middle classes and lower classes were not simple. Regardless an unwillingness by some to participate in the violent suppression of the Río Blanco Strike, hundreds of mill workers were murdered, which is the focus of print fourteen. The top scene of print fourteen, Epilogo de la huelga de Rio Blanco, 8 de Enero de 1907 (Epilogue of the Rio Blanco Strike, January 8, 1907) presents the aftermath of the strike [Figure 17]. The bodies of the dead striking mill workers are shown strewn atop an open railroad car. An array of mourners in the foreground and middleground of the image surround the dead. Their heads are covered by shawls and their hands are sorrowfully either thrown out before them or covering their faces. The image of piled bodies extends beyond the left end of the print, which gives the impression that there are more cars with more dead outside the frame of the image. In the background the mill is suggested by rectangular forms. Marching before the building in organized rows is a military force lead by a figure on horseback. The sombrero on the leading figure suggests that they are the rural police. The rest of the group is reduced to linear patterns suggesting marching legs and hoisted rifles. How many strikers were actually killed during the strike is usually projected from thirty to eight-hundred. Rodney Anderson’s study of the Río Blanco Strike highlights various sources that project conflicting numbers, which highlights how documents published at the time of the event and historical records that has been published much later of the events reveal the inventive nature of memory and contribute to the multiple versions of historic events .217 Correspondents of El Diario, a news publication, reported 110 seeing an open railroad car full of bodies bound for disposal in the sea of Veracruz.218 Regardless of how many were killed, the image of the dead strikers was and is symbolic of Porfirian force and law. Castro Pacheco’s treatment of narrative, figures, and line in the top scene of print fourteen reminds me of the 1784 painting by Jacque Louis David, Oath of the Horatii. [Figure 18] The intended message of the paintings regarding loyalty to the state over more intimate social groups, such as family (or coworkers), resonates with the print. In the graphic image the linear figuration of the rural policeman and their weapons, as well as their linear formation as a military unit, parallel the illustration of the heroic, saluting, and emotionless Horatii seen in David’s painting. Castro Pacheco depicts the women of the print as organic forms collapsing in anguish similarly to the women in Oath of Horatii. The dead in print fourteen also recall David’s, 1789, The Lictors Bring to Brutus the Bodies of His Sons, which is a continuation of the Roman narrative that inspired Oath of the Horatii [Figure 19]. These two paintings of David promote loyalty to one’s country at all cost. Castro Pacheco’s graphic narrative of the Río Blanco Strike too speaks of a regime that demands loyalty at all costs. The bottom scene of print fourteen contains a group of mill owners, dressed in top hats and long coats, jovial and toasting, as they celebrate their victory over the strikers. The men drink out of champagne glasses and seem oblivious to the scene around them or the fallen victim at their feet. The workers lies flat on his back on the ground, similar to the figure in print nineteen, while a female figure leans over him, her hands at his head. The miner and his female companion are starkly contrasted in their dark skin and white attire to the elite men who are mostly represented as pale and dressed in dark urban coats 111 and top hats. The central figure, wearing a military uniform, looks like Porfirio Díaz. Inclusion of Díaz is an act of poetic license as neither the facts of the narrative nor the caption that accompanies the graphic image place Díaz actually at Río Blanco. However, his presence is a clear implication of his responsibility for the brutal suppression of the strike. His placement amongst the mill workers also speaks to his alliances. In other words, he sided with the capitalists and turned his back, once again, on the Mexican lower classes. Furthermore, after the strike was over the textile workers had to return to work under the new set of regulations instituted by Díaz himself, which promoted further subjugation of the mill workers. The mourning and moving of the dead at the top of print fourteen is singularly punctuated by the scene at the bottom of a woman weeping over the body of a dead male striker. The woman mourning over the striker parallels the traditional image of the Virgen Mary mourning over the dead body of Christ, known as the pietà, which infers that the dead striking workers suffered a fate similar to Christ.219 This religious reference infers Díaz’ persecution of the striking mill workers is parallel to the Roman empire’s persecution of Christ. Díaz’ assault against the lowest classes of Mexican society is as consistent in its oppression as it is in its brutality. Prints fifteen and sixteen continue to foreshadow the coming of the Mexican Revolution. Print fifteen, Porfirio Díaz hace declaraciones al Mister Creelman, sobre las libertades civicas del pueblo. 1908 (Porfirio Díaz makes declaration to Mr. Creelman regarding the civil liberties of the Mexican people. 1908.) by Alberto Beltran documents the ever famous interview Díaz gave in 1908 to James Creelman in which he promised open and democratic elections for the next presidential 112 elections. Print sixteen, Emiliano Zapata hecho prisonero en su lucha en favor de los campesinos, 1908 (or Emiliano Zapata made prisoner in his struggle in favor of the campesinos, 1908) by Ignacio Aguirre documents the arrest of Zapata whose ideology of land reform and self-government served as the basis for the Mexican Consitution of 1917. [See Appendix 1] Print seventeen, Prision y muerte de los descontentos en el norte del país. 1909 (Prison and death of the discontented in the North of the country. 1909.) by Ignacio Aguirre details the Mexican penal system under Díaz and the suppressive actions of the Porfirian regime against anyone that would challenge or critique it [Figure 20]. The close proximity of prints fifteen and seventeen highlight the irony of Díaz’s promise of fair elections. Both the text and image of print sixteen communicates that imprisonment or death was what one faced, if they spoke out against the government. The subject of the print, according to the title, is the imprisonment and death of northern rebels. The caption further narrates: In 1909 major armed uprisings that were organized by the Mexican Liberal Party were recorded in Las Vacas, Palomas, and Jimenez. The leaders of these movements were captured and the majority killed by express orders of Porfirio Diaz, who lived by this time in terror due to daily reports of new revolutionary events. The image seems to focus less on a specific region or group, and more on the prison itself and the social dichotomies that exist in Mexico.220 In the image a prison structure looms large in the background. Its architecture is very simple, without detail, except for its monumental scale and it very dark shading. At the bottom left of the image, prisoners, with hands tied behind their backs and their back towards viewer, walk into the structure identified as a prison. A soldier or prison guard 113 stands at the entrance of structure where prisoners have just passed. He holds a big chain that is out of proportion with his body, which snakes into the foreground and beyond the frame of the print. At the top right of the image in the background is a firing squad in action. The victim of the firing squad is shown from waist up, with his back toward the viewer and arms out, as he is propelled, by the bullets that strike him, directly towards the viewer. Smoke cloud from firing squad rises from the middle of firing squad and victim. In the middleground a woman, who laments or mourns, stands facing the left side of the image. She wears a heavy cloak over her head, which covers two-thirds of her body and demarcates her as of the peasant class. Her left arm is bent across and covers her face, as if she is burying her face in her forearm. This figure is comparable to the mourning women in print fourteen. A group of figures, stand facing each other in the foreground of the image and include: a woman with a parasol stands at ¾ turn, which makes her partially visible to the viewer; a man with bowler (hat) stands with his back towards the viewer and hugs a priest; and the final figure of the group, stands in profile, wears a military uniform and an Asian hat, while holding a bag. The nature of this group is ambiguous and not explained in the text caption nor the image itself. The woman with the parasol and the man with the bowler hat are likely a middle or elite class couple. The Asian figure is likely the couple’s servant. The priest, through his physical contact with the couple, obviously acknowledges them as intimates or someone of great status that should be acknowledged. Interestingly, the two women are juxtaposed back to back. The peasant woman is monumental in scale, compared to everything and everyone that surrounds her, which draws the viewer’s attention towards her and elevates her importance in the image. The 114 social class of the two women is distinguished by their attire, but also their actions. Within the portfolio, weeping or lamenting women are often of the lower classes, which can be read as signification of the pain and hardship in their lives; one exception is print twenty-six, which documents Díaz’ exit from Mexico. The elite class is depicted as distraught due to the likely loss of their favor and privilege, and possibly even their wealth. One can also consider the relationships between the male figures, who seemed to be broken down into multiple groups. There are the elite figures, who consist of the couple and the priest. The middle class is represented by the prison guard and members of the firing squad. The prisoners are all of the lower classes, the Asian servant, and the peasant female figure. All of these figures are included by the artists to expand on the narrative of the text caption, in a manner that defines the complex network of the Porfirian regime. Prints eighteen and nineteen mark the end of the section of the portfolio dedicated to the Porfiriato. [Appendix 1] Both prints focus on events that occurred during the centenary anniversary of Mexico’s Independence during the month of September 1910. This momentous occasion of the centennial anniversary of Mexico’s independence was recognized as an opportunity to promote Mexico as a modern state and to invite more foreign support of its development, thus it was extensively celebrated by the Porfirian regime. Prints eighteen and nineteen both make clear that Mexico’s idependence did not result in social and political rights, nor equality, for citizens of the nation deemed of the low class. 115 Print eighteen, Un manifestación anti-releccionista es disuelta (An anti-reelection protest is disolved) by Alfredo Zalce addresses an attack by federal forces against antireelection protesters on September 11, 1910. [Appendix 1] The month of September is significant as the month in which Mexico’s war of independence began in 1810. In 1910 a month long celebration of the centennial anniversary of Mexico’s independence occurred. The text for the print states: On September 11, 1910 a manifestation of free men was held in this capital. They intended to lay a wreath at the Column of Independence when they were villainously attacked by federal forces. Foreigners who visited our country on the occasion of the centennial ceremonies witnessed how the people were gunned down. This proved to them that democracy Diaz was a complete farce. The caption for the print specifically highlights the presence of foreign visitors in Mexico for the centennial anniversary events who witnessed the beating of the Mexican people and that the notion of democracy in Mexico was actually a farce. How the foreign witnesses truly responded is unknown, but the protest at the very least offered a counter image to what were otherwise staged events and images during the centennial celebrations. 116 Systems of Differentiation – Mestizaje and Indigenismo Print nineteen, another work by Alfredo Zalce, entitled La dictadura Porfiriana exalta demagogicament al indígena. 1910 (The Porfirian Dictatorship exalts demagogically the indigenous. 1910) depicts a parade moving horizontally in the background across the top half of the image, toward the viewer’s left [Figure 21]. The focus, emphasized through placement and scale, however, is the figure who lays across the bottom half of the image in the foreground. Three groups of Mexican society are included here. The urban elite, who wear black top hats and dark, long jackets with matching pants frame the parade at the front and back. They accompany a group of Indians depicted wearing feathered headdresses and long cloaks who carry an exalted member of their group upon a mobile throne. The final member of the trilogy is an injured or dead campesino, identifiable by his white, cotton attire and dark skin, who lays horizontally across the forefront of the picture plane. The timeframe, indicated by the title and visual elements in the image, is the final year of the Porfirian dictatorship and more specifically September of 1910, which marks the centenary anniversary of Mexican Independence.221 The Mexican War of Independence was an armed conflict between the people of Mexico and the Spanish colonial authorities which started on 16 September 1810 and lasted until 1821. The events that were part of the centenary anniversary included parades, commissions of monuments, the construction of new public buildings, academic conferences, speeches, official publications that all contributed to the construction of an image and delivered a message of order, progress, and modernity. Mauricio Tenorio Trillo describes the centennial events: 117 [1910] was consciously planned to be the apotheosis of a nationalist consciousness; it was meant to be the climax of the era. In many way, it was. On the one hand, it constituted a testimony to the political and economic success of a regime. On the other, the Centenario documented Mexico’s achievement of two supreme ideals: progress and modernity. . . . On the 14th, the Gran Procesión Cívica formada por todos los elementos de la sociedad Mexicana paraded from the Alameda to the Cathedral, depositing flowers at the graves of the national heroes, and then marching to the National Palace. On the 15th, as in a good dramatic play, the theatrical tension rose with the Gran Desfile Histórico: the entire history of the nation on foot, episode after episode; this was a march of representations of the stages of Mexico’s patriotic history as understood by the official ideologues of the Porfiriato.222 The month long celebration was an effort to construct history; to fabricate an imagined Mexican community; to showcase, if not legitimate, the Porfirian government’s programs for progress and its accomplishments; and to invite future international partnerships.223 The parade depicted in print nineteen represents the Desfile Histórico, a visual march through history in the form of a parade that took place on September 15, 1910. This type of display was directed towards the local population as a form of education and acculturation via a public history lesson. However, the more significant audience for this type of display were foreign dignitaries, corporations, journalists, and potential investors from the United States, Europe, and Asia.224 The motif of a columnar or linear progression is first seen in print one and is repeated throughout the portfolio. Print nineteen anchors the purpose of this columnar pattern to suggest movement through history, enhanced by the loose chronological flow of the portfolio, but more importantly it articulates a nexus or marks intersections between the various moments of history and the narratives depicted. In the foreground of print nineteen, a rural figure, identifiable by his white, cotton clothing and dark skin, lies horizontally across the forefront, or bottom half, of the picture 118 plane with a wound in his chest.225 The wound and closed eyes combined with his position on the ground in the middle of a public event suggests he has been assaulted. However, he is active with bent arms and knees telling us he is still alive, but too weak to get up and on the verge of death. The fallen figure literally operates as a physical barrier to what is portrayed and taking place in the background. If the parade is read as Mexico’s march towards progress, then the campesino can be read as a visual manifestation of the attitudes that informed national ideology regarding the Indian as barrier to Mexico’s goal of becoming a modern state. The fallen figure in the foreground illustrates, exactly as the text narrates, the ironic reality of contemporary Indians starving in the capital and countryside, while their historically costumed pre-Columbian counterparts were paraded through the streets of Mexico City during the Centennial celebration [Figures 22 and 23] .226 Although Porfiorio Díaz image is not visually depicted, his regime’s ideologies regarding Indians and peasants are invoked both by the parade and the fallen figure. The vertical arrangement of the image creates a hierarchy that is seen elsewhere in the portfolio in relation to the pernicious nature of the Porfirian regime against the lower classes of Mexico.227 The campesino can be read as victimized by the policies of the Porfirian regime if not for the physical violence for which the Porfiriato is known. An issue raised in this image pertains to the relational nature of social and visual distinctions made between Indians and mestizos, both in Mexico and within the TGP’s portfolio. By the time of the Porfirian regime, Indian groups were few and most Mexicans were mestizos. Indian identity was defined by a range of characteristics that include language, dress, religion, social organization, culture and conscious.228 However, 119 ethnic status could be changed through acculturation and Indians could become mestizos. Thus, membership into any social group did and does not solely, if at all, depend on biology. In general, Mexican racial characteristics were and are based on among other things language, dress, religion, and social organization.229 This speaks to the fact that Mexican identity was and is fluid and that one could change social standing through marriage, housing, occupation, and/or education. Thus, the process of mestizaje was and remains in fact social, rather than racial, and mestizo status could be achieved and ascribed. Ironically, the dictator Porfior Díaz himself was part Indian and was the epitome of social mobility through acculturation.230 The juxtaposition of the Indian and campesino in print nineteen can be linked to the issues that circulated and continue to circulate around mestizaje, Indigenismo, and acculturation. The complexity of these distinct yet intertwined issues is addressed throughout the portfolio. The urban elite frame the front and back of the parade as they march with the group of Indians, in the background. These figures likely include the cientificos, or intellectuals of the Porfirian regime, as well as the wealthiest members of Mexican society who are characteristically depicted wearing black top hats and black tuxedos with long jackets. In the image they carry bouquets of flowers and the tri-colored Mexican banner, which demarcates the back end of the procession. All of the figures in the background are in profile view, which means that none of them are look toward the fallen figure. The elite figures carry flowers, which combined with their formal attire alludes to a funeral procession. This possible interpretation is further enhanced by the single figure located at the front of the procession that has removed his top hat and holds it at his waist, which suggests that he is paying his respects. But to whom? The urban Mexican 120 elite’s presence within the parade in the image demarcates what the Centenary itself was meant to signify to the world, Mexico’s march towards progress and modernity. Indians in the background wear feathered headdresses and long cloaks. They carry an exalted member of their group, who is dressed similarly and seated upon a mobile throne. The also carry three vertical, rectangular banners on long poles that are topped with feathers and fringed at the bottom. One of the Indians carries a long pole with a bundle of palm leafs. Portrayed wearing feather headdresses these figures fall into stereotypical depictions of Indians. The feathered crown is a commonly misplaced visual symbol of Indians.231 Additionally, these Indians are represented as dark in skin tone and with long hair, which distinguishes them from the elite and the campesino. The clothing of the Indians offers no details, no sense of regional or cultural specificity. Instead the blank robes read white and denote Mexico’s own antiquity and the Indian embodies the pre-historic and Europeanized Indian of the nineteenth century. This characterization of the Indian references the effort, made after Mexican Independence was gained in 1810, to anchor Mexico’s history to the pre-Conquest era. The Aztec empire during this era was compared to ancient Greece and Rome and the Indian, as Rebecca Earle has pointed out: “emblemized the injustice of colonial rule and the legitimacy of American independence.”232 Additionally, the lack of detail results in dislocation of the Indian, which literally happened during the centennial events, as Indians from local tribes were asked to participate and perform as historic Indians and to perform as Indians that were not necessarily of their tribe or region. This practice of omitting regional characteristics from visual depictions of Indians also alludes to the twentieth-century practice in art and a type of Indigenismo that ignored 121 and omitted distinctions among Indian groups, which is practiced by some Mexican artists such as Alfredo Ramos Martinez, at one time the Director of the Academy of San Carlos, and Montenegro. Additionally, these Indian’s faces are mask-like in their features, which interjects the discourse pertaining to Modernity’s appropriation of nonWestern cultural productions.233 However, one can also look to Mexican artists, such as Siquieros and “Ethnography,” (yr), who repeatedly depicted symbolically the face of Indian Mexicans as masks, which is a direct reference to pre-Columbian culture and can be associated with a type of Indigenismo. Indigenismo is an ideological development that flourishes in Latin America in the 1920s and 1930s. However in Mexico this movement invokes theories and systems of hierarchy based on differences that were first established in the colonial period. In its ideal form Indigenismo addresses social concerns regarding the Indian and advocates for the defense of social and political justice for Indians. Indigenismo is actually a very complex and diverse system of thought, which results in various attitudes and efforts including the romanticization of pre-contact Indian culture and the promotion of acculturation of the mestizo population into modern Mexican society. The intellectuals of the Porfiriato themselves were not unified in their position on the Indian. For instance, Jose Limantour, the Minister of the Mexican Treasury, 1893-1911, is considered the political leader of the advisors to President Díaz known as los Cientificos, adapted a Darwinesque, survival of the fittest approach to dealing with the Indian. Limantour felt the Indians were hopelessly inferior and called for “an aristrocratic elite to reorder society.”234 However, Justo Sierra, the Secretary of Ministry of Justice and Public Instruction under Díaz, “argued forcefully that social and cultural forces, not biological 122 ones, had shaped the Indian’s inferior position . . . [and he] asserted the Indian’s educability.”235 Furthermore, it is important to note that Indigenismo is primarily an ideology developed and imposed by intellectuals and not necessarily constructed nor embraced by Indians themselves. The site or location for the portrayed scene in print nineteen is ambiguous, due to the lack of natural or man-made land marks or details, which expands the geographic location to anywhere and everywhere in Mexico. However, the presence of the urban elite does suggest the Porfirian regime and Mexico City, the seat of government, specifically. The campesino can be read as victimized by the policies of the Porfirian regime if not the physical violence that the Porfiriato is infamous for. The vertical arrangement of the image creates a hierarchy that is seen elsewhere in the portfolio in relation to the pernicious nature of the Porfirian regime against the lower classes of Mexico.236 Interestingly, Ana María Alonso argues: “Space is a boundary marker of ethnoracial identity in Mexico. The South and the rural are coded as ‘Indian,’ whereas the North and the urban are coded as ‘Mexican.’237 Print nineteen appears to follow suit with Alonso’s description of space and racial identity, as the urban elite and their fabricated version of history is located at the top or northern point of the image and the campesino is positioned at the bottom or south of the print. In print nineteen, the Indians function simultaneously as the commemorated noble past and the degenerate present that hinders progress, which speaks to the fluidity of identity, references the multiple positions and discourses of the Mexican urban intellectuals about Indians, and reinforces the ambiguity inherent in the concept of race. The textual caption for this print further problematizes the Indian’s situation in the 123 nineteenth century, noting the irony of celebrating the historic Indian of the past, while at the same time criticizing, and even trying to eliminate the presence of, the contemporary Indians.238 The juxtaposition of the Mexican elite and Indians raises questions about the relational nature of social and visual distinctions made between different groups, both in Mexico and within the TGP’s portfolio. The title of the print states that the Porfirian regime exalted the indigenous and specifically targets the practice of celebrating Mexico’s pre-Columbian past through the numerous events during the Centennial. If a demagogue is the leader of the people, an individual who spoke counter a government that acted against its people, or at the very least is a political agitator than I would identify the fallen figure as the demagogue in print nineteen. As such, it would stand to reason that the demagogical exaltation of the Indian by the Porfirian regime resulted in the slaying of the campesino. This image marks the end of the section of the portfolio dedicated to the Porfiriato and what follows is the Mexican Revolution and the reconstructive period after civil war, which is what the rest the portfolio is dedicated to narrating. In the section that focuses on the Porfiriato in the TGP’s portfolio, the majority of Indians are presented as disenfranchised and oppressed by policies and conditions imposed upon them by the regime. However, in the portfolio, Indians are not portrayed simply as victims. They are agents of change who took an active role in the insurgency of 1910. Print forty-eight, El General Obregón con los Yaquis (General Obregón with the Yaquis) by Pablo O’Higgins continues the narrative of the Yaqui Indian in the portfolio, only this time they are mounted on horses as active participants in the revolutionary efforts [Figure 24]. The print’s text reads: 124 General Alvaro Obregon was undefeated during the Mexican Revolution. He never lost a battle. From the point of his departure from Sonora to his arrival in the capital of the Republic, he never knew the bitterness of defeat. When he rose in arms in his homeland, he had the cooperation of the brave Yaqui Indians, who accompanied him in all his acts of war. Mexico owes a large debt to the Yaquis due to their career as fighting men in the service of revolutionary ideas. Although the caption is focused on Constitutionalist General Obregón, the Yaqui Indians are specifically identified as a key group of support for the Carrancista efforts. Additionally, the text marks them as symbolic of revolutionary ideas transforming them into signifiers of these issues and in particular of the key issues important to the TGP and the portfolio, namely land reform. In the context of this print, the Yaquis are depicted as indigenous Mexican warriors in support of the Carrancista Constitutionalist Army who were victors of the Mexican Revolution and responsible for the Mexican Constitution of 1917. Through affiliation with the Constitutionalist Army the Yaqui are defined as citizens of the nation who fought in the civil war and therefore earned the right to be granted justice and land, something they were denied during the Porfiriato.239 The first nineteen prints of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana chronicle the reign of Mexican President Porfirio Díaz, which continues and is also woven into prints twenty-three and ends with twenty-six and Díaz’ exile from Mexico to Europe. The narrativization of the regime’s tyranny is grounded in various policies, practices, and issues that relate to the stabilization and development of the nation. In narrativizing, in such extended depth, the Porfirian era, the TGP established where Mexico had come from prior to the rebellion and what people responded to and worked to change during the war. Through this process the TGP made clear what it considered the most significant ideologies of the Mexican Revolution, which included the land right issue 125 (prints 1-3, and 8), foreign economic imperialism (prints 1, 2, 11, 13, 14, 18 and 19) a corrupt penal system (prints 4-10, 16, and 17); civil rights for Mexican laborers (prints 11, 13, and 14); and a democratic political system (print 15). [See Appendix 1] In establishing the issues that are important to the TGP, this section becomes that which the rest of the portfolio can be compared to and contrasted against, which, as I shall show, is the objective of the TGP and significant to how the portfolio is set up and layed out. 126 CHAPTER THREE: The Mexican Revolution and The Master Narrative 127 My point of departure is that nationality, or, as one might prefer to put it in view of that word’s multiple significations, nation-ness, as well as nationalism, are cultural artefacts of a particular kind. To understand them properly we need to consider carefully how they have come into historical being, in what ways their meanings have changed overtime, and why, today they command such profound emotional legitimacy. Benedict Anderson240 [T]he acts of war generate acts of narration, and . . . both types of acts are often joined in a common purpose: defining the geographical, political, cultural, and sometimes racial and national boundaries between peoples. Jill Lepore241 The mid-section of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana is dedicated to the presentation of the ten year span of the rebellion that began in 1910. Thirty-seven prints feature events and revolutionaries of the violent phase of the war. The events of the war spanned a vast spatial region and come to us through various sources, some reliable and others less so.242 The narrativizing of the Mexican rebellion of 1910 commenced simultaneously with the uprising, and as Jill Lepore asserts in the above quote, each act with common purpose. These efforts are evident in the news journals and photographs of the day that documented, or rather presented in an edited manner, the events between 1910 and 1920. Oral narratives, such as legends, a story or body of stories that have historical connotations; myths, fictitious narratives commonly believed to be true; and corridos, songs are integral to these social narritives of the Mexican Revolution. Among those images produced during the war that contribute to the narratives of the civil war I foreground photographs from the Casasola photographic archive and José Clemente Orozco’s series of drawings and lithographs on the insurgency based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917.243 128 After the war, the Mexican Revolution took on import as a structuring framework within which the ideological concepts that guided the revolutionaries converged. I characterize the various manifestations of the Mexican Revolution as cultural products of nation-ness and nationalism that have developed over time and continue to metamorphosize. Through the process of invocation, invention, institutionalization, and dissemination the war became as emblematic of the Mexican nation as the national flag.244 This chapter studies the legacy of the civil war and its complex and polyvalent meanings through an investigation of numerous manifestations of the war. Throughout my examination I heed Benedict Anderson’s advice, in the above quote, and seek to understand the cultural artifacts of the rebellion through careful consideration of how the insurgency came into historical being and how its meaning has changed. Therefore, we need to first understand the master narratives through and against which the TGP performed its counter narrative. The Mexican Revolution245 The Mexican Revolution is a rebellion that erupted in 1910 against the oppressive thirty year dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, 1876-1910, which is also referred to as the Porfiriato. Under Díaz Mexico enjoyed economic growth and international recognition as a result of aggressive development that resulted in the establishment of the railroad system, the installation of telegraph and telephone systems, revival of the mining and oil industry, and expansion of manufacturing industries. Progress, however, came at a high cost to the lower classes of Mexico. The Porfirian regime’s methods for stabilizing Mexico and making resources available for foreign investment and development included 129 coercion and violence against anyone that proved a hindrance to Porfirian enterprises, and land seizure from small property owners from the lower classes.246 Once in place, domestic and foreign hacienda and industrial complexes, benefitted from preferential treatment from the Porfirian regime in the form of legislation, biased arbitration, and in some instances militaristic support. In response to the injustices and oppression suffered under Porfirio Díaz, independent outbreaks of rebellion occurred across Mexico throughout the Porfiriato, 1876-1910. However, Francisco Madero's revolt against the Dictator, launched on November 20, 1910, has been designated as the official beginning of the Mexican Revolution.247 As the candidate for the anti-re-electionist cause in the 1910 presidential election, Francisco Madero laid a foundation that would prove instrumental to his success in calling for rebellion against Díaz. It was not a single issue that motivated, and in turn unified, individuals to participate in the rebellion, but rather various grievances. As addressed in Chapter Two, these issues included land rights, labor disputes, lack of civil liberties, and an unjust and violent political system. Often involvement in the insurgency was based on personal experience within the Porfirian regime, which distinctly varied in terms of class. As Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds make clear in their key text on the history of Mexico, “Díaz was the symbol of all of Mexico’s ills, and [those that rebelled against him] were convinced that almost any change would be a change for the better.”248 The Mexican Revolution extended a decade, between November 1910 and December 1920, and is often described as the violent or military phase of the revolution. Because the factions that participated in the war were not unified, intermittent outbursts of political and violent clashes regularly broke out between different groups that vied for 130 power after the downfall of the Dictator. Carlos Fuentes’ observed that period of the insurgency, 1910-1920, involved at least three revolutions at roughly the same time. These included a middle class revolt, initially led by Francisco Madero, then Venustiano Carranza and Álvaro Obregón; an agrarian insurrection led by Emiliano Zapata and to a lesser extent by Pancho Villa; and a proletarian or industrial workers revolution.249 Each of these revolutions was informed by distinct ideologies that after the war were seemingly unified. However, each faction continued to promote its own agenda, which informs the competing narratives of the Mexican Revolution. The first phase of the violent period of the civil war lasted six months, beginning in November 1910 and ending in May 1911. After his arrest, which prevented participation in the 1910 election, Francisco Madero wrote the Plan de San Luis Potosí, which called for rebellion against Díaz on November 20, 1910. The Plan focused on civil liberties, thus doing away with the absolute power of the dictator, restoring democratic practices, including a single term for presidency and a parliamentary system. Article Three of Madero’s Plan addressed the restitution of land unjustly taken by the Porfirian regime from small land owners primarily from the lower classes. Madero’s declaration of restitution of land to its rightful owners motivated the southern rural faction of the war, led by Emiliano Zapata, to join him. After a shaky start and sporadic bursts of rebellion across the country, a major battle was fought and won at Ciudad Juárez. The outcome of the victory was the signing of the Peace Treaty of Ciudad Juárez in May of 1911. On May 25, 1911 Porfirio Díaz submitted his resignation to the Mexican congress per the Treaty, and the first phase of violence came to an end.250 Madero was democratically elected president of Mexico on October of 1911. 131 Prior to Madero’s official call to revolt against Díaz in October of 1910, Zapata had initiated his own rebellion against the Porfirian regime during the spring and summer of 1910 by reclaiming and occupying lands that had been taken from small landowners from the lower class in his home state of Morelos. Later, as General of the Southern Forces of the Mexican Revolution, Zapata attempted to negotiate with Madero between June and November of 1911, but was disappointed by Madero’s unwillingness to act immediately on land reform. Multiple forces aggravated the relationship between Zapata and Madero, including an unauthorized aggressive military offensive under Federal General Victoriano Huerta against the Zapatistas, or members of the Southern Revolutionary Army under Zapata. Zapata’s ultimate response came in the form of the Plan of Ayala, which was signed on November 25, 1911 and made public and circulated, with Madero’s permission, in Mexico City on December 15, 1911 in El Diario del Hogar. Zapata’s manifesto denounced Madero as a traitor to the Revolution, called for a decentralized, self-ruling communitarian democracy, and demanded immediate land reform. Throughout Madero’s time in office as President of Mexico, a total of fifteen months, Zapata was actively fighting against his regime. Madero’s time in office was cut short in February 1913 by General Huerta’s coup d’etat that culminated in the assassination of Madero on February 21, 1913. Afterwards, Huerta assumed the presidency.251 The coup against Madero instigated the second course of the violent stage of the Mexican Revolution that continued between the months of February 1913 and July of 1914. In response to Huerta’s treason Venustiano Carranza issued the Plan of Guadalupe on March 26, 1913, which mobilized the Constitutionalist movement that was composed of forces primarily from the north of Mexico who were 132 united in their opposition to Huerta.252 Zapata, as commander of the Army of the South, had little confidence in Huerta restoring the village lands in Morelos and rejected Huerta. Carranza tended to be supportive of the rural and urban elite and in favor of traditional power structures, and Zapata chose not to ally himself with him either and instead organized his own insurrection against Huerta. After serving as President of Mexico for seventeen months, Huerta was defeated. His resignation on July 8, 1914, marked the end of the anti-Huertista mobilization and the second phase of the violent stage of the Mexican Revolution. Immediately following Huerta’s departure from office, Carranza, per a clause in his Plan de Guadalupe, assumed the presidency of Mexico. Following his ascendency the Convention of Aguascalientes, a meeting of revolutionary forces, convened on October of 1914 to determine the leadership of the country. Another issue addressed was which of the three plan of the war the nation would follow that of Madero (Plan of San Luis Potosí), of Carranza (Plan of Guadalupe), or of Zapata (Plan of Ayala). Madero’s and Carranza’s plans were political in their focus, meaning social issues were of little, if any, concern and Zapata’s plan, on the other hand, argued for reforms that worked toward the improvement of the political and social reality of rural Mexicans of the lower classes. Class and ideological differences and personal tensions between Madero and Carranza, elite hacendados from northern Mexico, versus Zapata and Pancho Villa, who both aligned themselves with the rural lower class, motivated conflict between groups present at the Convention. The schism between the Consitutionalist forces, under Carranza and Obregón, and Conventionists, under Villa and Zapata, divided the Convention and is the basis for the third violent term of the Mexican Revolution. 133 After the Convention chose Eulalio Gutiérrez, instead of Carranza, as the provisional President of Mexico, Carranza withdrew his support of the Convention and moved the Constitutionalist headquarters to Veracruz. Led by Villa and Zapata, the Conventionists took over Mexico City in December of 1914. Although successful in occupying the capital city, Conventionists’ fragmented efforts and attacks on various fronts weakened their position, resulting in the Constitutionalists occupying Mexico City on January 15, 1915. The United States’ recognition of Carranza provided the legitimacy and support necessary for Constitutionalists to assume control of the country. The Conventionists’ union dissolved and by October 1915 Villistas and Zapatistas went their separate ways. Meanwhile, Carraza’s regime organized the Queretaro Congress, which took place in November 1916, with the purpose of drawing up a new constitution. The document was promulgated February 1917 and rather than looking like a redraft of the Constitution of 1857, which was put forth by Carranza, it incorporated a number of provisions and articles that were radical in nature. These included a number of anticlierical provisions and articles pertaining to the secularization of education (Article 3), land reform (Artcile 27), and labor reform (Article 123). Carranza was officially elected to office in March of 1917. For some scholars the events of 1917, in particular the establishment of a new Constitution and the election of Carranza as president designate the end of the Mexican Revolution. However, Carranza ordered a general offensive against Zapata in May 1915 and the battle between them continued until the assassination of Zapata on April 10, 1919. Additionally, in 1920 Álvaro Obregón instigated another chapter of violence when he put together a new Northern Army who under the Plan de Agua Prieta denounced 134 Carranza and marched on Mexico City. Obregón was successful in defeating Carranza, who was exiled and then assassinated in May of 1920. Violence that can be associated with the civil war continued in various regions and forms beyond the 1920s, but the other end date for the war is usually associated with Obregón’s election to the Mexican presidency in December of 1920. Following the devastation of the war, the nation worked to reconstruct itself. The issues that motivated the insurrection were keys to the reinvention of the nation and what was remembered, (re)formulated, and disseminated through collective memory, social narrative, and a stream of traditions. Invented traditions are as Eric Hobsbawm explains, “normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules and of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behavior by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past.253 In Mexico, these traditions and rituals included commemorative civic activities (such as the erection of public monuments, citywide parades, and public speeches, etc), education, and artistic and cultural productions that were dedicated to and evoked, exhibited, disseminated, and performed the Mexican Revolution.254 Chronicles of the Mexican Revolution Narratives developed simultaneously with the war and continued to evolve beyond the violent phase of the insurgency. History is often written and depicted with a combination of fact and fiction.255 Actual events and persons are often embellished in order to make the story more interesting, or in an attempt to make them appear more convincing, perhaps to even make them palatable or marketable. Multiple narratives of 135 the war and its legacies have developed over time and materialized in a variety of formats including pamphlets, broadsides, proclamations, histories, articles, editorials, educational textbooks, fiction, poetry, scholarly texts, photographs, murals, graphic images, and films.256 Within these productions the ideological concepts that explain what motivated people to rebel and the stories of the decade of war are described, sometimes by their originators and those that participated in the war, but more often recalled and (re)written by others. This partially explains how accounts and descriptions of the Mexican Revolution are typical of history writing in terms of their inventive, revisionary, and mythological nature. The rebellion involved various political and social factions each concerned with distinct issues, which are reflected in the various manifestations of the Revolution. Many of the narratives of the war were informed distinctly by the various ideological platforms of the revolutionaries and post-war regimes. To many the revolt of 1910 and the decade of turbulence that followed promoted shared ideals and values, which is due to the institutionalization of the Mexican Revolution after the war through the development of traditions that inspired and directed nationalism. For some, such as the Maderistas or followers of Francisco Madero, the civil war was about changing the leadership of Mexico and instituting a democratic political system. However, they were also invested in maintaining a centralized nation-state and creating more opportunities in politics and business for local members of the community who were either middle class or of the elite class. For others, such as the Zapatistas or the followers of Emiliano Zapata, in particular, the rebellion signified and continues to promise locally directed government, labor and land reform, and improvement of social and political conditions throughout 136 Mexico. Others engage(d) the concept of the Mexican Revolution as a tool that can be manipulated and revised to meet individual needs. For example, post-war leaders of Mexico harnessed elements of the war they found useful to promote their own agenda. Thus, several, and at times competing or counter, narratives of the insurrection have emerged, each of which was, and continues to be, altered by individual interests and ideologies. Therefore, chronicles of the Revolution vary in character, perspective, and purpose. Some promote an empire while others argue for a republic. Others are representative of national interests, while others present a regional perspective. Narratives also range in their service to political regimes versus providing a subaltern position.257 Many of these paradigmatic perspectives were incorporated into the broad pictorial production of the TGP. The Master Narrative Inevitably most accounts of the Mexican Revolution intersect as they are all anchored to common components and events, and acknowledge the same groups and leaders. The post-war institutionalization of the civil war transformed the stories about the revolt into what Yael Zerubavel describes as a basic “story line” that “is culturally constructed and provides the group members with a general notion of their shared past.”258 This story line, meta-narrative, or master narrative, as Thomas Benjamin defines it, is collective memory, official and unofficial, formal and folk history, and national mythology and social narrative all rolled into one, promoting national fraternity and solidarity among citizens.259 In this study, when I make reference to master 137 narratives of the Revolution, I refer specifically to the institutionalized narratives that were developed, promoted, and harnessed over time by post-war regimes. In the 1920s and 1930s, alliances between distinct political groups that had at one point been at odds during the civil war resulted in the blending of rival traditions that were integrated into master narratives. In the restructuring of history these narratives collapsed rival factions and contradictory ideologies and suggested alliances and unification. These narratives about the insurrection and its legacy were invented and disseminated through national projects of reconstruction and new traditions including history, education, and civic programs. Ilene O’Malley explains state offices were developed to create public ceremonies that “worked to create ideological “uniformity”” and helped to promote “the” official version of the Mexican Revolution.260 The purpose and function of master narratives of the civil war included nation building and creating nationalism in the effort to develop a unified citizenship based on the ideas of a shared history and similar goals. As dominant narratives they became the nation’s history and informed the collective memory. In these narratives criticisms and details that complicated or discounted a unified revolutionary front were suppressed and omitted. The institutionalization and ritualization of the war through various practices constructed, imposed, and repeated particular visual markers for the Mexican Revolution, which were incorporated and promoted in master narratives and through other means of nation building.261 Catholic values and imagery were particularly harnessed within the promotion of the Mexican Revolution, even as or especially because the government sought to displace the power of the church. O’Malley argues, “[t]he religious approach to the revolution helped the government consolidate by reproducing in civic culture the 138 hierarchical, patriarchal, authoritarian social order then characteristic of Catholic culture.”262 The institutionalization of the civil war established the foundation upon which the “new” Mexican nation would be built and anchored each post-war regime to key ideas for political and social change. To invoke political legitimacy post-war leaders of Mexico maintained their allegiance to the Mexican Revolution. In order to suggest commonalities with the revolutionaries of the past and the present, rhetoric was adopted and ideologies were harnessed by political leaders after the rebellion.263 However, the master narrative about the rebellion was not a fixed concept and shifts, particularly with each new political administration whose agenda resulted in new interpretation of what the legacy of the Mexican Revolution was and meant for Mexico. Furthermore, affiliation with the civil war was meant to legitimate each regime’s actions and policies even when they countered the original demands of the revolutionary forces of the past. Maneuvering for leadership of the Mexican nation Obregón recognized championing the popular classes and the Revolution was an important tactic for establishing and maintaining stability in Mexico after the violence. O’Malley suggests that Obregón was not sincere in his actions when she writes, “Obregón initiated the Mexican government’s now standard practice of verbally championing the popular classes and the Revolution while neglecting the promised reforms and making deals with the ‘imperialists’ it often denounced.”264 Thomas Benjamin highlights, “It was during the Calles presidency [1924-1928] that the national government began to assume greater responsibility for commemorating [the Revolution]. . . . [T]he government participated in ceremonies praising Madero, Carranza, Zapata, Flores Magón, and Carillo Puerto.265 139 Benjamin makes clear that Calles had ulterior motives for keeping the rebellion alive through its commemoration when he wrote: [Although] Plutarco Elías Calles revolutionary credentials were excellent, he was not the Caudillo of the Revolution (Obregón) and . . . was thought “totally lacking in charisma.” . . . Calles needed to justify his authority, and he sought that justification in la Revolución. As a result, Calles made several important lasting contributions to the official memory of la Revolución. First and foremost, he reactivated the transcendental and reified revolution in order to construct the permanent revolution that inhabited the past, present, and future.266 Susan Richards elaborates on how other post-war regimes interacted with the Revolution when she adds, “Plutarco Elias Calles . . . [s]uccessive presidents Cárdenas, Camacho, and Alemán wholeheartedly embraced the revolution-as-process model to explain, defend, and promote their administrations’ policies, programs, failures, and successes.”267 Miguel Alemán equally recognized the importance of appearing faithful to the program of the Mexican Revolution, which is made evident in his first public speech as president in 1947 and in a 1951 pamphlet produced by the Department of Public Education entitled Pro-México, in which he claimed the Revolution inspired his administration.268 Through evocation of the civil war, Mexican leaders also strove to align themselves with the more significant and popular ideological platforms of the rebellion, resulting in some leaders becoming synonymous with the civil war.269 Most leaders after the rebellion had agendas distinct from and often in contradiction with the goals of the insurgency of 1910. Yet, the Mexican Revolution was evoked and rewritten with each new post-war administration interjecting itself and claiming ideals recognized as popular, whether or not it actually benefited the popular classes.270 Thus, master narratives and revolutionary traditions were not only utilized to explain, and in the process construct, Mexican history, but they also served to support 140 and legitimate the revolutionary claims of the Mexican government. With historical perspective it has become easier to discern the constructed connections made by post-war regimes to the civil war. The lack of conviction behind the claims by most of them in support of the revolutionary ideals of 1910 is evidenced by their actual policies and practices, which often counter the goals of the revolutionaries of 1910. Thus, the civil war and its narratives have become political tools and symbols whose meanings vary and shift. The Revolutionary Family Within the reformulated narratives of the Mexican Revolution, leaders who represented varied political and social ideologies were aligned to create patrilineal genealogy for the nation that included Francisco Madero, Emiliano Zapata, Venustiano Carranza, Álvaro Obregón, and sometimes Francisco Villa. 271 Within institutionalized narratives of the Revolution these figures became members of a “unified” Revolutionary Family, which was meant to merge disparate groups through the evocation of an alliance. The function of locating national figures within a familial structure is explained by Katherine Verdery in The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, Reburial and Postsocialist Change as, “Nationalism is . . . a kind of ancestor worship, a system of patrilineal kinship, in which national heroes occupy the place of clan elders in defining a nation as a noble lineage.”272 Ilene O’Malley explains the post-war claims and common traits associated with the unified Revolution as, “the government was revolutionary; the promotion of nationalism’ the obfuscation of history; the denigration of politics; 141 Christian imagery and the promotion of Catholic values; and patriarchal values and the “masculinization” of the heroes’ images.”273 It is during the Obregón and Calles presidential administrations that the Revolutionary Family came into being.274 Benjamin explains, During the 1920s, successive Mexican governments turned to la Revolución for legitimacy. . . . First, la Revolución was transformed into government . . . and was thus perceived as permanent and ongoing. Second, la Revolución was unified by a “revolutionary family,” in which feuds would be forgotten, if not entirely forgiven.”275 How the narrative of the civil war was revised institutionally, as well as by the TGP, is best exemplified by print eighty-two, La Prensa y La Revolucion Mexicana (The Press and the Mexican Revolution) by Alfredo Zalce [Figure 25]. The text for pirnt eighty-two explains some aspects of the image: The Mexican Revolution has been extremely generous with the press of the entire nation. It offered absolute freedom of expression, and has followed through on allowing it. Unfortunately, the majority of the national newspapers have taken advantage of the liberties provided thanks to the Constitution of 1917, and have become the most outrageous agents of debauchery. It is necessary to put an end to this outrageous abuse of freedom of expression, which is, as stated, an authentic liberty. Based on the text the image represents those identified as in support of the freedom of the press, while Zalce simultaneously makes clear the negative interpretation of the press.276 The image seems to follow the narrative of the text, however, it diverges in its inclusion of an obvious reference to the Revolutionary Family, which raises its own set of issues. Zalce depicts the Revolutionary Family at the top, which includes (from left): Alvaro Obregón, Venustiano Carranza, Emiliano Zapata, and Francisco Madero at the bottom. The portraits of these figures hover above a field of either sugar cane—a common crop grown in the state of Morelos—or corn—a crop that has legendary 142 significance to the Mexican people extending back to Pre-Columbian times. Evoking the centrality of the agrarian issue to the Mexican Revolution, marching revolutionary figures wear campesino or agrarian laborer clothing and emerge from the vegetation at the bottom of the image. The two figures on the left side of the image, both depicted with exaggerated facial features, along with the loose newspaper pages floating around them, signify complex issues pertaining to the press, a theme that is emphasized in the title and in the text that accompanies the print. The close assemblage of these revolutionary leaders within this context could be read to imply that these very different men somehow shared common ideological values and were thus fighting together to achieve common goals in relation to land rights, campesino rights, and freedom of the press. In fact, the contrary is true and Zalce, the artist, would surely have known this. Actually, each figure represents a divergent group that was in opposition to the others during the Mexican Revolution and whose objectives remained in conflict not only during the violent phase of the civil war (1910-1920), but also long afterward. The disfigurement of the figures associated with the press portrays newsmen and journalists in a negative light. In terms of the revolutionary leaders included in the print and their relationship with the press, each had his own distinct issues. The point of freedom of the press is directly tied to the Flores Magón brothers who were persecuted for their liberal ideology and attack on the dictatorial regime of then Mexican president Porfirio Díaz in their publications.277 Madero offered financial support to the Flores Magón brothers in their efforts to publish Regeneración in the United States. Madero supported freedom of the press, even at the expense of his own reputation. During his presidency, the press attacked and belittled Madero. Furthermore, Zapata’s Plan, which 143 denounced Madero as a traitor to the Revolution, was made public and circulated, with Madero’s permission, in Mexico City on December 15, 1911 in El Diario del Hogar. Madero’s allowance of Zapata’s public critique of hims speaks to his ideology of a free press. Zapata’s relationship with the press was a problematic one. The press, specifically in Mexico City, was engaged by the elite to criticize and defame Zapata. They blamed him and his followers for most, if not every, wrong doing that occurred in relation to activities in the south of Mexico during the civil war, and labeled him the “Attila of the South.”278 Although Zapata continued to be discussed throughout the Mexican Revolution, news articles and illustrations of him were significantly reduced in number after 1911 as other issues took center stage.279 After General Victoriano Huerta’s coup d’état in February 1913, the Mexican press that was sympathetic to Madero was censored and restricted.280 The Constututionalists in northern Mexico became the focus of attention in March 1913 with their revolt against Huerta. Thus, publications for this period of time were limited and officially dictated by issues of importance relating to Huerta.281 After Huerta’s defeat by Constitutional forces in July 1914, Carranza then controlled the Mexican press and directed its focus to a pro-Constitutionalism, more specifically pro-Carrancismo, and anti-Zapatista reports. The agrarian issue affected multiple aspects of political and social life in Mexico as it was connected to land theft, forced removal, use and ownership of domestic resources, as well as development and modernization of the nation, economic imperialism, and disenfranchisement of agrarian communities. Each of the revolutionary figures portrayed in Zalce’s print had a distinct position on the agrarian issue, which related to their social class: Madero and Carranza were from elite families and as owners 144 of large agricultural estates themselves were not interested in dismateling the hacienda system; Obregón was from the middle class and an urban laborer and somewhat disconnected from the issue; and Zapata was from a poor rural community who as one of the leaders of the Mexican Revolution promoted agrarian reform. Obregón recognized land was an important concern for the masses and that it proved useful in satisfying revolutionary groups as a reward for revolutionary service and as a payoff.282 For Zapata, however, land reform motivated regional rebellion and demanded immediate attention. A clause in Madero’s Plan of San Luis Potosí motivated Zapata to join forces with Madero with the expectation of land reform.283 It later became apparent to Zapata that land reform was not a priority for Madero. Furthermore, political manipulations eventually resulted in a break between Madero and Zapata. The question of land distribution was recognized as an important issue by some of the revolutionary leaders, but sometimes only as a tool in managing the agrarian masses, and it was not their primary concern nor objective. During the Mexican Revolution, and more so after his death, Zapata was seen as an active agent and symbol of social justice and land reform, which marks him as an important link to the rural masses of Mexico. Therefore, it became important to include him in any narrative of the revolution and particularly significant to include him as a member of the “unified” revolutionary family. That Carranza authorized the assassination of Zapata strikes a major discord in the problemative narrative of unification of revolutionary forces and makes evident the oppositional relationship between the two men. Another example of conflict between the figures of the Revolutionary Family is Obregón and Carranza. Although Obregón fought under Carranza beginning in 1912 during the anti-Huertista offensive, their relationship 145 was one of mutual benefit and mistrust, and eventually Obregón became Carranza’s greatest opponent. Obregón’s affiliation with Carranza prevented any association with Zapata during his lifetime. It was only after Zapata’s death in 1920 that Gildardo Magaña, Zapata’s successor, coordinated with Obregón.284 The construction and evocation of a non-existent alliance through a fabricated Revolutionary Family was meant to promote the merger of disparate groups.285 The collapse of divergents groups produced a common history that implies that Mexico imagined itself as a unified nation, particularly after the civil war, which indeed was and is not the case.286 Zalce’s image integrates the revisionist approach in portraying the Revolutionary Family, while simultaneously revealing the contradictions in this approach. The following chapters will further demonstrate the multiplicity of perspectives and narratives of the Mexican Revolution. 146 CHAPTER FOUR: Counter-Narratives of Francisco Madero 147 Eighteen prints of the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana refer to Francisco I. Madero, the man who is credited with initiating the rebellion of 1910. He is visually represented in eleven prints, while six other mention him through texts only, either in their title or in the accompanying caption. The TGP memorialized the iconic events and issues that are most often remembered about Madero including his call for revolution through his manifesto the Plan de San Luis Potosí, his ascension to the presidency of the Republic, his martyrdom, and ultimately his apotheosis as a symbol of democracy. The grouping of prints in the portfolio spotlight key episodes, as well as multiple aspects of a theme or issue associated with Madero. The graphic series presents its narrative primarily in a chronological order, which is true for the section on Madero, but this is not always the case with other figures or themes. Although in a temporal order, the prints about Madero do not follow sequentially. Instead, interspersed among the Madero prints are images of figures and events that symbolically juxtapose and interject multiple issues and themes, which interweaves them into Madero’s narrative and interconnects them to Maderismo and visa versa. Print twenty, Francisco I. Madero redacta en la prisión el plan de San Luis. 5 de Octubre de 1910 (Francisco I. Madero drafted the Plan of San Luis in prison. October 5, 1910), by Isidoro Ocampo [Figure 26] and print twenty-one, El Plan de San Luis ateroriza a la dictadura (The Plan of San Luis takes down the dictatorship,) by Everardo Ramírez [Figure 27] introduce Madero and mark the beginning of the narrative focus on the Mexican Revolution in the portfolio. Both prints incorporate the text “Plan de San Luis Potosí,” which frames Madero’s narrative with his manifesto. This Plan discredited the presidential elections of 1910, asserted the platform of the anti re-election committee, 148 designated November 20, 1910 as the starting date of the rebellion, and named Madero as the provisional President of Mexico.287 Print twenty exhibits the legendary birth of the Plan of San Luis Potosi. Ocampo portrays Madero at a table writing his manifesto while imprisoned, which is indicated by the jail cell bars and a prison guard visible in the background. The caption for the image states: In the 1910 elections, Porfirio Díaz mocked the popular vote and ordered the immediate imprisonment of the Apostle Francisco I. Madero, who during his imprisonment dedicated himself to develop the principles of the Plan de San Luis Potosí. In this historical document was a call to the people to overthrow the usurper and offered far-reaching social reforms. Madero escaped from prison and on November 20 of that year he launched the Revolution. This image and its text perpetuate the notion that Madero’s Plan was written while he was in Mexico and that the revolt began on November 20, 1911. In print twenty-one Madero is shown holding up the Plan of San Luis Potosi, while he is juxtaposed and face-to-face with Porfirio Díaz. Within both prints twenty and twenty-one, the text “Plan de San Luis Potosí,” functions as a literal representation of the document attributed to Madero, while it also serves to emblematize the democratic ideals promoted in the document. The text for print twenty-one describes: The Plan of San Luis Potosi was widely distributed throughout the Republic. Thousands and thousands of peons immediately lent their support. The dictator was surprised at the unusual public reaction and wanted to convince the public that Madero led only a small rebellion. He was absolutely mistaken. The whole country was up in arms. The scene in print twenty-one is one of chaos. Surrounded by flames Madero thrusts his manifesto at the dictator who is shown falling out of his presidential chair, which is an 149 obvious reference to Díaz being ousted from power by Madero. In the background, members of the Porfirian regime flee from the confrontation between Madero and Díaz. In association of Madero and his Plan of San Luis Potosi prints twenty and twenty-one combined mark the beginning of the Mexican Revolution. Simultaneously the end of the first violent phase of the war is indicated in the reference to Díaz’ fall from power. The time span between the two separate moments referred to in both prints ranges from October 1910, when Madero wrote his Plan, to May 1911, when Díaz resigned and left the country. The TGP is consistent throughout the portfolio in this type of interplay among prints, which here interrupts the chronological timeline, jumping ahead in the story, as it foreshadows what is coming. In terms of when the Plan of San Luis Potosi was written, Ocampo clearly indicates in print twenty that it happened while Madero was in prison. The text for the print however, is more ambiguous in its statement that “during his imprisonment [Madero] dedicated himself to develop the principles of [his Plan].” Although Madero likely began to develop his manifesto while in prison, the final version of the Plan was drafted after his escape from jail and arrival in Texas on October 6, 1910. However, the document was dated October 5, which corresponds to the last day Madero was in Mexico prior to his escape into the United States. The date was changed in order to avoid international conflict between Mexico and the United States and to eradicate any potential implication that Madero was operating with support from the United States. Furthermore, print twenty emphasizes the idea that Madero wrote the Plan of San Luis Potosi alone. Madero likely did draft the original version of this Plan, but he also received input from a commission he formed to discuss and edit the document.288 150 Additionally, contrary to the claims made in the print’s text that Madero, “offered farreaching social reforms” Madero’s reformist plan was not revolutionary in its social demands and made only vague statements regarding social issues and reform.289 Regardless of its shortcomings, the Plan of San Luis Potosi provided one of the first efforts to formulate an ideological banner for social change. Through image, text, and even in numeration, print twenty strategically refers to November 20, 1910, the date set by Madero, as the start point for the insurrection. However, things did not go as intended. After his realization that the support for the rebellion he anticipated was not going to materialize, Madero himself changed his plans and never left the United States during the month of November 1910.290 The historian Stanley R. Ross explains, “[I]inadequate organization of the movement resulted in a very unimpressive showing around November 20.”291 Ross continues, “In many localities, prospective revolutionary leaders had been arrested. In other communities, fear and uncertainty encouraged the cautious policy of awaiting news of the first revolutionary triumph.”292 However, we know today that insurgent acts did occur in half a dozen states, including Veracruz, Sonora, Durango, Chihuahua, and Coahuila between November 19 and 22.293 Thus, the Mexican Revolution had a shaky start and November 20, 1910 as the date for the start of the revolt is more mythical than accurate. A regular practice in the TGP’s portfolio is to pair prints whose juxtposition reveals the complexities and the multiplicity of issues related to the Mexican Revolution. The TGP countered the myth of the mythological start date for the revolt presented in print twenty with print twenty-two, Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada. 18 November 1910 (Aquiles Serdán and his family initiate the armed 151 Revolution in Puebla. 18 November 1910) by Fernando Castro Pacheco [Figure 28]. The text narrates: At 5 on the streets of Santa Clara, Puebla on November 18, 1910 Aquiles Serdán, his family, and friends shot the first bullets demanded in the Plan of San Luis Potosi. Aquiles defended himself with great courage and fought for hours, until he ran out of bullets. The soldiers of Porfirio Díaz killed him and his body was displayed in Puebla in order to frighten the people. Two days later, on November 20th, began the revolution in the country. The entire Serdán Family was in alliance with Madero and involved in organizing the uprising in Puebla. But on November 18, 1910 authorities showed up at their home to arrest them, which resulted in a battle between the Serdán’s and federal forces.294 This is an historic episode that is typically acknowledged in most narratives about the war, but it does not set the record straight nor replace Madero’s declared date for rebellion in any versions of the narrative. The declaration in the print’s title, that the Serdán family activated the fight, draws attention to what turned out to be a false start for the Mexican Revolution. The choice by the TGP to incorporate within the portfolio November 20 as the start of the insurgency serves multiple purposes. One, it pays homage to Madero as the leader of the civil war and to the Plan of San Luis Potosi as “the” call to revolution. Two, it anchors the narrative of the Mexican Revolution in the portfolio to national master narratives. Three, it operates as a critique of the inventive nature of Mexican history as it highlights the way master narratives of the war combine the factual and fictive. Prints twenty and twenty-two exemplify how the TGP interweaves multiple aspects and versions of the master narratives of the rebellion into its portfolio. The TGP did incorporate the claim that the Plan of San Luis Potosi was written solely by Madero 152 while in prison along with November 20th as the official inception of the war. Yet, the group also interjected other narratives when it addressed how Madero’s manifesto developed over time and with the input of others, as well as when it showcased the Serdán Family’s revolutionary battle with federal forces. Print twenty-two is one of a number of scenes of active fighting during the Mexican Revolution. In this instance, members of the Serdán household point rifles outdoors through windows at local authorities. A turned over stepping stool, alludes to the complete destruction of the family’s home, but the scene is otherwise sanitized of the details of the day long battle with authorities that led to the death of most members of the family—a fact captured in documentary photographs of the aftermath.295 Instead of defeat, Castro Pacheco heroically glorifies the defiance of the Serdán Family. Why? To have shown them as martyrs would have elevated them beyond their prescribed place in the master narratives, and instead print twenty-two maintains Madero’s role as “the” first significant martyr and icon of the civil war. The text caption for print twenty-three, La Revolución y los estragos (The Revolution and its destruction) by Alfredo Zalce emphasizes Díaz’ response to the Maderista Revolution. It states: Porfirio Diaz had the ingenuity of fighting the revolutionaries addicted to the Plan of San Luis Potosi, from a table on the terrace of Chapultepec Castle. Such is the truth. He used a map and lead soldiers to indicate the movements that his troops should make to defeat the enemy. The result of his strategy was that the revolutionaries fell on Ciudad Juarez and he had to leave hurriedly to Europe, from where he never returned. The image shows Díaz, as described in the text, with his generals at a table plotting strategies on a map [Figure 29]. The artist offers no details that infer a specific location, which may be his way of indicating that Díaz directed his military from his residence at 153 Chapultepec Castle rather than the actual battlefield. Interestingly Zalce chose to include a Zapatista figure as the only clear symbol of the threat against Díaz. Although the Zapatistas did rally behind Madero’s Plan of San Luis Potosi during the earliest phase of the rebellion, they were only one of many groups that contributed to the downfall and surrender of the regime.296 Print twenty-three introduces the Zapatista insurgency by visually inserting a Zapatista. This also operates to shift the portfolio’s focus from the Maderista narrative to the Zapatista narrative, which extends into prints twenty-four and twenty-five as they narrate the rise of Zapata and his forces from the southern regions of Mexico [Figures 48 and 52]. By promoting the Zapatista rebellion within the portfolio’s address of the Maderista revolt, both efforts are related to one another, suggesting similar goals, which is not accurate. This is the first of many instances in the portfolio where Madero and Zapata are paired and interconnected, a point I will return to throughout this study. Additionally, in spotlighting the Zapatistas, Zalce seems to make a statement about which group the TGP and he identified with and about which issues were important to them as artists and activists. Díaz and Madero negotiated the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez, which ended the first violent stage of the revolution. The treaty demanded that Díaz and his Vice-President resign, but it was not the victory that some had hoped for, as it made many concessions to the remaining members of the Porfirian regime. After submitting his resignation to the Mexican Congress on May 25, 1911, Díaz lived in exile in Europe the rest of his life.297 Print twenty-six, “El Ipiranga”: El pueblo despide “30 Años de Paz 31 de Mayo de 1911” (“The Ipiranga:” The people says goodbye to "30 Years of Peace on May 31, 1911”), by Alfredo Zalce portrays Díaz on the ship that took him into exile [Figure 30]. 154 The title’s ironic reference to the peace that will end with Diaz’ exit is that what is really being referenced is Porfirian systematic brutality and injustice that resulted in the oppression of the majority of lower class Mexican citizens and eventually rebellion. Madero is brought up in the print’s caption and described as the “conductor of Mexican people's destiny.” The print is based on photographs of the actual event, which primarily focused on the pandemonium created by the volume of people that came out to bid farewell to Díaz. In the print Zalce placed Díaz on the ship’s deck facing a mixed group of Mexican citizens who came out to see the dictator off. In the image, as in real life, the members of the elite class lament Díaz’ departure, while the rural citizens throw rocks at him. For its narrative the TGP, like the architects of the master narratives, selected, edited, and reconfigured what it included in the retelling of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution. Print twenty-three is visually anchored to the images that surround it in its reference to the occurences of the initial phase of the war. However, the title’s referral to ruination propels the narrative forward to Díaz’ downfall. Thus, the portfolio narrative jumps in terms of time and history. It shifts its focus from Madero’s call for rebellion in prints twenty through twenty-three to the Zapatista insurgency in prints twenty-three through twenty-four, to Zapata’s death in 1919 depicted in print twenty-five, and then back to Díaz’ departure from Mexico in late May 1911 in print twenty-six. The reference to Zapata’s death, completely out of chronological order, funcitons to warp time and reveal the inventive nature of the portfolio’s narrative. This is only one of many instances that indicate a constant interaction amongst the prints, as well as the irregular shifts in the portfolio through time and history. This fragmented presentation of events 155 and figures of the first stage of the war omits details, such as Pascual Orozco and Pancho Villa, who were key to the fighting at Ciudad Juárez and to the defeat of the dictator. In discounting or erasing the actions of these particular figures of the northern factions of the Revolution the TGP highlighted the narrative and figures of the southern rebellion. In keeping with the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez, Porfirian Secretary of Foreign Relations, Francisco León de la Barra, assumed the interim presidency of Mexico until new elections could be held. Print twenty-seven, Leon de la Barra, “El Presidente Blanco” 1911 (Leon de la Barra, “The White President” 1911) by Leopoldo Méndez portrays de la Barra in his role as interim president [Figure 31]. In the image de la Barra holds a large open umbrella that protects him and other members of his regime, which for all intents and purposes is the Porfirian regime, from a metaphorical attack by Zapatistas raining down from above. The text for the print describes de la Barra and his objectives: Francisco León de la Barra was one of the most sinister figures of those who have gone through the history of Mexico. He ruled Mexico from May to December 1911 and his sole concern was to hinder the revolutionary march. When he returned from abroad in 1912, he dedicated himself to conspiring against the legitimate government of Madero. He was, therefore, one of the instigators for the nefarious military uprising of February 1913. This print is another instance where the image and text of the portfolio diverge. Although not represented in print twenty-seven Madero is invoked in the text’s accusations of conspiracy against him by the interim-president.298 The image, however, is focused on the relationship between the interim government of de la Barra and Zapata. The common theme between the two revolutionaries is de la Barra, but in reality separate issues are interjected in relation to each of them. In terms of Madero, the narrative of betrayal is raised, which also brings to light the issue of Madero’s decision to work 156 within the Porfirian regime’s infastructure rather than truly revolt against the elitist political system and dismantle the Porfirian government. Here Zapatistas are particular identified as “the’threat against the regime, which connects print twenty-seven to twentythree and in turn de la Barra to Díaz. The image alludes to the anxiety triggered by Zapatismo among the elite class of Mexico City in 1911. Zapata’s efforts were centralized in the south of Mexico, particularly in Morelos, which sits directly beneath Mexico City. Thus his insurgency directly threatened the “ruling order,” which in this image is represented by de la Barra and his entourage. Also of concern in 1911 was the emerging relationship between Zapata and Madero. In the next chapter I will further expand on the significance of this image to Zapata. Zapata as an aggressor against de la Barra suggests he and Madero share a common enemy in the interim President and that even possibly Zapata is fighting in Madero’s name. In identifying Madero and Zapata in contest to de la Barra this print contributes to the interweaving of their narratives and builds a sense of their unified efforts and an alliance between them. In print twenty-eight, La entrada de Francisco I. Madero en la ciudad de Mexico, 7 de Juno de 1911 (Francisco I. Madero entrance into the capital city, June 7, 1911), Isidoro Ocampo presents Madero’s entrance into Mexico City following the signing of the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez [Figure 32]. Mounted on horseback and surrounded by supporters, Madero waves the Mexican flag. The text for the print states: Madero's arrival to the capital of the Republic following the signing of the Treaties of Ciudad Juarez is unprecedented in the history of Mexico. Without exaggeration of any kind, almost all the people took to the streets to cheer the leader of the Revolution. The enemies of the people are the only ones who stayed in their homes, and many months later they began to conspire against the government and caused the fall of the Apostle of Democracy. 157 This caption emphasizes the unprecedented support Madero received from the public, but more importantly it builds tension in the narrative alluding to conspirators that plot against the revolutionary leader. The source image for this print also speaks to Madero’s impending downfall [Figure 33]. Revealingly, the photo used as the model for print twenty-eight was not taken on June 7, 1911, as the print’s title suggests, but rather it was taken on the first day of the coup against Madero in February 1913, which resulted in his death. The photograph documents Madero’s march from Chapultepec Castle, the President’s residence, to the National Palace where he went to take his proper place in response to the initial attacks against his administration. The close up framing of Madero in the print edits out details such as the castle in the background and the federal forces that surrounded him in an attempt to protect him. These editorial choices by the artist allow the photographic image of Madero to be placed into another context in the print, as they erase the markers that would otherwise locate it specifically to the period of the Tragic Ten Days. Additionally, the elimination of these details disassociates Madero from the markers of official power for the Mexican President. To depict what is described as Madero’s victory parade into the capital city with an image that denotes his overthow functions simultaneously to commemorate his rise to the presidency and to foreshadow his undoing. In its complexity this print offers a paradigm for the potential of the multiple meanings of each image of the sereis, as well as exemplifies the creative inventiveness of the TGP in constructing its version of history. In continuation of the Maderista narrative, prints twenty-nine through thirty-two focus on Madero taking office and serving as President. Print twenty-nine, Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular (Francisco I. Madero, popular canddate) by Julio Heller 158 illustrates the rituals associated with the ascension to the presidency modeled on photographic documentation of actual events [Figure 34 and 35].299 Heller represents Madero on the balcony of the National palace, the official seat of the executive branch of Mexican government. Madero stands, surrounded by supporters, and waves to a large crowd below. His left arm is frozen in mid-air as he extends it to wave to the crowd below. The crowd consists primarily of campesinos who are identifiable by their sombreros. In fact, photographs of the event reveal that a more diverse multi-class group, indicated by their attire, actually greeted the President at the balcony [Figure 35].300 The text for the print reports: Francisco I. Madero travels the country to engage with the Mexican public and promote his program for government. As a candidate for President of the Republic he undertakes to address all the needs and all the problems of Mexico. In late 1911, as a result of a free vote, Madero assumes the position of First Magistrate of the country. The lawyer Jose Maria Piño Suarez was elected Vice-President of the Republic. Under the Maderista regime, liberties are a great reality. In an abbreviated manner the text performs a summary of Madero’s efforts during his presidency and addresses his institutional aims, his candidacy and election to President of Mexico, as well as his election to the presidency in 1912. These points are further invoked by the large banner on the viewer’s right, which shows a head shot of Madero framed by the words “Partido Democratico” (Democratic Party). This print refers to various historical and artistic tropes in its depiction of Madero. One example is in its portrayal of Madero greeting the people from the balcony of the official seat of power, which is traditionally one of the first official acts for leadership after taking office in many countries. Another example is the President’s frozen gestures typical of the orator pose, a stance that is traditionally engaged by political leaders in the 159 midst of speech, most famously modeled in the early first century Roman statue of Augustus of Prima Porta. In anchoring Madero to these official tropes of rulership iconography Heller, the artist, underscore his willingness to embrace conventions and perfunctory administrative duties of government. Although numerous prints of the portfolio build on icons of rulership, they often also incorporate elements of religious art as portraiture of leadership commonly did. A somber appearance conveyed the monarch’s social distinction and separation from the masses, as well as his otherworldliness. The Hapsburg rulers were considered divinely chosen and representatives of God.301 As such, religious attributes are applied to portraits of leaders. Artists instilled intangible spiritual values and majesty through expressions that suggest remoteness, mysteriousness, and isolation.302 I read various correlations between print twenty-nine and that of the Crucifixion of Christ. In the narrativization of Madero’s journey to the presidency the print’s text is reminiscent of the narrativization of saints’ lives, acts, and trials. The bust portrait of Madero on the banner is circled by a pattern of short vertical lines creating a type of halo, which signifies his sanctity and perhaps his martyrdom. As such, this foreshadowing of Madero’s execution is a narratological technique that also links him to Christ. A door jamb looms directly behind Madero’s head and in its upward extension mimicks the vertical linear form of the cross typically seen behind the head of Christ in most Crucifixion scenes. Madero’s raised and extended left arm and hand visually relate to the image of a crucified Christ whose extended limbs are fastened by nails at the hands and feet. The crowd below Madero could be paralleled to the people typically portrayed surrounding Christ and lamenting his death while he was suspended on the cross. In 160 particular, a child at the bottom left of the image extends his clasped hands toward Madero. Although a child is not traditionally found in crucifixion scenes, clasped hands are key to the codified visual language of lamentation images. The TGP repeatedly made intertextual connections among prints in the portfolio through repetition of visual motifs. In terms of symbols of the official seat of power in this image and elsewhere, there are primarily two utilized in the TGP’s portfolio, the presidential chair and the balcony of the national palace. The presidential chair is associated with Díaz in prints twenty-three and twenty-six and with Huerta in print thirtyfour. Unlike Díaz before him or Huerta after him, Madero is not portrayed in the presidential chair that, in association with the other two leaders, serves as a symbol of corruption, violence, and oppression. Instead, Madero is shown in a balcony scene—a locus reserved in the portfolio for three leaders of Mexico: Díaz in print twenty-three, Madero in print twenty-nine, and Lazaro Cárdenas in print seventy-two. Thus, the TGP connected Madero to both Díaz and Cárdenas. Díaz as a signifier of corrupt and oppressive power is countered by Madero as the symbol of democracy. Cárdenas, on the other hand, is cast as an heir to Madero’s democratic ideals. In print thirty, Francisco I. Madero (1873-1913), Isidoro Ocampo presents the first revolutionary President of Mexico [Figure 36]. The caption states: "Someday the most exalted spirits will be moved to the point of ecstasy by Madero’s ideas," said Crater, the famous author. Indeed, the leader of the Revolution of 1910 displayed many great virtues that some people do not recognize. It is necessary to banish the idea, because it is contrary to the truth, that the Apostle only recognized political problems of our country. Madero saw each and every one of the nation's problems. The text emphasizes Madero’s concern with all the nation’s problems, which included labor rights, but not necessarily land reform. The print image is based on an official 161 photographic portrait of the Mexican president [Figure 37].303 The background is not completely empty, but it is difficult to make out the details of what is located behind Madero, although I speculate it is the national flag. In the photograph Madero sits expressionless and erect in a three-quarter turn, facing the viewer’s left. He wears a white formal dress shirt, with a white bow tie, and a dark jacket.304 He is framed from mid-chest level, which allows for the inclusion of and highlights the presidential sash that sits on his right shoulder and crosses his torso diagonally. The image on the center of the sash is difficult to read, but seems to be in the form of an eagle, which is the insignia on the Mexican national flag. In traditional portraits, the sitter is composed and characteristics are harnessed to evoke the attributes the sitter desires to engender. A codified visual vocabulary has resulted from repeated application of particular expressions, gestures, accoutrement, and objects in portraits of leadership. When engaged, this vocabulary transmits a particular code and constructs an ideologically inflected impression of the subject. Thus, the performance of portraiture produces a sign, or mask, that typically conceals negative aspects about the sitter, while it highlights, if not creates, positive attributes about them. The photograph follows many conventions of portraiture in its construction of leadership. Madero is central and pushed into the forefront of the image, highlighting his importance. His direct gaze and rigid posture communicate confidence and an authoritative attitude. His somber appearance conveys the social distinction and remoteness that are typical in portraits of political leaders.305 Madero’s formal suit indicates his class background as part of the landholding elite and suggests his civilized manner. The presidential sash worn by Madero consumes the bottom third of the 162 composition and makes a clear institutional statement of the subject as the official and legal leader of the nation.306 As in the photograph, the graphic portrait depicts Madero with a somber expression, sitting erect in a three-quarter turn, and wearing a formal suit. However, in the print Ocampo creates a dramatic background of expressionistic lines on the left side and dark shadows on the right. Although shadows are cast in both images, in the print they evoke an ominous sensibility and suggest Madero’s vulnerability. In subtly changing the angle of Madero’s head, from upright to slightly down turned, Ocampo creates a less authoritative and a more unsure expression. Additionally, the artist reworks Madero’s direct gaze into a distracted stare that is focused on something beyond the viewer. Most importantly Ocampo cropped the portrait, thus eliminating the presidential sash worn by Madero in the photograph. This intentional cropping, along with the other changes made by the artist, disassociate Madero from significant markers of leadership and power and instead can be read as a commentary on Madero’s lack of control over his administration and military, which eventually revolted against him. This interpretation of Madero as a deficient leader underscores that as a symbol, Madero becomes an icon of popular democracy rather than an institutional figurehead of the nation state.307 Madero’s presidential portrait in the TGP’s series is framed on one side by images of Madero’s ascension to the presidency (prints twenty-eight and twenty-nine) and on the other side by illustrations that document his alignment with incumbent members of the Porfirian regime. In print thirty-one, Francisco I. Madero es rodeado por el antiguo aparato Porfiriano (Francisco I. Madero is surrounded by the old Porfirian apparatus), Francisco Mora emphasizes Madero’s alliance and perhaps continuity with members of 163 the Porfirian government [Figure 38]. This issue of Madero’s alignment with the Porfirian political system and regime is also highlighted in the print’s caption: As a result of the fateful Treaty of Ciudad Juárez, which left Porfirian institutions intact, the reactionaries played "to win by losing." In other words, the victorious regime was infiltrated by the opposition, which was concealed in sheepskin. Leon de la Barra and the Cientificos wanted to surround Madero and frequently achieved their aims, which resulted in constant trouble for the Mexican Revolution. In the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez Madero made many fateful concessions to the Porfirian regime, including the incorporation of Porfiran bureaucrats and the army into the new goverment, which lead to his tragic demise.308 The text emphasizes a deceitful and menacing attitude by the Porfirian old guard when part of Madero’s administration, not unlike depictions of Christ and the scorners as he is led to execution. The caption also foreshadows what is to come, which is the betrayal of Madero and his assassination. It is difficult to discern what event or moment print thirty-one replicates. It follows the official portrait image of Madero as President. The activities of the figures in the graphic image allude to the fanfare of Madero’s assumption to the presidency, but it breaks from the more formal compositions that relate to the representation of the President of the Republic. In its lack of details specific to a particular event, the print reads instead as a depiction of Madero performing general official duties of the President. The artist portrays Madero walking among a mixed crowd of supporters and encircled by members of the Porfirian regeime and society who can be discerned by their European style military uniforms and attire.309 Conversely, in the background, a crowd of campesinos wave their sombreros and hold a sign that reads “Viva Madero.” In print thirty-one, Mora depicts Madero literally walking arm-in-arm with Bernardo Reyes.310 Although Reyes served under Porfirio Díaz, he is reported to have 164 been in opposition to Díaz's policies. For a time, Reyes supported Madero, but later led the first rebellion against him. On December 13, 1911, Reyes engaged in a rebellious plot against Madero, but due to lack of support surrendered on December 25, 1911. As a prisoner Reyes was eventually moved to Mexico City. From the prison in the capital, however, Reyes, along with Felix Díaz, served as a leader of a rebellion that sparked the Ten Tragic Days of February 1913. Reyes was killed in the initial assault on the National Palace. Thus, there is a narratological connection between print thirty-one and the source photograph for print twenty-eight that shows Madero riding to the National Palace in response to Reyes’s rebellion and ultimately heading to his death.311 The manner that Mora clusters the Porfirian old guard around Madero creates a clique functionioning as a barrier that separates Madero from the campesinos. The image and text for print thirty-one underscore the insidious nature of the Porfirian old guard. As such, the print raises the issue of Madero’s decision to maintain and incorporate the Porfirian bureaucratic infrastructure into his own administration. Madero’s decision to allow Porfirian infrastructure to remain intact is a troubling endorsement of centralized government similar to the Porfirian nation-state’s systems of operation. As this accommodation resulted in Madero’s demise, I read this image and its text not only as a critique of the Porfirian apparatus, but also of Madero’s decision to maintain them. The betrayal of Madero by Porfirian General Victoriano Huerta and others is the focus of the next group of prints, which results in a simultaneous and interwoven presentation of each figure’s narrative. Huerta’s overthrow of the Maderista government marks the beginning of the second and even more brutal phase of the Mexican Revolution. The TGP presents Huerta’s narrative between prints thirty-two and forty- 165 four, and it is picked up again in print fifty-one. The ten prints dedicated to Huerta address his act of treason, his rise to power, the reaction against Huerta, and his demise. The series of events that begin with Huerta’s insurrection and end with his assuming the presidency are known collectively as La decena trajica or the Tragic Ten Days. Print thirty-two, La Decena Tragica, 9-18 de Febrero de 1913 (The Ten Tragic Days, February 9-18, 1913) by Alfredo Zalce encapsulates the events of the Ten Tragic Days and identifies through the text and image the actors involved in plotting against Madero [Figure 39]. The caption narrates: On February 9, 1913 Aspirants, Bernardo Reyes, Félix Díaz, Manuel Mondragón and a group of civilian traitors initiated the call for a coup of The Citadel. They attack the National Palace where they are repelled by loyal troops. Victoriano Huerta is responsible for the greatest treachery of our contemporary history, by using the same weapons that had been entrusted to defend the established democratic institutions against Madero and Piño Suarez. The text specifically names Bernardo Reyes, Félix Díaz, and Manuel Mondragón as conspirators. The text condemns Huerta for his treacherous role in the murders of Madero and Piño Suárez. Yet, the image does not indict any one person, or perhaps, by its ambiguity, holds all named accountable. The Mexican capital was the battleground of the Ten Tragic Days and Zalce depicts it from a birds-eye-view. He scatters numerous rifles throughout the composition, which alludes to the multiple fronts that attacked Madero. In a direct reference to the federal army, smoking rifles with bayonettes are directed toward the falling figures of Madero and Pino Suárez located at the bottom right of the image.312 It is believed, or rather told, that Madero and Pino Suárez were shot by the escorts who were to deliver them to the penitentiary. However, Huerta is usually blamed for orchestrating Madero’s assassination, if not charged with pulling the trigger. 166 On the top left of the image, Huerta stands atop a building that reads as the National Palace, while two other figures make their way up to join him. These figures are all literally shown climbing to the top of the social and political ladder indicating the personal gains they acquired through their duplicitous actions and Madero’s death. In print thirty-three, El embajador Lane Wilson “arregla” el conflicto (Ambassador Lane Wilson “fixes” the conflict) by Leopoldo Méndez, the TGP condemned Huerta’s actions and implicated Henry Lane Wilson, the American Ambassador, in the uprising against Madero [Figure 40].313 The caption reports: From the American Embassy building, the sinister Henry Lane Wilson, diplomatic representative of the White House, concocted Huerta’s treason. It was there, according to irrefutable evidence provided by eyewitnesses, where he signed the Pact of the Embassy, which made possible the usurpation of power by the drunkard and cruel Victoriano and the murder of Madero and Pino Suarez. Lane Wilson was a genuine representative of the imperialist policy that characterizes, almost without exception, the White House. Méndez underscores Lane Wilson’s role in the Ten Tragic Days of February 1913 by representing him as the only visible chess player who sits at a chessboard. The game board is symbolic of the Mexican political landscape, while Huerta and Madero are reduced to pawns in the game. The American Ambassador is in the midst of moving the upright Huerta chess piece across the chessboard. The Madero chess piece is in mid-fall, as it is being knocked over by Lane Wilson’s left hand. The Madero chess piece is accompanied by a chess piece that resembles Zapata. This is another instance where the two revolutionaries are paired around the issue their similar fates. Including Zapata, the image diverges from the text, which does not refer to the revolutionary leader nor is he typically part of the narrative of the Tragic Ten Days. I examine the significance of Zapata in this print in more depth in my address of his narrative in the TGP’s portfolio. 167 Print thirty-four, El criminal Victoriano Huerta se adueña del poder 19 de Febrero de 1913 (The criminal Victoriano Huerta takes power February 19, 1913) by Alfredo Zalce continues the narrative of betrayal and the coup against the Maderista regime [Figure 41]. The print’s text critically states: The dipsomaniac Victoriano Huerta arrives at the National Palace and has himself appointed President of the Republic. José Maria Lozano, Querido Moheno, Nemesio García Naranjo, Odagúibel and other intellectual reactionaries collaborate with him. Fortunately, the uprising is defeated in a few months, due to the fact that the Mexican people rose up in arms to get the country back on track via the Constitutionalist’s path. Huerta is shown in the presidential chair, as we read that he has had himself declared President of the Republic, while the corpses of Madero and Piño Suarez lie at his feet. With a bottle in his hand Zalce refers to Huerta’s alcoholism. In its reference to the Constitutionalist forces, the text emphasizes the defeat of Huerta, which marks the end of the second violent phase of the war and sets up the next chapter of the Mexican Revolution. A point of interest regarding the emphasis in the text on the Constitutionalist’s leading the nation on the right path in response to Huerta coup is Morales Jimenez revealed, in celebrating the man responsible for the assassination of leader of the southern forces, his divergence from the TGP’s Zapatista based ideology and narrative. The final image of this part of the narrative resurfaces in the portfolio with print fifty-one. Victoriano Huerta abandona el país 20 de Julio de 1914 (Victoriano Huerta abandons the country July 20, 1914), print fifty-one, by Fernando Castro Pacheco is a commentary on Huerta’s morality and treachery as President of Mexico. [Figure 42]. Stooped over by the weight of the large bag he carries as he has filled with what he looted from the national treasury, Huerta points a pistol at the body of Madero as he exits. The 168 latter, along with Piño Suárez, are shown on their backs as corpses and surround Huerta. The caption for the print describes: In July 1914, after looting the coffers of national treasury, Victoriano Huerta, the drunkard, escapes México and heads to Coatzacoalcos, where he boarded a ship that takes him to European beaches. A short time later, there was signed in Teoloyucan, State of Mexico, a peace treaty, which specified unconditional surrender of the Federal Army. The mistakes of the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez would not be repeated in Teoloyucan. The text underlines the peace treaty between federal forces and those against Huerta demanded unconditional surrender of the federal army. The text’s emphasis on this point, the need to get rid of the incumbent federal administration, highlights Madero’s earlier mistake in not doing the same in the Treaty of Ciudad Juárez. The reference to Huerta’s alcoholism is a repeated reference that connects this print to the last one that addressed Huerta’s narrative, print thirty-four. The TGP included distinct figures of Mexican history as part of their version of the Maderista narrative. This includes those who joined Madero for the initial phase of the rebellion against Díaz, supporters of the Plan of San Luis Potosi and those who promoted democratic reform, as well as those who rose up with Venustiano Carranza against Huerta. In the portfolio, seldom referred to figures, like Carranza (in print thirtysix) and Pancho Villa (in print thirty-seven), are incorporated through the literal interweaving of prints that focus on them as adjunct chapters of Madero’s life. Including Carranza here highlights his participation in the Maderista rebellion, which draws to light that he did not contribute much to Madero’s rebellion--he had been appointed Commander-in-chief of Coahuila, Nuevo León, and Tamaulipas, but had failed to organize a revolution in these states --he was appointed Madero’s Minister of War in May of 1911. However, Carranza is primarily recognized for his leadership of the anti169 Huertista rebellion (1913) and of the Constitutionalist Army. Three Maderistas all murdered by the opposition whom the TGP chose to celebrate are Abraham Gonzalez in print thirty-five, Asesinato de Abraham Gonzalez 7 de Marzo de 1913 (The assasination of Abraham Gonzales March 7, 1913) by Francisco Mora; Serapio Rendon in print thirtynine, Asesinato del diputado Serapio Rendon por Victoriano Huerta. 22 de Agosto de 1913 (The assassination of Serapio Rendon by Victoriano Huerta) by Fernando Castro Pacheco; and Belisario Dominguez in print forty, El Senado Belisario Domínguez protesta contra el cuartelazo 1913 (Senator Belisario Domínguez protests the uprising of 1913) by Ignacio Aguirre [See Appendix 1]. Print forty-three, Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta (Forces against the dictatorship of Victoriano Huerta) by Alberto Beltran is one of the last times Madero is addressed and is also one of the final scenes of the Huertista narrative [Figure 43]. The image visually denotes the battle between Huerta’s federal forces and the multi-class groups that reacted against Huerta. The text describes: News was received from all parts of the Republic that new revolutionary groups against Victoriano Huerta had appeared. Fighting between federal forces and men of the Revolution was recorded at all of the cardinal points. The people, in addition to seeking justice for the death of Madero and Piño Suárez, wanted to completely transform social institutions that had persisted and were similar to those prevailing in the Porfiriato. The image infers the masses and multiple groups that reacted against Huerta by incorporating two separate scenes stacked horizontally. The text, however, is vague in terms of naming or visually discerning the specific leadership or camps that reacted against Huerta. This is a testament to the fact that during this phase of the Mexican Revolution, multiple forces, that at times opposed one another, fought together against Huerta. In fact, the statement in the caption for this image asserts objectives that were 170 true for some, but not for all who reacted against Huerta. Additionally, transformation could and often did mean something very different to each distinct group. The final instance that Madero, or any of the leaders of the war, for that matter, materializes in the portfolio is in print eighty-two as part of the Revolutionary Family, which I addressed elsewhere in this study. Madero was labeled the “Apostle of Mexican Democracy,” and this title aggrandizes Madero’s role as an advocate for democracy.314 As a symbol Madero represents democratic principles, in particular effective suffrage and no reelection, which he promoted in his book The Presidential Succession in 1910 published in January 1909 and in his call for an Anti-Reelectionist party for the 1910 presidential race.315 However, the label “Apostle of Mexican Democracy” narrows the nature of democracy and the significance of Madero as a symbol. The TGP applied the title of Apostle to Madero twice in the portfolio’s text, once in print twenty-eight and again in print thirty. The artists also make multiple connections that emphasize Madero’s democratic ideals. However, the TGP attempted to counter the singular focus on Madero as purely a symbol of democracy. In print twenty-nine the text emphasizes, “As a candidate for President of the Republic [Madero] undertakes all the needs and all the problems of Mexico.” Print thirty makes the point that Madero “saw each and every one of the nation’s problems,” which according to Zapata was not true. Both prints are instances where the TGP offered a counter-narrative to the common characterization of Madero as a bureaucrat who was solely concerned with the political rather than with social change. The limited notion of Madero being more politically minded, rather than socially concerned, is due to a number of issues. Madero’s book The 171 Presidential Succession in 1910 neglects social issues including land reform and represents his primary concern as limited to the political system of Mexico and replacing the dictator. During his brief presidency Madero had initiated modest programs to investigate the issues of labor, education, among others.316 However, his short time in office disallowed any full comprehension of what his administration was capable of. One way of reading the TGP’s prints are as statements that attempted to expand comprehension and symbolic meaning of Madero, while also worked to reconcile him with Zapata in a way that is quite false. This is inline with how most master narratives treat Madero and Zapata, as unified in their efforts, which reveals the underlying presence of these dominant stories in the TGP’s album. Perhaps the effort to couple Madero and Zapata in the graphic series is also indicative of the TGP’s own interests in both leaders as icons of the Revolution. The word "apostle" has two meanings, messenger and the original twelve followers of Jesus Christ.317 Therefore identifying Madero with this title also speaks to the sanctification and veneration of Madero in a manner that is comparable to the glorification of saints and martyrs of Christianty. Parallels between Madero and Christ, in particular the narrative of The Passion of Christ, permeate the narrative of Madero in the TGP portfolio. This serves to exalt Madero and his goals for democratic reform and transfers religious connotations reserved for Christ to Madero, which the TGP was not unique to engage. Traditionally, Jesus is said to have had Twelve Apostles who spread the Gospel after his resurrection.318 All but John were martyred. Madero’s narrative can easily be equated with the narration of the lives of the apostles and saints in this regard and others. Additionally, Madero’s Plan of San Luis Potosi can be likened to the 172 Apostle’s Creed, which states the belief system of Christianity and developed by the Twelve Apostles. The sanctification of Madero suggests that he was admired and celebrated by all Mexicans. Yet, this is not true, as the Zapata narrative shows. In remembering Madero, narratives traditionally focus on his political life, his ideology as established in the Plan of San Luis Potosi, and his martyrdom. This results in omissions of details or ignores aspects of the full story, for instance criticism against Madero. During his lifetime, Madero was regularly and vehemently critiqued, which is documented in the news journals and publications of his day.319 He was either too reformist or too conservative, and most identified him as weak and inadequate. Conservatives accused Madero of being ungrateful for not being appreciative of the huge monetary gains his family made under Díaz and of cowardice for not fighting during the early stage of the revolution, while the left attacked him for being a reformist. Madero was denounced by conservatives for his support base, which consisted primarily of members of the the popular classes.320 Generally, the source of complaints for conservatives was fear of political and social reforms that would result in the loss of their wealth and privileges. Conversely, the left criticized him for only wanting modest reforms. For conservatives their concern was particularly fueled by Madero’s efforts to negotiate with Zapata who demanded immediate land reform. So great were these fears that the conservative press actually applauded the coup of 1913 and Madero’s murder.321 However, for others these events re-ignited the rebellion and the second phase of violence of the Mexican Revolution. In discussing him as a leader, many emphasize Madero’s lack of military skill and inactivity on the battle field. However, there is photographic documentation of Madero 173 at battle sites during the first phase of the civil war. Granted he is never seen engaged in any type of fighting, but here at least he reads as less of a bureaucrat and more as a man of action. Additionally, photographs from the Casasola Archive document Madero’s ride into the city from the palace of Chapultepec to the National Palace to confront the military coup d’etat on February 9, 1913.322 Yet rarely, if ever, are these types of action shots of Madero circulated. Even when the image of Madero as a man of military action is included in the portfolio, it is relabeled and manipulated in a manner that highlights Madero’s downfall, rather than his military prowess or even bravery. Instead, most photographs, paintings, and prints depict Madero wearing suits rather than a military uniform, performing an administrative function or duty, rather than in action. This is true of every image of Madero in the TGP’s portfolio too. However, in death Madero was sanctified and absolved of almost all concerns, complaints, and criticisms against him.323 It is the revisionary process of remembering and rewriting Madero’s narrative that transformed the man into “the” symbol of electoral or parliamentary democracy. The post-war formulation of Madero is the result of efforts on multiple fronts. For instance, the Agrupación Pro-Madero was founded in Mexico City to, “revive the revolution’s original ideas” and in 1920 organized the first public commemoration of Madero’s and Pino Suárez’ “sacrifices.”324 Government leaders saw the value in attaching themselves to Madero in order to strengthen their revolutionary credentials, but his significance waxed and waned as post-war regimes negotiated revolutionary ideals and different types of democracy.325 As a symbol of effective suffarage and no reelection, Madero was evoked to chastize Carranza when he attempted to impose his own successor in 1920. Interestingly, Madero was avoided all together by Obregón’s administration during the de 174 la Huerta Revolt in 1923, which denounced Obregón of reelectionism when he imposed Calles as his candidate for Mexican president.326 The labor unión CROM, who worked in cooperation with the Callista regime, is another group that organized public memorials to Madero.327 Their first ceremony was conducted in 1925 at the Villa de Guadalupe, the site of the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe, which elevated religous connotations of Madero. Interestingly, however, during this period of time the Callista administration, which stood for separation of Church and State, was implementing a campaign against the reactionary forces of the Catholic Church. Ultimately Madero works as a symbol of unity, especially for middle class intellectuals, more so than others because, “his principle of ‘effective suffrage, no reelections’ was one of the few ideas shared by all factions of the new regime” and also because, “he had been murdered by counter-revolutionaries, not other revolutionaries.”328 This mode of operation serves post-war efforts to create and promote a unifed Revolutionary Family—despite the Zapatista counter-narrative here. However, O’Malley makes the point that after 1940: As the regime abandoned its populist policies and pursued policies favoring capitalist development, middle-class and conservative satisfaction increased. This meant that the maderista opposition lost much of its traditional base and that the government no longer needed to rely so heavily upon propagandan to woo that segment of the population. . . . The official cult of Madero became superfluous and ineffective form of propanganda.329 Nonetheless, Madero as a symbol continues to be engaged and manipulated in various way throughout history and beyond Mexico as a “conciliary” symbol for a Revolution that was comprised of various politcal and economic agendas linke to a multi-class process. 175 CHAPTER FIVE: Counter-Narratives of Emiliano Zapata 176 Zapata is visually incorporated into nine prints from Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. They include print eight by Mariana Yampolsky, print sixteen by Ignacio Aguirre, print twenty-four by Francisco Mora, print twenty-five by Angel Bracho, prints twenty-seven and thirty-three by Leopoldo Méndez, print fifty-seven by Isidoro Ocampo, print sixty-seven by Luis Arenal, and print eighty-two by Alfredo Zalce. Prints eight, sixteen, and fifty-seven visually depict scenes from Zapata’s life in a consecutive order. The other six images present Zapata as a symbol that emblematically evokes his rebellion or martyrdom in the name of agrarian reform and engage him as a signifier for concepts of political reform, social justice, and the Mexican Revolution. Interestingly, there are no instances where a print solely refers to Zapata through text, as is seen with Madero. In other words, when Zapata is named in the text captions of the portfolio he is also represented in the image that corresponds. It is worth noting that seven of the nine prints that depict Zapata in the TGP’s portfolio were produced by senior TGP artists who established the organization and its mission, this includes Aguirre, Bracho, Méndez, Ocampo, Arenal, and Zalce. This point provides evidence of the TGP’s, as well as each individual artist’s, alignment with Zapata and his platform for agrarian reform and social justice.330 Emiliano Zapata, born in 1879, grew up in the rural village of Anenecuilco in the state of Morelos. Most members of the community were of the agrarian labor class. The Zapata family was part of a small rural middle class of Anenecuilco and better off than most in town. They lived in a home of adobe and stone, rather than a hut of straw, and owned some land that would likely qualify as a rancho.331 They owned livestock and Emiliano worked at a number of odd jobs that included leading a mule team and training 177 horses. Neither he, nor his brother Eufemio, ever had to work as field hands on haciendas, like so many of their community.332 However, this did not blind Emiliano from the realities of poverty and oppression that so many around him dealt with, nor did it separate him from the cultural milieu of his village.333 His election to President of his village’s council on September 12, 1909 speaks to how much Zapata was respected and that he was recognized as a leader among his local community.334 Emiliano Zapata (1879-1919) was a leader in the Revolution who fought for and promoted agrarian reform and regional autonomy in the form of grass roots self government. His involvement began as a fight for the reclamation of land and resources on behalf of the disenfranchised villagers of his hometown.335 Agrarian reform was always Zapata’s primary focus and he remained committed to this issue throughout his military and political career during the war. For Zapata control of local government was also a concern because he knew first hand that it directly impacted the agrarian issue. The Plan of Ayala clearly stated Zapata’s goals: "popular reforms carried out in the field . . . [so] that dispossessed farming families would recover their lands or receive new grants from expropriated haciendas, and that . . . actual veterans of the struggle would dominate the resulting regime".336 The significance of the land rights to the TGP and Morales Jimenez, the historian who wrote the print’s captions, is magnified and reiterated through repeated references in both images and text to Zapata, the Zapatistas, and rural laborers throughout the portfolio. Eight prints of the TGP’s album focus on the Zapatistas and/or agrarian reform. These include prints twenty-three, thirty-eight¸forty-three, forty-four, forty-nine, fifty-three, fifty-eight, sixty-six, and eighty-five. Often the Zapatistas and rural villagers are 178 collapsed within the graphic series as if interchangeable figures. The stereotypical representation of Zapatistas is as rural laborers wearing large brimmed sombreros and dressed in white cotton calzones. Rural villagers and laborers made up the majority of the southern faction of the Mexican Revolution. But, contrary to popular belief, not all rural villagers and laborers participated in the war nor followed Zapata, a point I expand on below. Reasons for joining Zapata varied and were individual, some joined out of outrage, many joined for protection, and others joined due to family and village ties. However, participation in the war was not only defined by fighting. Some entire village communities supported Zapata and made contributions in a variety of ways, which included taking up the fight, as well as tending to the Zapatistas’ fields and helping to feed Zapatista forces. Samuel Brunk identifies Zapatista soldiers as, “primarily free villagers rather than hacienda peons” and explains that, “as long as haciendas still functioned their full-time employees were too secure” to join the fight.337 However, Historian John Tutino distinguishes the working population on haciendas and explains: Most [hacienda] estates maintained only small groups of permanent employees there, mostly mestizos and mulattos working as supervisors, craftsmen, and stock herders. Field labor was done by seasonal wage laborers recruited in neighboring villages. Working a few weeks or months each year, villagers produced the commercial maize, wheat, and sugar that generated estate profits. . . . Hacienda production and peasant family economies (and thus peasant communities) were inextricably linked. This integration was inherently exploitative.338 John Katz’s essay on the labor conditions on haciendas further evidences that rural villagers often worked as temporary or seasonal laborers on haciendas.339 Tutino and Katz suggest that most rural village families were likely to seek work on haciendas, as it was often the only type of work available. This point counters Brunk’s distinctions 179 between free rural villagers and those that worked permanently as agrarian labor on haciendas. These contradictory descriptions of rural life and labor by Brunk, Tutino, and Katz reveal the existence of multiple and differing ideas about who participated in the Mexican Revolution, a point I come back to when I talk about women of the war. Although, Zapata’s initial efforts were based locally, Zapatista forces came from various parts of Morelos and the country. The first revolutionary meetings held in Morelos were organized by Torres Burgos. Although the meetings were held in the town of Ayala, men from surrounding areas participated, including Zapata from Anenecuilco, Catarino Perdomo from San Pablo Hidalgo, Gabriel Tepepa from Tlaquiltenango, and Margarito Martínez from southern Puebla. When Zapata and others officially rebelled under the Plan of San Luis Potosi on March 10, 1911 Ayalan forces numbered seventy. Womack describes these men as coming from, “various settlements in the municipality” and adds that the Zapatistas “picked up men and mounts in all the villages and ranches they passed through . . .”.340 Chieftains under Zapata included Felipe Neri from Chinameca, Morelos; Genovevo de la O from northwest region of Morelos; and Fortino Yaquica was from Tochimilco, Puebla.341 Thus, the army that eventually became the Zapatistas was a mixture of agrarian communities from throughout the country. Zapata and his men were not outfitted with official or formal uniforms. The southern revolutionary forces supplied their own apparel, which for the most part meant that the men wore their daily clothing. For the Zapatistas, temporary soldiers and fulltime farmers, their uniform consisted of either white cotton calzones or charro attire, as well as whatever was taken off of fallen bodies of the enemy and friends. Zapata typically wore a charro outfit for his uniform. Other standardized visual references that 180 are utilized to represent Zapata include the sombrero, a large black mustache, a rifle, a horse, and various symbolic references to land. These and other markers of identity are first captured in photographs and developed in caricatures published during the Mexican Revolution, and later they are adopted by artists of the twentieth century. Zapata is commonly portrayed in ways similar to the depictions of saints. Hagiographic tendencies in the visual treatment of Zapata include the depiction of specific scenes or events of his life.342 Additionally, the lack of recognition of Zapata as a leader during the Mexican Revolution by some and their attacks against him are similar to the disbelief and denial that saints often had to deal with in their lives. These various types of projections, and others, of Zapata are known to and incorporated by the TGP artists within their portfolio. However, they are selective in what and how they construct Zapata in their own narrative of the civil war. In the portfolio they are cautious to not evoke the national symbol that had been emptied by post-war regimes of any “true” meaning of revolution and reform. Instead, the TGP reclaimed Zapata for the rural masses of Mexico as they worked toward reconnecting Zapata to his ideological platform for self-government and agrarian reform in their portfolio. In the eighth print of the portfolio, “La Juventud de Emiliano Zapata: Lección Objectiva” (The Youth of Emiliano Zapata: An Important Lesson), the artist Mariana Yampolsky confronted the tyranny of Díaz’s regime by scrutinizing the hacienda system [Figure 44].343 In this image a young Zapata stands in the foreground on the right side of the composition looking out across a sprawling hacienda estate. In the distance, multiple 181 scenes capture the labor and abuse suffered by agrarian laborers who worked on these haciendas. Yampolsky’s print establishes Zapata’s connection to the agrarian issue, as well as brings a common myth about the revolutionary to life. The text caption provides the narrative of this myth: “And why don’t the people of the villages come together and take back the land that has been taken away?" Emiliano Zapata asked his father back in the days of his youth. "No son, replied the future leader’s father - nothing can be done against the hacendado’s agricultural estates and businessess.” In response, Emiliano said: "It cannot be done? Let me grow up and they will see that I can recover the lands taken from us." His father’s words stayed with him. The reference to a tale about Zapata, who as a youth promised to fight for the land stolen from his fellow villagers, indicates the varied sources for stories about the revolutionary. By locating Zapata, as witness to the oppressive working and living conditions on the hacienda, the artist and historian indicate that the agrarian issue was of personal concern to Zapata all his life. Many images of Zapata are modeled from photographs, but images of the early years of his life are rare.344 Therefore, the artist’s image of Zapata as a youth is a unique and inventive portrayal. Yampolsky depicted Zapata with a taut facial expression and in an active stance with his arms bent at the elbow, his left hand in a fist, his knees bent, and his feet spread wide apart. By placing Zapata against a stone wall and shrubbery rendered in dark tones, the artist, framed and pushed him into the foreground. The young man focuses his attention on and leans toward the scene before him. The artist placed Zapata at a diagonal from the hacienda. This juxtaposition harkens to Zapata’s personal 182 experience with the hacienda system and foreshadows his role in the rebellion against local hacendados and the Porfirian regime. Yampolsky denoted Zapata’s intimate association with the agrarian community by dressing him in the traditional attire of rural laborers, white cotton calzones. The male campesino or agrarian worker generally wore calzones, loose white cotton shirts and pants, which were particularly suited for the physical demands of their activities and environment.345 It is commonly believed that Zapata did not wear the white cotton calzones of the agricultural laborers of the South of Mexico. And it has generally been accepted that the image of Zapata wearing calzones is part of another myth visually constructed by Diego Rivera in his depictions of the revolutionary leaders.346 There are, however, multiple photographs that show Zapata wearing this attire.347 And, as Brunk has documented, Zapata’s parents were farmers who worked their own plot of village land; therefore, we can assume that Zapata donned the typical attire while performing this type of labor on his own land.348 The narrative attached to the image of Zapata in the calzone is as campesino, which intimates his ties to the oppressed agrarian class. As the uniform of the Zapatistas, the calzone also operates as a symbol for Zapata’s rebellion and participation in the Mexican Revolution, and more importantly it signifies his demands for agrarian reform. A number of activities on the hacienda capture Zapata’s interest in the print, in particular the harsh working conditions and mistreatment of the laborers, beginning with a man and a woman who walk past him. Their stooped posture conveys their weariness, which results from the heavy weight of the loads on their backs. Following the path of the hunched couple leads the viewer toward the fields in the central plane that consists 183 primarily of evenly incised, diagonal, parallel lines that suggest rows prepared for seeding. The linear patterns of the foreground couple’s form and clothing are similar to those that depict Zapata, as well as the agricultural fields of the hacienda.349 This interplay of patterns connects the laborers to the land and Zapata, reinforcing the revolutionary leader’s personal connection to the rural populace and the agrarian issue. Darkened intersecting lines cut across the fields and create three planes in the middleground of the composition. Three sets of silhouetted figures, in profile, work in these areas and through them Yampolsky visually focuses the viewer on the working conditions and abuses perpetrated on haciendas. Silhouettes typically showcase attributes of individual character.350 The use of the silhouette as a pictorial frame for the laborers however, erases any distinct features and reduces them to beasts of burden, which speaks to their social status in Mexican society during the Porfirian regime as comparable to that of animals. And like the silhouetted figures in print one, their ambiguity in terms of a distinct identity becomes a canvas for various Mexican identities. Hierarchical scale contributes to a reading of spatial perspective that emphasizes each group’s location in the scene and directs the order in which the viewer encounters them. The first group of the silhouetted figures is the largest of the three groups, which locates them closest to the viewer. This set is made up of a cacique, or hacienda boss, on horseback and two laborers, who appear to be tilling the fields. Yampolsky posed the cacique with his whip raised to strike the laborers. Another group, reduced in scale and set further back to the right, consists of three male figures walking slowly toward the left of the picture plane, stooped over by the heavy loads on their back, as a cacique on horseback follows behind them. As indicated previously, horses during the Porfirian era were typically reserved for 184 the wealthy and federal forces. Therefore, in this image the horses serve as the markers of the overseers. The mounted position of the overseers distinguishes them from the campesinos and signifies the social stratification on haciendas.351 Following the directional movement of the figures in the middleground, the viewer encounters the final group seated in a carriage, which is either pulling up to or leaving the palatial hacienda in the background.352 Yampolsky indicated they are agrarian elite by their method of transportation, headware, and proximity to the hacienda. The main house serves as a backdrop to the stage-like-view of the hacienda grounds. The location of the grand home of the hacendado within the composition, at the top of the image, indicates that ultimately the landowner oversees and directs all the activities on his estate. This view point embodies the magisterial gaze of the landowner and signifies their wealth in representing an extensive amount of all they own and mastery over the land in showcasing all he controls and has developed, as well as implies endorsement of the mistreatment of the laborers as he is visually privy to all that takes place on his property.353 To the right of the casa grande, or great house, one finds a number of single room structures or hovels, which most likely is meant to suggest housing for the laborers in the scene.354 The difference in the activities performed by the figures within the scene, their distinct clothing, and the opulence of the hacendados’ home compared to the poor housing conditions of the laborers, clearly communicates the class-based inequalities. It is important to note that in print eight the land occupies the majority of the composition, indicating the wealth of the land owner, as well as the proportional impact the hacienda system had on Mexico. Furthermore, the story of the print’s caption also interjects the issue of the systemization of unjust and rampant land removal during the 185 Porfiriato by hacienda owners from rural small land owners who were left with little options for survival and were forced to work on haciendas. Sotelo Inclan describes the haciendas in the vicinity of Anenecuilco, which include the Hacienda de Hospital, Hacienda de Cuahuixtla (to the northeast), El Mayorazgo (to the south), and the Hacienda de Mapaztlán (to the south east) as the primary agribusinesses that usurped and impeded on the lands and resources of the village.355 Hacienda Hospital was founded in 1581. Documents indicate that in 1587, “the Indians of Anenecuilco gave some land to the religious of Santo Domingo, who formed the Hacienda Cuahuixtla.”356 The haciendas of Mapaztlán and Cuahuixtla are recorded on a mid-eighteenth century map that was drawn up by order of then Viceroy Fuenclara.357 These agri-businesses required and dominated resources that villagers relied on to sustain their own lands and homes.358 Thus, the extent of protest and battle against unjust expropriation of land and resources is historic and ongoing, extending back to the initial settlement of the Spanish in the Americas. In print eight, it is Zapata, a non-elite member of society, and the viewer who are actually privy to the magisterial overview of the hacienda estate and the activities that take place on it. By juxtaposing Zapata and the laborers with the hacienda, this landscape presents the imperialistic position of the hacendado. W.J.T. Mitchell writes of the discourse of imperialism in relation to landscapes. He states: Imperialism is clearly not a simple, single, or homogenous phenomenon but the name of a complex system of cultural, political, and economic expansion and domination that varies with the specificity of places, peoples, and historical moments. It is not a “one-way” phenomenon but a complicated process of exchange, mutual transformation, and ambivalence. It is a process conducted simultaneously at concrete levels of violence, expropriation, collaboration, and coercion, and at a variety of symbolic or representational levels whose relation to the concrete is rarely mimetic or transparent.359 186 During the Porfiriato (1876-1910) the expansion and domination of large agricultural estates swelled, which disrupted organization of local labor, agricultural production, and economic systems that resulted in the informal colonization of rural Mexico by the domestic elite and by foreign investors and companies. Here, Yampolsky indicates how the hacienda system and landscape are instruments of power that encouraged and reinforced uneven development in Mexico. The inclusion of Zapata, as the largest figure in the image, who in traditional landscape would have been staffage, and the shift in point of view to that of Zapata’s, instead of the landowner’s, shifts the focus of this landscape from the landowner’s status to the condition and fate of the laborers, which transforms the image’s character from imperial to anticolonial. Yampolsky’s graphic image has strong ties to Gustauve Courbet's Stonebreakers (1849) [Figure 45]. The objects differ in scale, Courbet’s painting portrays the workers in life size on a large canvas, while Yampolsky’s print measure a fraction of the painting. However, in their expression of human misery and oppression of laborers from the lower classes they are equal. Each depicts the laborers absorbed in their task, as faceless, and anonymous. Both spotlight the debasement of the laborers. The landscape in both works completely absorbs the laborers, suggesting they are trapped by their station in life. The two images depict the sky as reduced to a sliver of an opening that allows for a sense of naturalism and dimension, but also functions to communicate a sense of the oppressive nature of the labor performed. Additionally, this illustration of Zapata is similar to the representation of holy personages. In particular this image parallels, on many levels, the hagiographic illustrations of saints. The narrative component of the image ties to techniques engaged 187 in Christian Art that served to educate and familiarize an illiterate audience about important events and figures of Christianity. Similarly Yampolsky’s image narrates a legend pertaining to Zapata’s youth, which simultaneously evokes the history of Zapata’s participation in the Mexican Revolution. As with images of saints, this print narrates a key moment in Zapata’s life, a moment of revelation if you will. The contrast between the figure of Zapata and the background, which serves to illuminate his form, not only draws attention to him, but can also be read as if the youth is enveloped by a mandorla or aureole, which signifies a degree of sanctity.360 Print eight inserts Zapata into the overarching narrative of the developing war in the portfolio and foreshadows the rural leader’s role in the Revolution. It is literally located at the center of the narrative of the Porfirian regime, in terms of its position among the first set of prtints, which locates the hacienda system at the core of the TGP’s commentary on the dictatorship. The portfolio’s focus on the issue of land rights within the first nineteen prints highlights the issue on a macro level. The myth of Zapata as a youth who grows up to fight for land rights showcases the issue on a micro level.361 This myth attests to Zapata’s personal experience with and concern over the land issue, as well as marks him as a key symbol for the ideological platform of agrarian reform. As the first image that introduces Zapata, print eight establishes his significance within the portfolio. As the first revolutionary leader to be addressed in the portfolio, Zapata is identified as “the” principal revolutionary for the TGP. His ideology most closely parallels the TGP’s and the organization promoted land rights as a primary issue for them, as well as the Mexican Revolution and its legacy. Thus, in the portfolio, as in the master narratives of the civil war, Zapata is “the” historical and symbolic figure, 188 above all others, that constitutes and represents the rural community of Mexico and the agrarian issue. The sixteenth print in the series, Emiliano Zapata hecho Prisonero en su Lucha en Favor de los Campesinos, 1908 (Emiliano Zapata made prisoner in his struggle in favor of the rural laborers, 1908) by Ignacio Aguirre focuses on the persecution of Zapata during the Porfiriato [Figure 46]. The print’s title enflames the legend of Zapata’s efforts against the Porfirian hacienda system. The artist depicted Zapata walking, with hands tied behind his back, through a landscape. Three armed and mounted federal soldiers follow behind him. The author of the text, Morales Jimenez narrates: Some years before 1910, Emiliano Zapata was already widely known to all the rural villagers in the south of the Republic. With Torres Burgos, Zapata prepared all the details of the insurrection, for which the Díaz regime was perfectly prepared. Zapata was forcibly arrested by federal forces and charged with numerous offenses, among others, the attempt to undermine the stability of the Government of Peace. The print’s title and caption are at odds. The title sets the timeline for the image as 1908, however, the caption reconfigures the chronological order of events. The text refers to Zapata’s reputation before 1910, but specifically suggests that his effort to organize an insurrection with Torres Burgos is what led to his arrest. This version completely contradicts most narratives about Zapata and these events. For one, Zapata and Torres Burgos began to meet and organize in late 1911, after the false start of the Mexcian Revolution in November of 1910.362 Thus, Zapata could not have been arrested in 1908 for actions he had yet to take in 1911. During his lifetime, Zapata is said to have been arrested on two occasions, once in approximately 1897 and again in 1908.363 The narratives that address these two incidents often focus on Zapata being taken into custody, rather than on his actual imprisonment, 189 which print sixteen mirrors. There are multiple narratives that convey what occurred in relation to the arrest in 1908. Sotelo Inclan wrote that Zapata’s apprehension was likely due to his affair with Ines Aguilar, a woman from a prominent family of Villa de Ayala, with whom Zapata had three children. Aguilar’s family was opposed to the out of wedlock relationship. Sotelo Inclan names Aguilar’s uncle, Remigio Alfaro as responsible for getting Zapata arrested and sent to serve in the army for five years.364 Whether Zapata was forcibly inducted into the army in 1908, as part of his punishment, is extensively debated.365 Womack adds to the narrative of incarceration when he addresses a release from the army due to the efforts of hacendado Ignacio de la Torre y Mier, Díaz’s son-in-law for whom he worked as a horse groomer immediately following his release. The need to arrange a release, suggests forced participation. Brunk, however, counters both Sotelo Inclan and Womack and argues Zapata’s arrest in 1908 was likely due to, “Zapata’s growing visibility in the battle for land.”366 This disagreement between scholars regarding Zapata’s biography and political activity illuminates the multiplicity and complexity of narratives that have sprung up and circulate about him. The above makes evident that the numerous narratives of Zapata intersect, as well as contradict each other. Building on the text and image in print sixteen the TGP and their historian collapsed narratives about Zapata and invented their own version of events about Zapata’s arrest during the Porfiriato. The composition is organized in parallel planes creating the sky, a background, a middle ground and a foreground. Contrasts of lights and dark, as well as the quality of line, distinguish each plane. The topmost section of the composition consists of a blank space or clear sky that runs evenly across and from top to bottom approximately one-third 190 the vertical length of the image. The top plane of the landscape consists of blackened mountains that create a horizon line and serve as a background. Beneath these mounds, the middle plane is filled with shrubbery and plowed agricultural fields illustrated by linear patterns that vary in direction and that appear to recede into the distance. Based on actual events and the print’s narrative this landscape scene refers to Morelos, but it also alludes to the Valley of Mexico with the mountains and valley, as well as makes a more general reference to the agrarian issue. The bottom plane of the composition makes up the foreground and is described by distinct expressionistic patterns and large angular boulders. The surface of the boulders suggests fragmentation, but in certain places human skeletal forms are discernible. Zapata is presented emerging from the valley, moving toward the foreground and viewer. Aguirre characteristically illustrated Zapata with a large brimmed sombrero, piercing stare, large black mustache, white cotton shirt that suggests the rural laborer’s calzones, and dark pants that allude to typical charro attire worn by Zapata. He is central and extends the length of the print. He walks up a slope with one foot placed on the ground in front of him, while the other foot is out of view behind him. Three other figures flank Zapata, two on his left and the other on the right. The soldiers all have generalized angular features and wear similar military hats, dark federal uniforms, and bandoliers that are demarcated by two intersecting white linear patterns across their chests. Although, only one horse is visible, all of the soldiers sit at the same height, which indicates all are mounted. All three figures and the horse are situated below Zapata and can only be seen partially, from mid-body up. This position suggests the men and horse are moving up the hillside behind their prisoner. 191 At the bottom right corner of the composition is the partial representation of a figure. Visible are one thigh, one arm, and two hands clasped together. The figure appears to be naked or partially clothed. Perspective is skewed and the figure’s position can be read two ways. One way is that the figure is lying on their back with her or his head directed toward the viewer. From this perspectice the torse is on its right side, resulting in a top view of the left thigh and left arm, and allowing for a profile view of the hands. Another way to read the figure is that s/he is squatting and extending forward toward Zapata, which presents a view of the inner part of the left thigh, the left arm, and a frontal view of the hands. The low position and clasped hands identify this figure as oppressed and pleading for sustenance, help, or change. Through posture, position, and proximity to this figure the artists alludes to Zapata’s role as savior. The artist transposed traditional representations of social structure through his rendering of Zapata as the central and largest figure, who is positioned bold and resolute in front of and above his captors. Although Zapata is apprehended, his gaze is direct. In fact, the prisoner seems to lead his captors, walking defiantly ahead, instead of represented downtrodden following behind. The narrative and image of print sixteen promote the rural leader as a consequential and heroic figure and foreshadows his role in the Mexican Revolution. The linear pattern in Zapata’s shirt is bold and agitated, as is the shadowing of the brim of his hat, closest to his face, which lend to a quality of intensity. The vertical pattern of the shirt contrasts with the horizontal patterns in the surrounding landscape, which energizes and accentuates Zapata’s figure. However, the similarity in the gestural quality seen in the landscape and in Zapata’s shirt create an association that converts his 192 shirt into another geographical element, which evokes Zapata’s ties to the land, the rural community of Mexico, and his platform of agrarian reform. Aguirre evokes a halo through the pronounced outline of Zapata’s sombrero, which invokes sanctity that is often reserved for the most significant figures of Christian religion. Various visual elements in print sixteen connect it and Zapata to illustrations of Saint Sebastian, in particular his location outdoors, his haloed head, his stance with hands bound behind his back, and the representation as a prisoner [Figure 47]. Saint Sebastian was persecuted by the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who ruled from 284-311, and was killed in 288 for promoting Christianity and for his role in converting important members of Dopcletian’s regime. One could parallel Zapata’s efforts to promote his Plan of Ayala to Saint Sebastian’s efforts to promote Christianity. Traditional illustrations of the Saint show him partially nude, tied to a post, with his hands bound behind him, and his torso shot with arrows that protrude from his body. This common representation refers to an early period in the Saint’s biographical narrative of martyrdom. Similarly, the moment in print sixteen also remarks on an early moment in Zapata’s narrative of revolt and eventual martyrdom. One version of Saint Sebastian’s narrative tells that Diocletian commanded that the he be led to the field where he was to be bound to a stake and shot by archers. This description seems to be the foundation for Aguirre’s representation of Zapata’s imprisonment, which shows him being led through a valley. Miraculously, Sebastian survived the attack by archers ordered by Diocletian and was healed. However, the Emperor’s persecution continued after Sebastian’s initial resurrection and he was eventually beaten to death. The Saint was actually a captain of the Praetorian Guard under Diocletian, which also lends to him being identified as a military martyr or 193 soldier saint of the Early Christian Church. The associations of Saint Sebastian’s militaristic attributes, as well as his efforts to promote Christianity, parallel Zapata’s role as a military leader and his efforts to promote justice for the rural communities of Mexico. Prints eight and sixteen are both embedded within the Porfirian narrative of the TGP’s portfolio. Each functions similarly in their likening of Zapata’s experience to that of other members of the rural community. The multiplication of Zapata’s presence in the front section of the portfolio emphasizes his personal experiences with the Porfirian regime. Print sixteen represents events in the South leading up to the war. Print seventeen directly references in its title the systems and practices in the North that lead to rebellion. That both images are by Ignacio Aguirre, as well as their proximity and similar subjects make these two prints a pair [Appendix 1]. Print seventeen, Prision y muerte de los descontentos en el norte del país. 1909 (Imprisonment and death of the malcontent in the north, 1909) denounces the Porfirian penal system and infers the collaboration between institutions and elite members of society that enforced and benefitted from the oppression, incarceration, and murder of those that opposed the Porfirian regime [Figure 20].367 The pair deal with imprisonment, but only print seventeen actually depicts a prison scene. In print sixteen, Zapata is shown under arrest and his serving time in an army or otherwise is implied by the caption and known narratives. It is understandable why those that praise and honor Zapata would not want to create a negative image of the revolutionary leader imprisoned. Yet, I wonder, what an image of Zapata in prison would look like? Unlike images and narratives that commonly reference Madero’s time 194 in jail, which speak to the oppressive practices of the Porfiriato and the beginning of rebellion, the potential negative implications that one of the most beloved and significant figures of the Mexican Revolution was considered a criminal during his lifetime counters the efforts to construct him as a universal national hero after the war. To portray Zapata behind bars would indicate that he was acutally considered a criminal by the government, which is true throughout the Revolution for Díaz, Madero, Huerta, and Carranza. But this is not how Zapata has been constructed since his death in 1919, and to highlight this point would reveal the fissures and discontinuities among revolutionary forces during the war and undermine the post-war unified narratives. Additionally, to show Zapata incarcerated would be to suggest that the Mexican people who rebelled with him, share his values, and admire him were and are in the wrong and under a similar threat. In print sixteen the TGP attempted to contain the above implications that the narrative about Zapata as criminal during his lifetime might result in by focusing on Porfirian era persecution of him. This does not fall in line with Zapata’s actual biography, but it does reveal the inventive nature of the portfolio and associates him with the lower classes of the rural region and identifies his experiences as symbolic of theirs. The portfolio does not mention Zapata again until print twenty-five, which locates him within the narrative of the beginning of the civil war. Principal to the group of prints in the portfolio that mark the start of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution are Madero and Zapata who through inclusion and prominent placement are identified as key figures to the war and its ideological concerns and motives. The Maderista narrative represented in prints twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two converges with the Zapatatista narrative addressed in prints twenty-three, 195 twenty-four, and twenty-five [Appendix 1]. The interweaving of the Maderista and Zapatista narratives originates in this set of six images. There is a balanced representation of both groups with three distinct prints dedicated to each. Each set of three includes two images of the leaders and one image focused on their followers. Prints twenty and twenty-one include Madero, and print twenty-two narrates the Maderista Serdán Family’s sacrifice. Print twenty-three portrays a generic Zapatista figure, and prints twenty-four and twenty-five portray Zapata. The ordering of the prints suggests a chronological progression of historical events throughout the portfolio. Thus, Madero’s rebellion is presented first in prints twenty and twenty-one and Zapata’s actions are described afterwards in prints twentyfour and twenty-five, which suggest Zapata was motivated to act by the Maderista Plan of San Luis Potosi. This, however, is not accurate, as Zapata’s insurgency was part of a larger movement in response to the tyrannical oppression of the Porfirian regime across Mexico.368 Zapata was elected village council president in September 1909 and from that point forward he assumed leadership of the local land struggle in his village of Anenecuilco.369 Zapata took decisive action in the Spring of 1910 when he gathered eighty armed men to protect local villagers who farmed land that was in dispute.370 Initially, Zapata acted in relation to his local situation, however, over time he became aware of Madero’s movement, the Plan of San Luis Potosi, and the wave of rebellion that was occurring across the nation. When Zapata joined Madero’s rebellion on March 10, 1911 it was in alliance with other local leaders, as well as in unison with a national movement. 196 Nonetheless, the attention Madero and Zapata are given in the portfolio indicates their importance to the TGP’s views regarding the motives, goals, and legacy of the Mexican Revolution. A conscious arrangement of the prints, through groupings and juxtapositions, intertwines Madero’s and Zapata’s narratives throughout the portfolio. This suggests an alliance between them and that they worked toward similar goals, which match up with how both were treated in post-war narratives and the development of the Revolutionary Family. My discussion of print twenty-four will further elaborate on the nature of Madero’s and Zapata’s relationship and how their narratives interact in the portfolio. Print twenty-four, Emiliano Zapata, Lider de la Revolucion Agraria (Emiliano Zapata, Leader of the Agrarian Revolution) by Francisco Mora heralds Zapata’s participation in the war [Figure 48]. Mora depicts Zapata on horseback, armed, and at the forefront of a dense group of armed men also on horseback.371 A banner with the words, "Tierra y Libertad" (Land and Liberty) stretches horizontally over the group of men present and sits behind Zapata’s hat. The print’s caption states: General Emiliano Zapata was the Agrarian Leader par excellence. His life is an example of ongoing militancy in favor of the dispossessed of his time. His thinking is embodied in the Plan of Ayala, and over many years, without compromising in any way, he fought for the realization of his noble social ideas. His name and his efforts are revered by all in the rural community of the Republic and in numerous foreign countries. This text offers an abbreviated summation of Zapata’s effort and his significance. However, both image and text make sweeping statements about the revolutionary leader of the south, rather than remark on any specific event or moment. Print twenty-four’s lack of specificity alludes generally to the revolutionary’s general rise to power in a 197 manner that resonates with both the personal story and the national dominant narrative, as well as captures the symbolic meanings attached to Zapata. In print twenty-four Mora incorporates what is recognized as the Zapatista’s trademark slogan “Tierra y Libertad” (Land and Liberty), which is emblazoned on the banner over the army behind Zapata. Through text, in both the print’s caption and image, the historian and artist evoke the Plan of Ayala as the ideological banner of Zapatismo. Mora intentionally juxtaposed Zapata to the word “Land,” which is a literal reference to his ideological platform for agrarian reform. The word “Liberty” on the banner literally shelters and envelops Zapata and his men. However, the word “Liberty” is not visible to the viewer because Zapata’s hat and rifle block our view of it, which does not make the word any less potent, but rather I read it as the artist suggesting that Zapata and his actions are the personification of liberty. Here Mora visualized the concept of liberty attached to Zapata’s rebellion, which can be defined as working toward political independence and sovereignty in the form of self-government. In fact, Mora’s association of Zapata with liberty resonates and shares many similarities with Eugène Delacroix’s personification of Liberty in his Liberty leading the people from 1830 [Figure 49]. Delacroix’s painting commemorates the July Revolution against Charles X of France. The compositional arrangement of print twenty-four, with Zapata in the foreground, in action, and leading a charging group of figures, parallels the position and role of Liberty in Delacroix’s image. Like Zapata, the female figure in Delacroix’s work personifies liberty. Liberty waves a tricolored banner over her head, which is the flag of the French Revolution, and invokes the rebellion fought in the name of equality and against an oppressive system of privileged aristocracy. The banner in 198 print twenty-four directly references Lady Liberty’s flag in Delacroix’s painting, through its placement and symbolic meaning. The similarities between print twenty-four and Delacroix’s very well-known painting make clear Mora’s knowledge of art history and traditional artistic conventions, but more importantly connects both work’s distinct declarative statements about liberty and revolution. Zapata was not the only person concerned about and fighting for land rights, nor is he the originator of the concept of and demands for agrarian reform in Mexico. His antecedents are the numerous rural villagers and Indian groups who suffered unjust land seizure and forced land removal since the conquest in the sixteenth century. Other significant predecessors to Zapata are the organized efforts by groups like the Mexican Liberal Party (PLM) founded in 1906 and led by the Flores Magón Brothers. These individuals and groups pluralized the significance of the issue of agrarian reform and even served as models for Zapatismo, which my examination of the Plan of Ayala will make evident. The banner in print twenty-four signifies Zapata’s Plan of Ayala. As such, and like with Madero in print twenty, Zapata’s official ideological platform is introduced at a crucial juncture in the portfolio, the beginning of the violent stage of the Mexican Revolution. Madero’s declaration in the name of a democratic political system, represented by prints twenty and twenty-one, and Zapata’s demand for self-government and agrarian reform, indicated by print twenty-four, clearly identify these as key issues to the TGP and within the portfolio. Unlike Madero’s Plan of San Luis Potosi, which instigated the revolt against the dictator Porfirio Díaz, the Plan of Ayala was written after Zapata’s rebellion began. Also distinct from Madero’s Plan, which brought disparate 199 groups together, the Plan of Ayala was written to explain the goals of Zapatismo and was directed, partially, toward critics who considered the southern forces barbarians aimlessly bent on wreaking havoc on Mexican society.372 Zapatismo’s agenda was primarily land reform on a national scale, but it recognized the significance of political power in this endeavor and promoted decentralized government by self-appointed leaders. Brunk’s summary of the Plan of Ayala highlights this issue: Zapata sought justice so the campesinos could have their land. He demanded liberty so they could protect themselves from future outrages by choosing their own leaders and running their own affairs. For him this local self-rule was democracy, and . . . it made provisions for the selection of both interim and constitutionally elected officials who enjoyed popular support.373 Agrarian reform was defined in the Plan of Ayala as the nationalization of estate monopolies and the property owned by enemies of the Revolution through confiscation and redistribution of land to those who held titles and from whom the land had been unjustly taken.374 The Plan of Ayala was first widely distributed on December 15, 1911, but this version indicates the date of the document as November 25, 1911.375 Who wrote the Plan of Ayala is debated, but it is generally accepted that Zapata dictated the ideas to his general Otilio Montaño Sánchez who composed the document.376 Print twenty-four highlights Zapata’s role in setting his Plan’s objectives. The slogan “Liberty, Justice, and Law” is the last declarative statement attached to this Plan, which was circulated in December of 1911. Womack explains that the phrase, “Liberty, Justice, and Law,” “is a close take on the slogan of the Liberal program of 1906, “Reform, Justice, and Law” and that eventually, the Liberal’s slogan was transformed into “Land and Liberty,” which was used from 1910 on. 377 In fact, Womack asserts that, “many of the concept and phrases that that Liberals harped on most intensely, 200 and most recently in the[ir] . . . manifesto, flash repeatedly through the Ayala Plan.”378 Another precedent for the slogan of Land and Liberty is the Leyvistas slogan Tierra y Agua [Land and Water] from the 1909 Governmental race in Morelos.379 Ultimately, the slogan of land and liberty can be tied to a number of groups involved in the Mexican Revolution, which speaks to the pluralized experience around these issues, as well as to the historic and ongoing battle over land use and distribution in Mexico. Mora depicted Zapata in his typical charro regalia, a black outfit and large brimmed black sombrero, with a rifle in hand. Zapata was a skilled horseman trained at the age of twelve.380 As a horseman, Zapata adopted the charro costume in his youth and wore it as an adult. Zapata was known for his stylish dress and love for horses, and particularly for parading around town with both in place. However, despite his dandified manner, Womack explains Zapata was always considered a member of the community: He had learned the pride horses stir in men, and so as he made money he used it on them-buying a new one, outfitting a favorite with a fancy saddle, outfitting himself to sit worthily booted and spurred, on the shining back of the horse he most admired. . . . If he dandied up on holidays and trotted around the village and into the nearby town of Villa de Ayala on a silver-saddled horse, the people never questioned that he was still one of them. Despite his fine horse and suits, Anencuilcans never referred to him as Don Emiliano, which would have removed him from the guts and flies and manure and mud of local life, sterilizing the real respect they felt for him into a squire's vague respectability. He was one of their own, they felt in Anencuilco, and it never made them uncomfortable to treat him so.381 Brunk also adds that when Zapata was elected president of Anenecuilco’s village council, “someone . . . announced that the villagers only wanted ‘a man with pantalones on,’ to defend them. . . . Since pantalones . . . were a sign of status, this statement may have reflected a desire not only for a man of action, but also for a man of some success.”382 201 Zapata held a leadership position in the Mexican Revolution because he was identified as an individual that embodied traits admired in a leader, this can be partly attributed to his identity as a charro. The charro in 1910 was associated with the civil war and Zapata, as well as the counter-revolutionary agrarian elite and rural police force, which indicates the diverse groups charrismo was affiliated with and the complexity of the symbol of the charro.383 Ironically, both Zapata and the rural police were from the same social middle class and operated as charros during the same period of time, but they were two groups in conflict. Prior to 1910, Zapata and his fellow villagers demanded recognition of their land and water titles. Los rurales would have been sent in to suppress them or anyone else engaged in these acts, which were considered rebellious.384 Additionally, the hacendado charros were hostile to Zapata’s platform of land reform.385 The revolutionary leader recognized and usurped the attributes claimed and associated with the elite and landowning members of Mexican society and los rurales, as well as the prestige of the charro, when he mounted his horse in full charro regalia, but more significantly when he rode his horse and wore his charro suit to lead the Southern Forces of the Mexican Revolution. Mora engages some conventions of traditional equestrian portraiture in his homage to Zapata. Equestrian portraits are intended to depict the status of the subject. An equestrian portrait alludes to the competence of the rider and promotes an image of skill, valor, and authority.386 Historically, horses were a privilege reserved for a monarch or members of elite society. Riding a horse, hunting, and military activities are linked by their demands of similar faculties. The depiction of a monarch mounted expressed 202 dexterity, military skill, and control suggesting the ability to govern.387 Additionally, the image of leadership on horseback is often read as a reference to the equestrian sculpture of Marcus Aurelius (176 CE) who is represented as capable leader, blessed by the gods, and a victorious combatant.388 As the horse is associated with the conquest of Mexico and the agrarian elite it also represents the hierarchical social structure of Mexico. When Zapata took a seat on a horse he inverted the sign of conquest and oppression, which is asserted in Mora’s print. 389 Zapata empowered himself by becoming a horseman and by adopting charro attire, which highlighted his skills, elevated his social position, and drew attention to his leadership characteristics. Similarly, Mora’s choice to represent Zapata on horseback assigns the rural leader the attributes and qualities associated with equestrian and military skill, as well as the position of leadership. The image of Zapata mounted on a horse invokes well know equestrian images of the revolutionary leader. Interestingly, however, the artist does not fall back on a typical photographic equestrian portrait of Zapata as his model, which shows him in profile and inactive [Figure 50]. Instead, Mora chooses to depict Zapata in an active posture, galloping toward the viewer, his horse’s front legs rearing up. The active nature of Zapata’s assault, in print twenty-four, directly counters Díaz’ lame response to the Maderista revolutionary forces from his home in Mexico City, which is the topic of print twenty-three [Figure 29]. A comparison between Madero in prints twenty or twenty-one and Zapata in print twenty-four presents Madero as stoic and static and Zapata as responsive and in action. The contrast between the two revolutionary leaders reveals and plays up stereotypes about both of them. Within this context Madero comes across as impotent and Zapata as dynamic. 203 Although Mora moves away from the typical equestrian photographic portrait of Zapata, his graphic image does build on the principal photographic portrait of Zapata taken by Hugo Brehme in 1911 [Figure 51].390 In Brehme’s image, Zapata’s body is posed in a three-quarter turn, facing the viewer’s left. His facial expression is solemn, its intensity accented by his striking black mustache. He wears a simple black charro suit, a set of bandoliers holding cartridges of ammunition across his chest, and a broad brimmed sombrero. A stripped sash hangs from the left shoulder, crosses his chest at an angle, and rests at the right hip.391 A rifle is held vertically in the right hand and the left grasps the handle of a sword at the belt. He stands on a wood floor, feet perpendicular to one another. Behind Zapata on his left or the viewer’s right, and in close proximity, are a group of seated men. Within this particular context the charro suit is transformed into a military uniform through the enhancement of bandoliers across the chest, as well as the weapons Zapata holds. Brehme’s portrait was key to the construction of Zapata as a leader and the General of the Southern Forces.392 It became painfully evident that Zapata was not respected nor recognized by some as a legitimate leader of the Revolution.393 He was aware that it was necessary to assert a persona that would motivate others to join the war effort and follow him. His solution was to cannibalize the guise of military leadership.394 In an attempt to gain recognition as a leader Zapata participated in the construction of his image, consciously appropriated specific body language and accoutrement of men in power as seen in traditional portraiture.395 The result is a photographic portrait that exemplifies the appropriate characteristics and qualities of leadership.396 The image of military leader is here layered upon the charro image, which is equally important with its reference to equestrian 204 portraiture and the association with dexterity, military skills, valor, and the ability to control others. The charro attire invokes the narrative of Zapata as horseman and rural personae. Thus, attached to this image of leadership is the narrative of a fierce and capable leader and popular rebellion in the name of justice and land reform. Mora’s illustration of Zapata in print twenty-four is obviously not an exact replica of Brehme’s image, but it does maintain a number of visual elements of the photographic portrait. In particular, key visual parallels that Mora made include the central focus on Zapata, his attire, his erect posture and outward gaze, the verticle position of his rifle, and the presence of Zapatistas in the background. Thus, Mora builds on two common images of Zapata, the equestrian portrait and Brehme’s photographic portrait, and by combining them identifies Zapata as an active agent of rebellion for land and liberty. Proximity and focus on the same subject, Zapata, establishes prints twenty-four and twenty-five as a pair [Appendix 1]. The text for both communicate the significance of Zapata’s ideology and efforts for social and agrarian reform, as well as promote his virtuous character. The caption for print twenty-five by Angel Bracho, Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919) reads: As time passes, the figure of Emiliano Zapata acquires prodigious importance. His life was devoted to making a system of security and social progress possible in Mexico. One of the most admirable virtues of the sacrificed leader, who was assassinated in Chinameca, is his invariable persistence in the agrarian struggle. He did not accept bribes, temptations were of no avail, he was always faithful to his purpose: to solve the land problem. The pair of prints both make narratological references to Zapata’s biography through the captions and images combined, in print twenty-five it is the beginning of Zapata’s political career and in print twenty-four it is the end of his life in print twenty-five. 205 Print twenty-five depicts Zapata twice, he is a fallen figure in the foreground and his portrait also serves as a backdrop [Figure 52]. A figure labeled “ZAPATISTA” hangs lynched at the top right corner of the composition. Other figures included represent members of the Mexican middle and elite classes. I identify the fallen figure as Zapata based on the text for the print and visible markers, such as the distinctive black mustache and hair. This figure stretches across the composition and is the foundation upon which most of the other elements in the picture are mounted. His head is cradled in the bottom right corner of the print; his chin projects upward creating a diagonal that evokes defiance. With his left hand the fallen figure raises a burning torch, while his right hand lies at his side clenched in a fist. However, his eyes are closed and his face is void of expression, which alludes to his death. Here, landscape and figure are integrated so that the raised arm actually makes up a mountainscape.397 Landscape is a significant motif within the portfolio, but in the representations of Zapata it is essential in communicating the rebel leader’s connection to the rural community of Mexico and to the issue of agrarian reform. Additionally, Zapata wears the rural laborer’s traditional white cotton uniform, which was also the uniform of the Zapatista army. A manacle is visible on the elevated right leg, which accentuates the figure’s swollen and ill proportioned foot.398 Direct references to death in relation to the foreground figure include his position on the ground and his closed eyes, which I connect to the numerous documentary photographs of Zapata’s martyrdom. Immediately after his murder, Zapata’s body was carried to Cuautla by his assassin, Colonel Jesus Guarjardo. The body was taken to the Cuautla police station where it was identified and photographed. Multiple images of these scenes survive [Figure 53].399 It was a common practice to represent and circulate 206 images of the corpses of important men. The character type represented in these depictions is of a martyr, who later gains a sacred aura. The narrative of rebellion, betrayal, and dying for one’s beliefs are possible interpretations of depictions of the slain Zapata, even as the Carranza forces wanted the photographs to intimidate “rebels” who refused to put down their weapons. Through his death and facilitated by his absence, Zapata became part legend and part symbol. 400 In print twenty-five landscape frames the fallen figure from above and the distorted mountainous range absorbs Zapata’s upper body and creates a burial-like image.401 Here, Bracho, the artist pays homage to Zapata and Diego Rivera by making a direct reference to the 1926 mural panel, The blood of the revolutionary martyrs fertilizes the land at the College of Agriculture in Chapingo, Mexico [Figure 54]. In both images, Zapata fertilizes the land, indicating he feeds the continued struggle against injustice and oppression, as well as symbolically indicates his commitment, even in death, to the agrarian issue and the Revolution. The rural laborer’s calzones that the figures wear in both images symbolize Zapata’s connection to the land and agrarian reform. The raised arm and leg also contribute to the ideas of Zapata’s continued struggle, even after death, for political reform in general and land reform in particular. The topic of Zapata’s martyrdom indirectly brings up Venustiano Carranza, who was the individual that gave the order to kill Zapata. Carranza was the leader of the Constitutionalist Army who became the President of Mexico (1917-1920). He played a significant role in the developments during the Mexican Revolution, particularly after Huerta’s coup d’etat in 1913 when he led an anti-Huertista offensive. Although Zapatista forces also rebelled against Huerta, they did not align themselves with Carranza. In fact, 207 after Huerta’s defeat in 1914, Zapata, as part of the Conventionist forces, went head to head against Carranza’s Constitutionalist Army. Carranza’s persecution of the Zapatista army culminated in Zapata’s assassination in 1919. However, Carranza, like Zapata, became an icon of the Mexican Revolution and member of the post-war Revolutionary Family.402 It is ironic to include these two men as part of the unfied Revolutionary Family, which suggests they shared common goals or worked together for a shared aims. History, or at least a version of history, tells us that this, and so many other myths of the civil war, is a revised narrative. Furthermore, this problematic pairing of Zapata and Carranza betrays the complex nature of the notion of unification amongst revolutionaries. The figures in the middle ground of print twenty-five, identified by their clothing, represent from left to right: a cacique or overseer on a hacienda, a wealthy elite or bourgeoisie couple, and a high ranking military figure. The cacique, who is at the center of the middleground, faces the viewer, while he raises a riding crop in his right hand and holds his hat down with his left hand. His active posture and whip suggest he is in midstrike lashing out at either the fallen figure or the viewer. The elite couple stands directly to the cacique’s left and also faces the viewer. The female figure stands in front of the male figure who is partially concealed except for his top hat and the top of his suit. The woman wears a floor length gown with a fur stole or wrap that hangs down from her shoulders, a large choker necklace, and a feathered headband. She scowls expressively as she waves her fists aggressively in the air. To whom the woman gestures is ambiguous, but it appears as if it is toward the fallen figure or the viewer. The military figure is dressed in the typical garb of Porfirian military generals. He stands with his back toward the elite couple and faces the rope in his hands, which leads up toward the lynched figure 208 at the top right of the image. He is clearly in the act of pulling down on the rope, which is evident by its taut nature, and consequently he is in the act of lynching the Zapatista figure. The partial representation of this lynched figure denotes, through its non-specific illustration of a particular figure, the many rural men that suffered similar fates of violent murder during the Porfiriato, which is also invoked in the background of print one with the hanging tree [See Figure 55]. The figures in the middleground represent crucial actors in the Porfirian regime. Their actions in the print implicate them as accomplices to, if not symbolic representations of, the tyranny of the Porfirian regime and its practices. The cacique was instrumental to operations oversight and management of agricultural related labor on haciendas. The whip he wields connotes the physical abuse imposed upon laborers of the lower classes on haciendas. The elite couple is representative of those who supported and benefitted from the operations and policies of the Porfirian regime, which were entrenched in unjust, violent, and oppressive techniques of pacification and development. The military figure is symbolic of the dictator himself, who wore similar attire and was a military man, as well as the Porfirian regime which was made up of many generals. The high ranking official also evokes the infrastructure and a distinct type of forcefulness instituted to impose order and maintain stability known as Pax Porfiriana. A bust length portrait of Zapata fills the entire background of the composition and looms large over the scene before him. This image of the revolutionary is also modeled on the principal photographic portrait of Zapata as General of the Southern Forces taken by Hugo Brehme in 1911. In particular, the three-quarter turn, the solemn facial expression, the mustache, the broad brimmed sombrero, the simple black charro suit, and 209 the set of bandoliers holding cartridges of ammunition across his chest. Although static, Bracho’s stippled treatment of Zapata’s dark clothing and the shadows that encircle his face activates the rural leader. The representation of Zapata’s corpse and the larger than life depiction of Zapata in the background suggest the immortality of the rural leader and present him as a resurrected omnipresent specter. 403 The burning torch in the graphic image has many possible meanings, the most direct being that after Zapata’s death the torch was passed on and kept alive in the form of the ongoing Revolution and the continued fight for the lower classes of Mexico. Another symbolic connection the torch makes is to Father Hidalgo who led a violent revolt against the Spanish in 1810 and whose followers were mostly the disenfranchised rural community of Mexico.404 Hidalgo was also put to death by the government for his efforts, and he too became an important symbol of rebellion against injustice [Figure 56]. There are numerous images that incorporate the torch to reference Hidalgo’s call to action, but José Clemente Orozco’s mural of Hidalgo painted in 1937 in the main staircase of Guadalajara's government palace is of particular interest. The mural’s location, in a space where government business is conducted, marks it as part of the project of national building and iconization of national figures. In the painting Hidalgo, like Zapata in print twenty-five, dominates the composition as he extends the length of the panel, his towering figure hovering over figures representing oppression and slavery. Thus, thematically there is also a connection between the two images. The torch signifies the early dawn hour on September 16, 1810 when Hidalgo made his famous call, known as El Grito de Dolores, which ignited the Mexican War of Independence from European forces. Similarly, in print twenty-five the goals that ignited the Mexican Revolution are 210 evoked by the burning troch, which denotes the continued efforts to fulfill Zapata’s mission for political reform. Within the narrative of the portfolio, the fallen figure refers to Zapata’s martyrdom and his becoming a symbol of the rebellion. The manacle on the figure’s leg, the lynched Zapatista, and the actions of the figures in the middle ground, imply the atrocities committed against the lower classes of Mexico in general and rural communities specifically. This depiction of Zapata as a corpse in the foreground and as a specter in the background directly speaks to Zapata’s martyrdom and resurrection. If print twenty-four evokes Zapata in all of his glory as the leader of the revolutionary Southern Forces, then print twenty-five depicts his destiny to martyrdom and iconic status. In print twenty-five there are numerous characteristics reminiscent of Baroque Art visible including a theatricality and boldness that engages the viewer. The diagonal position of Zapata’s torso in the foreground creates a projection beyond the composition’s frame and activates this space as it juts out. The artist created a dramatic effect with the light of the torch that contrasts with the dark shading of Zapata in the background and suggests a religious sphere within the composition. In particular, I make numerous connections between print twenty-five and Caravaggio’s Baroque painting, The Conversion on the Way to Damascus (1600), which represents Saint Paul’s moment of conversion to Christianity [Figure 57].405 Prior to his conversion Paul, then known as Saul, was part of a group that persecuted Christians as blasphemers. Caravaggio’s painting captures the moment of Saul’s conversion, when he was thrown from his horse and heard a voice that questioned his persecution of Christians. Caravaggio’s vertical 211 composition includes the horse and groom standing over Saul, who lays on his back on the ground with arms outstretched and his eyes closed. Saul was blinded by a religious light that in the painting is reflected off of the side of the horse and above the fallen figure. Light as a spiritual, if not transformative, entity is evoked in both Caravaggio’s and Bracho’s images. Both images locate the main subject in the foreground, on his back with his eyes closed and arms outstretched. Each is crowded spatially by the figures that inhabit it. Both works also incorporate large, out of proportion, figures that fill the majority of the composition and loom over the main character. The secondary figures in Caravaggio’s work, the horse and groom, are inactive and serve to symbolize the narrative moment of the Saint’s conversion. The figures in the middle ground of Bracho’s print actively contribute to the narrative quality of the scene and, rather than symbolize a particular moment, raise the issue of systematic processes of oppression. As a model for Bracho’s print, Caravaggio’s painting serves to inform possible associations between Saint Paul and Zapata. Both men operated as apostles who promoted their distinct ideologies about reform and both were murdered as a result, which transformed them into significant symbols of their beliefs. There are a number of images in the TGP’s portfolio that incorporate either or both the slain figures of Madero and Zapata. In comparison, a significant difference in how these revolutionary leaders are treated in death in the album is that Zapata is resurrected like a phoenix and Madero is not. A phoenix is a mythical bird that has a 500 to 1000 year life-cycle. At the end of its life a phoenix ignites itself and from its ashes it emerges reborn anew to live again. The Phoenix's ability of rebrith implies immortality, though in some stories the new Phoenix is merely the offspring of the older one. Like a 212 phoenix, Zapata is presented as a symbol of rebirth, renewal, and immortality by Bracho. The flame between both Zapata figures in print twenty-five, symbolizes the demise of the foreground figure and his rebirth as the figure in the background. The brim of the background figure’s sombrero spans horizontally across the composition and extends as wings. The incarnation of Zapata fills the composition and looms over the rest of the scene. He is massive in relation to the other figures in the image, which alludes to his divinity. Thus, Bracho’s juxtaposition of Zapata’s corpse with his most powerful and well known portrait image in the background is a literal representation of the transformation of his physical body into an icon. If print twenty-four represents Zapata in all of his glory as the leader of the Southern revolutionary forces, then print twentyfive depicts his destiny to martyrdom and as symbol. In death Zapata’s image was transformed into a sign that has been and continues to be aligned with various competing and distinct ideologies, which adds a layer of meaning. Exploitation of the image of a dead person is easy as they cannot speak for themselves or dispute what is attached to them. The multifaceted significance of the image of Zapata is a result of intentional manipulations. Diverse applications and circulation have ascribed numerous and at times conflicting meanings to the symbol that is Zapata, which are layered upon old, increasing its versatile significancation. As a pair of images devoted to Zapata, it is interesting to compare prints twentyfour and twenty-five to the first paired images of Madero, prints twenty and twenty-one. In both instances, the manifesto of each figure is highlighted in the first image of the pair. In the second image of either pair, we are presented with those whom each figure’s 213 manifesto most affects. In print twenty-one, Madero confronts Díaz with his Plan. In print twenty-five, elite Mexican society seemingly responds to Zapata’s agenda. At this juncture in the portfolio the TGP narrated the end of the first phase of the violent period of the Mexican Revolution, which occurred between November 1910 and ending in May 1911. The prints that come after twenty-five advance the narrative of the civil war and present the transition to power after Díaz’ resignation. Print twenty-six, “El Ipiranga”: El pueblo despide “30 Años de Paz” 31 de Mayo de 1911 (“The Ipiranga:” The people say goodbye to "30 Years of Peace,” May 31, 1911) by Alfredo Zalce portrays Díaz’ on the ship that took him into exile [Figure 30]. Print twenty-seven, Leon de la Barra, “El Presidente Blanco” 1911 (Leon de la Barra, “The White President” 1911) by Leopoldo Méndez continues the overview of events and addresses Leon de la Barra in his role as interim president of Mexico after the dictator had been defeated [Figure 31]. The narrative of Madero’s presidency continues in the prints that follow and span 1912-1913. Thus, the portfolio follows a loose chronological format. However, print twenty-five presents Zapata’s death and resurrection which marks it temporally out of sync with the prints that surround it. Zapata was murdered in 1919, which is addressed again in the graphic series in print fifty-seven. The break in timeline here raises questions about how print twenty-five relates to the prints around it? It is similar to print nineteen, La dictadura Porfiriana exalta demagogicament al indígena. 1910 (The Porfirian Dictatorship exalts demagogically the indigenous. 1910) by Alfredo Zalce, which comments on the events of the Centenary Anniversary of Mexico’s independence during the Porfiriato, in its inclusion of a fallen figure [Figure 21]. They also both mark an end point to a historical phase in the portfolio’a narrative, print nineteen is the last 214 image of the section on the Porfiriato and print twenty-five is the last image of the violent phase of the Revolution.406 For print twenty-seven Morales Jimenez describes de la Barra’s objective to hinder the revolution when he wrote: Francisco León de la Barra was one of the most sinister figures of those who have gone through the history of Mexico. He ruled Mexico from May to December 1911 and his sole concern was to hinder the revolutionary march. When he returned from abroad in 1912, he dedicated himself to conspire against the legitimate government of Madero. He was, therefore, one of the inspirations for the nefarious military uprising of February 1913. In the image de la Barra holds a large open umbrella to protect himself and members of his entourage from an attack by Zapatistas raining down from above. In chapter four, I introduced the connections to Madero and Zapata that Méndez makes through this print’s text and image. Whereas the text labels de la Barra as a conspirator against Madero, the image diverges and focuses on de la Barra’s relationship to Zapata. Through pathetic fallacy Zapatismo personifies a violent storm to communicate the emotional and psychological sentiment of anxiety the Mexican regime and Mexico City’s elite society felt about the rural army.407 After Madero’s victory over Díaz in May of 1911, Zapata was cautious, but willing to negotiate with the aim of promoting agrarian reform. Talks between Madero and Zapata began on June 7, 1911 and continued through November of 1911 however, multiple forces aggravated their negotiations. In the meantime, Zapatistas were resistant to disarmament and thus, were characterized as a violent menace. Furthermore, IterimPresident de la Barra was intent on squelching any possible union between the rural leader and Madero, as well as Zapatismo’s demand for agrarian reform. On the pretense 215 of protecting and stabilizing the countryside de la Barra authorized General Victoriano Huerta on August 9, 1911 to go to Morelos and disarm, by force if necessary, the Zapatista army.408 De la Barra’s orders were directly counter to Madero’s own efforts to negotiate with Zapata and Huerta’s forceful efforts to pacify Morelos eventually reignited Zapatismo’s rebellion against the government and Madero. Zapata’s efforts were centralized in the South of Mexico, particularly in Morelos, which sits directly beneath Mexico City. The capital of Mexico has always been the central nucleus of political and social power in Mexico.409 During the thirty-four year presidency of Porfrio Díaz (1876-1910) Mexico City was transformed into a Europeanized modern metropolis that served as the backdrop for most national affairs and events, often drawing the well-to-do from throughout Mexico and the world.410 The urban elite of Mexico owned businesses and made their home in the City. The rural elite visited regularly in order to attend to business and social affairs, and often had second homes in the city.411 Thus, Zapata’s insurgency directly threatened the “ruling order,” which was seated in Mexico City and in this image is represented by de la Barra and his entourage. I connect print twenty-seven’s depiction of Zapata as aggressor toward de la Barra to the constructed narrative and smear campaign enacted against Zapata by the Mexican elite though the Mexico City press during the Mexican Revolution.412 As the central hub of the most powerful and wealthy in the country, it was not only logical but crucial that the publishing industry also be situated in the capital. The press allowed the government and social elite to perpetuate and control representations of their social practices, activities, and form of government.413 The constant vilification of Zapata in the press 216 heightened public interest in this leader, while also fueling fears, and swaying opinion against “the bandit” he was portrayed to be. Techniques utilized in the press to denigrate Zapata included slanderous labels, false reports, unfounded accusations, and manipulated or “enhanced” images. Predictably, for such a partisan discourse, the labels applied to Zapata included “bandit,” “rebel,” “insurgent,” “thief,” “arsonist,” “scoundrel,” and eventually “Attila of the South.” Each one of these labels implied an “illegitimate” act against established authority and government. Yet issues of legitimacy were not so clear cut. In fact, some acts that were called “banditry” and “theft” actually stemmed from age old feuds between villages, so that in reality these actions were not against the rural elite or government, but rather simply altercations between neighbors. Moreover, many of the acts that were committed against the rural elite by Zapata’s troops could be considered justifiable acts of retribution, given the injustices suffered by the rural communities. Thus, the multiple narratives that developed about Zapata were often based and driven by subjective positions and experiences. Additionally, the unfavorable characterization of Zapata during the civil war, contrasts greatly with Zapata’s own efforts to create a positive image of himself, and both efforts reveal parallel endeavors to construct the narrative of Zapata. Eventually, in post-war Mexico, the divergent narratives of Zapata meld and he is transformed within institutional narratives into a national hero who is celebrated, embraced, and harnessed, which speaks to the amnesiac and inventive nature of history. In print thirty-three, El embajador Lane Wilson “arregla” el conflicto (Ambassador Lane Wilson arranges the the conflicto) by Leopoldo Méndez depicts Zapata as one of three small chess pieces on a chess board [Figure 40]. Henry Lane 217 Wilson, the American Ambassador, is the sole player, and due to his scale, is the main subject of the image. If the image is not condemning enough of the U.S. Ambassador, the text makes clear the historian and the TGP’s opinion of him. It reads: From the American Embassy building, the sinister Henry Lane Wilson, diplomatic representative of the White House, concocted Huerta’s treason. It was there, according to irrefutable evidence provided by eyewitnesses, where he signed the Pact of the Embassy, which made possible the usurpation of the drunkard and cruel Victoriano and the murder of Madero and Piño Suarez. Lane Wilson was a genuine representative of the imperialist policy that characterizes, almost without exception, the White House. In print thirty-three, Lane Wilson is in the midst of moving the upright Huerta chess piece across the chessboard, which underscores Lane Wilson’s role in the Ten Tragic Days of February 1913 and Madero’s assassination. The Madero chess piece is in mid-fall, as it is being knocked over by Lane Wilson’s left hand, a reference to his assassination. Here Madero is accompanied by Zapata on the chessboard, rather than the Vice President who was shot alongside Madero, as is depicted in other prints (thirty-two and thirty-four) in the portfolio. Again, Madero and Zapata are paired in such a way that suggests they share a common enemy and work toward common goals. Zapata and his agenda of agrarian reform were likely a concern for U.S. capitalists, who had commercial interests in Mexico. The financial and material investments in Mexico by U.S. capitalists to develop and mange U.S. owned industrial complexes is a type of informal colonialism that resulted in massive disruption and reconfiguration of the local labor force and economy.414 The print creates a sinister sensibility about the U.S.’s intentions in Mexico through the dark and shadowy representation of U.S. capitalists whispering in the U.S. Ambassador’s ear,which insinuates his actions are on their behalf. 218 However, it is Huerta’s persecution of Zapatismo in the name of disarmament from August through October of 1911 that explains a deeper connection between Zapata and Madero. Madero, like Zapata, was the victim of Huerta’s aggressive and violent tactics, which in February 1913 resulted in Huerta’s coup d’etat that culminated in the assassination of Madero. Afterwards, Huerta assumed the presidency. Print thirty three’s text condemns Huerta for his treachery and role in the murders Madero and Piño Suarez. Although Madero and Zapata shared a common enemy in Huerta, it was not a commonality that bridged their differences. From the time Madero was recognized as a leader of the rebellion and throughout his presidency, he and Zapata were never able to come to a mutual understanding. In fact, Zapata’s Plan of Ayala, which was written November 1911, denounced Madero. Thus, both prints twenty-seven and thirty-three reveal the irrational rationalizations of an alliance between Madero and Zapata. After print thirty-three Zapata does not resurface again until print fifty-seven. However, his significance in the civil war and to the TGP is continually fostered in the prints between thirty-three and fifty-seven through references to his ideological platform of social reform and to the Zapatista army. Print thirty-eight, Las tropas constitucionalistas hacen el primer reparto de tierra en Matamoros 6 de Agosto de 1913 (Constitutionalist troops make the first distribution of land in Matamoros August 6, 1913) by Ignacio Aguirre advances the narrative of Zapata’s narrative by inserting the topic of land reform [Figure 58]. The caption states: General Lucio Blanco the Musketeer of the Revolution made the first distribution of lands of the Mexican Revolution in Matamoros, Tamaulipas. He distributed among the peasants the estate belonging to Felix Díaz. In attendance at this historical event was Heriberto Jara, Francisco J. Mugica and other revolutionaries who years later would occupy posts in the revolutionary governments. 219 The caption and image for print thirty-eight commemorate Lucio Blanco as the primary actor in the first distribution of land as a result of the Mexican Revolution. The hacienda that was divided up belonged to Felix Díaz, the nephew of the old dictator Porfirio Díaz, which connects this image to the historical narrative of unjust land seizures and other atrocities committed during the Porfiriato. However, the title specifically attributes the land distribution to the Constitutionalist Army, which technically Blanco was part of at the time. On the surface the print suggests Blanco’s actions were condoned by the leadership of the Constitutionalist Army, which alludes to common goals of agrarian reform with Zapatismo. However, Blanco was severely reprimanded by Carranza for his unauthorized actions of land distribution and was ordered to Sonora to serve under General Obregón and he lost command of his own regiment, which was placed under General Pablo González.415 Thus, it is inaccurate to hail the Constitutionalist as ideologically aligned with land reform or Zapatismo, although the Constitution of 1917 will further promote this myth, which I will elaborate on in my discussion of print fiftysix. Blanco is an interesting character of the Mexican Revolution who had ties with Madero, Zapata, Carranza, and Obregón. So it is accurate to refer to him as a Constitutionalist, but also to identify him as a Maderista and sympathetic to Zapatismo.416 Rebellion was reignited by General Huerta’s coup and the assassination of President Madero. After Madero’s assassination (addressed in prints thirty-two, thirtythree, and thirty-four) the portfolio continues semi-chronologically telling about the violent phase of the civil war. The Huertista focused narrative runs between prints thirtytwo through forty-four, and in print fifty-one. Print forty-three, Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta (Guerilla forces against the dictatorship of Victoriano 220 Huerta) by Alberto Beltran represents the anti-Huertista movement in action on the battlefield [Figure 59]. The print includes two separate scenes that are stacked one on top of the other. The top image includes a vast landscape of mountains, cactus, and a valley where a revolutionary army is in the midst of setting up camp and distributing arms. The bottom scene portrays a battle between the revolutionary anti-huertista forces, seen primarily at the viewer’s left and in the foreground, and federal forces, shown onboard a train that is under attack. In the print’s caption, Morales Jimenez describes the reaction against Huerta as the following: News was received from all parts of the Republic that new revolutionary groups against Victoriano Huerta had appeared. Fighting between federal forces and men of the Revolution was recorded in all of the cardinal points. The people, in addition to seeking justice for the death of Madero and Piño Suárez, wanted to completely transform social institutions that have persisted and were similar to those prevailing in the Porfiriato. The historian is vague in his description of the reactionaries against Huerta as “new revolutionary groups” and “The people.” And although Beltran incorporated two separate battle scenes, which allowed him to represent multiple groups in the print, he chose to focus on the Zapatista forces. Based on clothing, headware, and the bandoliers worn across the chest I identify a majority of the male figures shown as part of the antihuertista movement as rural laborers and members of the Southern Army lead by Zapata. The text claims social reform as the agenda of all anti-Huertistas, which does not accurately represent the very different objectives of each distinct group involved. Although a leader of the reaction to Huerta, Carranza, an elite member of Mexican society and a hacendado himself, did not prioritize social reform and the agrarian issue, which is evident in the reaction to land distribution by Lucio Blanco (see my discussion 221 of print thirty-eight). This collaboration between the historian and the artist collapses Carranzismo with Zapatismo, but in reality and as has already been addressed elsewhere they had an antagonistic relationship.417 Prints forty-three and forty-four operate as a pair in their tribute to the Zapatista Army. Print forty-four, Intento de la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta por liquidar el Zapatismo (Attempt by the Dictator Victoriano Huerta to liquidate Zapatismo) by Alberto Beltran continues the Huertista narrative [Figure 60]. The caption reads: The fight against the Zapatistas took a savage character during Huerta’s coup. The federal general Juvencio Robles devoted himself to plunder and burn the villages of the state of Morelos. In spite of these cruelties, Zapata's soldiers never gave up the fight. They remained at war, never betraying the great principles in the Plan of Ayala, signed in November 1911. As I have already noted, see my address of prints twenty-seven and thirty-three, Huerta was a leading figure in the persecution of Zapatismo. Although once he took the office of President Huerta did attempt to bargain with Zapata.418 However, as Brunk makes clear, “the Plan of Ayala had made national demands that a local compromise of the kind Huerta would offer could not accommodate. Such a compromise might still have tempted Zapata if the offer was convincing, but it could not be convincing coming from Huerta.” Thus Zapata did not enter into any arrangement with Huerta and continued his fight for social justice and land reform. As indicated in the caption for print forty-four, as President of Mexico, Huerta continued his attack against Zapatismo. The Zapatista army’s forthright effort in the face of adversity is specifically highlighted by the text for this print, but the image reveals the heinous nature of the attacks against the Zapatistas. Morales Jimenez, in the caption for print forty-four specifically implicates General Juvencio Robles in the narrative of Huertista persecution of the Zapatistas. 222 However, Robles was the federal military commander of Morelos from the beginning of 1912 through July of that year, thus, it was under Madero that his reign of terror began. Robles was recognized for his callous and tyrannical strategies to gain control of Morelos and apprehend Zapata, including a scorched–earth policy that is referred to in print fortyfour. Robles returned to Morelos under Huerta’s regime in February 1913 and continued his ferocious attacks through September 1913, burning villages, as well as arresting and executing anyone who had ties to Zapata. Print forty-four demonstrates such actions through various means. In the foreground, a murdered rural villager who is positioned face down on the ground speaks of Robles’ violent practices. In the middleground, the forced removal of women, suggesting all their men have been executed, and in the background, a village aflame, speak to the tyrannical reign of terror by Robles.419 As noted above, Robles’ violent and destructive actions were part of the Maderista, as well as Huertista, response to Zapatismo. Thus, this print reveals an instance in the portfolio’s narrative where there is slippage in time, where what is presented occurred temporally earlier than what is suggested. Additionally, selective editing, where Madero’s persecution of Zapatismo was omitted, for the sake of creating a narrative that works to promote both Madero and Zapata as allies is exemplified. Another example of the portfolio collapsing the distinct armies of the Mexican Revolution is seen in print forty-nine, Vivac de Revolucionarios (Revolutionary Bivouac) by Mariana Yampolsky [Figure 61]. The scene is idyllic in its depiction of a revolutionary army at rest after a day’s long march. Rifles visible in the middleground stand vertically, with the barrels up as they lean into each other, indicating that the soldiers have put there weapons aside and are indeed at rest. A train stretches across the 223 background and three distinct groups, made up of men and women, occupy the foreground and middleground. Silhouetted figures who appear armed are visible on the right end of the train, sitting inside a box car and on top of cars. It is difficult, if not impossible, to discern which particular army is depicted as there are multiple recognizable markers of different forces visible. There are no specific references to Zapatistas in the title or text, however, some of the figures wear clothing that is similar to the white cotton calzone and broad brimmed sombrero of the rural laborer. Yet, certain elements, such as the foreground figure to the viewer’s far left who wears closed shoes and the foreground figure to the viewer’s far right who wears a short brimmed hat, suggest some of these soldiers may be part of the Constitutionalist army. In comparing revolutionary army groups documented in the Casasola photographic archive to this image, it becomes evident that the attire of most revolutionary armies is not necessarily distinct because it was eclectic in nature [Figure 62].420 This stemed from the reality that most revolutionary armies did not have the resources to provide official uniforms and soldiers often had to come up with their own. Makeshift military attire often reflected regional style and social class, but also revealed the predatory practice of claiming victims’ uniforms and weapons. However, the figures in the middle ground, closest to the viewer, are distinctly dressed as federal soldiers, one of the few military groups of the Mexican Revolution that did have an official uniform. I ascertain this print includes figures from numerous distinct groups, which serves more as a tribute to all the men and women of the civil war. In combining distinct armies into one big camp the image serves to promote the notion of unified alliances, which coincides with master narratives that 224 highlight unification among the revolutionary forces. In terms of the representations of women, I will discuss prints forty-nine in more depth in the following chapter. Huerta’s treachery, defeat, and resignation are marked in print fifty-one, Victoriano Huerta abandona el pais 20 de Julio de 1914 (Victorianoa Huerta abandons the country July 20, 1914) by Fernando Castro Pacheco [Figure 42]. The following image, print fifty-two, La entrada del ejercito Constitucionalista en la Ciudad de Mexico 20 de Agosto de 1914 (The entrance of the Constitutionalist forces in the capital city) by Isidoro Ocampo celebrates the Huerta’s defeat and the Constitutionalist army’s entrance into the capital city [Figure 63]. Its caption states: On August 20, 1914 the Constitutionalist forces enter the capital of the Republic. At the head of the troops is the first chief, Don Venustiano Carranza. The soldiers of the Revolution wear the dust of Santa Maria, Santa Rosa, Zacatecas, Orendain, Tepic, Mazatlan, Torreon, Guadalajara. The Federal army, as stipulated in the Treaties of Teoloyucan, deliver their armament to the troops sent by Carranza. Contrary to the text’s version of the Constitutionalist army’s triumphal entrance, the print does not depict Carranza at the head of the troops. Rather the image spotlights Constitutionalist General Obregón leading the army’s triumphant entrance into the capital. Photographic documentation indicates Obregón first entered the capital on August 14, 1914.421 It is otherwise recorded that Carranza entered the capital city on August 20, 1914. By placing Obregón at the head of the Constitutionalist forces, the TGP recognized his role in its victory. The caption’s narrative pays lip service to the dominant Carrancista narrative of this significant moment in the civil war’s narrative. I read Carranza’s absence from the image as a more accurate portrayal of events and as a critique of his inactive contributions to his army’s efforts, which in turn attributes his military success to his generals Álvaro Obregón, Pablo Gonzalez, and Pancho Villa. The 225 discrepancy between the text and image also reveals, if not foreshadows, the split that develops between Carranza and Obregón later. Prints forty-eight, fifty-two, sixty, sixtyfour, and eighty-two of the portfolio focus on Obregón. Significant to my focus on the Zapatista army is print fifty two’s textual description of the Constitutionalist army as “the” “soldiers of the revolution,” which can be read two ways. First, the label has the potential to diminish other anti-huertista forces under distinct leadership as not part of “true” army of the civil war. Two, one can interpret the label as meaning all the distinct anti-huertista forces were in alliance and made up the army of the revolution. As a primary instigator of the anti-huertista mobilization, Carranza’s narrative is interwoven in the portfolio with Huerta’s story. Immediately following Huerta’s defeat, Carranza, per a clause in his Plan of Guadalupe, assumed the presidency of Mexico. From this point on, the focus of the portfolio’s narrative turns from anti-Huertista efforts toward the struggle for power between Carranza’s Constitutionalist army and the Conventionist forces led by Zapata and Villa. On July 8, 1914, Villistas and Carrancistas signed the Treaty of Torreón, in which they agreed that after Huerta's forces were defeated, 150 generals of the civil war would meet to determine the future shape of the country. This Convention met at Aguascalientes on October 5, 1914 through November to determine, among other issues, the presidency of Mexico and which plan the revolution would follow that of Madero (Plan of San Luis Potosí), of Carranza (Plan of Guadalupe), or of Zapata (Plan of Ayala). The schism between the Consitutionalist forces, under Carranza and Obregón, and those under Villa and Zapata, labeled as the Conventionists, divided the Convention and is the basis for the 226 third violent term of the Mexican Revolution. After the Convention chose Eulalio Gutiérrez, instead of Carranza, as the provisional President of Mexico, Carranza withdrew his support of the Convention and moved the Constitutionalist headquarters to Veracruz. Print fifty-three, La Convencion de Aguascalientes 10 de Octubre de 1914 (The Convention of Aguascalientes October 10, 1914) by Alberto Beltran marks the historic Convention of Aguascalientes in the TGP’s portfolio [Figure 64]. The text caption reads: With Huerta defeated, the revolutionary leaders met in 1914 in Aguascalientes, in order to formulate the social program of the Revolution and to lay the groundwork for the country within constitutional principles. After impassioned deliberations the convention elected as Provisional President General Eulalio Gutierrez, a prominent and noble leader from the north. The image is vertically split down its center and depicts two groups of men. On the left are many men seated in rows in an auditorium, while others are visible in balconies above. On the right, a smaller group sits on a stage behind a figure at a podium. A couple of figures in the audience of the convention are on their feet and appear agitated as they gesture aggressively toward the speaker at the podium in front of them. The speaker is shown in action, with his right hand raised in a fist, while the Mexican flag is visible behind him. Although the text suggests the image may reflect “impassioned deliberations” about the next President of the country, I identify the speaker at the podium as the Zapatista intellectual Díaz Soto y Gama, partially based on his physical appearance. [See Photo, Figure 65] Brunk writes that during his speech at the Convention, Díaz Soto y Gama declared the Mexican flag, “symbolized Agustín de Iturbide’s reactionary movement for Independence, not independence for Mexico’s indigenous masses. He himself would never sign it.”422 The flag of the convention stood 227 on the stage from which delegates spoke to the convention, and had been signed as a pledge of loyalty to the convention by Villistas and Carrancistas.423 Díaz Soto y Gama’s was confrontational and according to Brunk, “drove the first stake into the heart of the alliance with Villa.”424 The Convention of Aguascalientes agreed to recognize the principles’ of Zapata’s Plan of Ayala. Womack writes, “The Augascalientes Convention was then the effective government of Mexico, and its adoption of the Ayala articles, even in principle, was the first official commitment to a policy of rural welfare in the nation’s history.”425 Thus, by focusing on the Zapatista contingent at the convention in print fifty-three the TGP indirectly inferred the gains seemingly made by Zapatismo, as well as evokes the Plan of Ayala and agrarian reform. Although the convention removed Carranza from power and an alliance between Zapatismo and Villismo served as the basis of the Conventionist forces, Zapata and Villa would not be able to maintain a unified front and hold on power. Led by Villa and Zapata, the Conventionists took over Mexico City in December of 1914. Although successful in occupying the capital city, Conventionists’ fragmented efforts and attacks on various fronts weakened their position, resulting in the Constitutionalists gaining control and occupying Mexico City on January 15, 1915. The United States’ recognition of Carranza’s regime provided the legitimacy and support necessary for Constitutionalists to assume control of the country. The Conventionists’ union dissolved and by October 1915 Villistas and Zapatistas went their separate ways. Carranza, who mobilized forces against Huerta, is depicted three times in the portfolio, in prints thirty-six he is part of the Maderista rebellion, in forty-six he leads the Constitutionalist army and counters a U.S. invasion, and in fifty-six he is shown as the 228 patron of the 1917 Constitution. Print fifty-six, Venustiano Carranza, Prometor de la Constitución de 1917 (Venustiano Carranza, Promoter of the Constitution of 1917) by Alberto Beltran depicts Carranza holding a document labeled “Constitution of 1917” [Figure 66]. Carraza organized the Queretaro Congress, which took place in November 1916, with the purpose of drawing up a new constitution. The text for the image explains Carranza’s motivations for organizing the congress: After the overthrow of the usurper Victorian Huerta--the immediate problem the First Chief dedicated himself too-- far-reaching social reforms began to take shape. To raise them to the category of constitutional mandate, Don Venustiano Carranza organized the Querétaro Constitutional Congress, which met in late 1916 and developed his important legislative work into principles in early 1917. As a result of the Queretaro Convention, a new constitution for Mexico was promulgated February 1917. The Constitution of 1917 incorporated a number of provisions that were radical in nature and include a number of provisions and articles pertaining to the secularization of education (Article 3), land reform (Artcile 27), and labor reform (Article 123). Print fifty-six skews reality or rather reflects the revision of the narrative of the Mexican Revolution by representing Carranza as the father of the Constitution of 1917 and by suggesting he was concerned with social reforms adopted in the Constitution. Carranza did submit a draft of a new constitution, which actually differred little from the Constitution of 1857.426 In actuality, it was delegates at the Querétaro Congress that developed the articles that today make the Constitution of 1917, which is distinct from the Constitution of 1857. Although Carranza was reluctant to sign off on the new Constitution he was more concerned with jeopardizing his chances to become President of Mexico by not signing it.427 Carranza was officially elected to office in March of 1917, just one month after signing the new constitution. The irony of describing 229 Carranza as concerned with social reforms, as is done in the print’s caption, and in depicting Carranza as the father of the Constitution, would be understood by those that know the history behind the development of the 1917 Constitution. Thus, the TGP engaged the master narrative for their depictions of Carranza, but their criticisms of him are made evident via the contextualization of Carranza within the graphic series overall. The incident addressed in the fifty-seventh print of the portfolio, La Muerte de Emiliano Zapata (The death of Emiliano Zapata) by Isidoro Ocampo is the ambush assassination of Zapata at Chinameca [Figure 67]. The caption for the print declares: April 10, 1919 is a day of mourning for the Mexican Revolution. In Chinameca, Morelos, the great revolutionary general Emiliano Zapata was shot dead as a victim of an ambush. After death, his significance grew over time and he is an example for all men who yearn to resolve the problems that plague the rural population of the Republic of Mexico. Here, as in almost every other print in the portfolio about Zapata, the rural leader’s symbolic importance after his death is stated. Ocampo confronts the viewer by pushing to the surface of the print the lifeless body of Zapata.428 The revolutionary is recognizable by his prominent black mustache and typical attire, wearing a black sombrero and a black charro’s outfit, with a white shirt. His face is constructed of linear patterns that read as the deep wrinkles of a weathered face, but also as if Zapata were grimacing in pain. During his lifetime, Zapata was continuously exposed to the elements, but the expressive quality of his visage also alludes to the fact that he had fought for nearly ten years and suffered a great many hardships and defeats. In the print, the position of Zapata’s body and the inactivity of his hands, which are located limply at his side, suggest that he is already dead. His eyes also emphasize his death or that he is dying, as they appear to be closed, with no white of the 230 eye or pupil showing. This image of Zapata’s corpse refers directly to the numerous documentary photographs of his death in which he wears this exact outfit.429 Two prints in the portfolio represent Zapata’s corpse, print twenty-five and print fifty-seven. Print twenty-five focuses on the transformation of Zapata into symbol and print fifty-seven presents the narrative of Zapata’s assassination. The order of these two prints is odd, but both provide a distinct function within the portfolio. Jutting out from the bottom left edge and top right edge of the print are numerous shot guns or rifles directed at Zapata’s body. Based on the angles of the weapons, the shooters appear to be either standing directly before Zapata’s body or directly above him. All of the rifles located at the bottom of the image are shown as if in action, with puffs of smoke emitting from the barrel of the gun, suggestion they have just been fired and an immediacy that locates the viewer as witness, if not as participant, in the attack. Visible are a few hands that hold the weapons, but nothing more of the shooters identity is depicted. This adds to the reality that there were numerous individuals involved in the murder of Zapata. In history they are rarely acknowledged, but within the image they are remembered. The scene is devoid of any reference to place, compelling the viewer to focus on the attack on Zapata. This rids the narrative of the various elements that relate to the multiple versions of the story. This image suggests that Zapata was shot at close range, which contradicts evidence that is visually present at the site of Chinameca today. At Chinameca one can find numerous bullet holes that punctured a wall of the hacienda where Zapata was slain, which suggests wild barrage of shooting, rather than the direct attack drawn in the print. 231 Reading from left to right, the viewer’s eyes are drawn, by the position of Zapata’s body and the linear pattern of his clothing, from the top left corner of the composition and diagonally across the image to the bottom right corner. Thus, the body leads the viewer to the only other figure in the image. A male figure, in profile view and only visible from the collar of his shirt up, lurks in the bottom right corner of the image. He wears a short brimmed city hat, modern dark round glasses, and a handle bar mustache. Based on photographs the figure can be identified as Captain Guarjardo, the man, who under orders, conned Zapata into thinking he desired to join forces with him and then ambushed him. The fact that the figure is wearing city clothes, could relate to the fact that Guarjardo was attempting to convince Zapata he had left the federal army. Guajardo’s presence, as well as the proximity of Carranza in print fifty-six, implicates Carranza in the murderous act. Print fifty-six, “Venustiano Carranza, Promoter of the Constitution 1917” and fifty-seven, “The death of Emiliano Zapata” remember distinctly two of the heroes of the Mexican Revolution. However, an added element is revealed when looking at the prints consecutively. The sequence alludes to the acrimonious relationship between the two men, as well as to the multiplicity of narratives incorporated within the portfolio.430 By pairing print fifty-six and print fifty-seven, the TGP implicated Carranza in Zapata’s murder. [See Comparison, Figure 68] As previously noted, Carranza ordered a general offensive against Zapata in May 1915 and the battle between the Carrancista regime and Zapatistas continued and culminated in the assassination of Zapata on April 10, 1919. The revision of this narrative after the war eventually downplayed Carranza’s role in Zapata’s assassination, a very well known fact.431 232 Significant is that Madero’s and Zapata’s murders are similarly reproduced. As in print fifty-seven, in print thirty-two Madero and Pino Suárez are assassinated by rifles that jut into the composition from the bottom left and top right edges. The rifles serve as a cypher that highlights how both were betrayed and murdered. As such, the TGP similarly associated Huerta and Carranza, as the villains responsible for the deaths of Madero and Zapata. This is another instance where the TGP narratologically and visually linked Madero and Zapata, thus working toward intersecting the two in a manner that inter-related their individual efforts. I read print fifty-seven as the end marker in the portfolio for the end of the war. It is interesting that Madero initiates this section of the portfolio and Zapata ends it. Therefore, both figures operate as the framing bookends for the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution. Additionally, emphasis on these two revolutionary leaders makes clear the ideological slant of the portfolio’s narrative. It also results in a collapsing of Madero’s democratic goals with Zapata’s goals for self-government and agrarian reform, which in actuality were distinct. Madero’s form of democracy maintained aristocratic priviledge and a centralized nation-state. Zapata’s was more of a popular form of democracy that promoted regional self-government. In the end, within the portfolio the Zapatista platform is seemingly supported by the Maderista agenda and vice versa, which alludes to unifying narratives of the civil war. In fact, the text for print fifty-eight, El Pueblo Es Soberano (The people are sovereign) by Ignacio Aguirre suggests that the Mexican Revolution was a “social movement,” which was only true for a certain contingent of the revolutionary forces. It reads: The Mexican Revolution had the great virtue of returning to the people the sovereignty of their rights. During the epoch of Porfirio Diaz, the people’s 233 sovereignty was denied. The social movement initiated in 1910 rescued for the citizens their rights usurped for over thirty years of dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz, to the point where there were no political rights of any kind. Thus, print fifty-seven and fifty-eight raise numerous issues pertaining to the revisionary remembering of the insurgency. The prints that proceed in the TGP’s album from this point forward address the era after the war and encapsulate a number of issues of that period including national rebuilding projects, education programs, the Cristero Rebellion provoked by the government’s anti-clerical stance, labor unions, agrarian reform, nationalization of Mexico’s resources, as well as programs of industrialization. In Chapter Seven I focus on a select number of prints that highlight some of the key issues to the TGP. Print sixty-seven, Lazaro Cárdenas y La Reforman Agraria, 1934-1940 (Lazaro Cárdenas and Agrarian Reform, 1934-1940) by Luis Arenal is the first of the eight prints in the portfolio focused on Mexican Persident Lazaro Cárdenas [Figure 69]. Arenal groups two set of figures on either side of this composition. On the left, two rural villagers recognizable by their wide-brimmed sombreros, calzones, and bare feet are depicted in full figure. These two men stand side by side, both looking at a large sheet of paper, possibly blue prints that likely indicates where their plot of land lies. Behind them in the background is another similarly dressed figure stooped over hoeing the land. At the top of the right side of the composition is a bust portrait of Zapata hovering above a profile head shot of Cárdenas.432 These two national leaders are outlined with a fine and hard white line. The hats of the rural figures are also similarly illustrated. The hard outline suggests a translucency that allows the fields in the background to fill and form the figures, so that each reads as if they are absorbed within and literally part of the 234 landscape. The equal treatment and juxtaposition of both revolutionary figures makes a clear association between the two. It is evident that neither Zapata nor Cárdenas actually occupy the space of the rural figures, but in their close proximity to them, and to one another, they are presented as symbolic spirits of revolutionary agrarian reform. As symbols, each is given equal space and weight within the composition indicating their equal importance to the realization of agrarian reform. Behind Zapata the sky is patchy, but light shows through, and combined with the dark quality of the overall image, suggests a sunrise or sunset, which has multiple implications. The sun rising behind Zapata alludes to a new day and can be seen as the realization of revolutionary goals and it could also be a reference to Zapata as a reborn Phoenix, possibly in the form of Cárdenas. As a sunset scene one could interpret it as a statement by the TGP about the fate of agrarian reform, particularly in the 1940s. Other chiarscuro effects serve to dramatically highlight through a bright white the rural figures and the faces of Zapata and Cárdenas who stand out against the dark background. The setting is a rural landscape with a mountainscape surrounding in the background on the viewer’s left. Plowed fields lay diagonally across the composition, primarily visible in the middle ground. The Baroque style diagonals extend from the top left of the composition and beyond the frame at the bottom right, alluding to a bounty of agricultural crops worked by those who owned the land. Numerous symbols signifying agrarian reform fill the center of the composition. A structure in the background with the words, “EJIDO” on it refers to an area of communal land used for agriculture, on which community members individually possess and farm a specific parcel. Maguey plants can be seen in the center and (on the viewer’s) on the left of the composition, which has 235 symbolic and nationalistic connotations and many uses including medicinal and the alcoholic drink pulque.433 A plow can also be seen at the bottom center of the image. All of the elements come together to indicate not only the pormise of land reform with Zapata, but the realization of revolutionary change toward land reform with Cárdenas. Although the TGP’s portfolio presents events in chronological order, in print sixty-seven Zapata is represented after his death. This is not necessarily meant to depict an actual event, but like so many of the work produced by the TGP it relates to political and social issues through symbols. The fundamental meaning of the image of Zapata correlates with the concepts of the egalitarian distribution of land, the decentralization of government, and rebellion in the name of justice. The juxtaposition of both Zapata and Cárdenas creates an alignment between them in terms of their ideological pursuits for land reform. As such, Cárdenas is presented as Zapata’s successor and the embodiment of agrarian reform. I will further elaborate on the significance of Cárdenas in Mexican history and the TGP’s portfolio in Chapter Seven. Zapata’s public memory and meanings have been constructed through numerous and various accounts or descriptions. He is typically represented in multiple forms and framed within a variety of contexts, indicating the great significance he holds as a symbol, as well as implying the fluidity of possible meanings attributable to him. As a self-referential signal, the image of Zapata is always associated with the life of the man, his beliefs, and his actions. As such, every image of Zapata in the TGP’s portfolio connects him to the Mexican Revolution. In each case, a different aspect of his symbolism is invoked. In print eight he is the incarnation of myth and symbolic of the revolt to come. In print sixteen Zapata is the target of Porfirian persecution and as such 236 representative of every man that had been similarly treated. Both prints twenty-four and twenty-seven show Zapata armed and actively in rebellion. But the former is the essential image of his leadership. Print twenty-five depicts Zapata as both a casualty of the war and an omnipresent mythological being that rises from the ashes of the revolution symbolizing the legacy of the war. In print thirty-five, as a game piece on a chessboard, he is aligned with Madero and presented in opposition to American interests in Mexico. In print sixty-seven the revolutionary is symbolic of agrarian reform. Print eighty two, depicts Zapata as figure head in the official revolutionary family, denoting, a rather false notion of, a unified nation and government. During the Mexican Revolution Zapata often found himself in opposition to the regional political groups vying for power because most were unwilling to implement his agenda for land reform and self-government. These local leaders of the insurgency were often interested only in musical chairs with power, while Zapata embodied deep structural change. Additionally, Zapata was considered a “rebel” during the Revolution even though “established authority” was in constant fluctuation throughout the war. Zapata was at odds with regional revolutionary leadership and with each of the primary revolutionary leaders that make up the post-war unified Revolutionary Family, including Madero, Carranza, and Obregon. This would change only after Zapata’s death in 1919, when Obregón made a key alliance with the Zapatistas.434 Therefore, although during his lifetime Zapata was known among members of the ruling class in Mexico as a “criminal,” he has subsequently come to represent ruling-class institutions, seamless ideologies, and a unified national heritage. 237 Through the process of the institutionalization of the Mexican Revolution during the 1920s and 1930s the historical figure of Zapata was transformed into a signifier for a broad range of revolutionary ideals and Mexican nationalism.435 The incorporation of Zapata into the institutionalized Revolution began in 1923 with commemorative memorials at his grave site in Cuautla. In August of 1931 the Mexican Congress declared Zapata a national hero and his name was inscribed on the wall of the congressional chambers. The reburial of Zapata’s corpse in 1932 marked an official and public reevaluation of Zapata. This practice of digging up political figures and reburying them with a renewed sense of reverence and fanfare is a common practice related to political regime changes. Katherine Verdery observes: “Politics around a reburied corpse . . . benefits from the aura of sanctity the corpse is presumed to bear and from the implicit suggestion that a reburial (re)sacralizes the political order represented by those who carry it out.”436 Zapata’s political life after death reflects the changing political order of Mexico after the civil war. A major revolutionary concept that Zapata is symbolic of is agrarian reform, which encompasses a variety of issues including corrupt land seizure and the redistribution of land, as well as foreign imperialism over Mexican natural resources and the nationalization of resources. Zapata’s personal story and struggle are intertwined with agrarian reform and popular-revolution.437 Land reform motivated the revolutionary leader’s regional rebellion and his involvement for and against Francisco Madero’s movement. Thus, Zapata’s image has often been used as an ideal symbol for official politicians who recognized the popularity of the revolutionary leader’s platform. The question of land distribution was recognized during the Mexican Revolution as an 238 important issue by other revolutionary leaders, but it was not a primary concern and sometimes only as a tool in managing the agrarian masses. Pancho Villa recognized the motivational force of the promise of land as a reward for revolutionary service. Alvaro Obregón also recognized land was an important concern for the rural landless masses and that it proved useful in satisfying revolutionary groups as a reward for revolutionary service and as a payoff. Samuel Brunk explained Obregón’s interest, who served as President of Mexico between 1920 and 1924, in aligning with the Zapatistas. He wrote: “Obregón was a masterful politician who understood the demand of many of Mexico’s rural rebels for land reform. He . . . also understood that it was Zapata who had voiced the demand best.”438 Plutárco Calles, who had his eye on the presidency of Mexico and later did become President of Mexico in 1924 through 1928, also recognized the importance of embracing Zapata’s platform. In April of 1924 at a memorial ceremony remembering Zapata Calles claimed Zapata’s agrarian program as his own.439 The practice of evoking Zapata, and in turn aligning oneself with the revolutionary leader and his agenda, continues into contemporary political practices. For example, new legislation developed during Carlos Salinas de Gortari’s presidency (1988-1994) was described by Salinas as aligned with the Mexican Revolution, although it was considered by many to be counter-revolutionary. In particular, Article 27 of the Constitution of 1917, which asserted that only Mexican nationals could exploit Mexico’s natural resources and that promoted land reform through redistribution and socialized communal land ownership was changed to allow private ownership. Historian Lynn Stephen explains: In November 1992, the Mexican government issued reforms to Article 27 of the constitution that ended the government's constitutional obligation to redistribute land to those who joined together to form an ejido. The Constitution of 1917 had included Article 27 to make land available to a 239 majority of the landless population of Mexico. . . . The new law also allows foreign firms to buy, rent, or lease land for agriculture and forest use (see Harvey 1994b). . . . A new office and set of procedures were created to implement the reforms of Article 27 of the constitution. The Procuraduria Agraria . . . created in late 1992 . . . was designed to carry out the reforms. The primary program is called Procede (Programa de Certificacion de Derechos Ejidales y Titulacion de Solares Urbanos).440 Additionally, in April 1994, the Procuraduria Agraria launched a widespread campaign to commemorate the seventy-fifth anniversary of Emiliano Zapata's assassination by handing out a record number of ejido parcel certificates in Morelos. During the commemoration of Zapata’s death anniversary President Salinas stated, “Zapata's struggle continues" and it has not been set back by the recent reforms . . .”.441 Salinas's speech emphasized that Zapata's struggle remained alive and that notable advances had been made in the countryside. However, foreign investment and development in Mexico was encouraged by the 1994 North American Free Trade Agreement or NAFTA, which ran against revolutioanry ideals regarding national ownership of resources and also countered the interests of the lower classes. In suggesting an alignment of his counterrevolutionary legislative reforms with Zapata, Salinas shifted signification to mean something ideological at odds with the revolutionary leader’s goals. Commonly leadership that came after the war represented and continues to represent itself as sympathetic to Zapata’s ideology—even when their actions demonstrate that they were/are not-- in an attempt to validate their distinctive agendas and in order to garner support for themselves politically.442 Through an association with Zapata, these politicians attempt(ed) to maintain a connection with the Mexican Revolution. Thus, Zapata has frequently been built up as a symbol of the Mexican nation and its government and within this context is portrayed as a national hero across class 240 lines. The tendency has been to reduce Zapata's image to that of an official icon for the nation-state in Mexico. Yet, competing narratives of the civil war in Mexico disallow such a one-dimensional reading. Zapata certainly represents some of the ideals associated with the Mexican Revolution and post-war regimes, but his image is erroneously utilized to suggest alliances that did not exist and his support of ideological values he did not agree with. This type of propagandistic association with national leaders and government policies has contributed to the elevation of Zapata as a national symbol and his function as a national icon. However, the eruption of rebellion in Chiapas during the era of Salinas’ presidency marks the multiplicty of the narrative and legacy of the Revolution and the revolutionary agrarian leader. On January 1 of 1994 the Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional (EZLN) rebelled against the Salinas regime. Their platform of “work, land, housing, food, health, education, independence, liberty, democracy, justice, and peace-all in the names of Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa” clearly invoked the insurgency of 1910.443 Thus, in the 1990s Zapata was invoked by two ideologically opposed entities, the Mexican government and the Neo-Zapatistas of Chiapas, both adding to the signification and contradictions of this national symbol. Symbolically Emiliano Zapata connotes the Mexican Revolution, rebellion in the name of justice, land rights, leadership, hope for the disenfranchised, Mexican masculinity, and Mexican nationalism. What signifies these aspects attributed to Zapata? Through sombrero and mustache Zapata’s Mexican-ness is marked. Weapons and crossing bandoliers evoke rebellion and the Mexican civil war. Zapata’s piercing stare and confidant pose signify his defiance and leadership. But there is more communicated than what is visible. Zapata’s image sometimes operates as a blank canvas that can be 241 filled with distinctive and multiple ideas. This adaptability allows the meaning of Zapata’s image to expand and to project numerous ideologies singly or simultaneously. The figure of Zapata is central to one of the key issues in current scholarship, namely, the divergent narratives of the Mexican Revolution, that involve an ongoing struggle over which classes, ethnicities, and social movements Zapata most adequately represents. Along with the diverse, class-based narratives attempting to locate Zapata in a positive role, there have been others that have cast him in a deeply negative light, thus further complicating the symbolic logic of Zapata’s image. As a symbol, Zapata’s image is evoked to promote support for distinct ideological messages by various competing groups. Each narrative seeks to claim Zapata's iconic status as a symbol for what they respectively represent. These compelling narratives and illustrations commemorate Zapata and with each reference, he is deployed to re-signify encoding his image with new sets of meanings. However, Zapata is most accurately invoked when aligned with the disenfranchised and dispossessed. Unlike Madero and some other historical figures of the Mexican Revolution, Zapata is able to represent multiple ideas because he embodied multiple identities including campesino, bandit, rebel, warrior, leader, and political figure.444 However, the fundamental meaning of the image of Zapata correlates with the concepts of the egalitarian distribution of land, the decentralization of government, and rebellion in the name of justice for the disenfranchised. These concepts have been converted over time into the principles of liberty and justice for the popular classes.445 Zapata is the word and image that inspires, unites, and guides the people in the name of justice. However, the image of Zapata does not retain or convey solely one idea at any given time, but rather 242 has become a constructed multifaceted symbol communicating numerous ideologies and representing various social groups sometimes simultaneously. This has resulted in a complex sign that denotes Zapata, the man, the legend, the revolutionary spirit, and the symbol as the chain of signifiers join every use, story, and illustration multiplying his significance. 243 CHAPTER SIX: Counter-Narratives of Women of the Revolution 244 War is not only battles . . . it is also discourse. Victory in war involves not only physical conflict and the gaining of spoils but also the right to control how the story is told. In the long run, it is the story, the narratives of war that endure. And this narrative is defined not only by those who tell it but also by those who listen: by those who witness and cry. Florencia Mallon446 To consider the imagery of women in peace and war is to face arguments about the very nature of the sexes and of human needs and instincts. Within modern Western culture, explanations both of warfare itself, and of gender differences in participation, are nearly always based on suppositions of biological, evolutionary drives. These explanations do not attempt to deal with the complexities of imagery and symbolism and . . . crosscultural variability . . though they do provide rationalisations of why warfare seems so often to be an exclusively male preserve. These rationalisations in their turn are used to support the status quo. . . . [V]arious sociobiological rationalisations of warfare and sexdifference, though put very briefly they can mostly be said to rest on the idea that evolution has favoured males being aggressive, and females maternal (usually conceived as caring and passive). Sharon MacDonald 447 Women are incorporated within twenty-six of the TGP’s eighty-five prints of Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, which is approximately thirty percent of the portfolio. Women are in seven prints in the first section of the album, in twelve prints related to the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution, and seven prints of the final section of the series. In the last two chapters I focused on the counter-narratives of Madero and Zapata as presented by the TGP. Most narratives of the Mexican Revolution focus on male leadership who operated in official roles in the fight. The repeated invocation of these two figures as icons of the revolution and symbols of the nation is part of a long tradition that locates men as the primary protagonists in the narrative of the nation. Sharon MacDonald explains that it is common practice for women’s experiences of war to be underdocumented, unwritten, and generally dismissed because, “Much of written history is the record of warfare—of conquest and revolution, of battles fought and 245 treaties signed, of military and political tactics, of great leaders, and heroes and enemies. In this history, women rarely figure.”448 In this chapter, I juxtapose my address of Madero and Zapata with my investigation of the representation of women of the civil war. Florencia Mallon’s quote at the beginning of this chapter alludes to the historically undervalued and under-written narrative of women’s participation in war. This is particularly true for the role of women in the Mexican military. Historically narratives about the roles of and contributions by women to the Mexican Revolution did not typically recognize them in a manner equal to their male counterparts.449 When the participation of women in the civil war was addressed it was often from a subjective perspective of male military leaders, male soldiers, and civilian observers. Thus, descriptions of how women participated in the rebellion are often skewed, distinct to personal experience, biased, or just uninformed.450 In this study I analyze how recent historiography on women of the Mexican Revolution relates to the visual depictions of women in the TGP’s portfolio. For this purpose, I conducted an indepth investigation of the scholarship on the participation of women in the Mexican Revolution. From this research I developed categories that have helped me to identify significant points of information about these women and serve to identify key issues for my examination of women of the civil war, which include their diverse backgrounds; roles and services performed by women during the war, and social dynamics at play during the war that affected women’s relationships with men and other women; the reception of women as part of armies by military leaders, soldiers, and other women; and the labels and stereotypes that are ascribed to women of the revolution. The 246 revolutionary armies can be defined and categorized as four distinct forces: the federal army, which includes the Porfirian army (1876-1910) and Huerta’s regime (1912-1914); the Maderista army; the Zapatista army; and the Northern army that includes the Carrancistas and Villistas.451 I also address below the nature of participation of women within each army. The scholars whose work I build on for my investigation include, but are not limited to, Julia Tuñon Pablos, Women in Mexico: A Past Unveiled (1987); Anna Macías, Against All Odds: The Feminist Movement in Mexico to 1940 (1982); Shirlene Soto, The Mexican Woman: A Study of her Participation in the Revolution, 1910-1940 (1990); and Elizabeth Salas, Soldaderas in The Mexican Military: Myth and History (1990).452 The above mentioned publications are the most extensive and comprehensive studies on women of the Mexican Revolution. These scholars have gathered material that was otherwise scattered in various sources and created important surveys and resources on the topic of women in the Mexican civil war and provide great insight into the topic, as well as into the historiography of the topic. Elizabeth Salas’ book Soldaderas in the Mexican Miitary draws together the biographic narratives of nine women whose diverse personal stories and experiences reflect the varied nature of women during the revolution.453 The women whose stories Salas focuses on are: Angela "Angel” Jiménez, Jesusa Palancares, Maria de la Luz Espinosa Barrera, Guadalupe Vélez, Tomasa García Magallanes, Manueala Oaxaca Quinn, María Villasana López, Dominga Ramírez, and Chepa Moreno. In her essay on “Women and the Mexican Revolution,” Anna Macías provides the biographical narrative of three women: journalist Juana Belén Gutiérrez de Mendoza (1875-1942), educator and writer Dolores Jiménez y Muro (1848-1925), and Hermila 247 Galindo de Topete (1896-1954) who served as the private secretary of President Carranza.454 These revolutionary women actively protested against the Porfirian regime and were involved in the Mexican civil war, but have received little attention from scholars of the conflict.455 As this literature shows, women have been active and creative participants of war and nation building. Thus, the battle to be included in the discourse, as described in Mallon’s quote above, rages on. Yet, thanks to the scholars identified above and others, it is developing into a more inclusive narrative that reflects the experiences and contributions of women. I am grateful for the commitment and rigor of scholars’ who have done the archival research and interviews necessary to gain insight into the personal experiences and a historical narrative that has been for the most part omitted from the history of the Mexican Revolution. However, most historical scholars do not consider the contributions made by visual material to the concepts of women of the Mexican Revolution.456 In this chapter my work goes a step beyond the work of these historians and writers, in that I interrogate the visual representation of women of the civil war. I compare the historical and personal narratives from my sources to the constructs and narratives presented in images of women of the civil war in general.457 In particular, I comparatively examine prints of women from the TGP’s album and photographs from the Casasola publications Album Histórico Gráfico (1946) and Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (1991). I also incorporate comparisons with drawings and lithographs on the Mexican Revolution by José Clemente Orozco based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917. 248 Mariana Yampolsky, a female artist of the TGP from the United States, produced two of the images of women in the TGP’s portfolio and the rest were created by male TGP artists.458 A handful of the artists presented women as protagonists, central in the scene, and active in the drama and are primarily located amongst the thirty-seven images dedicated to the decade of fighting (1910-1920), which starts with print twenty and Madero’s drafting of the Plan of San Luis Potosí and ends with Zapata’s death in print fifty-seven. For this part of my study, I narrow my investigation and focus primarily on the twelve images of women that are found within the period of the violent phase of Mexican Revolution.459 I also analyze prints thirteen and fourteen, which are set during the Porfiriato and offer a point of comparison to the women of the violent phase of the war. I end my address of women of the civil war with an examination of prints eightytwo and eighty-three, which are anchored in post-war nation building. Other sources that I rely on for my study of the women that participated in the Mexican Revolution include a variety of mediums: photographic documentation, news and other official reports, oral narratives, revolutionary corridos or folk songs, narrative commentary and literature on the war, biographic narratives, historical and fictional literary novels, theatrical productions, and film.460 Often, the characterization of women of the war follow trends that can be tied to issues that surface during both pre-war notions of gender, post-war nation building, and women’s rights or rather the lack of them. The photographic collection of the Casasola Archive includes some of the earliest and most prevalent representations of women who participated in the civil war. Publications from the Casasola Archive that contribute to the historical and visual narrative of the women of the civil war that I focus on for this study are limited to The five volume set, Historia 249 Gráfica de la Revolución (Graphic History of the Revolution) and Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (Graphic Record of the History of the Mexican Military, 1810-1991).461 Although these publications focus on the Mexican Revolution and the history of the Mexican military in general, they do also present an edited narrative of the participation of women.462 Historia Militar de Mexico reads more like a narrative of general history rather than a specific history of the Mexican military and it is repetitive of the many publication efforts by the Casasola family. In general, the text in this publication lists significant dates of the war and provides a small narrative about the events noted. In most instances, the text does not correspond to the images. Most of the photographic images are titled with descriptive text. As I collected images of women of the Mexican Revolution it became evident that there are many different types of women of the war constructed through these images. Most photographers worked similarly in terms of what activities are captured, how their subjects are posed and framed, and how much information about the lives of men and women during the civil war is left out. I have identified four core representational types of women and scenes in the Casasola publications including: women dressed as men; armed women in both rural and urban settings; military camp followers, many of whom are shown at train stations or on trains; and upper class women who were the spouses and followers of the leaders of the revolution. I limit my discussion of these types to those that are found in the TGP’s portfolio. I address the implications of certain photographic images in terms of women’s roles and contributions during the war. I consider the visual language of the photographs of women of the war and compare it to the vocabulary of the TGP in its portrayal of women. 250 Women of the Porfiriato There are seven prints that include women in the first section of the portfolio, which focuses on the Porfiriato. Within them women are primarily shown in various contexts as oppressed by the regime. The exception is a sequence of four images in prints thirteen La huelga de Rio Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha 7 de Enero de 1907 [Figure 16] and fourteen, Epilogo de la huelga de Rio Blanco” 8 de Enero de 1907 both by Fernando Castro Pacheco [Figure 17]. In these two prints Castro Pacheco has narrowed the narrative to four key moments of the Río Blanco Strike. The top image of print thirteen locates the viewer at the Tienda de Raya, or the company store where the workers for the mills were forced to buy, often overpriced, goods. For the most part within this sequence women are invoked as the victims of violence that provoked the strike and as a result of the strike. However, in the confrontation between striking textile workers and the military force in the bottom scene of print thirteen one woman is portrayed central to the scene. Pacheco Castro portrays Lucrecia Toriz in a full portrait, standing before a group of striking male workers who seem to follow her lead. None of my sources on the Río Blanco strike discuss Lucrecia Toriz, and I am more than curious about this seemingly important women and her erasure from most narratives of the strike. This issue of erasure and recovery of Toriz highlights the mythological and subjective nature of the narratives about what led to the Mexican Revolution and the multiplicity of what and who is remembered or forgotten. As a leader in the strike, Toriz challenges the traditional norms of gender roles, which typically dictate women’s roles as supportive or secondary. As the singular female in a power position and active in the strike among the multitudes of women within the four scenes of 251 the two prints, Toriz stands out as an exception. However, when prints thirteen and fourteen are read as a pair, women’s roles are expanded to recognize them as active agents in the album’s overarching narrative of the Revolution. Women in both prints are confined in the description of them as primarily performing traditional gender roles. In one respect, they are what the strikers are fighting for as victims of the violence in the company store that sparked the strike. In another respect, they are the emotional center of their community in their reaction to the aftermath of the strike. The narrative and visual references in print fourteen describe women as emotional in their roles as mothers, wives, and daughters mourning their loved ones. All the women in the four scenes wear shawls; in print thirteen they are wrapped around their shoulders, but in print fourteen they become mourning veils. The head coverings visually tie the women to the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. At the bottom of print fourteen a woman cradles a fallen male figure’s head in her arms, which evokes the pieta and further emphasizes her alignment with the Virgin Mary, as well as evokes her as the mater dolorosa the victimized image of Mary. This image can be tied to the cult of the Virgin and idealized motherhood. The Virgin Mary is part of the earliest visual images and modes of education in history. She serves as the model of proper behavior and qualities historically imposed upon and embraced by women. Thus, the female as symbolic of the Virgin evokes sacrifice and acceptance of social structures that often oppress women. A legend of the strike claims the bodies of the dead textile mill strikers were carried by railcar to the coast where they were dumped into the ocean. The strewn bodies of the dead on a railcar in the print evoke this narrative. The reference to water in the 252 story invokes the mythological la llorona, a ghostly woman whose cries for her drowned children. The narrative of power and brutal violence can also be tied to the conquest, as is the image of women suffering. In Mexico, the nature of conquest and the enslavement of women resulted in offspring who were often not recognized by their Spanish fathers, resulting in shame and a life of hardship. Thus, the image of the suffering woman symbolically evokes historical forces that extend from the Spanish conquest of the Americas to the Porfiriato. Women of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution Twelve prints from the section of the TGP’s graphic series focus on the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution include women. The six prints that make up the first half of this set of twelve (22, 25, 26, 27, 29, and 31) all depict women from the upper classes who are primarily located in urban spaces. Five out of the six prints that are part of the second half of this set of twelve (43, 44, 49, 50, and 54) evoke rural settings. This settings combined with the attire of the women portrayed suggest they are rural villagers from the lower classes. Frequently in the portfolio women are paired with, interacting with, or responding to male figures. In most of these twelve images women are part of a scene or a group, and not presented as the protagonists of the narratives. The only exception is print fifty, where a woman operates as a nurse. [See Portfolio, Appendix 1] Most of the twelve images locate women outside of the war zone or on the sidelines of combat. Prints twenty-two and forty-three are the only images of the twelve that reflect women’s participation as combatants in battle during the Revolution. Interestingly the only two aggressive women in the group of twelve prints are of elite 253 status and can be found in prints twenty-two and twenty-five. Prints forty-nine and fifty show women attached to armies of the civil war, and both are images of encampments. Print twenty-two, Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada (Aquiles Serdán and his family initiate the armed revolution in Puebla, November 18, 1910) by Fernando Castro Pacheco is the third image in the sequence that focuses on the decade of violence known as the Mexican Revolution, 1910-1920 [Figure 28]. This image is part of the Maderista narrative and depicts the Serdán Family’s battle with authorities. The Serdán family was an urban middle-class family that lived in the center of Puebla.463 The entire Serdán family was in alliance with Madero and involved in organizing the revolutionary uprising in Puebla.464 On November 18, 1910 authorities showed up at the Serdán home to arrest them. The caption for the print states, At 5 on the streets of Santa Clara, Puebla on November 18, 1910 Aquiles Serdán, his family, and friends shot the first bullets demanded in the Plan of San Luis Potosí. Aquiles defended himself with great courage and fought for hours, until he ran out of bullets. The soldiers of Porfirio Díaz killed him and his body was displayed in Puebla, in order to frighten the people. Two days later, on November 20th, began the revolution in the country. The Serdán Family is typically identified as having activated the violent phase of the insurgency and it is significant that the women of the family are equally acknowledged in the TGP’s album.465 However, the caption primarily focuses on Aquiles Serdán’s heroic effort, which follows the masculized narrative approach to remembering the Mexican Revolution. Focused address of the role of the Serdán women during the battle of November 18, 1910 and afterwards are scarce, and those that exist are brief in their narration.466 It is generally reported that at the time the fighting broke out in the Serdán home there were 254 three women inside.467 The women are commonly identified as Aquiles’ mother (Carmen Serdán Alatriste), sister (Carmen Serdán), and wife (Filomena Valley Serdán). According to Ross, the fighting started in the early morning and “[b]y midday all the male defenders had been killed except Aquiles, “who, with his sister continued firing from the windows.”468 All of the Serdán women survived the battle, the fate of the men on the other hand was death. David Bevera wrote that Carmen was seriously injured during the battle.469 He also reports that Carmen, her mother, and sister-in-law were taken first to La Merced Prison and eventually to San Pedro hospital. Carmen Serdán continued her revolutionary efforts beyond her initial organizing under Madero and the early battle with authorities, joining the anti-huertista forces in 1913 and in 1914 working for the Constitutionalist forces as a nurse in the military hospitals. In the print, Aquiles Serdán, his brother Máximo, his sister Carmen, as well as his wife Filomena, each point rifles outdoors through windows. It is unfortunate that in actively showcasing the battle from within the Serdán home, the viewer is presented with only a partial view of any of the figures. Thus, it is difficult to know who is who, although as the prominent figure in the text, I speculate that Aquiles is the conspicuous male figure on the viewer’s far left. As noted elsewhere, this image is significant to the narrative of the Mexican Revolution. Although the Serdán Family’s role in the onset of the insurgency is clearly underlined, the image in its informal portrayal of the figures reduces them them to secondary actors within the drama. In other words, it is provocative to show the Serdán Family in the midst of battle and its contributions are recognized in this way, but the 255 figures are portrayed in a manner that does not allow for a true portrait nor celebraton of any individual. To include the Serdán womenfolk in the telling of the beginning of the Revolution resonates with the dominant narritives of the events. However, it is also documented that Carmen was involved in the Anti-reelection Party, smuggled arms in preparation of the Maderista Revolution, fought alongside her brothers on November 18, 1910, and eventually became a nurse in the Constitutionalist army. Therefore, print twenty-two, as a depiction of her roles and contributions in the civil war is one-dimensional in its reference to a singular act. This parallels other stereotypical depictions of women of the Revolution in photographs, where they are typically framed in a manner that suggests a limited role during the war rather than their multiple contributions. In Casasola’s Historia Gráfica de la Revolución (1946) a five page spread is dedicated to the Serdán Family’s battle on November 18, 1910.470 The first page presents the portraits of the family, specifically: Aquiles, Maximato, Filomena, and Carmen. The following page depicts the officials with whom the Serdáns fought against and the next page shows the Serdan’s neighborhood and home exterior. The fourth page focuses on the interior of the Serdan’s home after the battle with authorities. The final page of this layout exhibits the corpse of Aquiles Serdán. The text that accompanies these illustrated pages identifies three women in the Serdán home at the time of the fighitng: Carmen, Aquiles’ and Carmen’s mother, and Aquiles’ wife. The portrait of Carmen Serdan is a head and shoulder shot, which provides zero background information. Here Carmen is a mature women who appears worn, which suggests the image was taken after a significant amount of time after the insurgency of 1910. Additionally, she appears to be wearing an 256 apron, interjecting the issue of domesticity, which highlights Serdan’s traditional role(s) as a woman.471 Interestingly, Carmen Serdán’s significance as a warrior was also recognized in the Casasola, Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (1991) through the inclusion of the same portrait seen in Casasola’s 1946 publication, although it reveals Carmen’s full seated torso.472 However, neither of these publications mentions the female revolutionary’s extensive efforts in support of Madero and the Revolution outside of the events of November 18, 1910. The graphic image in the TGP’s portfolio of the Serdán Family resonates with the photographic images of armed women of the Mexican Revolution in urban settings [Figures 70 and 71]. These types of images are not numerous, nor do they permeate the public’s imagination of the civil war, but they do appear with some frequency in Casasola’s publications. In these photographs urban environment is indicated by markers of either interior or exterior space. The women in the images often hold weapons and wear ammunition cartridges across their chests. The two examples I provide are typical of these types of photographs. The text caption of one states, “The general Ramón F. Iturbe accompanied by the women of Topia, Durango who contributed openly to the revolutionary cause of Madero” [Figure 70]. And another describes, “Sonoran women who offered their help to the government” [Figure 71]. These women are dressed in fine and clean clothes. Although at least one set of women hold weapons, they do so awkwardly, as if unfamiliar with how to use them. In the image of Sonoran women, the seated women in the front of the group seems to wield her umbrella as a weapon. These images are vague in their descriptions of how the women participated or contributed to the war effort, but they are significant in documenting that urban women of the middle 257 class were active participants in the Rebellion. As urban women of the middle class, these women likely contributed to the war effort, at least initially, through organizing efforts and participation in committees that promoted and supported the leaders of the revolutionary forces. However, the weapons suggest they were also active in battle. Some women who were not officially warriors of the insurgency did find themselves in circumstances that required they defend themselves, their families, their camps, and their towns. They may or may not have served in combat, but just the same their contributions should not be demeaned and were located within the expansive and nuanced battlefield of the Mexican Revolution. Within the narrative of the Serdán Family, the only female’s efforts that have been narrativized extensively are those of Carmen Serdán. Carmen Alatriste (Aquiles’ and Carmen’s mother), Natalie Serdán (Aquiles’and Carmen’s sister), and Filomena Valley Serdán (Aquiles’ wife) have all been relegated by most narratives as inconsequential. Typical of the history of the Mexican civil war is to omit the narrative of women or to hold up one woman as the exception, which does not provide a comprehensive understanding of the diversity and contributions of women of the Mexican Revolution. Two intensive efforts to further document, not only the roles of the Serdán women, but of the women of Puebla during the Mexican Revolution include the book Mujeres Poblanos Destacadas (2008) published by the Instituto Poblano de las Mujeres and the essay “Historia por contar: Mujeres Poblanas en al Revolución Mexicana” (2010) by Jaime Espinosa María Elizabeth. These two projects provide extensive biographical narratives of the multitudes of women who organized and supported first the Maderista 258 revolution and later the anti-Huertista forces in Puebla. These efforts both indicate the commitment by women from middle and elite class families to the revolutionary efforts and make clear the diversity of women that participated and their numerous and varied contributions. These publications also raise the issue of regional histories versus national narratives, which are distinct in their agendas, who they remember and include, and what issues are of primary concern. Print twenty-nine, Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular (Francisco I. Madero, candidate of the popular classes) by Julio Heller is another image from the TGP’s section on the violent stage of the Revoluton that includes a woman of the upperclasses of Mexico [Figure 34]. This image particularly focuses on, based on the title and caption, Madero’s efforts toward the presidency both prior to the insurgency and after Porfirio Díaz’ defeat. The image depicts Francisco Madero, after his victory over the dictator, on the balcony of the national palace, surrounded by his supporters and an adoring public. Sara Madero is depicted on her husband’s right and a step behind him. The artist positions two anonymous male figures behind the couple, but her position in front of them or standing between them and her husband suggests she is in a place of importance. Sara Madero, the wife of Francisco Madero, the instigator of the insurgency of 1910, is considered by some the first lady of the Mexican Revolution. Madero is one of the few elite class revolutionary women that we know by name and whose presence is heavily documented in photographs of the war. I deem her a significant woman of the war who can teach us about the roles and contributions of elite women to the rebellion of 1910. A primary mode of participation in the civil war for upper class women was 259 through organization and participation in political clubs, such as Las Hijas de Cuauhtémoc (The Daughters of Cuauhtemoc); demonstrations and rallies; and conferences that mobilized the public. Perhaps within the context of Francisco Madero’s political candidacy for president and his campaigning efforts, Sara can be read as a symbol that evokes her own, as well as other women’s efforts in regard to organizing in support of democratic government and no reelection. However, as a figure of history and images Sara Madero has been under-examined. Unlike Carmen Serdán, there are no essays or books that I could locate dedicated solely to telling Sara Madero’s story, at least not independently of her husband, which identifies her as a secondary actor. And when she is considered she is described as a silent presence, such as in Earl Shorris’ novel, Under the Fifth Sun: A Novel of Pancho Villa (1936) and the TGP’s graphic series.473 Sara Madero is only portrayed once in the TGP’s album. Interestingly in the graphic series Madero is not affiliated with the development of the Maderista manifesto, the violence of the war, nor to Francisco Madero’s triumphal entrance into the capital.474 However, in Casasola’s Historia Gráfica de la Revolución (1946) Sara is depicted with some frequency, although she is primarily in photographs that represent the period following her husband’s victory over Díaz. She can be seen next to her husband as he made his triumphant entrance into the capital after defeating Díaz and on his political campaign for the presidency that followed [Figure 72].475 Her absence in descriptions and representations of what led up to the Mexican Revolution and in relation to the civil war are problematic in that Sara Madero rarely left her husband’s side. She can be found in photographs of the pre-war period during her husband’s efforts in the anti-reelection campaign and at the camp in Ciudad Juárez during the insurgency, which was the site of 260 the fateful battle that forced Díaz to resign.476 Significantly these photographs document Sara Madero’s presence and allude to her role in her husband’s political and military career. More importantly they reveal she was a key member of her husband’s team and indicate that her husband was able to do his work because she willingly performed her obligations as supportive spouse. Yet, the lack of documentation and narrativization of her life and efforts and the omission of her presence in most prints and paintings related to Francisco Madero raise the question about how the TGP and other artists maintain or subvert ideologies of domesticity and gender as they relate to upper class Mexican women. In most photographs and in Heller’s print Sara Madero is shown dutifully by her man and serene in her supporting role as wife [Figure 73]. Her elite status is conveyed through her alignment with male elite figures, her conservative style of dress, and her composed state. These elements combined seemingly represent a traditional woman. In print twenty-nine, Sara Madero is particularly immobilized by the environment and the figures that surround her. However, Madero was not inactive during the rebellion and fought hard to save her husband from the assassin’s bullet during Huerta’s coup by pleading with the American Ambassador Henry Wilson to intervene.477 In this section of the dissertation I address photographs of elite women who were the family members, friends, and advocates of the leaders of the revolutionary forces. In particular I refer to the family members of the leaders of the Maderista insurgency, Sara Pérez de Madero and Carmen Serdán. Although these women both represent revolutionary Maderista women of the upper classes, they are treated and represented differently in history and in the TGP’s portfolio. In the graphic series, Serdán is depicted 261 as a warrior in print twenty-two and Madero is portrayed as a dutiful and supportive wife in print twenty-nine. In Casasola’s photographic history of the Mexican Revolution both women are included and allude to both the similar qualities and diverse actions of elite women during the rebellion [Figures 73 and 74]. Images of Sara Madero and Carmen Serdán counter the common conception of women of the Mexican Revolution as rural and poor, and accentuate the necessary supportive role of women during the conflict. Historically, the dominant stereotype of women of the Mexican Revolution is that they are of the rural regions and from the lower classes. This is partly due to the perpetuation of this stereotype through narratives and images,478 which Cano explains: In art the soldadera is characteristically portrayed as a mestiza or indigena type with plaited hair, rebozo (woolen or cotton shawl) and cartridge belt slung over her breast. Sometimes, she wears a straw hat and supports a rifle or a basket on her shoulder. This image has been developed from numerous photographs taken during the conflict, the best known being those taken by Gustavo Casasola. His soldaderas appear alone or in a group, often with a railway wagon in the background. These photographs are among the few existing proofs of the reality of the soldaderas, women who in the majority of cases have remained anonymous.479 In terms of racial classification Reséndez Fuentes asserts that many of the women of the civil war were, “mestizas but others belonged to various Indian groups” and that, “Battalions were often formed along ethnic lines.”480 Soto also asserts, “Most of the soldaderas were Indians or poor mestizas . . .”, but she says little else on the matter and her sources are not documented.481 Although in line with the dominant narratives and visual records of the rebellion, Résendez Fuentes’ and Soto’s labels are vague in their descriptions of the women of the war. These descriptive traits are both too broad and too narrow. In terms of being too broad, the labels of Indian and mestizo are constructed cultural and social identities, which I recognize as being applicable to most Mexicans. 262 One aspect of inquiry that I find lacking in the documentation of the role of women in the civil war is the record of how women self-identified in terms of their cultural or ethnic groups. In regards to being too narrow, these descriptions suggest that all the women of the civil war were of the rural regions and of the lower classes and exclude the efforts of women from the urban areas and upper classes, which, as Casasola’s photographs, the TGP’s prints, and I have shown above in our presentation of Maderista women, is inaccurate. Furthermore, the limited notion of who participated in the insurgency also mistakenly designates the battlefield as limited to the rural regions of Mexico and the home front as urban space. Reséndez Fuentes in his discussion of the women of the Maderista Revolution recognizes the wives and relatives of the leaders as significant players, such as: Sara Pérez de Madero, María Ochoa de Robles Domínguez, Carmen Serdán, and others.”482 The contributions made by these women, who were all urban based, reveal that blurring of the boundaries between home front and battlefield of the civil war. In fact, women who participated and made numerous contributions to the rebellion lived and traveled through numerous environments including rural Mexico, the urban streets and homes of Mexican cities, the trains and railway system, and administrative offices. None of the above is meant to discount the fact that many women of the lower classes participated in the rebellion of 1910, they did and the documentation of this is irrefutable. Rather what the above makes evident is that we must address what made these women different, not what made them the same. For instance, most of the women attached to the armies of the war were from both the urban and rural regions and some ended up as part of the federal corps and others were on the side of the revolutionaries. 263 However, when these women are shown in photographs they are typically described by many, including scholars like Cano and Reséndez Fuentes, as rural. In truth it is difficult to ascertain the identity, status, roles, and actions of the complex and diverse women of the Mexican Revolution simply by looking at photographs of them. The historical and biographical recovery work that has been done on women of the era of rebellion reflects they came from various regions and distinct backgrounds and this must be considered and further investigated when (re)looking at, (re)constructing, and (re)interpreting the narratives of the war. Gabriela Cano distinguishes the nature of military armies in the north and south during the Mexican Revolution and determines that the federal and revolutionary military camps that had women attached to them operated primarily in the north of Mexico.483 Cano further explains that these forces had to cover tremendous distances, which required the services of women to provide for the soldiers personal needs. Whereas, with the Zapatista army of the south of Mexico soldiers needs were provided by rural villagers and local people, sometimes voluntarily and other times by force.484 The women in Elizabeth Salas’s study on women of the civil war ranged from different regions in Mexico and their backgrounds varied in terms of age, class, growing up in a rural or urban environment, as well as in their level of conformity to traditional expectations. All nine women in Salas’ study group were involved in the war, some volunteered to fight, while others followed their husbands into battle or were abducted.485 Angela "Angel” Jiménez (Oaxaca) and Maria de la Luz Espinosa Barrera (Morelos) were from the southern part of Mexico. While Manueal Oaxaca Quinn (Chihuahua), Dominga Ramírez (Sonora), and Chepa Moreno (Sonora) all came from northern Mexico. Jesusa Palancares from 264 Tehuantepec grew up in a federal troop as her father’s companion primarily dressed as a boy. Guadalupe Vélez from Central Mexico followed her husband into battle. María Villasana López from Chihuahua was abducted and forced to follow her absuctor-consort soldier. Jiménez, Palancares, Espinosa Barrera, and García Magallanes all fought in the conflict; while Vélez, Quinn, Villasana López, Ramírez, and Moreno were involved primarily in performing domestic duties for their soldier husbands and consorts. Salas also identifies female leaders who formed their own rebel groups within the Mexican Revolution and lists Margarita Neri in Guerrero, Rosa Bobadilla in Morelos, and in Sinaloa Juana Ramona, Viuda de Flores, and “The Tigress.”486 Other women who are noted to have risen through the military ranks include Encarnación Mares (“Chenita”) Cárdenas and Col. María Quinteras de Meras in Villas army.487 The biographical recovery work done on women of the civil war by Salas’ and others reveals their diverse and and complex identities. Counter to the typical approach of master narratives to highlight male figures and to limit the description of women as one-dimensional, the TGP in its portfolio highlights, although sporadically, the presence of and contributions by diverse women to the war effort. One group in particular that has been completely omitted from most narratives and images of the Mexican Revolution is Afro-Mexicans. African slaves were imported to Mexico between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries.488 In Mexico, those of African descent were considered inferior and barbaric. Marco Polo Hernández Cuevas elaborates on the derogatory classification of Afro-Mexicans who he explains were typically, “portrayed as inferior.”489 Based on these beliefs discriminatory laws were established to deny them social and political rights.490 Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán’s anthropological study 265 La población negra de México published in 1946 marks one of the first efforts to document the presence and contributions of Afro-Mexicans. The semi-biographical novel La negra Angustias published in 1944 makes visible for the first time in Mexican literature the participation of a woman as a leader in the war and more importantly it raised the issue of Afro-Mexicans’ participation in the Mexican Revolution.491 The role and contributions of Afro-Mexican in general and of Afro-Mexican women in particular is a rich topic for exploration that I pursue outside of this project. No army of the Mexican Revolution operated without the support of women; however, their roles and standing varied and was usually dictated by the leadership of each distinct army and camp.492 In order to understand the nature of women’s participation and roles in the civil war, one must recognize the nature of the distinct military groups that participated. These armies can be defined and categorized as four distinct groups: the federal army, which includes the Porfirian army (1876-1910) and Huerta’s regime (1912-1914); the Maderista army; the Zapatista army; and the Northern army that includes the Carrancistas and Villistas.493 The federal army relied on trains for transportation, which allowed soldiers’ families to travel easily with them. Otherwise, the women would usually follow in the rear guard, on foot, which could be a hinderance because they slowed the movement of an army. Reséndez Fuentes provides two reasons for the large contingents of women that followed the federal army, the need for supplies and the practice to forcibly press men into service.494 The primary task of women who belonged to this group was to supply food to the lower ranks, which for some women became a thriving business. Women would often follow their husbands’ when they had been forcibly drafted into the armed 266 forces, as their bondage could last years. In the federal army there were clear divisions of labor along gender lines, which distinguished tasks for men and women. In particular women were assigned the tasks of foraging and cooking, but also served the army in other ways, such as spying and smuggling arms. The Maderistas and Orozquistas armies in general did not include women, as other armies of the Revolution, primarily because their military operations were local and regional in scope, which meant that soldiers could return to their own homes and families. Additionally, the nature of these armies as calvary also meant that an attachment of women on foot would slow the army, which would have proved a hindrance. Thus, there was an absence in the Maderistas and Orozquistas armies of women who were camp followers and provided services, but there were women who participated in and even led the fight. Reséndez Fuentes names, “Rosa Bobadilla who together with her son commanded a calvary unit in Morelos; Clara de la Rodia who stormed the minting house of Culiacán; and . . . “La Coronela” Carmen Parra was a widow who started out with Madero at Casas Grandes and participated in the first battle of Ciudad Juárez.”495 Within these armies there was, “little to no division of labor, both men and women fought and both provisioned the troops.” 496 However, this democratic approach to roles and duties was the exception, not the norm during the civil war. The Zapatista army did not incorporate large contingents of women and instead women were more often engaged as soldiers who worked as combatants, spies, and messengers.497 For food and supplies the southern army relied on the villages and towns that surrounded their military camps in the mountains and sierras. This relationship between the Zapatista army and locals is typically described as symbiotic, where a village 267 would provide food in appreciation of the soldiers’ revolutionary efforts. Rape and violence against women by soldiers from every army occurred during the insurgency; however, the Zapatistas were particularly notorious for attacks of this nature. Reports of these types of encounters come from a variety sources, including the anti-Zapatista Mexican press and first-hand accounts by victims, such as Esperanza Martínez.498 The nature of this type of violence thus undermines the notion of a voluntary and collaborative relationship between the Zapatista army and villagers and is worthy of further examination.499 The configuration of the revolutionary armies of the north shifted as the war continued and goals changed over the decade of fighting. Working with Reséndez Fuentes definition of the northern forces I will focus on the Carrancista and Villista armies, both of which included large contingents of women.500 Reséndez Fuentes provides a number of reasons women ended up in the northern armies including, the natural expansion of the soldier base, where soldiers would respond to the call and their families would join them, or force.501 The Carrancista army utilized trains to move their military, which as previously noted, allowed for the presence of women and families without hindering the armies movement. The reception of women in male dominated camps and the interactions between men and women varied and depended primarily on the leadership of the military group. Male domination and imposition of traditional gender roles were constant issues the women came up against. Salas identifies Pancho Villa as, “the most vehement hater of the soldaderas.” Villa had strict rules about the activities and responsibilities of women in his military camp and refused the participation of women in the fight.502 His desire to 268 modernize his army and make it more efficient may have led to his dislike of women’s participation in the war or perception of women as trouble makers. Obregón was accused of, “putting soldaderas and children in front of his troops to shield them and the artillery.”503 Negative attitudes of the military leadership toward women attached to military camps contributed to the denial of recognition for their contributions and significance. In the section of the portfolio dedicated to the violent decade of the Revolution, the TGP primarily showcased male leaders and villains. There are a few exceptions, where groups of soldiers and civilians are the primary figures and in a few prints individual women are in the spotlight. Print forty-three, Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta (Guerilla forces against the dictatorship of Victoriano Huerta) by Alberto Beltran is an example where a group of soldiers are the subject of the image [Figure 59]. In the print anti-Huertista forces are in action on the battlefield in two separate scenes that are stacked one on top of the other. In the top image, a revolutionary army sets up camp on the left end of the composition and arms are distributed on the right end. Most of the figures in these groups are nondescript, except for the few in the foreground handing out and receiving arms. Amongst them a standing woman faces the viewer. She wears her hair in long braids, a long full skirt, and bandolier diagonally across her chest while she holds a rifle in each hand. Behind her and further down the mountain slope, at the bottom left of the composition, another woman is visible as she stands facing the viewer wearing a sombrero, a long full skirt, and two bandoliers across her chest. The bottom scene portrays, on the viewer’s left and in the foreground, a battle between the revolutionary anti-huertista forces and federal forces that are onboard a train 269 located on the right. Based on clothing, headware, and the bandoliers worn across the chest I identify a majority of the male figures as rural laborers and members of the Zapatista southern army. Thus, prints forty-three and forty-four operate as a pair in their tribute to the Zapatista army and its response to Huerta’s coup. Although armed women are included in the top scene of print forty-three, they are not included in the active combat scene at the bottom. As previously noted, the Zapatista army did not incorporate large contingents of women and women that were a part of the Zapatista forces were warriors and leaders. Therefore, if the army in print forty-three is Zapatista, then we would assume that the women depicted are combatants, as well as performed other important tasks, such as spy and messenger. In operating as active service personnel in the Zapatista army, women typically wore masculinized uniforms; however, Beltrán chose to present the Zapatista women in his print in long skirts. This is likely necessary for recognizability of the distinct genders, yet, it also impacts the viewer’s perception of gendered roles and contributions in the war. This perception is further influenced by the artist’s choice to not show women actively engaged in combat, which perpetuates the stereotypical notions, promoted in master narratives, that women were inconsequential to the war effort. The narrative and visual representations of women of the war are subjective abstractions and as a result limited in what they tell us, but they do indicate the revolutionary presence of women. This is also true of print forty-nine, Vivac de Revolucionarios (Revolutionary Bivouac) by Mariana Yampolsky, which depicts an idyllic camp scene [Figure 61]. This image is a composite of soldiers from distinct armies, which reads as a tribute to all the different men and women who participated in the Mexican Revolution, as well as 270 represents the master narratives’ concept of a unified alliance amongst the distinct groups that participated in the war. Here the artist presents three distinct groups who occupy the fore- and middleground of the composition.504 Women are only visibly part of two of these groups. The group furthest back is without women and consists of three figures: a soldier who stands with his back to the viewer; another soldier who is seated facing the viewer, and bwtween them is a figure who appears to be a prisoner who is held by the standing soldier with his back to the viewer. A train stretches across the background of the scene marking the parameters of the camp and indicating this army’s mode of transportation. However, the inclusion of the train breaks with the narrative of the print’s caption, which specifically addresses marches required by some armies of the revolution. This instance of multiplicity within the print reveals that the prints and the text diverge within the portfolio. The text for the print, however, shifts our focus in its discussion of the significance of songs during the insurgencey and beyond stating: The revolutionary marches were grueling. In the evening bivouac, soldiers met to dedicate themselves to a moments rest. It was at these rallies where the song was revived, the legitimate Mexican song. From 1913 to 1925, the Mexican people sang like never before. The art took root within the national landscape. After the bivouac, soldiers would again take up their weapons to continue the fight against the enemies of the Revolution. The songs Morales Jimenez emphasizes in the text are likely corridos or folk songs, which were sung during and after the civil war.505 The symbiotic relationship between text and image in the TGP’s portfolio implies the graphic image also connects to corridos. In this vein, the image seems to follow the text in its enactment of a gathering of men and women of a revolutionary army and its emphasis on music through the guitar held by the male figure on the viewer’s far left.506 271 Mexican corridos are an informational, educational, and entertaining outlet. The songs’ linguistic and musical simplicity make them easy to follow and popular. These folk songs feature various themes including history, heroes, daily life, humor, love stories, oppression, the Mexican Revolution, and women. Folk songs of the civil war were some of the earliest narrative descriptions about the character, roles, and duties of women of the revolutionary armies. 507 Most are romanticized ballads by men who focus more on beauty, desirability, and loyalty of women than their valor or contributions on the field. However, some describe revolutionary women as brave, courageous, skillful, and loyal to the cause, which constructed an image of them that is less conservative and more adventurous than the nineteenth century Mexican woman.508 With few exceptions, these corridos do not provide biographical accounts of the women of the Revolution, unlike the songs about specific men, such as Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata. Although some corridos potentially developed based on the life of an actual person, over time, the figure and the narrative became abstract and symbolic of general concepts. In general these songs contributed to the development of stereotypes of women as they were often reduced to simplified types such as camp follower, nurse, combatant, or whore.509 When the names of women are invoked, they are usually as archetypes and not as individuals. It is through radio broadcasting and the record industry in the 1920s that corridos about the Mexican Revolution were circulated and made popular.510 Sheet music of popular corridos were sold or included in publications. 511 Other corrido sheets were passed out free as a form of propaganda to eulogize leaders, armies, and political movements, or in some cases, to mock the opposition. Therefore, corridos significantly contributed to the multiple and contradictory narratives that flourish about the civil war. 272 Corridos were integral to post-war nation building efforts and in promoting master narratives. In these songs women were given a prominent place in the narrative of the insurgency and are key to recognition and documentation of their roles. However, while the circulation of corridos expanded awareness of the participation of women during the Revolution, they also served to promote a limited and abstract understanding of these women.512 Women who followed the armies of the civil war broke with traditional social norms, which resulted in a typically negative reception. The nomadic practices of the armies of the Mexican Revolution suggested, on one hand, that one had no familial or social ties and, on the other hand, that one was not bound to traditional norms, which was seemingly evidenced by the chaotic environment of the army, the free intermingling of the sexes, and the bold behavior of women. For it was daring for a woman to leave her home, sometimes with her children in tow, and take on the challenges of traveling, living, and working outside of the traditional domestic space. Also, the idea that an unattached woman was earning money for “services” provided to a soldier implied an immoral relationship, as did the free interchange that likely occurred between the sexes. The women who accompanied armies during the civil war were generally considered by townspeople and villagers they encountered in unfavorable terms.513 This was partly due to their disheveled and unclean appearance and the manner that they scavenged for food and supplies. Another issue key to the perception of women that were attached to revolutionary armies is that it was common practice for women to be abducted, raped, and forced to serve soldiers.514 Salas contends it is probable, “a great many women were unwillingly pressed into service.”515 Despite the reasons why women were attached to an 273 army active in the fight they were commonly judged by those they encountered as uncouth, unhygienic, bad parents, and hyper-sexual and labeled as uncivilized, immoral, and different.516 Derogatory opinions about the women of the rebellion are likely part of the reason why women were left out of the original narratives of the war. Women who participated in the Mexican Revolution were and continue to be identified by a number of labels, some of which have positive connotations, but most result in a negative slur, including: soldadera, coronela, Adelita, Valentina, Marieta, combatant or soldier, camp follower, and whore. Often these labels are interchanged, but they actually vary in terms of describing the roles and characteristics attributed to the different women who participated in the war. Information about the participation of women during the insurgency comes from a variety of sources. Salas writes that, “Sometimes literature about soldaderas hinged on shallow notions of good and bad women.”517 My interpretation of both the 1915 literary story that was made into a film in the 1940s, Los de abajo is that women are stereotypically polarized, described and represented as good and bad, innocent and corrupt, victim and aggressor, sexual object and violent, dutiful and revolutionary. The two main female characters are Camilla, the young and innocent girl from a small rural village, and La Pintada a hardened, whorish, greedy, and petty women who accompanies the band of revolutionaries led by the protagonist Demetrio Macías. Other stereotypes of women introduced include Macías’ dutiful and domestic wife; old village women, who care for Macías and his men, in more ways than one, and who love to gossip; non-traditonal women who join the revolutionaries in their downtime drinking; and young girls who are abducted and raped. La Pintada is described as invoking and participating in the plunder and pillaging of the 274 homes of the wealthy, but none of the women are ever described or shown involved in battle and are often referenced as sexual objects. In fact, the only time women are involved in any type of fight is when men are fighting over them and when La Pintada stabs and kills Camila. A later novel by Azuela, The Flies (1918) portrays women of the rebellion in even more detail, describing them all in negative terms, including rude, tasteless, crude, and ragged.518 On the contrary, Rafael F. Muñoz’s short stories celebrate the integral importance of women to the function of the troops of the civil war and emphasize their heroic and self-sacrificing feats. During the 1940s there was a concern that the Revolution, “broke up the family, increased the mother’s power and influence over the children, while separating the father from the family.”519 The 1940s novel, La negra Angustias by Francisco Rojas González presents the protagonist, who was a coronel in the insurgency, as unfeminine. Salas addresses how the author treats the protagonist’s dominant and independent manner as an illness that is best cured by marriage and serving a man, which allows her to discover, “her true identity as wife and mother.”520 Over time the image of the women of the Mexican Revolution in literature has softened and they are described as feminine, ultranationalistic, selfless, and noble. The above narratives are significant to the construction of women of the civil war and their interpretations of women reveal common notions that were circulating about them. The central placement and multiple representations of women in print forty-nine draws attention to them particularly because they are under-represented in the TGP’s portfolio. Furthermore, the inclusion of three distinct types of women can be associated with stereotypical classifications that have developed, which are identified by names such as La Adelita, Valentina, and Marieta. La Adelita traditionally describes women who 275 were camp followers and is a name that was popularized in corridos.521 In a Villista song, she is a twenty-one year old from Chihuahua whose boyfriend commits suicide because Villa showed his interest in her. According to Tomasa García the real Adelita was from Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua and a fearless female fighter of the Mexican Revolution.522 Valentina generally references a female soldier, who is also described sometimes as a nurse. In reality, most women attached to military armies during the civil war likely tended the wounds of soldiers, and many contributed to the fight. Valentina describes a character type made popular through corridos, but she could also refer to Valentina Ramírez, a female soldier who fought at the side of General Ramón F. Iturbide from 1917 to 1920.523 However, the songs about Valentina do not recognize her actions on the field nor other duties performed during the war. Marieta too comes to us through corridos and was possibly based on a Villista female fighter, María del Carmen Rubio de la Llave. Salas explains that a woman attractive to a soldier would be referred to as Marieta.524 Eventually the name Marieta takes on the connotations of a camp whore, which is evidenced in, if not affected by, the “Corrido del norte” by Pepe Guizar and his description of her “as the girlfriend of all the troops.”525 However, it is never made clear if Marieta’s role as camp whore is by choice, circumstance, or force, which are key issues that should be taken into consideration in order to more fully grasp the reality of women, as well as the role of sexuality and violence in the Mexican Revolution. The descriptions of each of these female types more accurately assign distinct and unrealistic roles, which suggest that women’s lives and activities during the insurgency were ordered and compartmentalized. For this investigation I refrain from engaging in any labels attached to women of the civil war, except when addressing the label itself, because these labels 276 are limited in their descriptions and many have negative connotations. Instead, I work toward a more comprehensive understanding of women’s roles during the Mexican Revolution. However, I do investigate the development and meaning of some of these labels, as it proves useful in understanding what the TGP artists addressed in their images of women. The group in the foreground consists of three men and two women who are divided into two sets. A couple sits together at the bottom center of the image. The artist situated the female in a manner that only allows a view of her profile and back sides. She wears long braids and a dress with a long full skirt. A male companion squats next to the seated female and creates a barrier between her and the rest of the group; perspective positions here between her male companion’s legs. The squatting male’s expressive face and the extension of his right hand suggest he is singing. Off to his left, two men and a woman face the viewer and the rest of the group and also appear to be engaged in song. They stand tall and robust, and are well clothed and groomed. The facial expressions and opened mouths suggest these three are singing. A male figure with a guitar, at the viewer’s far left, wears a large sombrero and the rural laborers white cotton calzone. The guitar is a loaded visual element of masculinized artistic and militaristic products of nation building, as is the corrido the group is likely singing. The woman to his left wears her hair decoratively up with a ribbon, bandoliers diagonally across her chest and around her waist, and a dress with long sleeves and a full skirt. The gentlemen to her left wears the same large sombrero and uniform as the other male figure, and he also wears bandoliers criss-crossing his chest. In general the group in the foreground is idealized in its jovial attitudes. The harsh nature and conditions of life during the Mexican 277 Revolution are not evidenced here, which is also true for many of the photographs that document the period. What is communicated is the sense of comradery and the significance of women within that is emphasized in by Yampolsky. In her print Yampolsky seems to have collaged together multiple references to iconic elements found in the Casasola photographic collection. I associate the five figures in the foreground of print forty-nine with common types found in Casasola’s publications, Historia Gráfica de la Revolución (1946) and Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (1991) [See Figures 75 and 76]. In these publications the rural battlefield is a common setting for the portrayal of women as combatants and Yampolsky’s standing female, with bows in her hair and hands on her hips, is akin to many of them.526 One might imagine the rough conditions of war, but these photographs often depict women wearing pretty dresses, jewelry, and bows in their hair.527 In most of these images, women pose for the camera and perform the role of combatant as they raise weapons and wear bandoliers across their chests rather than participate in a true battle. The too clean and adorned appearance of the women and the staged nature of the scenes render these images as fabricated, which likely reveals the hand of the photographer and indicate the need to recreate scenes. It should be noted that most photographs of the war do not typically reveal the savergery of war and that most are posed for. This raises numerous issues including: the accessibility of battle to photographers and journalists, as well as the dictates surrounding what and who was photographed. Furthermore, it is important when looking at photographs of women during the civil war that it be remembered that the war effort was not restricted to a battlefield out in some rural part of Mexico. However, these are the typical 278 characteristics of the most well-known photographs of women during the Mexican Revolution. Yet, these types of images conceal the social diversity of women. Nonetheless, the presence of women on the rural battlefields of the rebellion is captured in these photographs and the weapons and bandoliers mark them as revolutionary soldiers. Similarly, the bandoliers across the chest of the woman standing in the foreground of Yampolsky’s camp scene mark her as revolutionary. What that meant for women like her in Mexico needs to be further explored. The female figures in the foreground of Yampolsky’s sccene are reminiscent of types identified as camp followers, women who attached themselves to an army in order to stay close to their consort. Photographic images often represent these types of women as part of large military groups and commonly represent them paired with men. Sometimes children are visible. Some are seen embraced or embracing a soldier. Others are depicted seated or laying down seemingly lounging, but can also be found marching alongside the army. A five image layout in Casasola’s Historia Gráfica de la Revolución magnifies the construction of the camp follower type and the significant presence of women among the revolutionary armies [Figure 77].528 These photographs portray women as domestic in their various relationships, but can be said to describe them as inactive and outside, or on the sideline, of the battlefield. In relation to these types of images, Cano writes: Novels, films, and corridos . . . set in the Mexican Revolution represent soldaderas as completely docile and prepared to offer any kind of sacrifice. The stereotype does not allow the soldadera the smallest margin of autonomy, nor does it consider her a subject in her own right; she exists solely in a dependent role to a male soldier . . . Generally, characteristics of daring and courage are downplayed in this version to emphasize her romantic loyal nature.529 279 MacDonald explains the function of images that depict women on the sidelines of war when she writes that, “the images of women that we find on the sidelines of the domain of warfare are not simply accidentally or irrelevantly there, but rather . . . they play an important part in defining the domain, and in ‘symbolically articulating’ the social order and its values.530 Furthermore, photographs of camp followers define these women in relation to their partners and children as traditional in their dependent relationships and domestic roles. These types of images lack information about the nature of army life for a women druing the war and limit our comprehension of revolutionary women’s complex and various roles as part of an army. What is revealed is the limited access the photographers who documented the war had to the battlefield and the photographers’ limited notions of women’s contributions to the rebellion. Furthermore, the label of camp follower simplifies, if not discounts, the contributions made by and support of women that were crucial to the fighting, accomplishments, and legacy of the Mexican Revolution. I return to this type and these issues in my address of print fifty. Here, Yampolsky’s is subtle in the distinctions she makes between the figures, but enough markers of each type are referenced that the stereotypes are recognizable. Further into the picture plane two men and a woman evoke a less romanticized image of the war. This group is not as boisterous as the one in the foreground nor are they as idealized in their posture and dress. Two men, wearing caps and nondescript uniforms that include bandoliers diagonally across their chests, sit at a makeshift table. Their slumped shoulders and leaning torsos suggest a state of fatigue and relaxation. A woman, wearing her hair long and a long skirt, stands before them, holding something in her hands that indicates she may be serving food to these soldiers. All the figures of this 280 group appear unkempt, particularly in comparison to the group in the foreground, in particular the woman with her ungroomed hair and her disheveled ill-fitting clothes. The woman in the middle ground could be an independent cook who peddles food to unattached soldiers, but her disheveled appearance sexualizes her character. The traditional hairstyle of Mexican women is simple and functional to meet the needs of the warm climate and the various domestic responsibilities women perform every day. Although Mexican women traditionally have long hair, it is rare to see them in a public place with it down, usually it is worn in braids or up in a bun. I liken the woman with her hair down in Yampolsky’s bivouac scene to the women found in José Clemente Orozco’s, “Tortillas y Frijoles” (1913-1917) from his series of drawings and lithographs made during the Mexican Revolution [Figure 78]. Orozco’s critical response to the reality of war exposes the harsh nature and quality of life. In Orozco’s revolutionary camp, conditions are less idealized than in Yampolsky’s version. Two groups occupy the composition, four men on the left and two women on the right. The men occupy the foreground of the image and sit in a circle facing each other. Three of the four are at rest. The figure to the far left stands wrapped in a blanket and wears a cap. They all wear markers of distinct military groups. One of the seated figures wears a large brimmed sombrero and holds his rifle vertically against his bent knees. The other two figures lounge on the ground, one lays on his stomach and wears a top hat and the other wears the rural calzone and large brimmed sombrero. The women in the background on the other hand are busy washing clothes and preparing food. All the figures’ appear to be wearing their undergarments, as their clothes are being washed and can be seen hanging in the background. 281 The hair of both the women in Orozco’s image is down, but the hair of the figure stooped on hands and knees, a posture required to grind corn, is particularly unkempt. Due to the sheer nature of her sheath her breasts are completely exposed. All of the figures’ seem to lack modesty and sit in their undergarments this suggests a community desensitized by war to social codes and allude to lasciviousness in the camp. The middle ground female figure in Yampolsky’s print makes connections with the sexualized cook in Orozco’s image, in that they are both shown similarly with their hair down and servicing soldiers. However, Yampolsky’s romanticized presentation of camp life is devoid of the harsh realities of life in a revolutionary camp. Morales Jimenez’ text similarly avoids the issues of living conditions for the revolutionary armies and instead addresses corridos. I identify the middle ground female figure of print forty-nine and the women in Orozco’s sketch as illustrative of some aspects of the negative qualities and characteristics associated with women of the Mexican Revolution, including un-hygenic and hyper-sexual. In her diverse representation of women, Yampolsky evokes the potential dynamics between women within an army camp, which were stratified and precarious at times. Women who were wives and daughters of soldiers were distinguished from women who were involved in less traditional relationships, involved in free unions, or offering domestic services or simply sex in exchange for whatever they could get. Salas states, “The [woman] of an officer had more status and money than the [woman] of a low-paid enlisted man.”531 Therefore, women would at times fight over men, especially if they were well paid. Additionally, women also developed independent business for the services they provided the army and unattached soldiers and there would be competition 282 for customers.532 A hierarchical dynamic between women existed, the significance of which likely varied from camp to camp and woman to woman. I read the two women in the foreground of print forty-nine of a higher status than the woman in the middle ground, because the later group seems to have the luxury of leisure actitivies while the other is working. This does not mean that to work for the army necessarily meant one was of lower status, in fact, the entrepreneurial women of the war may have in fact enjoyed the most independence and elevated status of all. But in this image the middle figure’s appearance combined with her activity suggests she does not necessarily have the same sense of agency or resources as the women in the foreground. Differentiations also exist between the two women in the foreground, one stands and the other is seated below her; one wears bandoliers and the other does not; and one is framed by two men and the other is paired with a male; which combined evoke a range of distinctions and power dynamics between the women. Although Orozco’s images allude to the grim conditions of the life of revolutionary men and women, Yampolsky’s suggests something more idyllic. For the most part, the men and women are clean and groomed, integrated and cooperative in their social exchanges with one another, and seemingly content. Little actual work is actually performed by anyone in the image and instead the soldiers dedicate themselves to entertainment, socializing, and relaxation. Nonetheless, Yampolsky’s image incorporates and presents women as central to the revolutionary armies, which in itself was counter to the typical master narratives. Print fifty, La soldadera by Alfredo Zalce continues with the focus on the armies of the Mexican Revolution [Figure 79]. The artist depicts a woman attending to a wounded man who is shown laying on his back horizontally across the foreground of the 283 image. She bends over him and bandages his head, which he lifts off the ground for treatment. They are situated next to the engine of a train that sits in the middleground of the composition and faces the right end. A row of marching figures, who also face the right edge of the composition, evoke a well known photographic image of the Zapatista army, which in turn marks this nurse and soldier as part of the Southern Revolutionary Army [Figure 80]. The title of print fifty, literally translates into “The female solider,” however the label of soldadera has other connotations, some of which have already been addressed above. The term soldadera and its numerous definitions stem from the narrativizing of women’s roles in the war. Anna Macías makes a distinction between female soldiers who were combatants and identified as masculine, and soldaderas who stay behind the lines to forage and prepare the soldier’s food, wash clothes, tend wounds, and care for their children and male partners.533 Salas, however, asserts, “differences between female soldiers and camp followers are less than clear-cut. Because of the changing configurations of battle lines, many times camp followers by necessity had to perform as soldiers . . .”.534 Salas goes on to explain, “Often the kinds of soldierly activities in which [these women] engaged depended on the personality and desires of the women; they do not fall into neat categories of soldier or camp follower.”535 A female camp follower could be in the act of bringing food or drink to her soldier companion or making an attempt at retrieving a corpse, and could find herself in the middle of active combat and would take up arms. It was not unusual for women to engage in occasional combat or to be even taken as a prisoner of war.536 Other scholars apply the term soldadera broadly to both female soldiers and camp followers alike.537 284 There is no one role or experience that can be ascribed to the women that participated and were involved in the rebellion, but unfortunately women’s contributions are commonly demeaned by cliché descriptions such as camp follower. This label suggests women were outside of the battle and did not contribute to the Revolution. But we realize today that men could not accomplish what they have through the civil war and beyond if it was not for the support and contributions of women. However, there are a high volume of photographs that articulate the stereotype of women as camp follower and I argue contribute to limited, if not negative, assumptons about women identified as such. The reorganization the Mexican army between 1917 and the 1930s reduced the roles and numbers of women during the Mexican Revolution, and as an institution emphasized the role of the women as primarily companions as wives and relatives. Salas explains, “This changed the traditional perception of them as servants to their soldier employers. Thus, the work they did in camps became equated with the housework that all women did for their husbands and families without compensation.”538 However, it goes without saying that women’s work was multiplied significantly by the war, belying the assumption that women had to do this work anyway. Elizabeth Salas provides a historical definition and the genealogy of the soldadera label when she writes, Luis G. Inclán in 1865 used the word [soldadera] in reference to Elisa, a lower-class woman in his novel Astucia. The Mexican understanding of the word went beyond the Spanish designation of the soldadera as a servant of the soldado (soldier’s pay). The soldadera became “the woman of the soldier,” and “a woman of low status and bad manners.539 Thus, the label of soldadera, in its earliest uses had negative connotations. Today, female revolutionary figures of the Mexican Revolution have become important visual symbols 285 to women.540 The TGP provided a number of visual depictions of these women and they are important images to examine. Print fifty offers a unique image of a woman in action during the war. The caption reads: The glorious "Soldadera" accompanied the troops in the most difficult moments. There was not one "Adelita"--the beautiful Adela Maldonado-there were many. Each battalion included a number. Their virtues provided moral strength to combatants and at the hour of danger they too took up the 30-30 to shoot enemy forces. The text directs the viewer’s focus toward the women in the image and elevates women, as a whole, to the status of heroes like other icons of the Mexican civil war. However, unlike Madero and Zapata, most information about the women that participated in the war, with some exceptions, is lost and individual names and biographies are undocumented and unknown. The text makes a weak distinction between combatants (presumably male) and women who also took up arms. Although Adela Maldonado is identified as part of a revolutionary army, and possibly the person whom the stereotype description of La Adelita is based on, not many details about her individual experiences are known.541 In one Villista corrido, Adelita is a fourteen year old girl who nursed a soldier back to health and perhaps this song is the source of Zalce’s image. Nursing was a major occupation for most women attached to army camps as often there were no other forms of medical services available to the combatant forces.542 After the fighting was over women combed the ground looking for wounded soldiers and treated the injured on the spot, then transported them to the nearest hospital—if there was one—or to the camp.543 A woman who is recognized specifically for nursing the wounded during the Mexican Revolution is 286 Beatriz González Ortega.544 In June of 1914, when Villa attacked her city, González Ortega, a director of the Normal School in Zacatecas, transformed the buildings of the school into an emergency hospital. González treated men from both sides of the battle and she was tortured by Villa for not revealing who among the injured were his enemy, yet she survived. In endruing a physical assault, González Ortega, joined the ranks of women who saw combat and endured the hardships of war. Zalce alludes to the nature of women’s multiple roles through his inclusión of two rifles at the right of the composition, which likely belong to both the wounded soldier and his nurse. The stereotypical Adelita was popularized in corridos that described her as a soldadera or camp follower, which has led to her serving as an archetype of every woman of the war. But his is a one-dimensional idealized figure who and symbol that does not evoke the diversities and complexities of the lives and responsibilities of women of the civil war. Women performed a variety of roles and duties including cook, nurse, and combatant. Additionally, women’s participation in the Mexican Revolution was not limited to only supporting military efforts, many women contributed through organizing and intellectual work producing literature, arranging conferences and forums to educate the public, participating in civic groups, and as educators. During the Mexican civil war and particularly in the battlefield, women recreated a domestic structure. Many women that accompanied the armies into the battlefield brought with them basic kitchen utensils, clothes, cotton cloths, domestic animals, and frequently their children. Many of these items can be seen in the numerous photographs of women during the Revolution. Women were charged with the responsibilities of feeding the troops; obtaining provisions; washing, mending, and making clothes; nursing 287 the wounded and sick; celebration of religious rites, as well as social activities. However, as a result of the demands of war the roles and duties of women multiplied and included a combination of domestic servant, sexual companion, nurse, entertainment, and combatant. Women attached to military armies of the Mexican Revolution participated in numerous and varied ways depending on what the situation demanded. An Associated Press correspondent in Mexico City reported on May 20, 1914, Women, who follow every Mexican army, took a prominent part in the fight at Zartuche. As the federal soldiers swarmed from the cars some of the women dragged out and broke open boxes of ammunition, carrying the cartridges to the federal soldiers in the face of the constitutionalist fire. Others crouched on the iron roof of the cars, took up the rifles of the wounded and loaded and fired with all the coolness and determination of veterans.545 This report attests to the participation of women, likely part of Huerta’s federal army, to the fight. Granted this is only one report and only one battle, but one can be sure that these scenarios were multiplied during the war. Another example of the participation of women in the insurgency is provided by the Mexican writer Rafael Muñoz who tells of Petra, a combatant in the federal army stationed in northern Mexico, who risked her life to warn a federal military train of an awaiting ambush.546 These narratives provide a sense that women were not helpless victims in need of protection or inactively cowering on the sideline as the fighting occurred around them. Both prints forty-nine and fifty focus on women and include trains as central motifs, which suggests they operate as a pair. As a preferred mode of transportation for the federal and revolutionary armies, trains are a significant symbol of the Mexican Revolution. Women on trains is one of the most iconic representation of women of the 288 insurgency who were labeled as camp followers, as evidenced in a two page spread in Casasola’s Historia Gráfica de la Revolución [Figures 81].547 This layout is dedicated to and titled “La Soldadera,” which has already been defined elsewhere as a generally perjorative refereant in its description of women as sycophants that made little to no contributions during the war. The majority of the images in this two page photographic descriptive narrative show women at train stations or on trains, paired with male soldiers, and unarmed, which marks them as traditional and domestic. In contrast, the description of the battle in Mexico City on May 20, 1914, mentioned earlier, describes women on trains as providing weapons and ammunition and as combatants actively engaged in the fighting.548 This narrative reveals that battle was not reserved for men and that these types of photographs do not do justice to the roles and contributions of women during the Revolution. One of the reasons we have so many images of women at train stations and on trains is because that is what photographers had access to. Mexico’s train system was greatly developed during the Porfiriato (1876-1910). During the rebellion trains were the best way to transport large groups of soldiers, arms, and ammunition; they were even utilized as weapons themselves. Control of the trains and tracks was very important during the civil war. Historically trains were developed and operated by the Mexican government and as such, a primary station for Mexican trains was the capital city and during the Mexican Revolutoin the trains initially served the federal forces. However, trains were confiscated from the federal army by revolutionary armies, which transfromed them into key symbols of radical defiance and the insurgency, which is evoked in both prints forty-nine and fifty. The long stretch of the trains across these 289 images interconnects with the other columnar elements that carry the viewer/reader through the series. In my estimation many of the recorded images of women at train stations during the civil war were typically taken in the capital, where Casasola and many other journalists and photographers were based, which means they were attached to the federal armies of Díaz and Huerta or the Constitutionalist army. 549 However, the women photographed on trains during the rebellion are more difficult to identify. These type of images typically isolate women, removing them from the army and soldiers whose clothing could prove useful in pinpointing allegiances and identity. Additionally, due to the framing and editing of these photographs there is typically a lack of background information and environmental references that could possibly indicate location and which army the women in them were a part of. Thus, the issue of identifying and understanding who the women of the Revolution on trains were, what ideologies framed their lives, what roles they performed, and what their goals or objectives were in relation to the insurgency is difficult. The irony of the proliferation of these types of images is that most people assume that the women of the war, as seen in photographs at train stations and on trains, were fighting against the federal armies of Díaz and Huerta and with the revolutionary forces of Villa and Zapata, but this is not necessarily the case.550 Therefore, the symbolic image of women of the Mexican Revolution on trains is a problematic emblem and needs to be further interrogated to be properly understood in terms of the figures, issues, and narratives that are actually captured in the original photographs. 290 It is interesting that all the women in the TGP’s portfolio wear dresses or skirts. This is likely a simple way to indicate gender and the presence of women, which counters the typical absence of women in most dominant narratives about the Mexican Revolution. Additionally, wearing skirts and pants may also have ties to indigenous customs, which needs to be further explored. Most of the women who were part of the armies during the civil war broke with traditional gender and social practices.551 Some women dedicated themselves primarily to fighting and other military services including spy, informant, courier, arms and munitions runners, uniform and flag seamstresses, and administrative secretaries. The women that fought often disguised themselves as men so that they could join the fight and others, who were accepted as female soldiers, simply adopted masculine attributes in their role as warriors. A common image of these women during the insurgency is of them wearing make-shift uniforms that included long pants and closed shoes or boots. The confusion evoked by the unsettling image of a woman dressed as a man likely made these women a subject of interest for photographers. An example of these types of images can be found in a four image layout in Casasola’s Historia Gráfica de la Revolución titled “Mujeres revolucionarias’ (Revolutionary women) [Figures 82].552 Typically women that wore masculinized uniforms were referred to as generala or coronelas, which translates into general and coronel respectively and suggests a leadership position within the armies, but as typically unofficial labels they could simply have been a nickname for female combatants.553 Cano explains, “coronelas normally took control on the death of a family member, whether husband, father, or brother,” but that was not always the case.554 It is important to note that due to circumstance women 291 who were leaders and combatants likely performed other roles and duties too, such as cook, nurse, and lover. In general, the leadership status of women during the rebellion is difficult to ascertain as records of their military careers and documentation of their lives is lacking. Although there are many photographic examples of women wearing masculinized uniforms, most show them without weapons or any other markers of their possible roles’ as combatants or leaders.555 These types of photographs were often taken in a studio or frame the figure in a manner that disconnects them from the battlefield and isolates them from any military group.556 Although the photographs of masculinized females serve to indicate the presence of women in and allude to their contributions to the war, they simultaneously negate their contributions in the manner they are portrayed. A photographic portrait of Zapatista Esperanza Echeverría, from Morelos, marks her participation in Madero’s triumphant entrance into the capital on June 7, 1911 [Figure 83].557 This photograph serves as a very early image of a woman during the Mexican Revolution, if not “the” earliest to be circulated widely. We can assume she is at the very least a combatant in the southern army because of the nature of the participation of women in the Zapatista army, as described elsewhere in this chapter, and her masculinized style of dress. However, the descriptive caption for this image in the Casasola publication Historia Gráfica de la Revolución simply describes her as “La mujer en la revolución” (Women in the Revolution). The caption erases her individual identity and testifies to how women in photographs of the civil war were transformed into anonymous symbolic figures emptied of the details of the subjects’ biography, contributions, and experiences.558 292 In general prints forty-nine and fifty are a significant pair as images of women of the Mexican Revolution. They are part of multiple moments in the TGP’s narrative that recognize the presence and contributions by women during the insurgency. The inclusion of women in the TGP’s album constructs a counter-narrative to master narratives that tend to omit references to women. Questions central to my investigation of the TGP’s graphic images of women of the civil war are: one, How have women been included and excluded within the domains of national histories and visual archives?; two, What characteristics, roles, and stereotypes of women are recorded and constructed?; and three, How do these notions and images of women relate to the lived experience of women of the war? Through this project I decipher some aspects of these issues and questions, but further examination is necessary to unravel the modes of operations of these histories and images and to comprehend the life experiences of Mexican women of the Revolution. Women of Post-War Mexico As previously noted in Chapter Three, print eighty-two, La Prensa y La Revolucion Mexicana (The Press and the Mexican Revolution) by Alfredo Zalce invokes the post-war unification of competing agents as the Revolutionary Family [Figure 25]. Zalce depicts key members of the Revolutionary Family at the top of the image, which includes (from left): Alvaro Obregón, Venustiano Carranza, Emiliano Zapata, and Francisco Madero at the bottom. The two figures on the left are masculine in their appearance and represent the complex issues pertaining to the press. The rural figures that emerge at the bottom of the image invoke the agrarian issue of land rights and are all masculinized through their attire. Therefore, this reimagining of the nation and the rebellion is gender biased and 293 omits women. Although there were numerous actors involved in the various stages of the Mexican Revolution particular individuals were elevated in importance. No women were included within the national pantheon of revolutionary heroes nor were they ever an official part of the Revolutionary Family, which Zalce’s image clearly shows. In fact the phallic nature of the print, its verticality in particular, can be tied to the masculization of the civil war and the nation and the promotion of patriarchal values. Women were not only left out of the official narratives of the nation’s history, but they were excluded from the gains and benefits of the rebellion and throughout the post-war era continued to struggle against oppressive patriarchal systems. Contrary to the common narrative about women’s objectives in joining the Mexican Revolution as solely based on staying connected to her “Juan,” or soldier partner, some women saw joining the war effort as an opportunity to maintain themselves independently.559 Goals for women who participated in the Mexican Revolution ranged from maintaining their tie to a male partner to hope for betterment of their lives and recognition for their contributions to their country. Some entrepreneurial women operated as cooks or did laundry for soldiers who were not attached to woman, charging them for their services. Other women joined the fight for the adventure of it. These women of the civil war were rebels on two accounts, “rebels against the regime’s policies and rebels against their gender assignment.”560 Regardless of the reasons women joined, as voluntary participants most women likely presumed their lives would improve after the rebellion. Yet, it was necessary after the Revolution for Mexican woman to continue to battle for basic rights of citizenship. Soto writes about the attitudes of post-war regimes in regards to the women’s movement, 294 President Obregón held an old-fashioned gentleman’s view of women that did not include them as political equals, so women’s issues did not receive a high priority. President Calles, arrogant and aggressive, was a successful politician from a male-dominated world, where women’s opinions counted for little. Fortunately for the women’s movement, the three successors of Calles’s presidency devoted more attention to women’s issues than did their predecessors.561 In Mexico, women did not gain the right to vote until 1953.562 Resistance to Mexican women obtaining the right to vote ranged from concern that women were too emotional and uneducated to the concern that women were under the control of the Catholic Church.563 Reséndez Fuentes asserts that the period of active participation of women in the Mexican Revolution was 1911 through 1915.564 He attributes the decline of the presence of women in the armies of the civil war to lack of food, reorganization of armies to guerrilla warfare, and Obregón’s efforts to professionalize the Constituionalist army. Most of the women that participated in the war effort were denied or not eligible for veterans’ benefits. An exception are women who were recognized as combatants during the insurgency, something that was difficult yet required to prove, and which only includes a small fraction of the total number of women who were part of armies during the war. With the reorganization of the Mexican army between 1917 and the early twenties the identities and roles of women were equated to female relatives that performed domestic duties for male soldiers of the civil war. Thus as Salas writes, “In general, soldaderas who labored in the camps were not considered eligible for veterans’ benefits even if they did engage in occasional combat.”565 Thus, officially women’s contributions to the Revolution have been demeaned and refuted by their own nation and government. Historian Florencia Mallon addressed the reasons why the efforts and 295 contributions of women in war have been under-emphasized historically.566 She describes the role of women as, “motive, pretext, booty, reward” and argues, “Women are the outsiders against whom the war experience is defined. . . . Along with the nation, they are valuable objects to be defended or claimed.”567 This seems to have been Pancho Villa’s position when he was quoted as saying, “Women were things to protect and to love because they could not discern between right and wrong.”568 Other reasons for the separation of women from the battlefield include their crucial role as witness and victims who were assumed to need rescuing. More significantly, excluding women from the battlefield, whether in terms of their physical presence or from the historical narratives, delegitimized any right they might have had to the rewards or gains as a result of the Mexican Revolution. Furthermore, when women of the insurgency are described in historical narratives, corridos, or in literature they are often portrayed as transgressing norms and eventually most heroines and protagonists return to traditional prescribed social roles. Salas asserts a common theme in literature that describes women of the war is that, “women leave the fighting to men and resume their traditional roles as wives and mothers,” which also undermines and counters the active role, support, and general participation of women during the civil war.569 Photographs that document the of women of the Mexican Revolution are significant because they reflect women’s presence and evoke their official and unofficial roles and contributions, which aide in locating their rightful place among the pantheon of heroes of the war. These images also play an important part in defining the domain of warfare, as well as in articulating the social order and its values.570 The stereotypes that have been typically ascribed to women of the civil war are problematic and extreme 296 characterizations of women that reduce, if not deny, their true purpose, roles, and contributions. The photographic images are equally modified in their representation of women, partly due to their staged nature and other formal elements, such as editing and framing, which has resulted in an unclear or narrow picture of the lives of these women. These descriptions and photographs serve as the basis for many artistic interpretations of women of the insurgency, which in large serve to perpetuate a very limited comprehension of the lives, roles, and contributions of women of the Mexican Revolution. This examination of the lives and images of women during the Mexican Revolution demonstrated the revisionary nature of Mexican history. The masculinization of the Revolution has resulted in master narratives focused on the efforts and accomplishments of male figures and the downplan, if not omission, of the participation of women in the civil war.571 However, the tide is changing and the unwritten is being recovered by contemporary scholars, who interestingly are mostly women. The historical and biographical recovery work that has been written about women who participated in the Mexican Revolution reflects they were diverse and did not all match the stereotypical image of a rural figure from the lower classes. We have also come to know that women of the rebellion were not simply on the sidelines of the battlefields, as is so often depicted in the many photographs of the insurgencey, but performed numerous roles such as providing for domestic and personal needs of soldiers, medical attendants, warriors, as well as other military services and entrepreneurial activities. In general, the TGP’s prints that include women produce a counter to master narratives of the civil war in that they celebrate the presence of women and capture aspects of their diversity as they report on 297 their varied roles, services, and contributions. Yet, many of the photographs of the Revolution and more than half of the images of the TGP’s portfolio align women with a male figure, which suggests they are a couple, or they are surrounded by children.572 Thus, a majority of the images in the TGP’s portfolio depict women in traditional roles, as wives and mothers, and involved in traditional gendered power dynamics, which define women as domestic and allude to their adherence to social norms. But to be a woman of the civil war was a revolutionary act and there is still much to explore to better understand the lived experience and goals of these women as I work toward merging a feminist discourse with the male-centric narratives of the Mexican Revolution. The women of the rebellion were complex and diverse, as are the issues, ideologies, and images that inform and construct their lives. However, there is much lacking in the narrative of women of the Revolution and in the discussion of the images of them. This project has inspired me to continue my research on the lives of Mexican women and the web of issues, systems, and practices of the late nineteenth and twentieth centures in order to better understand the images of them. 298 CHAPTER SEVEN: Mexico after the Civil War 299 The deemphasis of land and labor reform, the deterioration of real wages, the rapid increase in the concentration of income and wealth, and the taming of the unions are all part of a shift in policy that began after the petroleum expropriation under President Cárdenas . . . After the 1940 election, Manuel Avila Camacho accelerated a process that reached landslide proportions under President Miguel Alemán. Stephen R. Niblo573 This, the final chapter of my study, focuses on the last section of the portfolio, which presents post-war Mexico between the 1920s and the mid-1940s. Each president of this period of history is addressed by the TGP in their portfolio, some in more depth than others, which reflects the TGP’s assessment of their association to the legacy of the Mexican Revolution and their fulfillment of revolutionary promises. As with the other two parts of the portfolio the TGP addresses key issues that relate to the Mexican Revolution and that are important to the artist group. Furthermore, these points are associated with distinct leaders of the post-war era. For instance, Presidents Obregón’s (1920-1924) and Calles’ (1924-1928) rebuilding and education projects are remarked upon in print sixty. Additionally, a number of prints in the portfolio address Calles’ anticlerical stance, which resulted in the Cristero Rebellion. The development of labor unions, the nationalization of natural resources, and agrarian reform are topics, among others, that are associated with the Cárdenas Sexeñio (1934-1940). The TGP highlighted the advancement of literacy in Mexico’s rural countryside during the 1940s by Presidents Ávila Camacho and Alemán. However, there were major political and social antirevolutionary shifts that occurred in the 1940s, which Niblo’s quote at the beginning of this chapter indicates, which is the crux of the last section of the portfolio and this chapter. My selection of prints for this chapter is based on multiple points. One, I deem it necessary to address each presidential regime of the post-war period in order to 300 examine the TGP’s interpretation of the leadership of the era. Second, the prints I focus on highlight issues key to the TGP and its narratolgoical presentation of the legacy of the Mexican Revolution. Lastly, my discussion of the prints from this section will illuminate what motivated the TGP to produce this portfolio when it did. If print fifty-seven is the last image within the narrative of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution in the portfolio, then it would follow suit that print fifty-eight, El Pueblo Es Soberano (The people are sovereign) by Ignacio Aguirre, marks the beginning of the period after the civil war [Figure 84]. The image sets a dark and foreboding tone for this era and section of the portfolio. This print could be read as if Aguirre has pulled back the lens on the ambush of Zapata, in the previous image, to reflect the greater scope of the violent struggle for land and liberty in Mexico. Three slain figures lie on their backs on the ground and occupy the foreground of the composition. Four figures in the background surround the bodies, two men on the viewer’s left and two women on the viewer’s right. They appear to either be in the act of covering up the bodies with a large blackened cloth, or perhaps they are pulling back the death cloth to expose the corpses and the violence that oppresses them. The background reveals an ambiguous rural setting. The torsos of the dead figures are partially visible, dramatically shadowed and highlighted, and diagonally strewn within the composition. Aguirre exploits the dramatic affect of darkness by coloring the death cloth black and locating it central in scene. Numerous diagonal elements move across the composition and include the standing men’s rifle and bandoliers, the drapery of the death cloth, the bodies of the slain figures, and the limbs and clothing of the women. The ambiguous setting, the dramatic contrasts 301 of light and shadow, and the rhythmic pattern of the diagonals evoke a Baroque style tenebrism that projects a spiritual quality to the scene and engages the viewer on multiple levels. White text across the death cloth reads, “The people are sovereign.” The print’s caption describes: The Mexican Revolution had the great virtue of returning to the people the sovereignty of their rights. The social movement initiated in 1910 rescued citizens rights that had been usurped and denied for over thirty years during the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, to the point where there were no political rights of any kind. The title and caption, as well as the placement of the print, all suggest the timeframe of the scene are after the violent phase of the war. The image does not seem to match up with, and even contradicts, the title. The people in the scene definitely do not represent a sovereign people who are autonomous and independent. Instead, the caption’s focus on the tyranny of the Porfiriato and the slain rural figures within the image, recognizable by their clothing and shoeware, suggests the violent oppression of the Porfirian regime. The image could also be associated with the rural community’s efforts during the Mexican Revolution, signified by the weapons and bandoliers of the men in the image. Furthermore, within the context of the era after the war, the slain figures could also be read as metaphoric symbols of the lost battle for sovereignty during the 1940s. Although the title of print fifty-eight suggests the start of a new political phase during the post-war era, the caption, while touting the idealized accomplishments of the Mexican Revolution, propels the viewer and subjects of the print to the beginning section of the portfolio and to what motivated the war. Print fifty-eight certainly aligns with the subject matter of the first part of the graphic series in its representation of the rural 302 community’s life threatenting struggle for justice. Thus, multiple elements in this image create a time warp within the portfolio, where we are jettisoned forward (toward the period after the war) and backward (to the Porfiriato and the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution). Therefore, this image could signify the ongoing battle for agrarian reform in the Porfirian era, during the civil war and throughout the post-war period. Here the TGP cleverly play on the construction and notion of the ongoing revolution that is touted by leaders after the war. As I will show, this idea of the ongoing revolution will, at the end of the portfolio, be literally undermined and re-defined by the TGP. For some, the establishment of the Constitution of 1917 marks the end of the Mexican Revolution. For others, such as myself, the assassination of Zapata in 1919 signifies the end of the war. And for the rest, Carranza’s assassination in 1920 is the final event of the violent phase of the war. Nonetheless, the period after the war is typically framed by the presidency of Álvaro Obregón (1920-1924). It is during Obregón’s time in office that the institutionalization of the Mexican Revolution began. Rebuilding the Mexican nation after the war required and involved a variety of activities, including the structural (re)construction and the development of educational programs for the rural populace, both of which are enacted in print sixty of the portfolio. This print is entitled Escuelas, caminos, presas: Progama y realización de los gobiernos de Álvaro Obregón (1920-1923) y Plutarco Elias Calles (1923-1928) (Schools, roads, dams: Programs and realizations of the governments of Álvaro Obregón (1920-1923) y Plutarco Elias Calles (1923-1928)), by Alfredo Zalce [Figure 85].574 The title and image directly refer to progressive contributions made by presidents Obregón and Calles during their distinctive presidencies in the areas of construction and education. During Obregón’s presidency, 303 federal spending on education and the building of rural schools and public libraries massively increased.575 Similarly, during Calles’ administration 1,000 new schools were added to the federal government’s rural education system.576 In addition to listing the compelling accomplishments of both administrations, the text labels the government of each leader as genuinely revolutionary. In the print, a number of women and men are shown as equally involved in the betterment of their own social condition. The style of each figural group within the image is distinct. Zalce illustrated the two women in the foreground in great detail, which distinguishes them from the other figures in the scene and indicates their centrality to the intended message of the image. They evoke costumbrista paintings and prints in terms of the different social types they represent. Each figure is a member of the working class: the student is a rural laborer and a mother, and the instructor is an educator. Yet, both are engage in the labor of the mind, in particular learning to read. The seated student concentrates on the material before her as the teacher stands behind her and guides her reading. The seated woman, with a child on her lap, is draped in what can be assumed to be a traditional indigenous shawl, yet there is no indication of regional specificity. As such, she may be an exemplar that stands in for all indigenous female workers. The student’s hair is pulled back and most likely in braids. With her right arm, she embraces her child and with her left, she mimics the gestures of the instructor. This depiction of the female student in the forefront multi-tasking perhaps suggests the improbability of (or at least the challenges to) many women pursuing their education in the 1920s, due to familial and other domestic responsibilities. 304 The instructor, through her stance and pose, creates a hierarchy between herself and her students in terms of social position. Her blouse is urban in design with its collar and buttons down the front. She wears her hair in a bun, which is a modern hairstyle typical of professional women. The attire and hairstyle of the instructor not only distinguishes her from her students, but also evokes the truly radical secularization of education during this time and the engagement of urban activist teachers in rural schools as part of the innovative education programs of the 1920s reconstruction phase of the Mexican Revolution. The instructor’s facial expressions and hand gesture express her as intent in her efforts to teach. Neither figure in the foreground is depicted in full-length. Although the student is centrally positioned, what is also centrally framed and pushed to the forefront is the educational material on the table. The compositional emphasis focuses our attention on the central theme of the image, the education of the rural communities of Mexico. The women dispersed in the middle ground of the image, sitting on stools and also reading, echo this theme, as well as the style of dress and hair of the student in the foreground, but they are illustrated with less detail.577 Although men are present, they are located in the background and depicted as laborers. This underlines the absence of men from the group of students, suggesting gender-specific activities and roles, as well as the reality of the demands of other responsibilities that interfered with participation in the educational programs that focused on reading and writing skills. Three men are included in the background of the image, where they are involved in constructing a building, presumably a school. The background activities suggest the concept of “action pedagogy,” learning through doing, which was adopted by the 305 Ministry of Education (SEP) during the Calles administration. For instance, construction trade was taught to campesinos, or rural laborers, through the construction of their own school buildings, according to plans supplied to them by the SEP.578 Thus, the men who appear involved in various tasks of construction are engaged in a process of educational self-empowerment, as they erect a school building. The fact that there are no regional or geographic specific references may very likely speak to the widespread nature of Obregón’s and Calles’s educational programs. Additionally, the active task of construction alludes to the theme of nation building, literally in the case of building a school. All of the figures in the image are consumed by the activities set before them, so that none look at or engage the viewer. Instead, the viewer is positioned as a witness to what is taking place, namely education of the rural masses in fulfillment of revolutionary ideals by the government. On the surface, the image reads as a celebratory presentation of reconstruction projects in general, and education programs in particular, which were enacted by Obregón and Calles. Another more conservative and perhaps cynical interpretation, however, is that this image is a mere illustration of governmental utopianism, rather than a depiction of everyday reality. An examination of the stylistic shift that occurs as one moves across the composition, front (foreground) to the back (background), suggests the image communicates something beyond praise. If we read the image as a time related sequence, then Obregón’s administration would be referenced first and in the foreground and Calles’s would follow and be referenced in the background. The drastic juxtaposition of realistic, detailed, three-dimensional figures in the foreground and the abstract and flat figures in the background could then be read as a 306 critique of the Callista regime. The everyday demands on campesinos to survive often prevented them from taking advantage of all the new possibilities that the Mexican Revolution and programs after the war offered. One has to consider the impact or price of educating and “modernizing” the rural, indigenous population of Mexico and whether the needs and concerns of the people were taken into consideration and being attended to through these projects. Rural, federal schools were administered by government officials with the intent of promoting citizenship and social efficiency, and ultimately, as an avenue for the integration of rural communities into Mexican mainstream society.579 The successful implementation of such a program would also create a power base in the countryside.580 In his investigation of the Callista education project, Andrae Michael Marak asserts that “campesinos who spent the vast majority of their time merely trying to earn or produce enough to eke out a living” were hard pressed to attend night classes, as well as perform civic duties linked to revolutionary change. Marak, thus, observes that the frequent inability of campesinos to accomplish all that was set before them resulted in the failure to dramatically transform the campesino lifestyle, thus contributing to what are now perceived as shortcomings of Calles’ program in the 1920s. Thus, this very complex image by Zalce presents issues of nation building and citizenship, as well as class and regional difference that relates to gender, social status, and ethnicity. The incongruous facets of Calles’ administration (1924-1928) are noted in the juxtaposition between the promotion of education, the focus of print sixty, and other less positive aspects of his regime. In particular, the TGP focused on the rebellion by the Catholic Church against Calles, known as the Cristero Rebellion or La Cristiada, in prints sixty-one through sixty-four, and in seventy-one as well. [Appendix 1] The power 307 struggle between the Mexican government and the Chruch was actually grounded in an ongoing issue in that extends back to the mid-nineteenth century and constitutional provisions for secular education, prohibition of monastic orders, and the disentitlement of the Church’s properties. Calles took particular measures to enforce the Constitution in this regard. Alicia Hernández Chávez explains: The [Callista] government responded by ordering the immediate and universal application of the constitution. State governors ordered the expulsion of foreign priests, and local authorities closed Catholic schools, convents, and orphanages. . . . Calles implemented a constitutional provision that gave the federal government authority to regulate religious practices.581 La Cristiada began in 1926 and continued for three years, until a peace treaty was drawn between the Mexican government and the Cristeros in 1929.582 Each print that addresses the Cristero Rebellion in the TGP’s portfolio focuses on the fanaticism of the Church and its followers, but Calles’ regime is implicated and indirectly referred to within the captons of the prints.583 In total, eight prints address the period of Calles’ administration, but only two, prints sixty-five and sixty-nine, portray him directly. Print sixty-five, Plutarco Elias Calles, El Jefe Maximo (Plutarco Elias Calles, Maximum Leader of the Revolution) by Alberto Beltrán is a portrait image of Calles [Figure 86]. The prints text describes him in the following manner: General Plutarco Elias Calles was a civilized member of Mexico, in the first stage of his life. As a general he distinguished himself in the battle fields and later as President of the Republic he laid the foundations for the country's material progress. He subsequently lost the vision of Mexico today and had lamentable ideological deviations, resulting in his giving himself the title of "Maximum Leader of the Revolution. Calles sought to perserve this designation even after General Cardenas took office as President, resulting in his denouncement partly based on the rules that had governed his life as a soldier of the Mexican Revolution. 308 The text acknowledges the Calles started out as one of the good guys, as a soldier of the Mexican Revolution, as well as pointedly offers a critique of his actions particularly during the period of the Maximato. In their reference to Calles as El Jefe Maximo, both the title and caption for the print refer to Calles’ reign of power, which extended beyond his official position as Mexican President (1924 to 1928). The Maximato ranged from 1928 to 1934 and involved the three Mexican presidents that came after him who were all subordinate to Calles. Emilio Portes Gil (1928-1932), was designated by Congress to replace the president-elect Obregón assasinatinated before taking office. Pascual Ortiz Rubio (1930-1932) was elected to complete the term but resigned. Abelardo L. Rodriguez (1932-1934) was selected by Congress to substitute Ortiz Rubio. Behind Calles in print sixty-five the varoius Presidents of the period of the Maximato are portrayed as well. Calles’ refusal to relinquish power echoed the Porfirian dictatorship and reinvigorated one of the key issues that motivated Madero and others to rebel in the first place. Thus, Calles can be compared to Porfirio Diaz, the viewer is again jettisoned back to the Porfirian era and the first section of the portfolio, and the narrative of the portfolio and time folds back on itself again. Calles’ reign ended with Cárdenas expelling him from Mexico in 1936, which is the noted at the end of the text for print sixty-five, as well as dramatized in sixty nine, Plutarco Elias Calles es deportado por ordenes el gobierno del Gral. Lazaro Cardenas, 1936 (Plutarco Elias Calles is deported by order of the government of General Lazaro Cárdenas, 1936) by Alfredo Zalce and Leopoldo Méndez [Figure 87]. The text reads: In 1936, General Plutarco Elias Calles, "for reasons of public health" was deported to the United States because of his frankly hostile attitude toward labor and peasant organizations in the country. Gen. Elias Calles had 309 intended to rectify himself to the principles of the Mexican Revolution, through a statement he signed, in which he championed a reactionary spirit contrary to the Government headed by General Lazaro Cardenas. Print sixty-nine depicts Calles, as he was said to have been found when they came to deport him, in bed reading a copy of Hitler’s Mein Kompf. This reference is a dig at Calles’ extreme ideological beliefs and his interest and leanings toward fascism. The group of prints that refer to Calles make evident the complicated nature of political history and its players, defying a simplified account of the period after the Mexican civil war. Calles is presented, as he is remembered historically, as a revolutionary that was corrupted by power. This distinction serves to elevate Obregón and Cárdenas, who frame Calles in the portfolio. Accordingly based on the presentation of them in the portfolio one discerns the TGP considered them true revolutionaries who worked toward the fulfillment of the goals of the Mexican Revolution. The period of Cárdenas’ Presidency (1934-1940) and his related programs are the focus of prints sixty-seven through seventy-six of the TGP’s portfolio. The Cárdenas era is typically identified as the most revolutonary period of government after the Mexican Revolution, citing his land distribution programs, the expansion of labor unions, and the nationalization of natural resources as some of his greatest acts as leader of Mexico. Cárdenas worked toward moving away from the elite and foreign driven policies and practices and implemented many of the social reforms promised in the Constitution of 1917. Print sixty-seven, Lázaro Cárdenas y La Reforman Agraria, 1934-1940 (Lázaro Cárdenas and Agrarian Reform) by Luis Arenal depicts Cárdenas as the inheritor of Zapata’s ideological platform of agrarian reform, which I discussed in chapter five [Figure 69]. Zapata as “the” symbol for agrarian reform is shown with Cárdenas, this 310 pairing implying that both men are concerned with the same issues and share the same ideals. The caption for print sixty-seven states: President Lazaro Cárdenas relies on the faith of the people to rule the country. He was severely attacked by Mexican conservatives, particularly on the issues that offered justice to the countryside. His regime was characterized by an unheard of distribution of land to farmers throughout the Republic. In the Laguna cotton counties were divided and now, more than ten years later, no one dares to say that agrarian reform there has been a failure. Adolfo Gilly explains Cárdenas contributions in terms of agrarian reform when he writes, If between 1915 and 1934 25 million acres (10.1 million hectares) of land had been awarded, between 1935 and 1940 land distribution reached a total of 43.5 million acres (17.6 million hectares). . . . The Cárdenas administration also restored almost 1.2 million acres (485,000 hectares) of ancestral lands to the Yaquis of Sonora. . . . The Ejidal Credit Bank also was set up along with other organizations to support agricultural production. . . . [T]he wide distribution of lands and the multiplication of the ejidos as population centers and focuses of campesino life and production with their own elected authorities, schools, and administrative organs, gave a concrete response to the old campesino demand for local autonomy. At this level the ejido broadened the participation of the rural population in the political life of the country.584 Print sixty-seven focuses on the topic of agrarian reform during the Cárdenas regime, which meant redistribution of land, development of ejidos, and education for the agricultural class. Print seventy-two, El Presidente Lazaro Cárdenas recibe el apoyo del pueblo Mexicano por sus medidas a favor del progreso del país (The Mexican People support President Lazaro Cárdenas and his efforts for progress of the country) by Ignacio Aguirre depicts Cárdenas on the balcony of the National Palace speaking to the massive crowd below [Figure 88]. The text for the print announces: The people expressed their support of the governing regime of President Cárdenas, by organizing, on several occasions, parades in front of the National Palace, residence of the executive branch. Worker and peasant 311 classes were the subject of frequent legal action by the Head Magistrate Lázaro Cárdenas, who ruled the country from 1934 to 1940. In very general terms, the text describes support for Cárdenas, yet the image is focused on the issue of labor. The artist presented Cárdenas in a three-quarter position reminiscent of a formal portrait on the left end of the composition. As he faces the viewer, he gestures toward the crowd below the balcony on which he stands. The perpendicular intersection of the balcony’s railing horizontally splits the composition down the middle. A massive sea of people below the balcony, who are depicted as abstract forms, fill the right side of the image. Aguirre makes a direct reference to Cárdenas’ labor policy through banners amongst the crowd that refer to labor union affiliations, such as CTM (The Confederation of Mexican Workers), CNC (The National Peasant Confederation), and STRM (The Union of Workers of Mexican Republic). On one hand, the image could be a depiction of the crowds who supported Cárdenas’ radical policies. On the other hand, the image is also reminiscent of the high volume of strikes that occurred during the early stage of the Cárdenas’ regime.585 The disconnected relationship between the President and the crowd, as well as Cárdenas’ rather intense closed fisted gesture, alludes to tension between the two groups. Print seventy-three, Lazaro Cárdenas y la guerra de España 1936-1939 (Lazaro Cárdenas and the War in Spain, 1936-1939) by Alberto Beltrán, showcases Cárdenas’ anti-fascist position [Figure 89]. The text commemorates the President’s actions and notes: It was the revolutionary government of General Lázaro Cárdenas to first recognize the justice of the Spanish Republican regime and also the first to denounce to the world the fascist Francisco Franco. Mexico helped in many different ways the Republicans, to whom they sent weapons on express orders of then President, General Lazaro Cárdenas. 312 Cárdenas’ anti-fascist stance is an issue that was of great importance to the TGP, which they highlighted in the portfolio’s “Prologue.” Print seventy-four, Contribución del pueblo a la expropiación petrolera 18 de Marzo de 1938 (Contribution of the people to the oil expropriation March 18, 1938) by Francisco Mora, focuses on the nationalization of Mexican oil [Figure 90]. The print’s text contextualizes how Cárdenas’ nationalization of Mexican resources was perceived by the Mexican People: The oil expropriation of Mexico united the people around President Cárdenas. At the call of the Government to pay compensation to foreign companies people of all social classes, particularly those of humble origin, donated their most beloved and valuable objects spontaneously and enthusiastically, which elevated the selfless patriotism of the Mexicans. The image focuses on the literal act of giving with a table, at the bottom left of the composition, piled high with donations from a crowd of lower class citizens that stretches diagonally across the composition. Above these figures, Mora positioned oil wells shown flying the Mexican flag at their top. Although Cárdenas did institute radical reforms in the areas of agrarian and labor at the early stages of his administration, serious economic difficulties and political challenges that resulted forced the regime to rein in, if not reverse, its liberal policies and practices by 1938. Additionally, according to Alan Knight, Cárdenistas “believed that foreign capital was required for Mexico’s development.”586 This point is interesting because economic imperialism was an issue the TGP identified as important in the “Prologue,” yet, they did not address this conflict in relation to Cárdenismo. Furthermore, the TGP was selective in its narrative of Cárdenismo, ignoring a shift in the leader’s ideology and practices from revolutionary toward conservative and even oppressive by 1938. Instead, the TGP celebrated Cárdenas as “the” President of the post313 war era, who was most closely aligned with its own and Zapatismo’s ideology regarding the legacy of the Mexican Revolution. Thus, Cárdenas is held up as “the” revolutionary president of the post-war era who signified the issues important to the TGP, land reform, labor reform, and the fulfillment of the Revolution’s demands. Through a juxtaposition of prints in the last section of the portfolio, the TGP compared and contrasted Cárdenismo to the political regimes of the 1940s. Ávila Camacho is addressed in prints seventy-seven, seventy-eight, and eighty. Both print seventy-seven, El hundimiento del ‘Potrero del llano’ por los Nazis, en Mayo de 1942 (The sinking of the “Portrero del Llano” by the Nazis in May 1942) by Ignacio Aguirre [Figure 91] and print seventy-eight, La declaración de guerra al Eje el 10 de Junio 1942 (Declaration of War on the Axis on June 10, 1942) by Antonio Franco [Figure 92] anchor the narrative of the Ávila Camacho’s regime in World War II. The text for print seventyseven declares: The past war had barely erupted, when Mexico and the Mexicans took their place alongside the United Nations. True to its traditional foreign policy, our country was against the Nazis and Fascists. Mexican waters were infested with submarines and enemy ships. On May 13, 1942, the "Potero de Llano” was sunk in the Gulf of Mexico by on of Hitler’s boat. The caption for print seventy-eight continues: Faced with constant ambushes by the Nazi enemy, Mexico adopted a clear and patriotic position: declare war on the Axis Alliance and from that point on the country prepared its citizens to be go out and fight on the front lines. President Ávila Camacho made every effort to tackle this international emergency, which advanced and safeguarded our national honor. Both prints make direct visual reference to the sinking of the Mexican ship, Portero de Llano, which was an affront by the Germans and the impetus for Mexico to join the war effort. In fact, several Mexican merchant ships were sunk by German submarines prior to 314 Mexico’s delcaration on war.587 Neither image depicts Ávila Camacho directly and he is only mentioned in the text. The pair of images are visually and narratologically redundant, in their depiction of war times ships, but in their multiplicity draw attention and emphasize the topic of the war. In his study of Mexican politics during the 1940s Stephen Niblo describes how WWII actually benefitted Ávila Camacho’s political position.588 The threat of war put a number of key politicians and generals at the disposal of the President and political sanctions were instituted, which Ávila Camancho manipulated to his advantage. Niblo explains how Ávila Camacho was able to utilize Mexico’s participation in the war to, “negotiate a highly beneficial settlement of its foreign debt and force the registration and vesting of some $60 million to $70 million of bonds” held in foreign countries. Additionally, the government seized all firms that were controlled by Axis citizens and corporations, which boosted Mexico’s and its administration’s financial holdings and political clout.589 Ávila Camacho also wielded the fear of war against labor movements, instituting the National Labor Unity Pact, in which “Labor vowed to avoid interunion conflicts, strikes, and slowdowns”.590 Niblo makes it clear that Ávila Camacho manipulated the threat and fear of war to his benefit. In particular, the writer makes the case that, “World War II became absolutely critical in the process of shifting the revolution away from Cárdenas’ populism and onto a more conservative course.”591 A point that is not addressed in the prints of the portfolio. In fact, the TGP’s narrative of Ávila Camacho is rather superficial and uncritical. Case in point, print eighty, ¡Quitemos la venda! (Campaña de alfabetización) (Take off the blindfold! (Literacy Campaign)) by Alfredo Zalce is celebratory in its tribute to the 315 literacy campaign during Ávila Camacho’s time in office [Figure 93]. This image, like the preceeding two, does not represent the visage of the President, and instead focuses on his regime’s efforts toward literacy to signify his revolutionary contributions while in office. The text boasts: It was the objective of the Government chaired by General Manuel Ávila Camacho to eliminate the big problem of illiteracy, an effort that has been ratified by the current government of President Alemán. The Literacy Campaign has succeeded now that many thousands of people learn to read and write. Even in the most remote regions of the country there exist Literacy Center where peasants, workers, women, children, elderly go, in order to learn their first letters. The caption also names the following President, Miguel Alemán, which alludes to the overlap between their administrations and the similarities in the two men’s efforts during the 1940s. However, it is Alemán’s efforts to industrialize the country that are particularly spotlighted in print eighty-four. Before I address this key image in the final section of the portfolio, it is important to note that Ávila Camacho’s had a pro-business and capital agenda that pursued and enacted anti-revolutionary policies and practices. He courted and welcomed foreign investors and industries into Mexico during the 1940s, resulting in, by 1945, the establishment of five hundred new industries in Mexico, many of which had ties to U.S. industries.592 This rings of Porfirian style modernization and development. Furthermore, there were numerous reversals in agrarian reform during the Ávila Camacho era, including a revision of the Agrarian Code in 1940 that extended intended benefits for small land owners to large agribusiness estates, as well as the administration’s return of a number of plantations in the Yucatán to previous owners.593 Yet, the TGP did not address Ávila Camacho’s anti-revolutionary policies and practices, instead, they reserved this criticism for Alemán. 316 Print eighty-three, El nuevo ejercito nacional (The new national army) by Alberto Beltrán, is vertically divided into two halves [Figure 94]. On the left, a pair of elderly, lower class campesinos looks toward a lone middle class soldier on the right. Thus, these figures are divided, yet connected by the fact that they are all mestizos. However, the artist made visual distinctions between them to indicate their different social and power positions. Each group is identifiable by their attire and further identified by what surrounds them. The soldier wears an active duty uniform. He sits on a boulder in the foreground of the image, surrounded by and wearing numerous types of weapons. The military figure holds his bayonette away from himself at a thirty degree angle between his legs toward the campesinos. Enclosed compartments and a knife hang behind his left side from a holster around his waist. The soldier sits before a brick building of which only a corner is visible. I read this structure as the national palace, marked as such by the fully extended waving Mexican national flag. In front of the building rests a partially visible military armored vehicle. The erect main gun of the armored tank, meant for front-line combat, suggests an armed response to an aggressive act or aggressor. Although the campesinos occupy the same space as the soldier, Beltrán pushes them back slightly into the scene, which shifts them into the middleground. This distinguishes the physical plane each occupies, which creates uneasiness and power dynamic between the two groups. Additionally, the soldier is larger in scale and positioned higher within the image, which translates metaphorically into his social location above or over the campesinos. 317 The male campesino wears a sombrero, serape, and sandals. His female companion wears garments to cover her head and body in a traditional, conservative manner. A rebozo, or shawl, wraps the head and upper torso of the female campesina. Her long dress extends to her ankles and barefeet. Her lack of shoes emphasizes the poverty of this couple. However, that the female wears no shoes while her male counterpart does suggests a power dynamic between the two gender roles. The male’s prioritized need for shoes is likely based on the fact that he works in the fields and that the female remains in or around the home. This evokes the patriarchal notion that a man’s place is in the outside world managing politics and the economy as the woman remains assigned to the domestic sphere. The gestural quality of the linear elements that describe the space behind the campesinos could be read to suggest either the open and barren landscape of the Valley of Mexico or a simple architectural structure that has a roof made of natural materials.594 The close proximity of the female to what could be read as a structure behind here, locates, if not limits her, to the domestic space and duties. Standing furthest from the foreground and behind her male partner makes her appear smallest in scale and places her outside the circle of men, all of which further subjugates her. The close proximity of these figures and the text make clear that their social roles and power positions are intertwined, if not the same, in some respects. Each group represents distinct characteristics of mestizaje. The campesino, likely to always be in debt to his employer, sits lower on the class and power scale than the soldier who by working for the government earns a wage and gains power over those he polices, protects, and helps. As in print one of the portfolio, the dichotomy set up between the 318 two groups remains problematic and shifts. The simultaneous role of the soldier as benefactor, which is described in the text caption, and aggressor, as part of the nation’s military force sspeaks to the fluid nature of social roles and complex relationships between groups. The caption for the print asserts a symbiotic relationship between the Mexican people and the soldiers of the Mexican Army based on the military’s contributions to civic development. The print’s text states: The national army is the people themselves. Ours is an army of peace. In addition to serving established institutions, soldiers perform great works of social benefit, such as laying roads, care for the forests, building schools, etc. For these reasons, soldiers are generally loved by the Mexican people. Although the text narrates post-war Mexico as one of harmonious co-habitation between the state, represented by the soldier, and the Mexican people, evoked through the campesinos, Beltrán projects a less harmonious and supportive relationship. Instead of the type of relationship described in the text, the stoic soldier seems unaware or uninterested in the figures around him while the campesino couple stands at a distance to observe him. The soldier is inactive rather than involved in projects of civic improvement. In fact, Beltrán set up a confronational meeting between the two groups, which combined with scale and clothing, suggests a power dynamic between the figures in this print. The text makes no reference to a specific time, but the image’s placement within the portfolio and the other visual elements within the image suggest its context is contemporary to the production of this portfolio, which would locate the figures within the 1940s. If the age of the campesinos is significant, what might be the coded meaning? For one, I wonder if they are not to be read as the offspring of the Indian couple in print 319 one. And if this pair is the grown children from print one, the portfolio raises the issue of the continuous and historic nature of oppression of the lower class in Mexico. In print one, the rural policeman represented Pax Porfiriana of the Porfirian regime, and in print eighty-three, the soldier evokes the militarized state of the 1940s. I would add, however, that although power is equally projected in both prints, acts of violence are portrayed differently. In print one, the TGP depicted violent acts in order to comment on the blatant abuses and brutality exerted during the Porfiriato and since the Conquest. This, I think, is a direct reference to the unmediated actions taken and exercised by the Porfirian regime and Spanish conquistadors alike who blatantly and on a massive scale, exerted brutal violence to create and maintain order and their positions of power. The soldier in print eighty-three, on the other hand, symbolizes the contemporary militarized nation state, which culminates in 1968 with the Massacre of Tlateloco.595 Additionally, the historical distance of the Porfiriato in the 1940s may have required the TGP artists to remind or educate its audience about the conditions that were suffered under the Porfirian regime, which required explicit images, whereas most were aware and familiar with what was taking place in the 1940s and required less explanation. The title of the graphic image is “The new national army” and the need to identify the new army suggests a stepping down of the old army. The age of the campesino couple projects them as representative of the old army and old ideals, which evokes the ideology of land reform and self-government of the revolutionary Zapatista Army that consisted primarily of campesinos. The old army, is encompassed by the old campesinos, whose old age could be a references the decay of revolutionary ideals. Placement and 320 juxtaposition of the soldier and his weapons reads as if the military figure is geared toward replacing the old army and the ideals of campesinos. As one of the last three images of the portfolio, we can read print eighty-three as a final commentary in regards to systems of differentiation at work throughout Mexican history. Just as the rural policeman in print one evokes the national governing body, so too does the soldier in print eighty-three. And just as the Porfirian governing system is critically reviewed in print one, so too is the contemporary governing body in print eighty-three. The final assessment seems to be that the Mexican nation state is an unchanging oppressive and corrupt system. Furthermore, women were still oppressed by a patriarchical society. Print eighty-four, La industrialización del país (The industrialization of the country) by Arturo García, is aimed at Alemán’s program of industrialization [Figure 95].596 The caption reads: The government led by the lawyer Miguel Alemán is concerned with fulfilling an old desire of the people: the industrialization of the country. The Mexican Revolution in order to achieve economic independence of our country seeks the industrialization of natural resources, in order to raise Mexico's economic potential and thereby improve people's living conditions. The text emphasizes that Mexico’s financial independence depended on the country developing its own industries utilizing its own natural resources. In this print, a dark and shadowy factory looms in the background.597 The negative impact of industrialization, such as pollution, is signified through the stylized treatment of the sky. The middle ground contains a crowd of figures that wears urban attire and the obreros,’ or urban laborer’s, uniform. The group resembles an angry mob, as they march towards the factory–the intensity of their emotions is emphasized through exaggerated gestures and 321 expressive lines. The frustration of the group culminates with the figure in the foreground clutching a machete or large knife, as he points and marches towards the factory.598 What are the people of Mexico, or more correctly put, what were the TGP members angry about in terms of Alemán’s administration and his industrialization project for Mexico? Alemán’s push for capitalist industrialism in Mexico was intertwined with a move away from agrarian reform and a move toward strengthening relations with the United States. Wechsler describes Alemanismo program of industrialization when he writes that the 1946 election of Alemán: brought Mexico further to the right, away from socialist agrarianism and toward capitalist industrialism and a strong economic and political relationship with the United States. In his very first address as president Alemán announced his plan to cut funding to the ejidos, tracts from former haciendas that had been returned to peasant communities to work as collective farms. With his subsequent amendment to Article 27 of the 1917 Constitution, which had been drafted to prevent a return to porfiriato exoloitation by limiting private ownership, Alemán further divested the revolution of its socialist reforms. While the left considered these to be counter-reforms, Mexico’s “good neighbor” to the north welcomed the changes. Within months of Alemán’s inauguration Harry Truman visited Mexico City and Alemán, in turn, visited Washington. Following these public displays of good will came financial assistance from the United States to help Mexico modernize its industrial capabilities, as well as to train the newly formed Dirección Federal de Seguridad (DFS), a secret police force that helped the CIA investigate crossborder communisit activities.599 Thus, Alemanismo undermined much of what had been gained as part of the socialist reforms that were fought for during the Mexican Revolution. Leaders of Mexico after the civil war maintained their allegiance to the Mexican Revolution in order to assert legitimacy, but each did so in distinctive ways. Lázaro Cárdenas (1934-1940), for instance, enacted progressive socialist programs that were based on the demands of the revolution, including land reform and the nationalization of 322 resources, while Miguel Alemán insincerely evoked the revolution, as a political device, even as he opposed many revolutionary programs. The TGP artists, when creating the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, were aware of counter-revolutionary changes made to the Mexican Constitution of 1917 by Alemán. In December 1946, Alemán’s administration passed 39 new laws that reversed land reform, privatized education, limited free expression, and undermined existing labor organizations.600 Article 27, which originally called for land reform and nationalized Mexican soil was changed to protect private landholders from further land reform, thus allowing them to increase holdings and to revoke uncultivated lands from ejidatrios’ or collective farm owners/workers. The juxtaposition of Cárdenas’s program of land reform in print sixty-seven and the nationalization of resources addressed in print seventy-four form an implicit critique of Alemán’s new project for Western style modernization. Thus, the portfolio can be understood as a direct response to Alemán’s actions in particular his revision of the Mexican Constitution and his interests in aligning himself with the United States, a point ironically inferred through the portfolio’s “Prologue” in its reference to Alemán’s inaugural speech, which is addressed in Chapter One. Print eighty-four is another example of how the text and image of the portfolio function as two distinct narratives even when referring to the same situation or individual. This dual nature of the portfolio engages the national narratives of the Mexican Revolution, while at the same time allowing for a powerful critique of Alemán’s new project for modernization. The comparisons made within the portfolio between the Cárdenas’ and Alemán’s regimes exemplify that the TGP were not simply accepting Alemán’s rhetoric nor celebrating his regime. Nor were the TGP simply replicating 323 others’ (re)visions of Mexican history in their album. Rather the collective compared these multiple narratives and, in doing so, highlighted Alemán’s counter-revolutionary changes to the Mexican Constitution and its critique of his policies and actions. Along with the Porfirian regime, Cárdenas’ administration is a foil in the TGP’s portfolio and Alemán’s government is held up against both in comparison. For the comparison to work, Cárdenas became an idealized representation of the ideological values the TGP supported most strongly and his faults or failures were eliminated or ignored. Since the images in the album present events of history in a chronological order, the last prints of the portfolio can be read as the pinnacle of the revolutionary process and Mexican history. Following the columnar movement and temporal shifts through the portfolio, in print eighty-four the protesting figures’ intent movement from the bottom left end of the image toward the top right corner suggests they march toward things to come. However, the future is bleak in this tale and in the end the TGP charged that Mexico in the 1940s was heading backward and toward the conditions that led to rebellion and that history was/is repeating itself. The cyclical nature of time and history is a point that is repeatedly reiterated throughout the portfolio, which proposes that the present is an articulation of the past. Therefore, in the presentation of the Porfiriato the TGP established a foil against which they measured post-war administrations’ policies and practices. In the final section of the portfolio, the TGP addressed and critiqued the nation building projects and practices enacted by the political regimes of the period after the war between 1920 and 1947. Hence, time folds back on itself, as the end of the portfolio is paralleled to the beginning.601 In this manner, the TGP related the historical 324 patterns of oppression and social injustice in Mexico and the true nature of the ongoing revolution. The final print in the portfolio, print eighty-five, “Si por tierra en un tren militar” (La Adelita) (If [traveling] by land then on a military train (La Adelita)) by Ignacio Aguirre, depicts in side view the last car of a train over-full with passengers [Figure 96]. The train appears to be in motion, as two flags above wave. A couple gestures toward the train as if sending the people off, some of whom wave back. Unlike the other images in the portfolio, this one is a miniaturized image located at the end of the portfolio’s Index. Although print eighty-five is not the same scale nor included in the portfolio with the rest of the prints, its location in the Index page magnifies its significance, particularly because it sits directly beneath the “Declaración de Principios del Taller de Gráfica Popular” or the “Declaration of Principles of The Workshop for Popular Graphic Art.” The close proximity between the scene of print eighty-five and the Workshop’s principals underlines the image’s connection to the TGP’s core values and principals. The title of the print is the last lyric of one of the most popular corridos or songs about women of the Mexican Revolution. One version of the lyrics is the following: En lo alto de la abrupta serranía acampado se encontraba un regimiento y una musa que valiente los seguía locamente enamorada del sargento. Popular entre la tropa era Adelita la mujer que el sargento idolatraba y además de ser valiente era bonita que hasta el mismo Coronel la respetaba. Y se oía, que decía, aquel que tanto la quería: Y si Adelita quisiera ser mi novia 325 y si Adelita fuera mi mujer le compraría un vestido de seda para llevarla a bailar al cuartel. Y si Adelita se fuera con otro la seguiría por tierra y por mar si por mar en un buque de guerra si por tierra en un tren militar.602 The song begins by describing a young woman who lovingly and dutifully follows her man, a sergant, into war. She is described as brave, but her beauty is what we are told makes her stand out and attracts the attention of many. The soldier, crooning about this woman, declares that if she was his girlfriend he would buy her a dress and take her dancing. The last group of the lyrics state, “If Adelita would go off with another, I would follow her by land and by sea. If by sea, then in a war ship. If by land, then by military train.” This song represents women of the Mexican Revolution as symbols of love, beauty, desirability, and loyalty. The description of the women in the song as an object of desire and love, suggests she was incapable of being anything else. Furthermore, the crooner’s “no good” intentions are revealed, as is his opinion of this woman and perhaps of all women of the war as superficial, through his description of the woman as a trophy and by his desire to buy her clothes and take her dancing. The negative connotations of women of the civil war, as immoral and hyper-sexual, are also insinuated in the descriptions that the woman of the song is popular among all the soldiers and capable of running off with any number of men. This type of song completely divorces the women of the insurgency from the social and political issues that motivated the Mexican 326 Revolution. However, as a song about love and loss, however, the song draws out a sense of nostalgia that could be applied to bigger themes in the portfolio. Perhaps the song is meant as an ode to women of the war or perhaps women could be metaphotically read as the embodiment of the Mexican nation. This would suggest that the image is not only about the soldier who will never stop in his pursuit of his heart’s desire, but also about the nation who will continue to fight for justice. As the follow up or response to the last section of the portfolio, which focuses on the political regimes of the 1940s, print eighty-five reads as a critique that possibly implies with the revolutionary train in motion another rebellion is in the works. The image clealy invokes key signs of the Mexican Revolution. The train car with soldiers hanging out the side and packed on top of the car is similar to those commonly found in photographs of the insurgency. Most of these figures wear the campesino’s large brimmed sombrero, which suggests they are Zapatistas. The revolutionary train, filled with armed soldiers, seemingly pulling out to battle alludes to the myth of the ongoing Revolution of the post-war era. Violence and political shifts, like those seen in 1910, did not take place in the 1940s, but it is evident here that the TGP was hoping or planning, and maybe even calling for, rebellion against Alemán’s policies and practices of privileged capitalist development over social justice and agrarian reform through its portfolio. The journey through history within the portfolio, as well as through the recurrent themes of nation building and oppression of the lower classes, results in a presentation of historically cyclical patterns. This pattern is most pronounced in the reiteration of the scene of print eighty-five on the cover of the portfolio, which is unique in its parallel 327 reproduction. For the portfolio’s cover the scene of print eighty-five was enlarged and cropped, so that it fills the length of the front side of the album with the backside of the train car and the three men that sit a top of it, as well as the waving couple [Figure 97]. As the cover image, the revolutionary train heading out to battle marks the beginning of the portfolio’s narrative. As the last image of the section on the post-war era and the portfolio, the revolutionary train denotes the repetition of history in that it transports us to the beginning of the portfolio and the narrative, the Porfiriato, and eventually to the Mexican Revolution. In suggesting that Mexico is heading back toward the Porfirian style of government the TGP directly commented on Alemánismo in their comparison, if not an alignment, with the policies and practices of the Porfiriato. In this manner, the TGP artists alluded to the historical patterns of social injustice in Mexico. More importantly, it identified national systematic practices that shaped citizenship and social roles, and disenfranchised the popular classes. Of particular interest to the significance of the image found on the cover of the TGP’s portfolio is that during the one hundredth anniversary of the start of the Mexican Revolution in 2010 a similar revolutionary train scene was imprinted and circulated on the Mexican 100 peso bill. For the TGP, as for many of the Mexican nation, the Mexican Revolution was an ongoing process and fight for social and political justice for the popular classes. 328 CONCLUSION 329 My dissertation examined the 1947 portfolio “Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” (“Prints of the Mexican Revolution”) produced by El Taller de Gráfica Popular (The Popular Graphics Workshop) or TGP, a graphic art collective founded in Mexico City in 1937. This series addresses numerous complex issues across a vast period of Mexican history through image and text. The album propels the viewer/reader forward and backward through history, in and out of the Mexican Revolution, in between prints and ideological beliefs, and up and down the ladder of Mexican society. Central to my investigation of the portfolio was its narrative approach and structure, as well as the corelations I made between the TGP’s story and other accounts about the civil war. This study examined how nation-building and social activism motivated these narratives. Here I interrogated many parts and aspects of: the TGP as an organization, the TGP’s portfolio on the civil war of 1910, the Mexican Revolution, and post-war Mexico. But this was not an analysis of all the complexities of these topics. Instead, this project focused on my exploration of the issues and questions that relate to what the TGP’s portfolio presents and perhaps more intriguingly what it left out. One of the most difficult aspects of this project was organizing the manuscript. My work on the TGP’s graphic series began as an inquery of thematic concentrations including ideology, nation building, imperialism, systems of differentiation, labor, landscape, and identity politics.603 Although my probe of the TGP’s portfolio began with themes, when I confronted the organization of this project and manuscript I ran up against the chronological framework of the portfolio. Each print of the album, although some arguably versatile in their potential meanings, is anchored to the temporal context of 1876 to the mid-1940s. Due to the significance of time to each print and the portfolio, 330 I re-evaluated my emphasis and broadened my parameters. The solution was a seven chapter study that matches the chronological layout of the portfolio itself and within each of these seven sections I addressed select themes and highlighted neglected issues. The era of Porfirio Díaz’ dictatorship, 1876-1910, is the focus of the front section of the portfolio and the topic of chapter two. Here I addressed Díaz’ policies and practices in relation to systems of differentiation including expropriation of land, Pax Porfiriana, modernization and development of the nation, and projects of assimilation for the lower classes. The TGP addressed the Mexican Revolution in the mid-section of the portfolio and in my study I performed a multi-chapter examination of various themes and issues that are presented. In Chapter Three I centered my focus on on the narrativization of the civil war. I evaluated the significance of Francisco Madero in Chapter Four and of Emiliano Zapata in Chapter Five to the Revolution and post-war nation building. For Chapter Six I investigated the literary and visual narrativization of women of the insurgency. The last section of the album addresses the reconstructive phase after the war and in Chapter Seven I considered the TGP’s praise and critique of the political regimes of the period between the 1920s and 1947. As previously noted, this project is not an inclusive investigation of all the prints in the TGP’s portfolio. Here I adressed in varying degrees of depth approximately forty-seven of the eighty-five prints in the series. The prints I chose for this project were selected because they encapsulate the figures and issues I deemed the focus of my dissertation. The dissertation began with an overview of the TGP and an introduction the 1947 portfolio Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. Here I addressed the background, training, and personal connections to the Mexican Revolution of the sixteen member 331 artists who made prints for the album. In the “Prologue” the TGP declared its intentions for the graphic series. I considered each point the TGP made in this statement in an attempt to understand the TGP’s objectives for this production. First and foremost, the TGP asserted its prints were part of the ongoing fight against fascism, Nazism, and imperialism. The TGP critically asserted through the graphic series that foreign intervention and capitalist development in Mexico was a driving force in multiple aspects of the oppression of the lower classes. This point is particularly emphasized in the TGP’s address of Porfirian practices and policies and in the presentation of post-war development. Although the TGP recounted the tenure of all the post-war presidents of Mexico since the end of the war, some to a greater extent than others, the portfolio specifically targeted then Mexican President Miguel Alemán (1947-1952) principles and policies. In particular the artists were responding to the irony of Alemán’s claims and invitation to commemorate the heroes of the Mexican Revolution, many of whom opposed the conditions created by foreign imperialism, while his policies encouraged an infrastructure that enabled imperialistic oppression of Mexico’s lower classes. I also analyzed what the TGP said about the intended audience for the portfolio, the medium of graphic art in general, and the aesthetic choices they made. In general, it is evident that the TGP was committed to serving the lower classes of Mexico. Beyond their artistic efforts most artist members were active in creating social and political change, which is evidenced in the type of employment they pursued, such as working for the Ministry of Education as artists and teachers in the literacy campaigns. The type of organizations the TGP artists belonged to and supported also communicates their political and social objectives. For example, the TGP, as an organization was, and as individuals 332 too, affiliated with numerous labor unions and as a group produced posters and calendars for them, including the 1937 poster dedicated to the newly founded Federation of Workers of Mexico (CTM) and three calendars for the Workers’ University (UOM).604 As I have noted the modes of dissemination for and the sales/purchases of the portfolio are vital. However, much information about this topic is lacking and it requires more investigation. The meeting minutes of the TGP would seem an ideal source of information for this type of inquiry, however, there is not much there. Perhaps this is due to a lack of interest of the literal task of documenting goings on. However, if the lack of information indicates a conscious effort to edit the history of the organization, one wonders what the TGP was trying to communicate or hide in either not documenting the details of its inner workings and the back and forth that likely occurred, or in cleaning up this potentially valuable source. The only other potential sources for such information are the personal letters of artist members, but unfortunately those in possession of intact material often deny acess to them.605 Text captions accompany each image of the portfolio, which I considered in terms of their narrative structure, their content, and the inter-relationship between texts and the images. Within the print album the texts and images inflect one another as they simultaneously communicate core issues about the Mexican Revolution and the nation of particular concern to the TGP. However, as I have indicated in this study through specific examples from the portfolio, the textual and visual narratives are both parallel and not, compatible and not, complimentary and not. In the portfolio the TGP builds on common elements of the dominant narratives of the Mexican Revolution through text and image, yet, the discontinuities between the text and image also dismantle the narratives 333 they evoke. Considering that the text for the portfolio was written by an individual outside of the workshop, historian Alberto Morales Jimenez, it makes sense that it would present a different narrative. This outside contribution and its potential impact raises some important points. I am intrigued by the possible impact the TGP’s print project had on Morales Jimenez’ version of the civil war and in the impact the historian possibly had on the TGP’s understanding of the Revolution. There are particular points of history that would be worth comparing between the TGP’s portfolio and Morales Jimenez’ own published works on the insurgency. For instance, although women are consistently represented within the visual narrative of the portfolio, the text based narrative seems less inclusive of them. If and how women are addressed in Jimenez’s work may shed some light on how women were framed in the TGP’s portfolio. I also wonder how many of the group’s other portfolio projects incorporated text and who the authors for those texts were, and whether the group of prints on the Mexican Revolution is similar or unique in comparison. In general, time is a nebulous thing in the TGP’s portfolio and eventually it became a topic unto itself within this project. Time is indicated within the graphic series through numerous methods, sometimes within an individual print and in other instances within a group of prints. For instance, the text of a print often provides a specific date or other references to the time period of a scene or image, including the presentation of figures and occurences associated with a particular period. Movement of time is suggested through various elements such as the progression of the narrative through a sequential presentation of events. Although the portfolio does follow a series of commonly narrated historical happenings in a chronological manner, there are numerous 334 instances where there are leaps or shifts in time. I raised this issue in the dissertation in relation to Madero in prints twenty and twenty-eight and to Zapata in prints sixteen and twenty-five. In each case, the manipulation of time within the portfolio, serves as a narratological device that punctuates certain events and highlights particular figures, as well as draws attention to the flaws or contradictions within the numerous narratives about the war. Time lapses also serve to engage the reader familiar with the narrative of the Mexican Revolution as they challenge what one expects or in providing clues to forth coming incidents. The first nineteen prints of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana recount the injustices and dire conditions that motivated the civil war, as they chronicle Díaz’ tyrannical efforts to remodel and cultivate the nation between 1876 and 1910. In this section of the album the TGP underscores the unequal nature and impact of Porfirian efforts to develop and modernize Mexico, which in addition to tariff revisions, required pacification of the countryside and making land available for development by national and foreign entities. Díaz offered the nation stability and modernization, but this peace and development were imposed upon the Mexican people through corrupt and oppressive means. I deployed the TGP’s prints as illustrations of Porfirian era stabilization and modernization efforts and analyzed how these systems and practices of differentiation resulted in disenfranchisement and subjugation of the lower classes of Mexico and motivated the Mexican Revolution. In particular I examined the brutal violence enacted as a method of pacification; forced removal and the expropriation of land required to make land available for capital development; the hacienda and factory systems that 335 provided unfair, unsafe, and even inhumane living and working conditions; and the forced acculturation of the populace through education and other civic projects. The second phase of history presented in the portfolio is that of the Mexican Revolution. As a result, presented my own abbreviated version of the events that occurred between 1910 and 1920 in order to provide a fundamental understanding of when, what, and who make up the episodes of the civil war. Here I examined and raised questions about how history is invented, revised, and depicted through national master narratives. My primary intention for this project was to investigate the relationship of the TGP’s portfolio to the legacy of the Mexican Revolution and to nation building after the war. I have come to the realization through this journey that most national and institutional productions can fall under the canopy of nation building and the topic has become fundamental to my work on artistic and cultural productions. In particular, the invention of history through educational, civic, and cultural projects is an avenue of nation building that I find extremely intriguing and informative. The evolving master narratives of the Revolution were circulated through various formats including histories, educational texts, fiction, songs, and art. Through my analysis of the TGP’s graphic series I have attempted to draw out connections between nation building and history, education, and art. Additionally, how this art intersected with and supported or countered national programs meant to construct history and define citizenship became another point of investigation in this dissertation. Well known figures and commonly narrated events of the insurgency were included in the TGP’s album as narrative framing structures, which seemingly follow the familiar tale and parallel well-known master narratives. Yet, the TGP’s portfolio is a sort 336 of pastiche or collage of narratives of the Mexican Revolution. The TGP’s inclusion of numerous and diverse versions of the civil war in its portfolio reflected the multiplituous and diverse nature of the war, of its revolutionaries and its leadership, as well as of postwar regimes. While the TGP embraced the origins of the Mexican Revolution and as it interacted with and interpreted history, the artists also spun their own version of the rebellion and its legacy within the portfolio. My interrogation of the TGP’s album elucidated the selective and edited nature of its content as I unraveled the multiple, divergent, and at times, competing narratives of the war intertwined within. In this examination I focused on the TGP’s engagement with the master narratives of the war in the portfolio, as well as when and how the TGP interjected its own social political ideology and commentary. This dissertation addressed the evolution of master narratives, as well as the icons of the Revolution. Although numerous actors were involved in the various stages of the civil war, particular individuals were elevated in importance within the narratives that developed. Most of the figures represented within Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana were included because they had become iconic within the master narratives, meaning they were connected and presented as significant to and symbolic of the historical events, issues, and ideologies associated with the insurgency. The idealization of some figures, particularly the leadership, of the rebellion began even before the violent phase of the war ended. The master narratives and the TGP’s narrative in a very real sense conspire in treating Porfirio Díaz, Francisco Madero, Emiliano Zapata, Venustiano Carranza, Álvaro Obregón, and Lazaro Cárdenas as “the” symbols of the insurgency. Within most postwar master narratives of the Mexican Revolution, all the revolutionary factions were 337 often presented as fighting in a unified manner for “Land and Liberty,” when in fact those fighting for Liberty were defining what that meant for themselves; others were fighting for power; and a few were actually concerned with the issue of land rights. National or formal recognition was a tribute paid to the heroes as part of the process of the invention and institutionalization of the Revolution. The celebration of the leadership of the civil war involved new traditions and rituals framed as civic activities, education, and cultural productions. The incorporation of “the” important actors of the war in the TGP’s portfolio is multifold in purpose. One, their recognition documents their role in the war. Two, their inclusion establishes their significance in the mythology of the master narratives. Three, they demonstrate the existence of multiple, and at times, contradictory ideologies and narratives of the insurgency. And four, they are engaged in a manner that often serves to make a commentary regarding the ambiguous history of the post-war governments of Mexico. Building on common elements of the dominant and familiar narratives of the Mexican Revolution, such as incorporating figures historically touted as the villains and heroes of the war, the TGP seemingly paralleled master narratives. Furthermore, most of the figures in the portfolio seem to be presented in traditional contexts, often due to the graphic illustrations’ references to well known photographic depictions and portraits. However, in its album the TGP made distinctions regarding particular figures through numerous techniques, such as the volume of images dedicated to them, placement and juxtaposition with other figures and particular events, and the contextualization through text and the scene or moment recalled. Some, such as Madero, Carranza, and Cárdenas were defined as politicians. Others were celebrated for their active participation in the 338 battles through depictions of them as warriors in the field, which is true for Zapata. One aspect of manipulation by the TGP of the typical narratives about the war was the interjection of additional or alternative figures and events indicating and emphasizing who and what the TGP artists felt were also significant. The album inevitably incorporated the TGP’s approval and more often condemnation of past and present government leaders. In their narrative of the Mexican Revolution the TGP heroicized individuals who fought for ideologies that activated the war and that the collective wished to defend, while it demonized those it considered in opposition to those beliefs. My main focus in this part of my study was the examination and untangling of the complex meanings of these icons of the Mexican Revolution, specifically Madero, the man that instigated the revolt, and Zapata, General of the Southern Forces of the war.606 They are the most emphasized figures, in terms of volume of prints, in the TGP’s portfolio. Additionally, they were and are commonly presented as key to the goals and iconography of the rebellion, although often as symbolic of varied and contradictory meanings. The dissertation addressed how and for what purposes Madero and Zapata were remembered, constructed, and transformed both historically and within the portfolio. Here I focused on political democracy and land reform as ideologies that fueled the war and related how and whey Madero and Zapata became symbolic of them respectively. Furthermore, this study examined how these two revolutionary leaders became sanctified martyrs of the rebellion and how they were each elevated to adulated symbol of the Mexican nation.607 The TGP’s graphic series depicts women as rich and poor, mostly common and sometimes mythic, domestic and adventurous, victimized and heroic, complacent and 339 revolutionary. In this study I assessed the roles and stereotypes of women during the Porfiriato, the Mexican Revolution, and after the war. The gaps and intersections between the historiography of the participation of women in the civil war and the visual depictions of women was a focal point for a part of my dissertation. The TGP’s images of women are not historically accurate, but they do highlight women’s contributions to the insurgency and that is a sharp contrast to most narratives of the war. Yet, some of these portrayals fall back on traditional notions of gender roles and engage stereotypical ideas about and images of women of the Revolution. This can likely be contextualized as representative of women’s lived experiences during this time. However, an investigation into the history of the representation of Mexican women would prove useful to better understand how these images function. In this project I focused on the representation of women of the Mexican Revolution. My work here has inspired further investigation into the representation of gender in Mexican Art in general and the TGP’s portfolio specifically. Thus, future investigation related to gender and Mexican art I will further examine: traditional gendered roles and power dynamics, the history of the representation of Mexican women, constructed notions of masculinity and femininity within the context of nation and war; ideologies of domesticity in Mexico during the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries; ideologies about the relational function of lower class women to upper class women and visa versa; forms of resistance by Mexican women to social codes of conduct prior to, during, and after the Revolution; Marianismo and Machismo; masculine masquerades of the civil war, and methodologies of Revolution and gender. Furthermore, I am curious about each TGP member artist’s individual connections to the topic and issue of the 340 representation of gender in general and women specifically. I wonder how much direction or censorship there was within the group critiques in relation to the representation of women in the portfolio. Additionally, I have questions about the power dynamics based on gender difference in the workshop and the TGP’s interest and objectives for promoting equality for women. There is limited commentary to be found about these issues in the artist’s own words or otherwise, yet these points are important and I will continue to pursue them. The TGP’s ultimate goal for its portfolio was to address how the post-war regimes constructed and participated in the ongoing Revolution. The final segment of the portfolio presents the period after the war that falls between the 1920s and the 1940s. The TGP produced Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana in the 1940s, an era marked by the departure of President Cárdenas, which punctuated a political shift regarding “revolutionary” ideology. The grahic series was a response to the political regimes of the forties concentrated efforts that countered gains resultant from or in response to the Mexican Revolution. During this time the push for capital development and industrialization of Mexico was promoted to meet the demands of the domestic market, to provide employment opportunities, to foster industries that relied on Mexican raw materials, to produce surplus of manufactured goods for export, and to support the ultimate goal to make Mexico completely self-sufficient.608 The end result, however, led to legislation in 1944 under Avila Camacho that allowed foreign participation in the industrialization of Mexico, which was counter to revolutionary ideals and the 1938 efforts by then President Cárdenas to nationalize the holdings of seventeen foreign oil companies. In relation, I addressed the drive to develop and modernize Mexico after the 341 war and the connections that can be and are made by the TGP between the 1940s era governments and the Porfirian dictatorship. At the front of its series the TGP recounted the tyranny of the thirty-four year Dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz (1876-1910). The artists remind their viewers/readers of the unjust policies, horrendous practices of oppression, and dire conditions that motivated rebellion, and thus, established a foil against which they measured the post-war political regimes. Hence, time folds back on itself as the end of the portfolio parallels and attaches to the beginning. In this manner, the TGP related the historical patterns of oppression and social injustice in Mexico and the nature of the ongoing revolution. Each narrative of the Revolution has a particular slant and objective depending on who generatd it. These versions elevate and mythologize particular aspects of the war while others are forgotten or left out. Thus, accounts about the insurgency and its legacy have gaping holes, freeze out nuances, and become historically veiled ritualizations of post-war dogma; which is also true of the TGP’s own production. The artists’ edited and selected version of the Mexican Revolution brings in different elements and leaves out others; it also perpetuates some problematic notions and stereotypes. For instance, in its address of systematic practices of oppression the TGP heroicized the lower classes and even transformed them into symbols of particular issues, but I assert that it did not address them as complex figures of history. For instance, within the portfolio, as in most master narratives, members of the rural lower classes are treated as if they were a unified and active group during the Mexican Revolution and beyond. Yet, differences existed, regional groups disagreed and competed with one another during the rebellion, and not all participated in the war nor followed Zapata. Furthermore, the figures of the rural lower 342 class in print eighty-three are shown living in similar conditions and dealing with similar issues and power structures that did their counterparts in print one, which is a span of seventy years. These two examples reveal that the rural members of the lower classes are treated in the TGP’s portfolio, like in most master narratives, as one dimensional. Although there are wonderful aspects and moments in the portfolio that challenged typical narratives about the war, following the framework of master narratives the album resulted in featuring and perpetuating many aspects in similar ways. For instance, most of the primary actors of the revolutionary drama are men, meaning that the narratives about the war, including the TGP’s portfolio, follow the tradition of celebrating great men of history. This approach makes ambiguous and obscures the presence and contributions of women and most of the rural poor. Additionally, the TGP deemed particular figures of Mexican history as villains, such as Presidents Díaz and Alemán, yet it ignored and downplayed the anti-revolutionary policies and practices of others, such as Cárdenas and Ávila Camacho. Thus, the portfolio’s uneven nature and the TGP’s skewed approach in defining revolutionary and anti-revolutionary leadership serves as another example of invented history. The Uruguayan scholar and artist Luis Camnitzer’s Uruguayan Torture Series (1982), made up of thirty-five etchings, provides potent visual testimony to the horrors of war. Within this context Camnitzer spoke of art as icons of remembrance that inform about and/or keep alive the reality of suffering that accompanies dictatorial governments and war, which history so often omits or denies. In a like fashion, the TGP’s portfolio presents its viewers/readers with the history of Mexican government’s modes of operations. Consistently highlighted by the TGP are the social injustices and atrocities 343 committed by these regimes against and suffered by the lower classes. Any single image from this important portfolio, as well as the portfolio as a whole, can be read as an icon of remembrance, if not a call to action.609 One technique the TGP engaged to stir the viewer/reader was to consistently locate them within the scene. We are placed in a position that does not allow for objectivity. Instead we are compelled to engage in a manner that triggers high emotions. We witness what those in the composition witness, from their perspective. Thus, the audience is drawn in and potentially shares in the woes and the joys of a nation in revolution. We in turn are meant to empathize and be moved to respond. The work of the TGP is often celebrated for its strong stances and call for social commitments and action, but scholars do not always question or analyze the relationship of this art to the political and social issues they present and the people they address. My dissertation moves beyond these celebratory efforts and ask questions about history, nation building, citizenship development, systems of differentiation, and identity politics. Other points of investigation that could be further explored within the TGP’s portfolio include research on possible sources the TGP relied on and referred to in putting together the portfolio, comparison between this album and other graphic series focused on war or revolution, an investigation of the construction of masculinity and feminity, a more expansive look at the TGP’s engagement of traditional religious narratives, and an examination of the representation of the Cristero Rebellion. Furthermore, the TGP as an organization deserves to be looked at in more depth to better understand its complexities. The negotiations of individual artists within the group could be better understood through an investigation of their individual work and politics. The lack of information in the 344 Workshop’s meeting minutes raises numerous points to consider, such as: What do the TGP artists tell us with what they recorded? and What do the TGP tell us with what is left out? On these points, and others, scholars need to rub against the grain so that the seemingly smooth veneer of the graphic images of the TGP more closely resemble a rough surface worked over by sandpaper.610 ¡Que Viva La Revolución! 345 CHAPTER IMAGES 346 Figure 1. Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 347 Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947) Figure 2. “Federal troops guarding Yaqui families who were sent to the interior of the Republic.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 49. 348 Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” (detail) No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947) Figure 3. “The rural police,” September 16, 1910. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 80. 349 Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947) Figure 4. Gentile da Fabriano, “Adoration of the Magi,” Altarpiece for the Strozzi family cahpel, Church of Santa Trinità, Florence, 1423, Tempera and gold on wood panel, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 629. 350 Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” (detail) No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947) Figure 5. Masaccio, “The Expulsion from the Garden of Eden,” Brancacci Chapel, Santa Maria del Carmine Church, Florence, Italy, 1425, Fresco. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 632. 351 Francisco Mora, “Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras,” (detail) No. 1, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947) Figure 6. Pieter Bruegel the Elder, “The Triumph of Death,” 1562. Image Source: Symbols and Allegories in Art (The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2002) 84-85. 352 Figure 7. Alfredo Zalce, “‘¡Matalos en caliente!’ Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879,” No. 5, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 353 Figure 8. Alfredo Zalce, “‘¡Matalos en caliente!’ Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879,” (detail, Bottom Register) No. 5, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947). Figure 9. “Execution in Chalco, April 28, 1909.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 95. 354 Figure 10. “Anotaciones del censo hecho en la capital el dia 12. El Hijodel Ahuizote, October 1890. Figure 11. “The Trinity of today…,” El Hijo del Ajuizote, July 1889. 355 Figure 12. Prints 4, 5, and 6 as triptych altarpiece 356 Figure 13, Alfredo Zalce, “Trabajos forzados en el valle nacional, 1890-1900,” No. 7, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 357 Figure 14. Pablo O’Higgins, “La huelga de Cananea: Los obreros Mexicanos reclaman igualdad de derechos frente a los obreros yanquis,” No. 11, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 358 Figure 15. “Colonel Greene adressing a group of strikers in front of the Company store. Cananea Miners Strike, 1906.” Image source: C. L. Sonnichsen, “Colonel William C. Greene and the Strike at Cananea, Sonora, 1906.” Arizona and the West Vol. 13, No. 4 (Winter, 1971) unnumbered page. 359 Figure 16. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “La huelga de Rio Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha, 7 de Enero de 1907,” No. 13, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 360 Figure 17. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Epilogo de la huelga de Rio Blanco. 8 de Enero de 1907,” No. 14, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 361 Figure 18. Jacques-Louis David, Oath of the Horatii, 1784-1785, oil on canvas. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Revised Second Edition (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 932. Figure 19. Jacques-Louis David, 1789, The Lictors Bring to Brutus the Bodies of His Sons, oil on canvas. 362 Figure 20. Ignacio Aguirre, “Prision y muerte de los descontentos en el norte del país. 1909.” No. 17, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 363 Figure 21. Alfredo Zalce, “La dictadura Porfiriana exalta demagogicament al indígena 1910,” No. 19, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 364 Figure 22. “Moctezuma” (top) and “Hernan Cortes” (bottom), Centenary Historic Parade (1910). Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 173. 365 Figure 23. “Indians” (left page) and “Spanish” (right page), Centenary Historic Parade (1910). Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 174-175. 366 Figure 24. Pablo O’Higgins, “El General Obregon con los Yaquis,” No. 48, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 367 Figure 25. Alfredo Zalce, La prensa y la Revolución Mexicana,” No. 82, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 368 Figure 26. Isidoro Ocampo, “Francisco I. Madero redacta en la prisión el plan de San Luis. 5 de Octubre de 1910,” No. 20, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 369 Figure 27. Everardo Ramírez, “El Plan de San Luis ateroriza a la dictadura,” No. 21, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 370 Figure 28. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada. 18 November 1910,” No. 22, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 371 Figure 29. Alfredo Zalce, “La Revolución y los estragos,” No. 23, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 372 Figure 30. Alfredo Zalce, ““El Ipiranga”:El pueblo despide “30 Años de Paz” 31 de Mayo de 1911,” No. 26, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 373 Figure 31. Leopoldo Méndez, “Leon de la Barra, “El Presidente Blanco” 1911,” No. 27, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 374 Figure 32. Isidoro Ocampo, “La entrada de Francisco I. Madero en la ciudad de Mexico, 7 de Juno de 1911,” No. 28, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 375 Isidoro Ocampo, “La entrada de Francisco I. Madero en la ciudad de Mexico, 7 de Juno de 1911,” No. 28, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947). Figure 33. “Francisco Madero, The President of the Republic, arriving to the National Palace the morning of February 9, 1913.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 6 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 488. 376 Figure 34. Julio Heller, “Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular,” No. 29, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 377 Julio Heller, “Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular,” No. 29, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947). Figure 35. “Francisco Madero.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 876. 378 Figure 36. Isidoro Ocampo, “Francisco I. Madero (1873-1913),” No. 30, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 379 Isidoro Ocampo, “Francisco I. Madero (1873-1913),” No. 30, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947). Figure 37. Francisco Madero.” Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 5 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 389. 380 Figure 38. Francisco Mora, “Francisco I. Madero es rodeado por el antiguo aparato Porfiriano,” No. 31, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 381 Figure 39. Alfredo Zalce, “La Decena Tragica, 9-18 de Febrero de 1913,” No. 32, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 382 Figure 40. Leopoldo Méndez, “El embajador Lane Wilson “arregla” el conflicto,” No. 33, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 383 Figure 41. Alfredo Zalce, “El criminal Victoriano Huerta se adueña del poder 19 de Febrero de 1913,” No. 34, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 384 Figure 42. Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Victoriano Huerta abandona el país 20 de Julio de 1914,” No. 51, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 385 Figure 43. Alberto Beltrán, “Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta,” No. 43, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 386 Figure 44. Mariana Yampolsky, “La Juventud de Emiliano Zapata: Leccion Objectiva,” No. 8, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 387 Mariana Yampolsky, “La Juventud de Emiliano Zapata: Leccion Objectiva,” No. 8, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 45. Gustave Courbet, “Stonebreakers,” 1849. Image source: Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, Combined Volume (Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005) 974. 388 Figure 46. Ignacio Aguirre, “Emiliano Zapata hecho prisonero en su lucha en favor de los campesinos 1908,” No. 16, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 389 Ignacio Aguirre, “Emiliano Zapata hecho prisonero en su lucha en favor de los campesinos 1908,” No. 16, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 47. Andrea Mantegna, “Saint Sebastian,” 1480. Image Source: Hugh Honour and John Fleming, “Part Three: Sacred and Secular Art,” A World History of Art (Laurence King Publishing, 2005). 390 Figure 48. Francisco Mora, “Emiliano Zapata, lider de la revolución agraria,” No. 24, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 391 Francisco Mora, “Emiliano Zapata, lider de la revolución agraria,” No. 24, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 49. Eugene Delacroix, “Liberty leading the people,” Image Source: Helen Gardner and Fred S. Kleiner, Gardner's Art Through the Ages: The Western Perspective, Volume 2 (2010) 623. 392 Francisco Mora, “Emiliano Zapata, lider de la revolución agraria,” No. 24, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 50. Photographer Unknown, “Emiliano Zapata, Equestrian Portrait”, 1911-1919. Image Source: Enrique Krauze, El amor a la tierra, Emiliano Zapata (Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2000) 38. 393 Francisco Mora, “Emiliano Zapata, lider de la revolución agraria,” No. 24, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 51. Hugo Brehme, “Emiliano Zapata, General of the Southern Forces,” May 26– June 10, 1911. Image Source: Zapata Iconografía (Tezontle, 2000) 19. 394 Figure 52. Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 395 Figure 53. Photographer Unknown, “Emiliano Zapata, Death,” April 1919. Source: Zapata Iconografía (Tezontle, 2000) 77. 396 Image Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 54. Diego Rivera, “Blood of the Revolutionary Martyrs,” 1926, Mural cycle at The College of Agriculture in Chapingo, Mexico. Image Source: Desmond Rochfort, Mexican Muralists: Orozco, Rivera, Siqueiros (Chronicle Books, 1993) 71. 397 Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 55. “Suspension of guarantees.” (Lynched figures.) Image Source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 238. 398 Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 56. José Clemente Orozco, “Hidalgo,” 1937, Mural in the main staircase of the Palace of the Government in Guadalajara, Jalisco. Image source: Luis Cardoza y Aragón, Orozco, (UNAM, 1974) 119. 399 Angel Bracho, “Emiliano Zapata (1877-1919),” No. 25, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 57. Caravaggio, “The Conversion on the way to Damascus,” 1601, Oil on canvas. Image source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conversion_on_the_Way_to_Damascus, October 16, 2012. 400 Figure 58. Ignacio Aguirre, “Las Tropas Constitucionalistas hacen el primer reparto de tierra en Matamoros. 6 de Agosto de 1913,” No. 38, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 401 Figure 59. Alberto Beltrán, “Las Guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta,” No. 43, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 402 Figure 60. Alberto Beltrán, “Intento de la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta por liquidar el Zapatismo,” No. 44, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 403 Figure 61. Mariana Yampolsky, “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 404 Mariana Yampolsky, “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Figure 62. Photographer Unknown, “Constitutional Army.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 595. 405 Figure 63. Isidoro Ocampo, “La entrada del ejercito Constitucionalista en la Ciudad de Mexico. 20 de Agosto de 1914,” No. 52, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 406 Figure 64. Alberto Beltrán” La Convencion de Aguascalientes 10 de Octubre de 1914,” No. 53, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. Figure 65. Díaz Soto y Gama. Image source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Antonio_Diaz_Soto_y_Gama.png, October 12, 2012. 407 Figure 66. Alfredo Zalce, “Venustiano Carranza, Prometor de la Constitución de 1917 (1859-1920),” No. 56, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 408 Figure 67. Isidoro Ocampo, “La Muerte de Emiliano Zapata,” No. 57, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 409 Figure 68. Comparison between Prints 56 and 57 410 Figure 69. Luis Arenal, “Lazaro Cardenas y La Reforman Agraria, 1934-1940,” No. 67, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 411 Fernando Castro Pacheco, “Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada. 18 November 1910,” No. 22, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 70. (Left) Photographer Unknown, “The general Ramón F. Iturbe accompanied by the women of Topia, Durango who contributed openly to the revolutionary cause of Madero.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 241. Figure 71. (Right) Photographer Unknown, “Sonoran women who offered their help to the government.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 8 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 711. 412 Figure 72. Photographer Unknown, “Mr. Madero and his wife, Mrs. Sara Perez Madero, en the vehicle that drove them to the National Palace.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 806. Julio Heller, “Francisco I. Madero, candidato popular,” No. 29, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. 413 Figure 73. Photographer Unknown, “The leader of the Revolution with his wife, Señora Sara P. de Madero and her sister Emily in Yautepec,” August 20, 1911. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 336. Figure 74. Photographer Unknown, “Serdán Family Portraits: Filomena Serdán (wife of Aquiles Serdán) @ bottom left and Carmen Serdán @ bottom right.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 1 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 203. 414 Mariana Yampolsky, Detail of “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Figure 75. Photographer Unknown, “Armed women in rural setting.” Image source: Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991, (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) (left) 290 and (right) 346. Figure 76. Photographer Unknown, “Las mujeres del Estado de Michoacán . . .”. Image source: Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991, (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) 439. 415 Mariana Yampolsky, “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Figure 77. Photographer Unknown, “[Camp Follower] or La soldadera mexicana tenida como la impedimente como lastre de las columnas militares.” Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 666. 416 Mariana Yampolsky, Detail of “Vivac de Revolucionarios,” No. 49, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Figure 78. José Clemente Orozco, “Tortillas y frijoles” (Beans and rice), Series of drawings and lithographs on the Mexican Revolution based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917. Image Source: Alma Reed, José Clemente Orozco (Delphic Studios, 1932). 417 Figure 79. Alfredo Zalce, “La soldadera,” No. 50, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 418 Alfredo Zalce, “La soldadera,” No. 50, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947). Figure 80. “Zapatistas,” La Revolución Mexicana a través de sus imágenes. Instituto Nacional de Estudios Históricos de la Revolución Mexicana (INEHRM), Dirección General de Servicios de Cómputo Académico de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México y la Dirección General de Actividades Cinematográficas de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (Mexico, 2004). CD Interactivo. 419 Figure 81. Photographer Unknown, “La soldadera” [Women on Trains] Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 666. Image source: Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991, (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) 295. 420 Figure 82. “Mujeres revolucionarias.’ Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 242. 421 Figure 83. Photographer Unknown,“Zapatista Esperanza Echeverría,” Participant in Madero’s triumphal entrance into the capital, June 1911. Image source: Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7 (Casasola Archive, 1946) 572. 422 Figure 84. Ignacio Aguirre, “El Pueblo Es Soberano,” No. 58, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 423 Figure 85. Alfredo Zalce, “Escuelas, caminos, presas: Progama y realización de los gobiernos de Álvaro Obregón (1920-1923) y Plutarco Elias Calles (1923-1928),” No. 60, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 424 Figure 86. Alberto Beltrán, “Plutarco Elias Calles, El Jefe Maximo,” No. 65, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. Figure 87. Alfredo Zalce and Leopoldo Méndez, “Plutarco Elias Calles es deportado por ordenes el gobierno del Gral. Lazaro Cardenas, 1936,” No. 69, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 425 Figure 88. Ignacio Aguirre, “El Presidente Lazaro Cardenas recibe el apoyo del pueblo Mexicano por sus medidas a favor del progreso del país,” No. 72, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. Figure 89. Alberto Beltrán, “Lazaro Cardenas y la guerra de España 1936-1939,”No. 73, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. Figure 90. Francisco Mora, “Contribución del pueblo a la expropiación petrolera 18 de Marzo de 1938,” No. 74, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 426 Figure 91. Ignacio Aguirre, “El hundimiento del ‘Potrero del llano’ por los Nazis, en Mayo de 1942,” No. 77, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. Figure 92. Antonio Franco, “La declaración de guerra al Eje el 10 de Junio 1942,” No. 78, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 427 Figure 93. Alfredo Zalce, ¡Quitemos la venda! (Campaña de alfabetización),” No. 80, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 428 Figure 94. Alberto Beltrán, “El nuevo ejercito nacional,” No. 83, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque. 429 Figure 95. Arturo Garcia, “La industrialización del país,” No. 84, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 430 Figure 96. Ignacio Aguirre, ““Si por tierra en un tren militar” (La Adelita),” No. 85, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 431 Ignacio Aguirre, “Si por tierra en un tren militar” (La Adelita),” No. 85, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947. Figure 97. Cover, Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana, (1947), Linocut. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 432 APPENDIX 1: PORTFOLIO IMAGES Prints of the Mexican Revolution, 1947 85 Linocuts by the Artists of El Taller de Gráfica Popular Used by permission of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 433 Print 1, Francisco Mora, Los indígenas de Mexico son despojados de sus tierras. Print 2, Leopoldo Méndez, Despojo de la tierra a los Yaquis (El ejercito de Don Porfiro al servicio de las empresas Yanquis). Print 3, Arturo García Bustos, El peon acasillado. Print 4, Arturo García Bustos, El descontento de los campesinos obtiene su repuesta. Print 5, Alfredo Zalce, “¡Matalos en caliente!”Veracruz, 25 de Junio de 1879. 434 Print 6, Jesús Escobedo, Las acordadas. Print 7, Alfredo Zalce, Trabajo forzados en el valle nacional, 1890-1900. Print 8, Mariana Yampolsky, La juventud de Emiliano Zapata: Leccion objectiva. Print 9, Leopoldo Méndez, Libertad de prensa. Print 10, Alberto Beltrán, Persecución del Partido Liberal por el regimen Porfiriano. 435 Print 11, Pablo O’Higgins, La huelga de Cananea: Los obreros Mexicanos reclaman igualdad de derechos frente a los obreros yanquis. Print 12, Everardo Ramírez, Mucho pulque y poca tinta, el metodo del caciquismos Porfiriano. Print 13, La huelga de Rio Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha. 7 de Enero de 1907. - Fernando Castro Pacheco Print 14, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Epilogo de la huelga de Rio Blanco. 8 de Enero de 1907. Print 15, Alberto Beltrán, Porfirio Díaz hace declaraciones al Mister Creelman sobre las libertades civicas del pueblo. 1908. 436 Print 16, Ignacio Aguirre, Emiliano Zapata hecho prisonero en su lucha en favor de los campesinos. 1908. Print 17, Ignacio Aguirre, Prision y muerte de los descontentos en el norte del país. 1909. Print 18, Alfredo Zalce, Un manifestación anti-releccionista es disuelta. Print 19, Alfredo Zalce, La dictadura Porfiriana exalta demagogicament al indígena. 1910. Print 20, Isidoro Ocampo, Francisco I. Madero redacta en la prision el Plan de San Luis. 5 de Octubre de 1910. 437 Print 21, Everardo Ramirez, El Plan de San Luis aterroiza a la dictadura. Print 22, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Aquiles Serdán y su familia inician en Puebla la Revolución armada. 18 November 1910. Print 23, Alfredo Zalce, La Revolución y los estragos. Print 24, Francisco Mora, Emiliano Zapata, Lider de la Revolución Agraria. Print 25, Angel Bracho, Emiliano Zapata. (1877-1919). 438 Print 26, Alfredo Zalce, “El Ipiranga”:El pueblo despide “30 años de paz”. 31 de Mayo de 1911. Print 27, Leopoldo Méndez, Leon de la Barra, “El Presidente Blanco.” 1911. Print 28, Isidoro Ocampo, La entrada de Francisco I. Madero en la ciudad de Mexico. 7 de Juno de 1911. Print 29, Julio Heller, Francisco I. Madero, Candidato popular. Print 30, Isidoro Ocampo, Francisco I. Madero. (1873-1913). 439 Print 31, Francisco Mora, Francisco I. Madero es rodeado por el antiguo aparato Porfiriano. Print 32, Alfredo Zalce, La Decena Tragica. 9-18 de Febrero de 1913. Print 33, Leopoldo Méndez, El embajador Lane Wilson “arregla” el conflicto. Print 34, Alfredo Zalce, El criminal Victoriano Huerta se adueña del poder. 19 de Febrero de 1913. Print 35, Francisco Mora, Asesinato de Abraham Gonzalez. 7 de Marzo de 1913. 440 Print 36, Ignacio Aguirre, Venustiano Carranza arenga a lo jefes Constitucionalistas. 26 de Marzo de 1913. Print 37, Alberto Beltrán, El Gran Guerrillero Francisco Villa. (1877-1923). Print 38, Ignacio Aguirre, Las tropas constitucionalistas hacen el primer reparto de tierra en Matamoros. 6 de Agosto de 1913. Print 39, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Asesinato del Diputado Serapio Rendon por Victoriano Huerta. 22 de Agosto de 1913. Print 40, Ignacio Aguirre, El Senado Belisario Domínguez protesta contra el cuartelazo. 1913. 441 Print 41, Alfredo Zalce, Victoriano Huerta clausura las cámaras. 10 de Octubre de 1913. Print 42, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Victoriano Huerta, Estandarte de la reacción. Print 43, Alberto Beltrán, Las guerrillas contra la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta. Print 44, Alberto Beltrán, Intento de la dictadura de Victoriano Huerta por liquidar el Zapatismo. Print 45, Fernando Castro Pacheco, La intervención Yanqui. 21 de Abril de 1914. 442 Print 46, Francisco Mora, Venustiano Carranza protesta contra la invasión Yanqui de 1914. Print 47, Pablo O’Higgins, Los Constitucionalistas toman Zacatecas. 23 de Junio de 1914. Print 48, Pablo O’Higgins, El General Obregón con los Yaquis. Print 49, Mariana Yampolsky, Vivac de Revolucionarios. Print 50, Alfredo Zalce, La soldadera. 443 Print 51, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Victoriano Huerta abandona el país. 20 de Julio de 1914. Print 52, Isidoro Ocampo, La entrada del ejercito Constitucionalista en la Ciudad de Mexico. 20 de Agosto de 1914. Print 53, Alberto Beltrán, La Convención de Aguascalientes.10 de Octubre de 1914. Print 54, Leopoldo Méndez, El hambre en la Ciudad de Mexico en 1914-1915. Print 55, Jesús Escobedo, Obreros Revolucionarios. 444 Print 56, Alfredo Zalce, Venustiano Carranza, Prometor de la Constitución de 1917. (1859-1920). Print 57, Isidoro Ocampo, La muerte de Emiliano Zapata, 10 de Abril de 1919. Print 58, Ignacio Aguirre, El pueblo es soberano. Print 59, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Carrillo Puerto, Símbolo de la Revolución del Sureste. Print 60, Alfredo Zalce, Escuelas, caminos, presas: Progama y realización de los gobiernos de Álvaro Obregón (1920-1923) y Plutarco Elias Calles (1923-1928). 445 Print 61, Alberto Beltrán, El cerro de el cubilete: Comienzo de la agitación Cristera. 11 de Enero de 1923. Print 62, Arturo García Bustos, El resultado de una pastoral: El levantamiento Cristero. 1926/1927. Print 63, Asalto al tren de Guadalajara, dirigido por el cura Angulo. 13 de Abril de 1927. - Mariana Yampolsky Print 64, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Asesinato del General Álvaro Obregón, dirigido por la reacción clerical. 18 de Julio de 1928. Print 65, Alberto Beltrán, Plutarco Elías Calles, El Jefe Maximo. 446 Print 66, Arturo García Bustos, La muerte del agrarista Jose Guadalupe Rodríguez. Print 67, Luis Arenal, Lazaro Cardenas y La Reforman Agraria. 1934-1940. Print 68, Alfredo Zalce, Choferes contra “Camisas Dorada” en el Zocalo de la Ciudad de Mexico. 20 de Noviembre de 1935. Print 69, Alfredo Zalce and Leopoldo Méndez, Plutarco Elías Calles es deportado por ordenes del gobierno del Gral. Lazaro Cárdenas. 1936. Print 70, Francisco Mora, Se construyen escuelas y se imparte la enseñanza. 447 Print 71, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Los Cristeros contra la enseñanza en el campo. Print 72, Ignacio Aguirre, El Presidente Lazaro Cárdenas recibe el apoyo del pueblo Mexicano por sus medidas a favor del progreso del país. Print 73, Alberto Beltrán, Lazaro Cárdenas y la guerra de España. 1936-1939. Print 74, Francisco Mora, Contribución del pueblo a la expropiación petrolera. 18 de Marzo de 1938. Print 75, Alfredo Zalce, El traidor Saturnino Cedillo, agente de las empresas petroleras. 1938. 448 Print 76, Fernando Castro Pacheco, Las demandas del pueblo y la amenaza de la reacción. Print 77, Ignacio Aguirre, El hundimiento del ‘Potrero del llano’ por los Nazis, en Mayo de 1942. Print 78, Antonio Franco, La declaración de guerra al Eje el 10 de Junio 1942. Print 79, Alfredo Zalce, México en la guerra: Los Braceros se van a Estados Unidos. Print 80, Alfredo Zalce, ¡Quitemos la venda! (Campaña de alfabetización). 449 Print 81, Arturo García Bustos, El Sinarquismo. Print 82, Alfredo Zalce, La prensa y la Revolución Mexicana . Print 83, Alberto Beltrán, El nuevo ejercito nacional. Print 84, Arturo García Bustos, La industrialización del país. Print 85, Ignacio Aguirre, “Si por tierra en un tren militar” (La Adelita). 450 APPENDIX 2: PRINTS PRODUCED BY ARTISTS Below the artists are listed in an order that reflects, from most to least, the volume of prints that each has in the portfolio and the number and title for each print each artist contributed is also indicated. Alfredo Zalce–18 total prints; 5, 7, 18, 19, 23, 26, 32, 34, 41, 50, 56, 60, 68, 69 (in collaboration with Leopoldo Méndez), 75, 79, 80, 82 Fernando Castro Pacheco – 11 total prints; 13, 14, 22, 39, 42, 45, 51, 59, 64, 71, 76 Alberto Beltran – 10 total prints; 10, 15, 37, 43, 44, 53, 61, 65, 73, 83 Ignacio Aguirre – 9 total prints; 16, 17, 36, 38, 40, 58, 72, 77, 85 Francisco Mora – 7 total prints; 1, 24, 31, 35, 46, 70, 74 Leopoldo Méndez – 6 total prints; 2, 9, 27, 33, 54, 69 (in collaboration with Alfredo Zalce) Arturo Garcia Bustos – 6 total prints; 3, 4, 62, 66, 81, 84 Isidro Ocampo – 5 total prints; 20, 28, 30, 52, 57 Pablo O’Higgins – 3 total prints; 11, 47, 8 Mariana Yampolsky – 3 total prints; 8, 49, 63 Everardo Ramírez – 2 total prints; 12, 21 Jesus Escobedo – 2 total prints; 6, 55 Luis Arenal – 1 print; 67 Angel Bracho – 1 print / 25 Antonio Franco – 1 print / 78 Julio Heller – 1 print / 29 451 ENDNOTES 1 Joan Acker, “Inequality Regimes Gender, Class, and Race in Organizations” Gender and Society 20:4 (Aug., 2006) 444. 2 Terry Eagleton, Ideology: An Introduction (Verso, 2007) 28-31. 3 Barbara Jeanne Fields, “Slavery, Race and Ideology in the United States of America.” New Left Review I:181 (May-June 1990) 112. 4 This set of criteria builds on Jennifer A. González’s definition of race discourse. See Jennifer A. González, “Introduction: Subject to Display.” Subject To Display, Reframing Race in Contemporary Installation Art. (Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2008) 3. 5 Martha Menchaca reports in 1810 eighty percent of Mexico’s population of 6 million was either mestizo (Spanish/Indian mestizo or Spanish/African mestizo; more than 1.3 million) or Indian (almost 3.7 million). See Martha Menchaca, Recovering History, Constructing Race: The Indian, Black, and White Roots of Mexican Americans (University of Texas Press, 2001) 158-163. 6 Initially during the mid-sixteenth century New Spain was organized through geographic division and separation so that European Spaniards were housed in the república de españoles and the Indians, particularly the Aztecs, were relegated to the república de indios. For a more detailed discussion of the separation of the two republics and how they functioned see Magali M. Carrera, Imagining Identity in New Spain: Race, Lineage, and the Colonial Body in Portraiture and Casta Paintings (University of Texas Press, 2003) 34-35. 7 Carrera, Imagining Identity in New Spain 36. 8 See Menchaca 158-163. 9 Anne Doremus, “Indigenism, Mestizaje, and National Identity in Mexico during the 1940s and the 1950s.” Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 17:2 (Summer, 2001) 377, see also 381-382. David Brading wrote about Gamio that he failed “to encounter any value in Indian culture other than its artistic production.” (83). Additionally, the author informs, “contemporary Indians in Mexico preserved in their daily lives the essential configuration of pre-hispanic civilization,” and that Gamio considered this “an obstacle to mestizaje, and [that for him it] signified economic backwardness and cultural stagnation.” (83). Throughout part III of his essay, Brading underlines Gamio’s negative attitude in relation to the contemporary indigenous peoples of Mexico with ample examples related to Gamio’s career and efforts. See David A. Brading, “Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo in Mexico.” Bulletin of Latin American Research, 7:1 (1988) 452 75-89. Additionally, José Carlos Mariátegui offered a distinctive approach in the 1920s to developing notions of mestizaje and indigenismo in Latin America. He rejected Gamio’s narrow views of Indians contributions as purely historical and Vasconcelos’ one-dimensional vision of mestizaje as solely about the Westernization and acculturation of Mexican Indians and argued for something more organic and inclusive. See David Craven, “Postcolonial Modernism in the Work of Diego Rivera and José Carlos Mariátegui or New Lignt on a Neglected Relationahip,” Third Text 15:54 (2001) 3-16. 10 See Alan Knight’s article, “Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo: Mexico, 19101940.” The idea of race in Latin America, 1870-1940 (University of Texas Press, 2004) 74. 11 Scholars who have written about the fluidity of identity in Mexico and the process of acculturating through the modernization of the indigenous, including Knight, “Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo” 71-114 and Mary Kay Vaughan, Cultural Politics in Revolution (The University of Arizona Press, 1997). See also Carrera, Imagining Identity in New Spain, 1-21 for the detailed account of the effort to change the racial identity and in turn the social status of one Doña Margarita Castañeda during the eighteenth century in Mexico. 12 Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, (Cambridge University Press, 2010) 13. 13 All translations of Spanish into English are by the author, unless otherwise indicated. Additionally, I will only italicize a word in Spanish the first time I include the word at which point I will either translate or define the term. 14 The 1940 exhibition and catalogue Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art was a major effort by the Museum of Modern Art in New York to showcase Mexican Art in the United States. Some of the most significant scholars of Mexican art contributed to the catalogue including: Alfonso Caso and Manuel Toussaint. Although some twentiethcentury graphic artists are named, like Leopoldo Méndez’ and Chavez Morado, both were only discussed within the context of muralism. See Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art (The Museum of Modern Art in collaboration with the Mexican government, 1940) 137141, 177, and 179. A similar narrative approach can be seen in the 1970 exhibition and catalogue Mexico: Splendors of Thirty Centuries produced by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Although El Taller de Gráfica Popular is mentioned, printmaking is discussed solely as a phenomenon specific to the nineteenth century and Jose Guadalupe Posada. In the chapter by Dore Ashton, “Mexican Art of the Twentieth Century,” there is absolutely no mention nor representation of twentieth-century graphic art. 15 There have been a number of exhibitions and catalogues focused on the TGP that have been produced over the past five years, many of which I address further along in the body of this essay. However, there are a number of publications and essays that I would 453 like to acknowledge for their contributions on the TGP, which include Deborah Caplow, Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and The Mexican Print (The University of Texas Press, 2007); Alicia Azuela, “Graphics of the Mexican Left, 1924-1938,” Art and Journals on the Political Front, 1910-1940 (The University Press of Florida, 1997); Serge Fauchereau, “Estridentismo,” Art Forum International 24 (February 1986) 84-89; and Alicia Azuela, “El Machete and Frente a Frente,” Art Journal (March 22, 1993) 8287. These publications and essays have provided a substantial foundation, if also contestable views, for my own work on the TGP and its 1947 portfolio Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. 16 As early as 1870, Posada worked in and eventually ran his own print shop, which produced advertisements, leaflets, broadsheets, and booklets on various subjects including entertainment, natural disasters, and current affairs. Posada is primarily recognized for his humorous Calaveras, satiric skeletal figures that served as the figural subject in a vast amount of his work. Posada rose in significance within the history of Mexican art in the twentieth century when he was rediscovered by artists and a new audience who considered him a model for and the forefather of twentieth-century Mexican art. Although, it is commonly recognized today that Posada was only one of many graphic artists active in the late nineteenth century, there is still much recovery work to be done in this period of graphic art history. 17 David Craven, in his essay “The Taller de Gráfica Popular and Estampas de la Revolución” Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, (Yale University Press, 2002) 63-71 addresses the TGP in the context of a larger framework dealing with revolutionary art in Mexico, which limits his discussion of the TGP. Topics that are briefly touched upon by him include: the muralists relationship with graphic art, traits of TGP work, the relationship of graphic art to mass production and the agrarian class, and the TGP’s 1937 “Declaration of Principles.” 18 Richards does goes beyond much of the literature on the TGP. See Susan Valerie Richards, Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948, Dissertation, Department of History, University of New Mexico, 2001. However, some of her assessments of the visual material are problematic. In her discussion (161-162) of the 1940s multi-volume photographic book Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1940 Richards erroneously identifies Agustín Casasola as “taking hundreds of shots of revolutionists . . . [and] milestone events of the epic struggle” and neglects to address an earlier version of this collection produced in 1921. After working with the Casasoal Archive Ignacio Gutiérrez Ruvalcaba assessed in his essay “A Fresh look at the Casasola Archive” in History of Photography 20:3 (Autumn 1996) 191-195 that Agustín Casasola erased photographers’ names from the emulsion of many thousands of negatives, most of which he identifies as Miguel Casasola’s work. Additionally, when either Casasola did take photographs during the revolution, it was often in Mexico City and of the federal soldiers. Although she did acknowledge that Casasola’s collection incorporates photographs by other photographers, in ignoring crucial points Richards perpetuates the 454 myth of Agustín Casasola as “the,” or at least a primary photographer, of the Revolution. Additionally, in her discussion of the varied versions of the Mexican Revolution the 1921 photographic album would have been appropriate to consider, especially when she argues (161) that it is the 1940s version that “announces harmony with the concept of the continuing revolution . . . [and] form[s] “the ultimate in inclusive revolutionary history.””. How the 1940s version differs from the 1920s is integral to understanding when the inclusive version of the revolution began. Having examined two of the five albums from the 1921 collection, where images of Venustiano Carranza and Emiliano Zapata were contained within the same album and included very little text to direct a particular read or version, I would argue that immediately following the war Agustín Casasola began to construct an inclusive or unified history of the Revolution. 19 Caplow 6. 20 Caplow 123. 21 For example, Rivera produced only thirteen prints total in his career. 22 This trend is evident in the exhibition and catalogue From the Collection of Reba and Dave Williams: Mexican Prints (1997/98); the exhibition and catalogue Mexico and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphic Arts, 1920 to 1950 (2007) organized by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the McNay Art Museum of San Antonio; and, most recently, The British Museum’s exhibition and its catalogue Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009). 23 Irriador, a journal published in 1921 by the Estridentistas, which included graphic work by artists like Leopoldo Méndez, predates any mural by Rivera, Siqueiros, and Orozco. James M. Wechsler, “Leopoldo Méndez,” Mexico and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphic Arts, 1920 to 1950, (Yale University Press, 2006) 178. As early as 1926, Méndez was involved in producing another Stidentist publication Horizonte. See Caplow 48-51 and Dawn Ades and Alison McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (University of Texas Press, 2009) 24. 24 On the subject of the contact, inter-mixing and exchange that took place between Mexican artists during the 1920s and 1930s see the membership rosters for the groups El Estridentismo, ¡30 30!, and LEAR, which are partially included in Ades and McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009), as well as in Caplow, 11-30 and 31-64. 25 Scholars who have addressed the TGP’s 1947 portfolio include: Helga PrignitzPoda, El Taller de Gráfica Popular en México, 1937-1933 (1992) 113-123; Susan Valerie Richards, Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948, (2001) 162-175; David Craven, “The Taller de Gráfica Popular and Estampas de la Revolución” Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 (2002), 63-71; James M. 455 Wechsler, “Framing the Revolution,” Mexico and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphic Arts, 1920 to 1950 (2006) 224-231; Deborah Caplow, “Chapter Seven: The Taller de Gráfica Popular: The Middle Years,” Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and The Mexican Print (2007)191-220; and Dawn Ades and Alison McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009) 35-36. The only reference to the TGP’s album in Shouts from the Archive (2008) is the inclusion of Alfredo Zalce’s image found on print sixty-eight under the themes of horses in the catalogue. See in Pilar García de Germenos and James Olmes, Shouts from the Archive, 111. 26 The portfolio I utilized for this project if part of the holdings of University of New Mexico Art Museum, Albuquerque, NM. 27 The phrase and concept of “Systems of Differentation” was introduced to me by Dr. Kirsten Buick. As I have developed this project under her tutelage it has become a key point of investigation and significant to my comprehension of nation building and citizenship, power relationships, and identity politics. 28 Incorporating well known moments and figures of the war suggested the portfolio followed the institutionalized master narratives, which dominated people’s lives through presentation in civic ceremonies, educational texts and other literary forms, as well as in artistic expressions. 29 Daivd Craven is one the first scholars in art history to discuss Mexican art in relation to competing revolutions and multiple narratives. See David Craven, Diego Rivera as Epic Modernist (G.K. Hall, 1997) and David Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 59-61; 69. 30 From the sixteenth century through the nineteenth century engravings served as a primary source of knowledge about the indigenous peoples of the Americas. For more on the subject, refer to Micahel Gaudio, Engraving the Savage: The New World and Techniques of Civilization (University of Minnesota Press, 2008). 31 John Mraz provides an insightful investigation into the role of Tarjetas de visitas and Picture Postcards in the construction of Mexican exotic and national types that is useful in my examination of these constructions. See Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Idenity (Duke University Press, 2009) 19-38. 32 Alvarez Amaya, the current director of the TGP verified that a version of the Casasola publication Album Grafica de la Revolución was a source and part of the TGP’s library collection. (Personal Communication, Mexico City, Mexico, January 2007.) The Casasola family produced numerous editions of their multi-volume photographic series on the history of the Mexican Revoluton. In 1921, Agustin Victor Casasola published Album Historico Grafico: Coleción de mil fotografias de los principales sucesas acaecidas durante las epocas de Díaz, De la Barra, Madero, Huerta, Carbajal, La 456 Convención, y Carranza. In 1946 the series was re-published as Historia Grafica de la Revolución and in1967 it was re-circulated as Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Mexican, 1900-1960. Although I have worked intensively with all three versions of these Casasola publications, for this study I limit my examination of photographs to those from the 1946 version of the photographic albums because they are contemporary to the the 1947 Estampas de la Revolucion Mexicana, which likely served as a model for the TGP’s prints. 33 On the relational nature of difference see Elsa Barkley Brown, “What Has Happened Here”: The Politics of Difference in Women’s History and Feminist Politics,” Feminist Studies 18:2 (Summer 1992) 295-312. 34 For this information I rely on primary sources including the publications put out on the TGP by the group itself, as well as sales records and minute meetings, which are on microfilm and in the library holdings at the University of New Mexico. 35 There is overlap and exchange between some of these artistic styles and approaches to art production, in particular between Roman and Christian Art, as well as Baroque Art and colonial era art in the Americas. 36 Studies that address citizenship formation in a variety of venues and negative attitudes toward the lower classes, particularly those considered Indians, during the Porfiriato include: Alan Knight’s article, “Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo: Mexico, 1910-1940.” The idea of race in Latin America, 1870-1940 (University of Texas Press, 2004) 71-104 and Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, “1910 Mexico City: Space and Nation in the City of the Centenario,” Journal of Latin American Studies 28:1 (Feb 1996) 75-104. 37 I first considered the varied and numerous representations of Zapata in conversations with David Craven in his course, “The Taller de Gráfica Popular,” AH 583, Seminar on Modern and Contemporary Latin American Art, Department of Art and Art History, University of New Mexico, Spring 2001. 38 I have encounted a few exceptions that pertain to Zapata. See Lola Elizabeth Boyd, The Image of Emiliano Zapata in the art and literature of the Mexican Revolution diss., Columbia University, 1965. Boyd’s book is an ambitious attempt to address the image of Zapata within a historical context, in art and literature. Unfortunately, she merely lists and introduces various artists and their artwork, while never truly addressing in any depth any particular artist or images of Zapata. See also Alberto Híjar, “Los Zapatas de Diego Rivera” Los Zapata de Diego Rivera (Jardín Borda, 1989) 21-32. Híjar does discusses Rivera’s image of Zapata within the context of categorized assigned meanings, which is the basis for the categorization I apply in defining the various character types and narratives portrayed by Zapata and applied to him. 457 39 There have been multiple historiography studies on Emiliano Zapata, but not true for Francisco Madero, which is made clear with a simple search on Amazon, the online shopping service. The key study that I rely on for this project is Stanley Ross’s book, Franciso I. Madero, Apostle of Mexican Democracy (Columbia University Press, 1955). Another text on Madero is Charles C. Cumberland, Mexican Revolution: Genesis under Madero (University of Texas Press, 1952), however, Ross’ text is more detailed in its research and provides indepth information that Cumberland does not. For a comparison between Ross’ and Cumberland’s books see David M. Pletcher, The Hispanic American Historical Review 37:1 (Feb., 1957) 99-100. 40 Macías (169-172) does her own assessment of the historiography of women of the Mexican Revolution, which assesses the quality and legitimacy of the sources she addresses. 41 Today, the digitization of photographic archives and the internet make photographs of the Mexican Revolution more readily available, thus expanding the public’s knowledge of these images over the past ten years. However, prior to these new innovations, accessibility to photographic images of the Mexican Revolution was limited. Photographic postcards, graphic objects, paintings, books, and exhibitions that incorporate the photographic images of the Mexican Revolution serve as additional sources for these images, but the issue of accessibility can still be problematic. When photographs of the Mexican Revolution circulate they often do so within an edited and selective context, which further emphasizes the issue of multiple narratives of the Mexican Revolution that have developed. The photographs are often invoked in a manner that relates a publisher’s, scholar’s, or curator’s particular objectives, such as the process of building up an icon of the Mexican civil war or to emphasize an ideological issue. 42 My visual database of women of the Mexican Revolution is likely more expansive than most, which draws from the database of the Casasola Archive and numerous publications that have include photographs from this archive. 43 Rolan Barthes, Rhetoric of the Image, 1977, 32-55. 44 Stuart Hall, “The work of representation,” Representation: Cultural Representation and Signifying Practices (Sage Publication and The Open University, 1997) 18-19. 45 Hatt and Klonk, which served as an important source for my comprehension and definition of the methodologies listed, provide a historical overview for each method, as well as note the criticisms or shortcomings of these techniques. Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonk, Art History: A critical introduction to its methods (Manchester University Press, 2006). 458 46 B. Aulinger, "Social history of art." Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, 15 Nov. 2008 <http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T079457>. 47 See T.J. Clark. “On the Social History of Art.” Image of the People: Gustave Courbet and the Revolution of 1848 (University of California Press, 1973) 9-20. 48 Hatt and Klonk, 120-121. 49 Hatt and Klonk, 136. See T.J. Clark. Image of the People: Gustave Courbet and the Revolution of 1848. 50 See Clark’s essay “On the Social History of Art,” Image of the People: Gustave Courbet and the Revolution of 1848 (University of California Press, 1973) 9-20 51 In terms of identifying who the TGP envisioned its international audience to be one can turn to their declaration of principles, which states “The T.G.P. lends its professional cooperation to similar workshops and cultural institutions, to popular or labor organization and to all progressive movements and institutions. . . . The T.G.P. protects the professional interests of all artists.” Hannes Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva (Estampa de Mexico, 1949) I. 52 For a discussion of the various subjects addressed by the TGP see Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 2-36. 53 The portfolio’s impact on artists beyond the scope of the TGP’s immediate circle is difficult to trace, however, Holly Barnet has shared with me that over the years numerous Chicano Artists have informed her of the significance of the TGP and the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana in particular. They include: Esther Hernandez, Yreina Cervantes, and Sal “Queso” Torres who told her that the portfolio was once found in a local San Diego bookstore that the regional artists would often go and look at. Personal Communication, January 31, 2013. 54 The issue of omission extends beyond the TGP, as graphic art, particularly of the twentieth century, is generally left out of traditional art historical literature. 55 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva, VIII. Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva (1949) serves as my primary source on the TGP during the period of 1937 and 1949. This publication is a self-published album-catalogue that surveys the first twelve years of the workshop and provides the group’s philosophy and mission statement, artists’ biographies, and presents individual and group projects all from the perspective of the artists themselves. Artists that were members starting in 1937 were Ignacio Aguirre, Raul Anguiano, Angel Bracho, Jesus Escobedo, Everardo Ramírez, Antonio Pujol, Gonzalo de la Paz Pérez, and Alfredo Zalce. 459 56 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XX. 57 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XX. 58 In this instance, popular here refers to the lower and middle working class. 59 Jules Heller, “Keynote Speaker and the Birth of The Taller de Gráfica Popular,” Codex Méndez: Prints by Leopoldo Méndez (1902-1969), Jean Makin, ed., (Arizona State University Art Museum, 1999) 31. The TGP produced a 1938 portfolio of 15 lithographs entitled, La España de Franco in which it demonized Franco and his fascist regime. 60 Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America: The Modern Era, 1820-1980 (Yale University Press, 1989) 326. For an in-depth examination of the 1937 declaration, see Susan Valerie Richard Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948, Ph. D. Dissertation (Department of History, University of New Mexico. 2001) 35-38. 61 Heller, “Keynote Speaker and the Birth of The Taller de Gráfica Popular,” 31. 62 Projects by individual artists are telling of their individual style and many produced portfolios specific to unique regional sites and cultures, which showcases their individual interests and include: En Nombre de Cristo (1939) by Leopoldo Méndez, Mayan Women of the Yucatán (1945) by Francisco Dosamantes, Ritual of the Huichol Indian Tribe (1946) by Angel Bracho, Estampas de Yucatan (1946) by Alfredo Zalce, and Vida en mi barrio (1948) by Everardo Rodriguez. 63 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva I. 64 David Craven explains a lack of agreement between the TGP and the Soviet Union on the aesthetics of realism and its socialist applications as one of the reasons for the TGP changing its vocabulary in their “Declarations of Principles” in the 1940s to reflect: “pungent images in response to social “reality,” [rather] than on . . . “objective” commitment to so-called “socialist realism.”. Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, 68. 65 Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, 68. As noted elsewhere, Susan Richards’s discussion (89-92) of the changes made by the TGP in the 1940s to its principles argues it was more an attempt to appease the moderate regime of Avila Camacho. 66 I am interested in determining the contradictions and internal conflicts that existed within the group. With the intent of elucidating the reality of mediation required between individual beliefs and TGP’s projects I propose in a future effort to comparatively evaluate the ideology and collective projects of the group, in particular Estampas de la 460 Revolución Mexicana, with individual TGP artists’ principles, biography, and artistic productions. 67 Primary sources on Méndez and O’Higgins are: Deborah Caplow’s, Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and the Mexican Print and Leticia López Orozco, ed., Pablo O'Higgins: Voz de lucha y de arte (Fundación Cultural María y Pablo O'Higgins, 2005). 68 Méndez and O’Higgins were great educators whose impact on the work of other TGP artists is important to evaluate, however, this is not the focus of this project. 69 See Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XV. 70 Promoción de Arte Mexicano, Alfredo Zalce: Ninety years, Remembrance of a Lifetime Works of an Artist (1998) 32 71 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 27. 72 See Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XV. 73 This text accompanied the 35mm filmstrip, “El Taller de Gráfica Popular,” Bryant Foundation, 1947. Taller de Gráfica Popular Records, 1937-1960 (Controles Graficos, 1999) Reel 6. 74 Richards 41. 75 See Ades, Art in Latin America: The Modern Era, 1820-1980 regarding the TGP’s posters and broadsheets produced under Cárdenas on expropriation of foreignowned oil companies and attacking fascism (184-185) and on the Workshop’s involvement in the literacy campaigns of the 1940s (185), 76 See Richards 121-130. 77 See Richards, Imaging the Political: El Taller de Gráfica Popular in México, 1937-1948. 78 Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, 68. 79 Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, 68. 80 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva VIIII-X. 81 Prignitz-Poda, El Taller de Gráfica Popular en México 1937-1977, 129. 461 82 Richards substantiates my point here with her discussion of TGP’s projects with the Partido Popular (176-178) and CTAL (178-184). 83 Richards 42 cites Mariana Yampolsky, interviewed by author, 21 June 1999, Mexico City. 84 See Ades and McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960, as well as Caplow 11-30 and 31-64 on the contact, inter-mixing and exchange that took place between Mexican artists during the 1920s and 1930s. Revealing are the membership rosters for the groups El Estridentismo, ¡30 30!, and LEAR, which are partially included in Ades and McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960, as well as in Caplow 11-30 and 31-64. 85 International figures that were active in the TGP between the time of the organization’s founding and the production of Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana in 1947 include: from the United States Elizabeth Catlett, Eleanor Coen, Marshall Goodman, Jules Heller, Robert Mallary, Pablo O’Higgins, Charles White, and Mariana Yampolsky; from Belarus, Max Kahn; from Bolivia, Roberto Berdecio; from Cordoba, Rodríguez Luna; from Ecuador, Galo Galecio; from Germany, Georg and Henni Stibi, who were leading members of the German Communist Party; from Guatemala, Antonio Franco and Carlos Mérida; from France, Jean Charlot; from Italy, Albe Steiner; from Switzerland, Hannes Meyer, who served as the Director of the Bauhaus, and his wife Léna Bergner. See Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva and Prignitz-Poda, El Taller de Gráfica Popular en México, 1937-1933. 86 I am indebted to Kirsten Buick for helping me make this connection between the TGP workshop and cafe culture. 87 In 1960, the TGP produced 450 Años de Lucha: Homenaje al Pueblo Mexicano, a portfolio of 146 Prints that incorporates many images from Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. This later series of prints takes a different approach to Mexican history and the Mexican Revolution, resulting in the modification and sometimes the elimination of figures and episodes represented in the 1947 portfolio. These alterations in the TGP’s version of Mexican history reflect the group’s new membership and the change in the Mexican government’s administration, which results in the rewriting of history. A future project is an extensive comparison of these two portfolios. 88 One of Meyer’s first objectives related to his role within the TGP was to photograph the entire archive of the group, which in turn he distributed (a select number of) free of charge to important news journals and magazines of art in the United States and Europe. Prignitz-Poda 109. Portfolios and publications produced under Meyer include: one of Jean Charlot’s work (1947), Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (1947), Leopoldo Méndez’ Rio Escondido (1948), Everardo Ramírez’s Vida en mi barriada (1948), an album of prints marking Central Obrera Lainoamericana or CTAL’s tenth 462 anniversary (1948), and Taller de Gráfica Popular: Doce Años de Obra Artística Colectiva (1949). 89 Prignitz-Poda 113. 90 Prignit Prignitz-Poda 113. 91 Prignitz-Poda makes this assessment of Meyer’s idealist framing of the TGP as a unified and trouble free organization in their significant publication Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva. Prignitz-Poda 130. 92 The TGP described its process to understand the Mexican Revolution as an educational exercise, however, they were vague in revealing their sources in terms of which books or scholars they engaged in their efforts to learn about and understand the war. This is problematic for scholars like myself because it provides little to no direction in terms of the concrete sources that aided and directed the group in the production of the portfolio, which are key to understanding the perspectives the TGP built upon and reacted to in its prints. 93 Books written by Morales Jiménez include: Historia de la Revolucion Mexicana, published in 1951 and republished by Instituto Federal de Capacitación del Magisterio, Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1963; Hombres de la Revolucion Mexicana: 50 Semblanzas biográficas (Bibl. del Insto Nac., 1960); Mil novecientos diez: Biografía de un año decisive (Gráficos de la Nación, 1963); and Maestros de la Revolución Mexicana (INEHRM, Instituto Nacional de Estudios Históricos de la Revolución Mexicana, 1986). 94 John Mason Heart, Review Essay of Thomas Benjamin, La Revolución: Mexico's Great Revolution as Memory, Myth, and History (University of Texas Press, 2000) in The American Historical Review 107:2 http://www.historycooperative.org/journals/ahr/107.2/br_94.html Viewed January 21, 2012. 95 In reference to the 1960s 450 Años de Lucha portfolio, Jesús Alvarez Amaya, now director of the TGP workshop, informed that the text was written first and the images were to follow and or refer to the text, which could indicate a model for Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. (Personal Communications, January 2007) 96 See Appendix Two for a list of the individual prints each arist produced. 97 Prignitz-Poda 109. 98 See Prignitz-Poda 279 and Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 39. It is interesting to note that the three prints Aguirre creates on the era of the Mexican Revolution do not evoke any of the hardship or violence of war and 463 instead are focused on individuals: in print thirty-six, Venustiano Carranza arenga a lo jefes Constitucionalistas. 26 de Marzo de 1913 (Venustiano Carranza motivates the leaders of the Constitutionalists. March 26, 1913) the focus is Carranza as the leader of the Constitutionalist army; in Print thirty-eight, Las tropas constitucionalistas hacen el primer reparto de tierra en Matamoros 6 de Agosto de 1913 (Constitutionalist troops make the first distribution of land in Matamoros August 6, 1913) the subject is Lucio Blanco’s redistributionof land; and in print forty, El Senado Belisario Domínguez protesta contra el cuartelazo 1913 (Senator Belisario Domínguez protests the uprsing of 1913), Senator Belisario Domínguez who was assassinated when he protested the Huerta coup d’etat is remembered. 99 Artists that contributed to the portfolio who were either born after the war of living out of the country include: Alberto Beltrán (born 1923) Antonio Franco (born 1920) Arturo García Bustos (born 1927) Julio Heller (born 1919 in the United States) Francisco Mora (born 1922) Pablo O’Higgins (born 1904 in the United States) Mariana Yampolsky (born 1925 in the United States) See Prignitz-Poda 279-305 and Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva, 39-124. 100 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 47. 101 Leopoldo Méndez, “The Bellas Artes Caper, Political Presence, and Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” in Codex Méndez, Prints by Leopoldo Méndez (1902-1969, 38. 102 From this point, the above is an English translation of the portfolio’s “Prologue” that is provided in Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 152. Although some of the phrasing and word choices are awkward, I think it important to include the artists’ own words whenever possible. What follows was not translated nor included in this publication, and it is my own translation. 103 Prignitz-Poda 90-91. 104 Prignitz-Poda 425. 105 James M. Wechsler, “Framing the Revolution,”MEXICO and Modern Printmaking: A Revolution in the Graphic Arts, 1920 to 1950, 224-231. Wechsler directly references Francisco Dosamantes’s poster for the November exhibition (225). In a footnote regarding the above Wechsler states, “In 1945-46 Dosamantes was director of 464 the Taller de Pintura “Joaquin Clausell” in Campeche, Yucatán, where the exhibition noted on the poster opened on November 20, 1945 . . ..” (285). Although Dosamantes was a member of the TGP from its inception in 1937 and through at least the year 1949, no prints from Dosamantes are included in the final version of the TGP’s portfolio on the Mexican Revolution, which may have been edited out and did not make the final cut. For the dates of Dosamantes participation in the TGP see Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 72. 106 Prignitz-Poda does mention a print by Fernando Castro Pacheco of Carrillo Puerto that was included in the April 1945 exhibition (425). This may be print fifty-nine in the final version of the portfolio titled Carrillo Puerto, Símbolo de la Revolución del Sureste (Carrillo Puerto Symbol of the Southeast Revolution). 107 The distinction between the words acceptance and inclusion may indicate that those included existed prior to the creation of the portfolio. On one occasion it is noted that a decision was made to use an image produced earlier by Castro Pacheco for print forty-five, La intervención Yanqui 21 de Abril de 1914 (The Yankee Intervention of April 21, 1914) instead of another.Taller de Gráfica Popular Records, Reel 6, Box 1, Folder 51. 108 Helga Prignitz-Poda asserts that the work of the portfolio began in July of 1945 as a result of the TGP’s participation in a congress on the themes of the Mexican Revolution organized by the DDF and that production extended through November 1947. PrignitzPoda 352. 109 The prints of the portfolio focused on Fascism and Nazism are: sixty-eight, sixtynine, seventy-three, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, and eighty-one. See Appendix 1 110 Prints that address political and economic imperialism related focus primarily on issues related to the United States and include: one, two, eleven, thirteen, fourteen, eighteen, nineteen, forty-one, seventy-nine, and eighty-four. See Appenix 1. 111 See Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and Natinal Identity 13. 112 See Richards 121-130. 113 Ades and McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 (2009), 36. 114 Unfortunately, McClean does not provide any reference to source material for the statements she makes and Prignitz-Poda does not talk about the TGP nor Méndez seeking or being denied financial sponsorship for the portfolio. 115 Womack, Zapata and the Mexican Revolution (Vintage Books, 1970) 398. 465 116 Here I build on on Roland Barthes notion of the society of the text and an active exchange between readers and writers. Roland Barthes, “The Pleasure of the Text,” Trans. Richard Miller, (Hill and Wang, 1975) 14 and 16. 117 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva V. Here the artists refer to their publication, El Taller de Gráfica Popular doce años de obra artística colectiva, however, this statement makes clear the intended audience for the book that encompasses all of the Workshop’s projects and efforts from its initial founding in 1937, which included the 1947 portfolio. Thus, the statement describes the album, as it describes all of the work of the TGP, and servest to identify a majority of the intended audience for the portfolio. 118 Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 68. 119 Ades (181-182) indirectly makes reference to the conscious efforts by the TGP to associate itself with Mexican traditions and Posada in their choice of graphic techniques. 120 Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 2002:68. 121 I recognize the industrial revolution as a period of development that ranged between mid-eighteenth century to mid-ninteenth century. One artist that come to mind in terms of responding to the industrial revolution and serving as a precedent for the social and political slant of the TGP’s work is Honore Daumier, in particular, his “The third-class wagon,” from 1864. 122 See Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 37- 130. 123 Here, I believe the TGP was referring to popular art, such as folk art. 124 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XI 125 Antony Griffiths, Prints and Printmaking: An introduction to the history and techniques (1996) 22. 126 See Vanessa R. Schwartz, “Representing Reality and the O-rama Craze” Spectacular Realities: Early Mass Culture in Fin-de-Siècle Paris (University of California Prss, 1998) 149-176. 127 Schwartz 155. 128 Schwartz 155. 466 129 On focalization see Mieke Bal, Narratology: An Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (University of Toronto Press, 2007) 141-161. 130 Bal 82. 131 See Bal 90 and 92. 132 In Spanish the quote reads, Creo que debemos alejarnos todo lo posible de representar a los hombres (y las cosas) fuera de su realidad, como frecuentemente lo estamos haciendo, pues esto le da a nuestra producción cierto tinta de arte puramente oficial y caemos en aquello de las descripciones hechas hasta hoy no pintan jamás a las personas en su aspecto real, sino únicamente en su aspecto oficial, con coturnos a los pies y una aureola alrededor de la cabeza. Prignitz-Poda 90-91. 133 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XI. 134 See Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 67 and Ades and McClean, Revolution on Paper: Mexican Prints 1910-1960 32 for their address of El libro negro. 135 See Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva 93. Wechsler writes: “A group of communist exiles associated with the Free Germany Movement, including the architect and former Bauhaus director Hannes Meyer and the writers Egon Erwin Kisch, Ludwig Renn, and Anna Seghers, established the anti-Nazi publishing house El Libro Libre” (2006, 72). 136 See Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 67. 137 The eighteen lithographic posters in support of anti-Nazi Pro-Cultura Alemana (League of Pro-German Culture) produced in 1938 are another example of the TGP’s anti-fascist position. 138 Although often ignored, it is important to note that Miguel Casasola worked with his brother Agustín and was involved in most activities and business ventures. Throughout his article Ruvalcaba notes Miguel’s close working relationship with Agustín Víctor. 139 Agustín Victor Casasola worked as a press photographer for several newspapers during the reign of Porfirio Díaz (1876-1910). John Mraz identifies his primary 467 employers as El Universal and El Imparcial. Mraz’s study of this news journals and their editor Rafael Reyes Espíndola makes clear that they were not only funded by, but served to explain and defend the Porfirian government’s acts, projects, and decisions. See John Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Idenity 42-49. Porfirio Díaz’ administration strictly censored the press and photojournalists and dictated appropriate material, thus the Casasolas’ success during this period of time was due to the fact that their images were in line with the regime. Miguel Casasola was contracted by the Porfirian regime to document the process of bringing drinking water into Mexico City and the draining of the Vallley of Mexico to prevent flooding. See Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Idenity 50. The Casasolas’ alignment with the Porfiran regime is further established in Hechos y Hombres de Mexico: Biografia Ilustrada del General Porfirio Díaz (1994), when Gustavo Casasola writes, Porfirio Díaz . . . fue un admirable guerrillero; un military que infundía respect y daba ejemplo a sus tropas; poseía la cualidad de ser un buen administrador; fue leal as sus ideas liberals y a la patria; de 1867 en adelante, du vida política, military, así como functionario public, la historia lo juzgará. Contrary to what Casasola expresses, Porfirio Díaz has become the symbol of corrupt Mexico and a tyrannical government. As official photographers of the nation, the Casasolas were aligned with the federal government and army, as well as with each new regime that came into power including, Huerta’s federal army and Carranza’s Constitutional forces. As such, their access to the revolutionary forces during the Mexican Revolution was limited by their affiliation with the federal government and the volatile nature of the war. 140 Cristina Cuevas-Wolf, “Guillermo Kahlo and Casasola: Architectural Form and Urban Unrest,” History of Photography 20:3 (Autumn 1996). 141 Attention to the Mexican Revolution in the international press indicates the international communities’ concern for their own political and economic interests in Mexico, as well as reflects their curiosity of the exotic. See Olivier Debrosie, Mexican Suite: A History of Photography in Mexico (University of Texas Press, 2001) 184-185 in relation to Casasola acquiring photographs. 142 Lack of documentation regarding the identity of the actual authors may have been partially due to the tendencies of early journalistic practices, when the identity of the photographer was not considered vital information. Gutiérrez Ruvalcaba worked very closely with the Casasola Archive during the process of cataloguing for digitization and was able to identify images from at least 480 photographers. He asserts that A.V. Casasola erased photographers’ names from the emulsion of many thousands of negatives. See Ruvalcaba, 191. 468 143 I conducted research at the Casasola Archive in Pachuca, Hidalgo June 16-19, 2003. Although not the focus of this study, another key source that merits examination are the filmic documentaries of the Mexican Revolution consisting primarily of footage shot and collected by Salvador Toscano and Jesús H. Abitía, which are exemplified in Memories of a Mexican (1950) by Carmen Toscano de Moreno Sánchez and Epics of the Mexican Revolution (1963) by Gustavo Carrera. See Zuzans M. Pick, Constructing the Image of the Mexican Revolution: Cinema and The Archive (University of Texas Press, 2010). 144 Ruvalcaba 191. 145 The Fototeca has expanded to include twenty-two other collections that deal with archaeology, anthropology, and historical monuments, as well as collections of individual photographers’ work. Eleazar López Zamora, “The Fototeca: National Institute of Anthropology and History,” History of Photography 20:3 (Autumn 1996) 248. 146 See Enrique Krauze, 1979. ZAPATA iconografia (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1982); as well as his photographic illustrated series Biography of Power, see Enrique Krauze, Biografía del poder 1: Don Porfirio Díaz, místico de la autoridad (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1987); Enrique Krauze, Biografía del poder 2: Francisco I. Madero, místico de la libertad (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1987); Enrique Krauze, Biografía del poder 3: Emiliano Zapata, el amor a la tierra (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1987). Enrique Krauze, Biografía del poder 4: Venustiano Carranza, Puente entre siglos (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1987); and Enrique Krauze, Biografía del poder 5: Álvaro Obregón (Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1987). 147 See “Archivo Casasola,” Mexico: The Revolution and Beyond: Photographs by Agustín Víctor Casasola 1900-1940. Pablo Ortiz Monasterio, ed. (Aperture Foundation, 2003). 148 Rochfort 26. 149 Jules Heller, Codex Méndez: Prints by Leopoldo Méndez (1902-1969) (Arizona State University, 1999) 32. 150 See Richard Dyer, “The role of stereotypes,” The Matter of Images: Essays on Representations (Routeledge, 2002) 16. 151 Dyer (14) makes a point about stereotypes demarcating figures or groups that are considered social outcasts, which in the TGP’s illustratons of the lower classes rings true. However, I recognize most of the figures from the portfolio, who are from all levels of society, as stereotypical, which undermines Dyer’s point in this instance. 469 152 Dyer 12. See also James Smalls, “Visualizing Race: A Lifelong Process and Training” Art Journal 57:3 (Autumn, 1998) 2 whose address of the markers of difference and the complications of their significations serves to inform this point. 153 Elizabeth Johns, “Introduction,” American Genre Painting: The Politics of Everyday Life (Yale University Press, 1993) 2. 154 Johns xii. 155 A dilemma arose when the Mexican government prohibited the pasting of posters on the street, which directly affected the TGP’s access to the masses and circulation of their work. See Armin Haab, Mexican Graphic Art (George Wittenban, Inc., 1957) 28. 156 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XV. Twenty percent commission was given to each person that personally sold a portfolio. Additionally, it appears as if the portfolios were sold in non-sequential order and that individual prints from the portfolio were sold individually. For sales records, see Taller de Gráfica Popular Records, Reel 6, Box 1, Folder 51. 157 Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva XIII. 158 I am always looking for the reproduction of images from the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana. Mexican educational textbooks is one of many sites I imagine these images could be found, particularly due to the fact that many of the TGP artists worked under the Ministry of Education and participated in the governments literacy campaigns, but I have yet to investigate this in any depth. 159 Prignitz-Poda 133 and 444. See also Hannes Meyer and Johannes Itten, “Mexikanische Druckgraphik,” Die Werkstatt Fur graphische Volkskunst in Mexico, Kunstgewerbemuseum de la ciudad de Zurcih, 1951. 160 The prints that represent Díaz visually include: five, fourteen, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-three, and twenty-six. See Appendix 1. 161 For an indepth discussion of Foreign investment and its affect during and on the Porfiriato see Rodney Anderson, “Mexican Workers and Industrial Progress,” Outcasts in Their Own Land: Mexican Industrial Workers, 1906-1911. (Northern Illinois University Press, 1976) 17-97. This study of the industrialization of Mexico during the Porfiriato serves as a primary source on the topic. The quote was taken from Anderson 19-20. 162 See Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2011) 340 for discussion of the 1883 land law. 163 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2011) 340-341. 470 164 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2011) 340. 165 The decision to send the Yaqui to the Yucatan was based partly on the fact that the Yaqui and the Maya of the Yucatan could not easily communicate due to their distinct dialects, which exemplifies the distinctions between the various Indian groups of Mexico. 166 For a an extended discussion of the history of the Yaqui Indians see Cynthia Radding, “Peasant Resistance on the Yaqui Delta: An Historical Inquiry into the Meaning of Ethnicity” Journal of the Southwest 31: 3 (Autumn, 1989) 330-361 and Evelyn HuDehart, Yaqui Resistance and Survival: The Struggle for Land and Autonomy, 1821-1910. The excerpts included can be found in Radding, 339-341. Evidently Willian Randolph Hearst owned tracts of land in Mexico and enslaved Yaqui Indians on his plantations that had been deported from Sonora, see Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Idenity, 37. Interestingly these policies that maintained the dictatorship also served to undermine the Porfirian regime as the Sonoran entrepreneurs that were hurt by the loss of their labor force joined the opposition to Díaz. See Evelyn Hu-DeHart 154. 167 The following is a detailed description of the various and numerous scenes within the top left section of print one. Parallel to the tree is a scene that depicts four silhouetted figures and a burning structure. The figure closest to the tree wears a sombrero and stands with his legs wide apart, frozen as he raises a weapon against another figure who is bound. The two others in the scene seem to lean into each other as they witness the assault before them. Below two structures engulfed by flames draw the viewer through the chaos. Two people with their back toward the left edge of the image walk, one behind the other, toward a structure ablaze. The individual closest to the structure wears a sombrero and the figure behind him carries some type of agricultural tool, like a hoe or axe. Below is another figure walking away from the same burning building. Directly across walks another figure who appears to be walking towards yet another burning building. Another episode contains three figures walking in a single file toward the center of the image. The individual at the back of the group on line wears a sombrero and carries rifle over his shoulder. In front of him, a female figure in a skirt carries a waving flag that extends atop the group. The third figure seems to carry a bulk weight on his back. Ahead of the figures in line formation is figure who is distinguished by distance, his active position, and the fact that he faces in the opposite direction. Wearing a hat and posed in a manner suggestive of running, he holds a gun out horizontally in front of him, which appears to be smoking. He runs toward the figures in line formation or possibly toward the burning structure nearest him. A row of figures mounted on horseback face the center of the print as their guns extend horizontally suggesting a firing squad. From this line of fire they are able to observe and direct the actions before them. Across from and facing the mounted group, another row of armed figures on foot project their shotguns horizontally out in front of them. The individual at the bottom end of this row frames the group. He extends an arm to shade his eyes as he peers out at the procession of villagers that moves out toward the 471 viewer. Due to their linear organization and position on either side of the village, these two rows of figures mark the entry and exit point of the village, which suggests their role in directing the expulsion of the villagers from their home. In between the two rows of armed figures is a woman in a skirt who carries a gun strapped over her shoulder. She moves toward another figure who lays strewn upon a heap of straw or a larger boulder. On the other side of the straw or boulder is a group indistinguishable in terms of numbers, but lead by one distinct individual who wears a sombrero and holds a raised scythe, who faces and moves toward the center of the print. 168 The identity of the Yaqui as rural laborers stems from their historic emergence as community-based rural cultivators, as well as the forced labor imposed upon them. Hu-DeHart xii. 169 Jolene Rickard, “Rebecca Belmore: Performing Power” http://www.rebeccabelmore.com/assets/Performing_Power.pdf, September 8, 2011. 170 This technique mimics the fuzzy or diffuse character of some of the photographs that document the deportation of the Yaqui Indians from Sonora to the Yucatan. In the few photographs that I have seen the Yaqui figures of the photographs are primarily women and children, which raises a question about the extent of suppression against the Yaqui rebellion. 171 This is clearly documented in numerous photographs. However, resources dealing with campesino attire is scarce and I have been unable to explore the topic in depth. 172 John W. Kitchens, The Rurales of the Porfirian Age,” The Age of Porfirio Díaz, Selected Readings Carlos B. Gil, ed. (University of New Mexico Press, 1977) 76. The service uniform, which was the daily uniform, was less elaborate. The rural policeman in the print wears a combination of both formal and service uniform, as his attire is decorative and, yet, not lavish. The reason TGP artists would represent the rural police in dress uniform is likely twofold: first, they often worked from photographs for visual references and common photographs of the Los Rurales would likely depict them in their dress attire at formal events and civic ceremonies and secondly, the more elaborate uniform serves a more distinct marker of this group. The dress uniform and the service uniform of the rural police force are similar in style and function to the charro’s or Mexican horseman’s finest costume and work attire and has been described as such. See Tania Carreño King, El Charro: estereotipo nacional a través del cine, 1920-1940 (Universidad Nacional Autonoma de México, 1995.) 41. Mestizos, or individuals that were of mixed heritage, of the sixteenth century become the ranchers of Mexico, and are considered the first charros. Some became wealthy and adopted an opulent and embellished style of dress, which is considered the origin for what has become the standard charro gala costume. See Jose Alvarez del Villar, Men and Horses of Mexico: History and Practice of Charrería (Ediciones Lara, 1979) 31-32. 472 173 Christina Palomar Verea, “Charreria in Mexican Imagery,” Artes de Mexico: Chattería (2000) 84. Although Palomar Verea’s description of the rural police force is extreme in its positive nature, it gives a sense of the role of the rurales. Another source on the history of Los Rurales is Paul Vanderwood, “Genesis of the Rurales: Mexico’s Early Struggle for Public Security,” The Age of Porfirio Díaz, Selected Readings Carlos B. Gil, ed. (University of New Mexico Press, 1977) 20-26. 174 For an address of the roles and duties of Los Rurales see Vanderwood 1323-1324 and Kitchens 71-77. 175 As the first nineteen prints of the portfolio focus on the Porfiriato, the rural policemen are repeatedly addressed throughout. In print 5, we see the illustration of the atrocities committed by the rural policeman, which I will address in detail later. In print 6 too there is a direct textual and visual reference to the rural police force identified as Las Acordadas, who: “not only dragged people from their home and dispossessed them of their land, but were the instruments of all barbaric Porfirian actions.” (Index, Text, Print 6) 176 June 5, 1911 Francisco M. Ramírez resigned from his post as “Inspector de los rurales” after 24 years in the positino. During Huerta’s regime los rurales reorganized with Carlos Rincón Gallardo as the new Inspector. One week after Huerta’s resignation, the Mexican Rural Police Force again dissolved after Carlos Rincón Gallardo resigned July 24, 1911. 177 See Kitchens 75-76 for a discussion of the link between the Rurales and development of Porfirian Mexico. 178 For the history of horses in the Americas, see Alvarez del Villar 11-27. 179 Carreño King, El Charro: estereotipo nacional a través del cine, 1920-1940, Unpublished Thesis, Universidad Nacional Autonoma de México, 1995, 18. 180 See Alvarez del Villar 8; Carreño King 15; and David W. Dent, “Charros,” Encyclopedia of Modern Mexico (The Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2002) 45. 181 Kitchens 76. 182 Kitchens writes that the requirements for becoming a rural during the Porfiriato were that the individual “be a “Mexican citizen, have his good conduct attested to by two respectable persons, be able to read and write, be between 20 to 50 years of age, be skillful in the managing and care of horses, . . . and present surety to cover the cost of the uniform and equipment” (72). However, Paul J. Vanderwood identifies a more rugged image of the recruits stating: “all volunteers, were mainly ordinary artisans and 473 campesinos . . . from central Mexico, loosened from traditional life by the modern development processes encouraged by the regime . . . Nonetheless, a sixth of the police force was composed of petty merchants, and another sixth possessed a trade. Most all recruits were illiterate, and two-thirds were bachelors.” Vanderwood also addresses the character of the rurales and explains that desertion was common, as was pilfering, abuse of authority, and debauchery. Additionally, Vanderwood asserts that few rurales were “decent marksmen and fewer still skillful horseman.” Paul J. Vanderwood, “Rurales” Encyclopedia of Mexico, History, Society, & Culture Volume II, M-Z, Michael S. Werner, ed. (Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997)1323-1324. 183 I would like to thank Gustavo LaRache, Ph.D. Student in the Department of Art and Art History at the University of New Mexico for his observation that both the rural policeman and Indian male both carry similar mats. 184 I would like to acknowledge that this image in particular was examined in Dr. Kirsten Buick’s seminar class in the Spring of 2011, which helped to draw out specific references to visual Catholic traditions. In particular, I credit Robyn McClendon for identifying elements specific to the “Adam and Eve” narrative and Professor Kirsten Buick for making a connection to “The Flight from Egypt” illustrations. 185 Diane Apostolos-Cappadona, Dictionary of Christian Art (The Continuum Publishing Company, 1994) 252. 186 Apostolos-Cappadona 131. 187 For discussion of how the Indian was utilized as a symbol in Mexico see Rebecca Earle, “Creole Patriotism and the Myth of the Loyal Indian,” Past & Present 172 (2001) 125-45 and Stacie G. Widdiefield, The Embodiment of the National in Late Nineteenth Century Mexican Painting (The University of Arizona Press, 1996). 188 See Apostolos-Cappadona 133-134 for a discussion of the story and the imagery surrounding the Flight of Egypt. 189 Apostolos-Cappadona 271. The Passion includes Entry into Jerusalem, Cleansing of the Temple (or Expulsion from the Temple), Washing the Feed of the Apostles, Last Supper, Agony in the Garde, Betrayal by Judas, Trial of Jesus Christ Before the High Priests Annas and Caiphas, Trial of Jesus Christ Before Pontius Pilate, Flagellation, Crowning with Thorns, Mocking of Jesus Christ, Road to Calvary, Crucifixion of Jesus Christ, Road to Calvary, Crucifixion of Jesus Christ, Denial of Peter, Deposition (Descent from the Cross), Entombment of Jesus Christ, and Guarded Tomb. 190 There are a total of three images in the portfolio that include figures hung from their neck or lynched, prints one, five, and twenty-five. The lynched figures in print one invoke a reservoir of historical and codified issues and meanings. I associate lynched 474 figures as a visual motif that connect with other major graphic works that address the subject of war including Jacques Callot’s 1633 printed series, The Great Miseries of the War and Francisco Goya’s, The Disasters of War series published between 1810 and 1820. Callot’s is one of the first artists to depict the brutality of war and his work on the topic serves as an important precedent for many artists that come after him, which is evident in Goya’s work, as well as in the TGP’s prints. It would be fruitful to further pursue the topic of lynchings and war in art in order to better comprehend the meaning of such acts and images. Lynched figures in Mexican art have precedent in photography and in the work of Orozco and Rivera too. There is a large number of photoraphs that document lynched figures during the period of the Mexican Revolution. Orozco’s, “El Ahorcado” from his series of drawings and lithographs on the Mexican Revolution based on sketches made between 1913 and 1917 and his later “Negroes colgados” (or Hanged Negroes) from 1933-1934 produced while in New York. Rivera’s 1924 fresco panel, “Bad Government,” which is part of the mural cycle at the University of Chapingo and in the final panel, “The conversion of the Indian” (1929-1930) of his cycle The History of Cuernavaca and Morelos at Cortez’ Palace in Cuernavaca. Additionally, Rivera’s panel, “The World Today and Tomorrow” from the mural cycle at the National Palace, “The History of Mexico” (1929-1935) also includes two lynched laborers, one urban and the other rural. Additionally, the TGP could very well be making a reference to lynchings of individuals of African descent and Mexicans in the United States and the anti-lynching campaign that began in the nineteenth century. Francisco Mora was married to Elizabeth Catlett, an African American artist whose own work addresses civil rights issues and violence against blacks in the U.S., would have been an obvious source for information on the issues surrounding lynching in the U.S. Carey McWilliams in North from Mexico: the Spanish Speaking People of the United States, explains that “more Mexicans were lynched in the Southwest between 1865 and 1920 than blacks in other parts of the South.” Carey McWilliams, 1948, North from Mexico: the Spanish Speaking People of the United States (1990). Thus in print one, Mora could be making an association between the treatment of the rural masses by the Porfirian regime in Mexico and the treatment of Mexicans by Americans in the United States. 191 Alexander Saxton, The Rise and Fall of the White Republic: Class Politics and Mass Culture in Nineteenth-Century America (Verso, 1990) 14. 192 Saxton 14. 193 The theme of U.S. intervention and imperialistic policy continues throughout the portfolio, in particular see prints eleven, thirty-three, forty-five, forty-six, and seventynine. 194 For a general discussion of the development and issues surrounding haciendas between 1810 and 1910 see John Tutino, “Rural Economy and Society: 1821-1910” in 475 Michael S. Werner, ed, Encyclopedia of Mexico, Volume II, M-Z, (Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997) 1302-1309 and for an address of haciendas and related land reform after the Mexican Revolution see Adolfo Gilly, “Rural Economy and Society: 19201940” in Michael S. Werner, ed, Encyclopedia of Mexico, Volume II, M-Z, (Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997)1309-1313. 195 Gilly 1309. 196 Gilly 1311. 197 For a brief summary of late nineteenth century agrarian based industries, the hacienda system, and the impact on and oppression suffered by the local people as a result refer to Womack 43-52 or Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 9-13. For an address of labor conditions on haciendas see Friedrich Katz, “Labor Conditions on Haciendas in Porfirian Mexico: Some Trends and Tendencies,” The Hispanic American Historical Review 54:1 (Feb. 1974) 1-47. 198 See John Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Idenity, 53. 199 Although I am unable at this time to identify all the individual figures of the group, the figure behind and to the left of the cloaked man may be General Juan J. Navarro. For photographic images of the Porfirian regime see Gustavo Casasla, Hechos y Hombres de Mexico: Biografia Ilustrada del General Porfirio Díaz. Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1994. 200 For definitions and explanations of altars, altarpieces, triptychs, and predallas see Apostolos-Cappadona 22, 39, and 327. 201 I have published on print seven from the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana previously, see Theresa Avila, “Laborious Arts: El Taller de Gráfica Popular & the Meaning of Labor in Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana,” Hemisphere: Visual Cultures of the Americas 1 (Spring 2008) 62-82. 202 Rodney Anderson 54. For a detailed address of general working conditions, compensation, and wages within industrial companies during the Porfiriato see Anderson 50-68. 203 Rodney Anderson 99. 204 “Their demands: five pesos of wages for eight hours of work, the firing of a foreman, the right to promotion for Mexican according to their skills, and the hiring of at least 75 percent of Mexican workers by the company.” Camín and Meyer, In the Shadow 476 of the Mexican Revolution: Contemporary Mexican History, 1910-1989 (University of Texas Press, 1993) 7. 205 I have published on print eleven from the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana previously, see Avila, “Laborious Arts: El Taller de Gráfica Popular & the Meaning of Labor in Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” 62-82. 206 For a detail address of events and issues surrounding the Cananea Strike see Anderson, 110-112; C. L. Sonnichsen, “Colonel William C. Greene and the Strike at Cananea, Sonora, 1906” Arizona and the West 13:4 (Winter, 1971) 343-368; and Manuel González Ramírez, La huelga de Cananea: Fuentes para la hisotria de la Revolución Mexicana, Vol. 3 (Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1956). 207 The print’s text also identifies Manuel M. Diéguez and Esteban B. Calderon as leaders of the strike. Anderson addressed the problematic issue with identifying the leadership of the strike and explains actually asserts that although the strike might have been expected, it was probably not planned (114-117). Diéguez and Calderon were targeted as leaders of the strike due to their affiliation with the Partido Liberal Mexicano (PLM), which then implicated the PLM in organizing the strike. 208 Anderson explains, “[M]ost middle-and upper-class Mexicans were unaware that a labor problem existed. Strikes were regarded as the work of agitators, and the workers’ grievances were tucked away in obscure weeklies, unnoticed by the authorities or the general public. The Cananea strike in particular made headlines and caused public outrage due to the perception that American forces, who had entered Mexico at the request of the mine owner for support, had invaded Mexico.” Anderson 96. 209 Sources for the various narratives regarding the Río Blanco Strike include James D. Cockcroft, Intellectual Precursors of the Mexican Revolution, 1900-1913 (University of Texas Press, 1968); Ezequiel Montes Rodríguez, La huelga de Río Blanco (Sindicato de Trabajadores en General de la CIDOSA, 1965); Moisés González Navarro, “La huelga de Río Blanco, Historia Mexicana 6 (1957) 510-533; Germán y Armando List Arzubide, La huelga de Río Blanco (Mexico: Dept. de Biblioteca de la Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1935). See Anderon 154-171 for his version and critique of other versions of the events surrounding the Río Blanco Strike. 210 See Rodney Anderson 137-154 for a detailed report of the events leading up to the Rio Blanco Strike. 211 Rodney Anderson 149. 212 Rodney Anderson 154-157 and Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 366. 213 RodneyAnderson 59. 477 214 Rodney Anderson 159-160. 215 See Rodney Anderson 163-167 for more details of this very complex web of players and events. 216 Rodney Anderson 166. 217 Rodney Anderson 167-169. 218 El Diario, January 7-9, 1907. 219 See Apostolos-Cappadona 278. 220 Both prints seven and seventeen address the issue of prison during the Porfiriato, and both treat the issue as specific to the imprisonment of men. It is common knowledge that women were treated equally as men when it came to suppression of and reaction to criticism and attacks against the Porfirian regime. Juana Belén Gutiérrez de Mendoza born in 1875 in Durango was a strong critic of Díaz and produced her own anti-Díaz newspaper, Vesper (1901-1910). Anna Macías, “Women and the Mexican Revolution, 1910-1920,” Against All Odds: The Feminist Movement in Mexico to 1940 (Greenwood Press, 1982) 26-29. For her efforts she was thrown in jail several times and served time in the women’s section of the Belén prison in Mexico City. Profesora Elisa Acuña y Rosetti aided Gutierrez in publishing Vesper and was also imprisoned at Belén. (Macías, 68.) 221 This timeline is further established by the prints that follow, number twenty depicts Francisco Madero writing the Plan of San Luis Potosí and print twenty-one a fictionalized confrontation between Madero and Díaz, both referencing Madero’s initiation of the Mexican Revolution. For a detailed account of the War of Independence see Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 270-283. 222 Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, “1910 Mexico City: Space and Nation in the City of the Centenario,” Journal of Latin American Studies 28:1 (Feb 1996)76-77. 223 For a discussion of the global trend to celebrate centenaries of important political and cultural events, in particular as they serve to construct collective memory and political culture see Michel J. Gonzales, “Imagining Mexico in 1910: Visions of the Patria in the Centennial Celebration in Mexico City,” Journal of Latin American Studies 39:3 (August 2007) 496. 224 The audience for the Centennial, and in particular the presence and participation of foreign groups, is addressed in more depth in Michael J. Gonzales’ article, who notes 478 that some of the largest financial donors to Centennial events were foreign owned companies. See Michael Gonzales 504-511. 225 The fallen figure evokes Pablo Picasso’s Guernica (1937) and Alvarez Bravo’s Slain Striker aka Striking Worker Murdered (1934). The fallen figures location, illustration of form, and open hands link it to Guernica. The monumentality in the figure’s form is reminiscent of Picasso’s classical style. The image of the fallen figure is repeated throughout the portfolio and is also seen in print 14, 25, 33, 34, 44, 51, and 57. I also connect the fallen figures in the portfolio to David Siquieros’ Torment of Cuauhtemoc (1950), which speaks to his modeling and connecting his image to that of Picasso, Bravo, and the TGP. I also wonder if there is not also a reference to the sleeping Indian in this image as discussed by Ana María Alonso, “The metaphor of the “sleeping Indian” is a common one in Vasconcelos’s writings as well as those by other mestizophiliacs, implying that indigenous people lack historical agency and the ability to create a new national culture; only the “stronger” mestizo can wake them up.” Ana María Alonso, “Conforming Disconformity: “Mestizaje,” Hybridity, and the Aesthetics of Mexican Nationalism’ CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY 19:4 (2004) 465. 226 Mauricio Tenorio Trillo discusses at great length the renovation around the Independence centenary events in Mexico City that resulted in the construction of an idealize city that developed apart from the rest of the city. Tenorio Trillo 86. 227 Here I am referring to prints five and fourteen of the portfolio. 228 Knight, “Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo” 73. 229 Knight, “Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo” 74. 230 Alan Knight cites his source for this as Enrique Krauze, Porfio Díaz, 8 and Alan Knight, The Mexican Revolution, Vol.I (Cambridge University Press, 1986) 3-4. The source is described as an American who lived in Mexico for twenty-four years and whose views would have tallied with those of elite Mexicans. Knight 73. 231 For a discussion of the source of this imagery see Stephanie Leitsch, “Burgkmair’s Peoples of Africa and India (1508)” Art Bulletin XCI:2 (2009) 134-159. 232 Rebecca Earle, “Padres de la Patria” and the Ancestral Past: Commemoration of Independence in Nineteenth Century Spanish America” Journal of Latin American Studies 34:4 (November 2002) 783-784. 233 Pablo Picasso’s Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907) is a primary source for the initial development of this motif in Western art. 479 234 Meyer, Sherman, Deeds (2011) 340. 235 Meyer, Sherman, Deeds (2011) 340. 236 Here I refer to prints five and fourteen of the portfolio. 237 Alonso, “Conforming Disconformity: “Mestizaje,” Hybridity, and the Aesthetics of Mexican Nationalism” 469. 238 The organizers’ portrayal and treatment of indigenous people also revealed the ambivalence of Liberal elites towards this group. While the Centennial celebrated the nation’s pre-Columbian cultures with museum exhibitions, international conferences, and special tours of Teotihuacan,elites considered contemporary natives a drag on development and embarrassment. During the Centennial, they attempted to keep natives from public view except as historical props in the Desfile Histórico and as living manikins in museum displays. The Centennials promotion of acculturation through public education and mestizaje can also be read as criticism of indigenous culture. For their part, some Indians demonstrated mistrust of the federal government by refusing to participate in the Desfile Histórico. Michael Gonzales 498-99. 239 In 1924 the Mexican Union of Technical Workers, Painters and Sculptors (SOTPE) published their manifesto. In this document artists made a commitment to creating art, “that makes people aware of their history and civil rights.” Also within the manifesto the native Indian of Mexico was identified as the, “symbol of the true Mexican.” See Alicia Azuela, Alicia, “Graphics of the Mexican Left, 1924-1938,” Art and Journals on the Political Front, 1910-1940 (The University Press of Florida, 1997) 251. The portfolio is in line with these ideals and print forty-eight in particular seems to present the ideal representation of the Indian as symbol of Mexicans. 240 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (Verso, 1996) 4. 241 Jill Lepore, “What’s in a name?” The Name of War: King Pilip’s War and the Origins of American Identity, First Vintage Books Edition, 1999, x. 242 The diversity of rebels that participated in the Mexican Revolution is made clear by the list of participants provided in Meyer, Sherman, Deeds which includes: “peones, to be sure, but in addition servants, shopkeepers, mechanics, beggars, miners, federal army deserters, lawyers, U.S. soldiers of fortune including African Americas, young and old, bandits and idealists, students and teachers, engineers and day laborers, the bored and the overworked, the aggrieved and the adventuresome, all constituted the rank and file.” Meyer, Sherman, Deeds (2011) 370-371. 480 243 Orozco’s version of the Mexican Revolution brims with satire and is a window into the atrocities of war. The body of work by Orozco is an obvious precedent for the TGP’s own portfolio on the Mexican Revolution. A key source for Orozco’s drawings and prints on the Mexican Revolution is Alma Reed, José Clemente Orozco (Delphic Studios, 1932). 244 The Mexican national flag is as an invented artifact of the Mexican nation. It was adopted in 1821 as part of national building efforts following independence from Spain. The emblem of the mythological eagle and serpent that sit at the center of the flag anchors Mexican nationalism to its pre-Columbian heritage, but ironically the indigenous of the Americas have been and continue to be excluded from and considered unworthy of citizenship. Similarly, the Mexican Revolution is transformed and utilized in the process of inventing a new sense of nationalism and citizenship after the war. Albert Boime writes the following about flags as national symbols: A flag is the collective sign of a society elevated to be visible to every member. It is the emblem of a coherent group identity that in principle expresses the shared values of that group and distinguishes it from all others. . . . [I]n societies characterized by class and ethnic divisions, intense specialization of labor, and a bellicose disposition, there is a need for a symbol that pretends to be a common denominator for all. Since this fiction cannot be maintained in such societies except through intense indoctrination, flag symbolism is almost always associated with a sustained propaganda program. . . . Despite its apparent simplicity, the flag is an enormously complex symbol, a lightning rod for a whole range of emotions and attitudes based on the implication that all . . . can find themselves somewhere within its folds Albert Boime, “Waving the Red Flag and Reconstituting Old Glory,” Smithsonian Studies in American Art 4:2 (Spring, 1990) 3-25. 245 I anchor the following abbreviated historical overview of events of the Mexican Revolution to key moments and figures. I am aware that in the process of selecting and editing individuals and events to include in this version of the narrative I inevitable create my own narrative of the Mexican Revolution. However, I seek to preserve the chronological character of the events that occurred between 1910 and 1920. I realize, as I interpret history, I simultaneously interject my own subjective perspectives and interpretations, which underscores the subjective nature of reading any narrative, text, or image. 246 For a discussion of the progress made under Díaz and the impact of development on Mexican lower classes see Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds, (2011) “The Porfiriato: Order and Progress” 323-336 and “The Cost of Modernization” 337-346 in The Course of Mexican History. The lower class groups that suffered due to legislated land removal include independent campesinos and Indian tribes whose land had been passed down 481 from generation after generation, but who lacked the “proper” documentation to prove ownership. 247 For discussion on Madero see Ross, Francisco I. Madero, Apostle of Mexican Democracy. 248 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2011) 371. 249 See Carlos Fuentes, “Chapter 4,” Nuevo tiempo mexicano (Mexico City, 1994) for his categorization of the multiple revolutions that sprouted during 1910 and 1920. See also Craven, Diego Rivera as Epic Modernist 59-61 and Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 69. 250 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2011) 373. 251 For insight into Huerta’s efforts and regime see Michael C. Meyer, Huerta: A Political Portrait, University of Nebraska Press, 1972. 252 Constitutionalist generals included Álvaro Obregón who assumed leadership of Sonora, Francisco Villa who led the movement in Chuhuahua, and Pablo González. 253 Hobsbawm and Ranger 1. 254 Scholars that address the process of nation building in post-war Mexico through civic activities, education, as well as artistic and cultural productions include: Mary Kay Vaughan, Cultural politics in Revolution and Ilene V. O’Malley, The Myth of the Revolution: Hero Cults and the Institutionalization of the Mexican State, 1920-1940 (Greenwood Press, 1986). 255 My point about the fictive or inventive nature of history is best explained by Kathy Taylor who writes, “history is not only the reproduction of the happenings of the past, but also the creation of a structure and a meaningful context to organize those happenings. Human perspective and interpretation are indispensable to the notion of history.” Kathy Taylor, The New Narrative of Mexico: Sub-Versions of History in Mexican Fiction (Bucknell University Press and Associated University Presses, 1994) 74-76. Others scholar whose work informs my position on the inventive or fictive nature of history include: Martin Bloch, The Historian’s Craft, trans. Peter Putnam (Vintage Books, 1953); Henri Marrou, The Meaning of History, trans. Robert J. Olson (Helicon, 1966); Louis Mink, “Narrative Form as a Cognitive Instrument,” The Writing of History, ed. Robert H. Canary and Henry Kosicki (University of Wisconsin Press, 1978); and Oscar Handlin, Truth in History (Harvard University Press, 1979). 256 See Benjamin 14. 482 257 For an address on the multiple perspectives that inform and produce historiographies see Ranajit Guha, “On Some Aspect of the Historiography of Colonial India,” Subaltern Studies: Writing on South Asian History and Society I (Oxford University Press, 2007) 1-8. 258 Yael Zerubavel, Recovered Roots: Collective Memory and the Making of Israeli National Tradition (University of Chicago Press, 1995) 6-7. 259 Benjamin, 14-15. 260 O’Malley 15 writes, In 1925 Official Committee of Patriotic Commemorations worked to create ideological “uniformity” in public ceremonies. When the ayuntamiento was made a branch of the federal government and named the Department of the Federal District (DDF), it retained control over propaganda and reflected the policies of the federal government even more closely. Together with the PNM, the DDF organized the public ceremonies that would help promote the official version of the Mexican Revolution. 261 Hobsbawm and Ranger address how the invention of traditions, “is essentially a process of formalization and ritualization, characterized by reference to the past, if only by imposing repetition.” Hobsbawm and Ranger 4. 262 O’Malley 131. O’Malley in her examination of heroes of the Mexican Revolution identifies common traits that were applied and built those heroes up, which helped to frame my approach to Madero and Zapata. O’Malley 113. 263 In her address of the use of revolutionary rhetoric by post-war regimes, O’Malley identifies a number of potential issues that arise as a result, [I]f it were convincing, people would be more likely to expect revolutionary improvements. The failure of such improvements to materialize might then promote the dissatisfaction that the rhetoric had been intended to prevent. The rhetoric could also make the disparity between appearance and policies look larger in the public eye, and threaten to make the government a victim of its own revolutionary myth. O’Malley 117. This study expands on O’Malley’s discussion and investigates, through the TGP’s portfolio and other sources, what the regimes failures were perceived to be and the public’s dissatisfaction. 483 264 See O,Malley 114-117. O’Malley explains Obregón’s approach to the Mexican Revolution during his presidency: When Obregón became president in 1920 he publicly identified his administration with the lower classes, presenting himself as the champion of the campesinos, whose leaders he had fought so hard to defeat a few years before. Out of the array of interpretations given the revolution at that time, Obregón chose to define it as popularly based; . . . Furthermore, in order to win diplomatic recognition for his government and to begin reconstruction of the devastated country, Obrergón needed to convince foreign governments and investors that he truly controlled Mexico and that Mexico was a safe place for their capital. (O’Malley 115-116) In this context, the popular base consisted primarily of the agrarian lower classes. 265 Benjamin 73-74. Benjamin adds, “Calles himself, quite unlike Obregón, rarely criticized or disparaged any of the major revolutionary caudillos, including Villa.” 266 Benjamin 73. Benjamin also informs that during the Calles administration the national government assumed greater responsibility for commemorating la Revolución and communicates that the Mexican Congress made November 20, 1920 an official “day of national celebration”. 267 Richards 160. 268 This excerpt of Alemán’s speech is presented in the “Prologue” for the Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana Portfolio. 269 Obregón and Cárdenas are two examples of Mexican presidents who have become synonymous with the Mexican Revolution. In this instance, popular refers generally to the lower and middle class groups. 270 Here, popular is used to refer to the lower and middle class groups in general. 271 Who the members of the Revolutionary Family are varies from source to source. One example is the Monument to the Mexcian Revolution found in Mexico City, which was originally meant to be part of Porfirio Díaz’ Legislative Palace. This site has become a mausoleum which houses the remains of Francisco I. Madero, Venustiano Carranza, Francisco Villa, Plutarco Elías Cales and Lázaro Cárdenas. Also, since 1986, this monument’s basement houses the Revolutionary Museum. Zapata’s family refused to have him removed from his home state and therefore his absence in this instance does not reflect his omission from the family. 484 272 Katherine Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, Reburial and Postsocialist Change (Columbia University Press, 1999) 6. This view is attributed to the work of anthropologists Edmund Leach, David Schneider, and Meyer Fortes, as well as Benedict Anderson. 273 O’Malley 113-114. 274 Benjamin asserts it was Obregón who coined the term “Revolutionary Family.” Benjamin 69. However, he also states that Callistas “pressed for the unification of all revolutionaries.” Benjamin 74. The institution of national figures within a familial structure is explained by Verdery as the following, “Nationalism is . . . a kind of ancestor worship, a system of patrilineal kinship, in which national heroes occupy the place of clan elders in defining a nation as a noble lineage. Verdery 6. This view is attributed to the work of anthropologists Edmund Leach, David Schneider, and Meyer Fortes, as well as Benedict Anderson. 275 The continuation of the Mexican Revolution as a national program is outlined by the work of scholars including Thomas Benjamin 137-139 and Illene V. O’Mally. 276 Print nine deals with freedom of the press under Díaz and I wonder what the connection is to print eighty-two, which also deals with the press? In print nine, newspaper men working and persecuted during the Porfiriato are depicted with realistic portrait like depictions, as opposed to the newspaper men in print eighty-two who are represented as grotesque. This seemingly critical commentary of the men in print eightytwo seems to suggest that each print is working toward different ends. 277 See Meyer, Sherman, Deeds (2011) 362. 278 See the headline on the front page and the accompanying article “Zapata es el Moderno Atila” of El Imparcial 20 June 1911. 279 For example, in 1912 publications began to divert their focus from Zapata and activities in the South of Mexico towards a series of rebellions instigated against Madero by Pascual Orozco and Felíx Díaz. 280 Only three illustrated journals contined to be published during early 1914, Multicolor, La Guacamaya, and Revista de Revistas. See Charles Crosby Allen, The Mexican Political Cartoon from 1867 to 1920: A Reflection of Unrest and Revolt (New York University, 1976) 357: Despite provisional President Huerta’s early affirmation of the principle of freedom of the press, the magazines with political cartoons that continued to publish in the early days of March 1913 constituted in the main a restricted press favoring the counterrevolutionary government, a press 485 whose ideology was naturally to the right of what had been the ideological posture of the moderate revolutionaries, the Maderists. 281 Allen notes that the focus of illustrations of this period were: Relations with the United States and the nagging currency and fiscal problems. There was the President’s struggle with the twenty-sixth Congress . . . Another subject finding its reflection in the cartoon had to do with the difficulties which President Huerta experienced in finding replacements for his losses on the battlefields . . . Furthermore, the list of topics subjected to pictorial commentary included at least one more item, namely, Huerta’s successful effort to rid himself of Félix Díaz. Allen 36. 282 Linda B. Hall, Álvaro Obregón: Power and Revolution in Mexico, 1911-1920 (Texas A&M University Press, 1981) 68. 283 Article Three of the Plan of San Luis Potosi addressed the restitution of land to Indian communities and stated, “Through unfair advantage taken of the Law of Untitled Lands, . . . numerous proprietors of small holdings, in their majority Indians, have been dispossessed of their lands—either by a ruling of the Ministry of Public Works or by decisions of the courts of the Republic. It being full justice to restore to the former owners the lands of which they were dispossessed so arbitrarily, such dispositions and decisions are declared subject to review. And those who acquired them [the lands] in such an immoral way, or their heirs, will be required to return them to the original owners, to whom they will pay an indemnity for the damages suffered. Only in case the lands have passed to a third person before the promulgation of this plan, the former owners will receive the indemnity from those to whose profit the dispossession accrued.” This translation is provided in Womack 70. A published copy of the Plan de San Luis Potosí is available as Francisco I. Madero, October 1910, Plan de San Luis Documentos Facsimilares, (PRI Comisión Nacional Editorial, 1976). For a useful interpretation of the Plan, see Ross 116-117. 284 See Linda Hall, Álvaro Obregón: Power and Revolution in Mexico, 1911-1920 241. Association with the Zapatistas aided the establishment of a new revolutionary coalition and guaranteed support from the campesinos. 285 Thomas Benjamin’s study asserts that a type of Master Narrative of the Mexican Revolution developed and that a unified Revolutionary Family emerged and that both were accepted by all those groups that were included. See Benjamin, La Revolución: Mexico’s Great Revolution As Memory, Myth, and History 68. However, Art Historian David Craven points out that, although various groups after the Revolution did form provisional alliances based upon similar political and/or economic interests, the divergent ideological positions over all prevented any “harmonious or complete unification” among groups like the Maderistas, Villistas, Carranzistas, Obregónistas, Zapatistas, Callistas, 486 and members of the Communist Party. David Craven, personal communication, February 2008.) 286 Anderson, Imagined Communities 6-7. Anderson defines nation as: “an imagined political community – and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign.” He goes on to write: “It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion. . . . Finally, it is imagined as a community, because, regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship.” 287 One of many ironies of the Mexican Revolution is that Madero instigated the war based on his ideals of democratic reform, in particular fair elections and no re-election for the presidency, which is exactly the same platform of Díaz’ Plan of Tuxtepec. Díaz, in his Plan, defended no re-election and challenged then Mexican President, Sebastian Lerdo de Tejada who had attempted to run for office a consecutive term. Díaz had also challenged Benito Juárez in 1871 with his Plan of La Noria, in which he stated his disagreement with presidential re-election. 288 Ross identifies Federico González Garza, Roque Estrada, Juan Sánchez Azcona, and Enrique Bordes Mangel as members of the Plan de San Luis Potosí Comision. Ross 116. 289 A published copy of the Plan de San Luis Potosí is available as Francisco I. Madero, October 1910, Plan de San Luis Documentos Facsimilares, PRI Comisión Nacional Editorial: 1976. For a useful interpretation of the Plan, see Ross 116-117. 290 291 Madero actually returned to Mexico on February 14, 1911. Ross 143. Ross 123. 292 Ross 123. 293 Ross 124. 294 For a detailed narrative of the events involving the Serdán Family see Ross 121- 123. 295 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Vol. 1, (Archivo Casasola, 1946) 203-205. 296 At Ciudad Juárez the generals that participated in the fight included Garibaldi, Orozco, Villa, and José de la Luz Blanco. See Ross, 164. Ross (166) explains about the downfall of the Díaz regime, “Only five of the thirty-one territorial entities were 487 untouched by the revolution, and in most of the others the insurgents dominated the major portions.” 297 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds; 2011; 373. 298 Other instances of the foreshadowing of Madero’s downfall in the portfolio are found in prints twenty-eight and thirty-one, which remark on plotting and conspiracies against him. 299 One place this is documented is in Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Vol. 1 375-377. 300 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Vol. 1 376. 301 Patrick Lenaghan, Images for the Spanish Monarchy, Art and the State, 15161700 (The Hispanic Society of America, 1998) 10. 302 Real Academia de Ciencias Morales y Políticas, La imagen del Rey, Monarquía, realeza y poder ritual en la Casa de los Austrias (Espasa Calpe, 1992) 182. 303 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Vol. 1 389. 304 Keers, Paul. A Gentleman's Wardrobe: Classic Clothes and the Modern Man (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1987). 305 Real Academia de Ciencias Morales y Políticas, La imagen del Rey, Monarquía, realeza y poder ritual en la Casa de los Austrias (Espasa Calpe, 1992) 182. 306 The sash is a typical decorative aspect of Mexican uniforms worn by viceroys of the Spanish Colonial era, Mexican presidents beginning with Benito Juárez, as well as worn during the Mexican Revolution by military leaders. Traditionally the sash is of national colors. 307 Here popular refers to the lower and middle classes in general, as opposed to the those particularly associated with the Porfirian elite class. 308 Ross (172) wrote about Madero’s declaration in relation to the Treaty that, “Article 3 of his Plan of San Luis Potosí would not be satisfied in full.” 309 Díaz instigated a Europeanization of Mexico City, which carried over into military dress. He himself donned the European military style attire. 310 Ross 254-256. 488 311 In 450 años de lucha: Homenaje al pueblo mexicano, a portfolio produced by the TGP in 1960. In this series this point is made by depicting Madero, surrounded by Porfirian government figures, while embraced and kissed on the cheek by Huerta. General Huerta served under Díaz and was allowed to continue serving under Maderista rule. This is an obvious reference to the kiss of Judas. Judas was an apostle of Jesus Christ. He betrayed Christ by kissing him after the Last Supper, which identified him to the soldiers who arrested him. These events are part of The Passion of Christ. The group of prints that present Madero’s coming to power is immediately followed by the literal portrayal of Madero’s assassination in print thirty-two. Prints thirty-three, thirty-four, and fifty-one continue to hammer the martyrdom of Madero by rendering him and Piño Suarez, his Vice-President, as murdered corpses. 312 Artist of the TGP repeatedly engaged the visual motif of the rifle to signify the federal army’s role in Porfirian system of oppression and persecution, as seen in prints four, nine, eleven, and twelve. The rifle with bayonette is also seen in print eighty-three, although here it is attached to a soldier of the 1940s federal government, whose role I discuss in more depth elsewhere. In relation to the depiction of smoking federal rifles during the Ten Tragic Days of February 1911, I see Posada’s graphic images as a model, which is made evident in his zinc engraving, Streets of the City of Mexico, the Morning of 9 February 1913. See Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America: The Moderns Era 1820-1980 (Yale University Press, 1989) 123, figure 5.24. 313 One reason for the U.S. Ambassador’s motivation to undermine Madero is that he was not necessarily interested in serving U.S. interests. [At the initial stages of the Revolution,] “Madero was visited by several American capitalists who proposed to pay all expenses for his forthcoming presidential campaign as well as those which had been incurred by the revolutionary movement in return for certain privileges.” However, Madero refused publicly based stating, “I represent the party in Mexico which fights against trust and monopolies.” Ross 142. 314 As previously noted, Franciso I. Madero, Apostle of Mexican Democracy (1955) is a key post-war text written by Stanley R. Ross and an example of how spiritual attributes are commonly associated with Madero. Ross provides a biographic narrative of Madero and the title of the book identifies Madero as a spiritual champion for a democratic political system. 315 For a brief address of Madero’s book see Ross 57-64. 316 See Ross 246-247. 317 See Apostolos-Cappadona 36. 489 318 Traditionally, the Twelve Apostles include Peter, Andrew, James the Greater, James the Lesser, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas Iscariot. 319 Ross identifies a long list of journals that attacked Madero, “Papers of the old regime, El Imparcial and El Diario, led the opposition. The American-controlled El Heraldo, ostensible neutral, actually engaged actively in discrediting the Madero government. The Catholic press . . . El Pais and La Nación. . . . A host of new journals appeared to join the calculated campaign against the government, including the following: El Mañana, . . . El Debate, . . . El Noticioso Mexicano, . . . Frivolidades and Multicolor.” Ross 231-232. 320 The members of the popular class include lower and middle class citizens. 321 Ross 312. 322 Cuevas-Wolf, “Guillermo Kahlo and Casasola: Architectural Form and Urban Unrest”203. 323 Benjamin states, “The assassination of Madero (and his Vice-President Pino Suárez) immediately gave rise to a popular and powerful legend that became a crucial element of la Revolución. Madero the martyr meant more to the soul of Mexico than Madero the apostle. . . . Like all apostles, Luis Seoane wrote in 1920, “they hated him into death and glorified him into immortality.” Benjamin 50. O’Malley adds, “Reaction against the coup raised Madero’s reputation from the depths to which it had sunk. Forgotten were he complaints about his government and personal fecklessness—in the aftermath of the his death Madero acquired heroic dimensions he had not had while president.” O’Malley 21. 324 O’Malley 22. 325 For an indepth address of the development of Madero’s symbolism in post-war Mexico see O’Malley 19-39. 326 O’Malley 24-25. 327 O’Malley 26 documents CROM’s ceremony to honor Madero. 328 O’Malley 38. 329 O’Malley 38-39. 490 330 Significant to note is the TGP’s 1979 ¡Viva Zapata!, a twenty print portfolio dedicated to Zapta, which incorporates three of the images from Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana (prints eight, twenty-five, and sixty-seven). 331 For a detail description of ranchos and ranchero lifestyle see Tutino 1303. 332 Womack, 6. 333 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 20. 334 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 19. 335 For an indepth history of land issues and oppression in Morelos see Jesús Sotelo Inclan, Raíz y razón de Zapata (Comisíon Federal de Electricidad, 1970) 97-439. 336 Womack 129. 337 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 72. 338 Tutino 1302. 339 Friedrich Katz, “Labor Conditions on Haciendas in Porfirian Mexico: Some Trends and Tendencies,” The Hispanic American Historical Review 54:1 (Feb. 1974)3-6. 340 Womack 76. 341 See Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 70-73 for a brief address of who were Zapatistas. 342 Hagiography is the writing, critical study, and illustration of the lives of saints. A standardized method of representation was developed, which stems from the Tridintine Edicts of the Council of Trent (1545-1563). Vicente Carducho wrote a painting treatise (“Dialogue on Painting”), which synthesized the Tridentine Edicts. The Edicts and the treatise initiated reforms that strictly outlined artistic imagery and mandated that religious art represent “realistic” scenes of pious devotion easily comprehensible to the viewer. The edicts promoted the special importance of saints. See Raymond Hernández-Durán, “Visual Arts: Seventeenth Century,” Encyclopedia of Mexico, History, Society, & Culture Volume II, M-Z (Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, date unknown) 1559. Traditionally, a devotional image of a saint is a portrait that includes objects related to their narrative and sanctity. Another common portrayal is the illustration of specific events in the saint’s life. Common representations include scenes of martyrdom or persecution and the depiction of asceticism, which usually portray the saint in contemplation while removed from society and/or the punishment of the physical self. 491 343 I have published on print eight from the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana previously, see Avila, “Laborious Arts: El Taller de Gráfica Popular & the Meaning of Labor in Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana” 62-82. 344 One exception, is the only photograph of Zapata as a youth that I have ever come across, which can be found on the book cover for Anenecuilco, un pueblo con historia (2002) written by the unofficial historian and caretaker for the Emiliano Zapata museum in Anenecuilco, Lucino Luna Domínguez. 345 Calzoneras during the Spanish colonial period were “a species of wide pants opened on the outer sides, with a double set of silver buttons running down its length from the waist to the foot, the opening through which may be seen the wide pants worn underneath.”. Alvarez del Villar, 35. A relationship between the calzoneras of Spanish colonial hacienda owners and Morelos’ campesino white cotton calzone is reasonable to assume. However, resources dealing with campesino attire is scarce and I have been unable to explore the topic in depth. 346 Diego Rivera. Rivera created approximately 40 images of Zapata, those of him wearing the calzone include: a 1927 illustration in Fermin Lee’s publication, which depicts Zapata on horseback holding a banner that reads “Tierra y Libertad;” and two images painted between 1929 and 1930 at Cortez’ Palace in Cuernavaca, one at the end of the cycle infamously depicting Zapata and a white horse and the other painted overhead on an arch shows Zapata laying on his side. 347 For more on photographs of Zapata wearing the campesino’s calzones see, Mary Theresa Avila, Zapata: Figure, Image, Symbol, Unpublished Thesis (University of New Mexico, 2005) 52-54. 348 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 6. Throughout the portfolio (specifically prints eight, sixteen, twenty-five, and fiftyseven) Zapata’s attire of calzones is similarly share gestural and expressive linear quality. This linear treatment is emotive of the rural leader’s intense commitment and energetic effort to fulfill his goals for the nation. The similar patterns seem to be a nod among the artists, which serves to interconnect each print to the other. It also speaks to the communal working process that the organization engaged and their weekly meetings where all were presented with the group and individual projects for critique and review. Exposure to one another’s work could only serve to inform and serve as a model for all members. 349 350 See Shearer West, “What is a Portrait?,” Portraiture (Oxford History of Art, 2004) 33. 351 As integral component to the hacienda system, the horse also alludes to the hierarchical social structure of Mexico. The depiction of a monarch mounted expressed 492 dexterity, military skill, and control suggesting the ability to govern. Jesús Maria González de Zárate, “El retrato en el barroco y la Emblemática: Velásquez y La lección de equitación del príncipe Baltasar Carlos,” Boletín del Museo Camón Aznar XXVII (1987) 29. See also Lenaghan 21. In the Americas the horse signifies the conquest and hierarchical social structure established in Mexico by the conquistadores and early Spanish settlers. As the rural areas were inhabited by the mestizos, the horse became a primary tool for these charros to perform their chores associated with livestock and agriculture. Between the sixteenth and mid-eighteenth centuries, the indigenous of the Americas were not allowed to own, ride, or use a horse. For the history of horses in the Americas see Alvarez del Villar 11-27. 352 In regards to which hacienda may be referred to within the image, Sotelo Inclán informs that Zapata lived and grew up near the Cuahuixtla Hacienda. Sotelo Inclán, 425. However, the people of Anenecuilco had trouble with the owner of the Hacienda Hospital and Chinameca Hacienda who was aggressively taking land, animals, and water. Enrique Krauze, El amor a la tierra, Emiliano Zapata (2000) 34-35. 353 In relation to the magestrial gaze see Albert Boime, The Magestrial Gaze: Manifest Destiny and American Landscape Painting c. 1830-1865 (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991). 354 Whether or not rural laborers would have lived on or slept at the hacienda is problematic if we think about the issue I raised earlier in regards to the temporary or permanent status of laborers who were from local rural villages. 355 Sotelo Inclan 117. 356 Sotelo Inclan 98. 357 See Sotelo Inclan’s map, on the illustration page immediately following 120. 358 A written complaint from the late eighteenth century documents protest by the villagers of Anenecuilco in regards to the abuse of resources by the Hacienda Mapaztlán, see Sotelo Inclan, 117-124. The response to the complaint is dated 1786. 359 W.J.T. Mitchell, Landscape and Power. (1994) 9. 360 Peter and Linda Murray, 243-244. 361 Sotelo Inclán wrote that at the age of nine Zapata witnessed the destruction of a neighboring village, Olaque, as part of an expansion project by hacienda owner Manuel Mendoz Cortina of the Cuahuixtal Hacienda. Sotelo Inclán writes 425-426. Sotelo Inclán informed that a myth arose in relation to this event in which Zapata sees his father in tears, in response to the annihilation of the town of Olaque. Zapata asked his father 493 “why do they take our land?” and “why do we not fight against them?”. Zapata swore to his father that when he grows up he will make these men return the land taken. Krauze (35) wrote that the destruction of Olaque occurred in 1887. Sotelo Inclán in his endnotes (285) also refers to another version of the myth by General Gildardo Magaña who wrote that Zapata overheard his father lamenting the exploitation suffered. Zapata then asked his father why the men of the town did not join forces and take back the land taken. His father replied that against the hacienda owners nothing could be done because they had all the power. Zapata then replied to his father, “Let me grow up and will see if I can’t take back the land that has been taken from us.”. 362 Womack 69. 363 The reason for the eighteen year old Zapata’s arrest in 1897 is unclear. Brunk speculates that it might have been related to his joining his brother Eufemio’s efforts, who was fifteen years his senior, to “dole out rough justice against hacienda employees, officials, and bandits on the roads and in the villages of the area”. Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 14. Brunk ascertains that even at this early stage of his life, “Zapata was already sufficiently implicated in the struggle for the return of Anenecuilco’s land to justify his capture.” Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 14-15. In any case, in this instance, as Zapata was being led away by authorities, he was forcibly freed by Eufemio and he escaped to Puebla. 364 For histories that tell of Zapata’s forced inductment into the army in 1908 see Sergio Valverde, Apuntes de la revolución y de la política del Estado de Morelos (1933) 93; General Gildardo Magaña, Emiliano Zapata y el Agrarismo en México (1934) 105; Serafín M. Robles, “Emiliano Zapata sienta plaza como soldado el año 1910,” El Campesino (December 1951); and Sotelo Inclan 454-456 whose sources on the topic are the above. 365 Sotelo Inclan wrote about Zapata’s arrest in 1908 and these sources: Emiliano was removed from Cuautla and sent to the barracks. So says Valverde, and his data is consistent with those given by Gildardo Magaña and Mr. Porfirio Palacios, in the sense that in 1908, Emiliano was sent into the service of the military in Cuernavaca. Magaña said in the 9th Regiment of Cabaría, commanded by Colonel Alfonso Pradillo, and Valverde stated in the 7th Battalion. Sotelo Inclan 455. The author acknowledges the multiple and contradictory narratives around Zapata in noting the different military regiments Zapata might have served for. In his biography on Zapata, Womack asserts (62-63) that Zapata was inducted into the Ninth Cavalry Regiment, stationed at Cuernavaca under the command of Colonel Ángel Bouquet on February 11, 1910. Womack cites Hector F. López, “¿Cuándo fue consignado Emiliano Zapata?,” El Hombre Libre (April 5, 1937) as a source for documents regarding Zapata’s 494 forced inductment into the army in 1910. However, Womack acknowledges that his assertion contradicts the legend that Zapata was inducted into the army in 1908 and cites Robles as another source that perpetuates this date. See Robles, “Emiliano Zapata sienta plaza como soldado el año 1910.” 366 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 16. 367 The issue of unjust imprisonment and the abusive nature of the Porfirian penal system are addressed a number of times in the portfolio, including in prints seven, Trabajo forzados en el valle nacional, 1890-1900 (Forced labor in the national valley, 1890-1900) by Alfredo Zalce that depicts the inside of a labor camp; print nine, Libertad de Prensa (Freedom of the Press) by Leopoldo Méndez, which focuses on the persecution of the Flores Magón brothers; print sixteen, which presents the arrest of Zapata; and print seventeen. 368 During the last decade of the Porfiriato, there were a series of events that eventually led to the eruption of outright and nationwide rebellion, such as the 1906 strike by the Mexican Copper miners in Cananea, Sonora and the strikes at the Textile Mills in Rio Blanco, Vera Cruz in 1907, as well as the establishment of organization like the Mexican Liberal Party (PLM) founded in 1906. See chapter two for my address of the tyrannical oppression of the Porfiriato and what led to the Mexican Revolution. 369 See Womack 75-79. 370 Womack 64. 371 This representation of Zapata is likely based on Diego Rivera’s very similar image that was included in Fermin Lee’s book, Libro para enseñar a leer a los niños de las escuelas rurales (1928). Furthermore, there are numerous depictions of Zapata and horses, where sometimes he is mounted on the horse and in other instances the horse is next to him, by Mexican artists including the three well known muralists, Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siquieros. An extensive iconographic study of Zapata and horses in Mexican Art has not been done, but would prove useful in unpacking the complexities of this symbolism. 372 A constant vilification of Zapata in the press during the Mexican Revolution heightened public interest in this leader, while also fueling fears, and swaying popular opinion against “the bandit” he was portrayed to be. Techniques utilized in the press to denigrate Zapata were straightforward, as well as creative. They included slanderous labels, false reports, unfounded accusations, and manipulated or “enhanced” images. Predictably, for such a partisan discourse, the labels applied to Zapata included “bandit,” “rebel,” “insurgent,” “thief,” “arsonist,” “scoundrel,” and eventually “Attila of the South.” On June 20,1911 El Imparcial issued an acrimonious attack against Zapata. The main headline on the front page read quite extravagently: “Zapata is the Modern Attila”. 495 373 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 67. 374 For discussion of the agenda of the Plan de Ayala see Womack, “Appendix B: The Plan de Ayala” 393-404 and Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 63-70. 375 On December 15, 1911 Diario del Hogar published a version of the Plan de Ayala, which is a Mexico City journal that existed prior to the Revolution. When it first began the journal, under the direction of Filomeno Mata, supported Porfirio Díaz, but eventually it became a voice in opposition to the Porfian regime. See Womack 404 and Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 70. There were reforms made to the Plan in May of 1913 and a later version of the Plan was ratified on July 19, 1914. See Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 105. Each version seems to adjust to the changing political scene as the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution raged on. 376 See Womack, “Appendix B: The Plan de Ayala” 396 and Brunk 63. Montaño’s significance within the Zapatista movement is evidenced with his involvement in producing the Plan of Ayala. However, the eventual accusations against him as a traitor to the movement by other leaders of the Zapatista movement and his execution as a result speaks to infighting amongst the group that reveals that even within Zapatismo there was competition and a lack of unity amongst its leadership. 377 Womack 398. 378 Womack 397. The Liberal Mexican Party (PLM) published in 1906 the organization’s Plan, which have been historically recognized as built on nineteenth century liberal concerns and the Constitution of 1857, and demands: freedom of speech, freedom of the press, complete secularization of education, nationalization of all church property, educational reform in favor of the poor, nationwide eight hour work week and six day workweek, payment of all workers in legal tender, prohibition of child labor, land reform and redistribution, and no re-election after four years in political office.378 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 66 also ties the Plan de Ayala to the Constitution of 1857 379 Sotelo-Inlcan 474. 380 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 7 and 14. 381 Womack 6-7. 382 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 19. 496 383 Beginning in the nineteenth century, the charro, like the China Poblana, became national emblematic types of Mexico and mexicaness. Sources that contributed to the construction of the charro include costumbrismo and picturesque photography. In the twentieth century, the “charro film,” a genre of the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema between 1935 and 1959, played a key role in popularizing the image of charros. See Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Cutlrue and National Identity, 134. It is during the post-war era the coalescing of the various charro social types occurred, which is in line with the merging and unification of the distinct revolutionary groups. 384 Ironically, when Zapata is named by Madero as Chief of Arms of Morelos, he usurps the position of authority of “los rurales.” 385 In relation to the symbolic national characteristics of the agrarian lifestyle associated with the charro after the Mexican Revolution, Tania Carreño King writes: [I]t was the defense of “Rural traditions” that National Association of Charros members and supporters—most of whom were identified with conservative groups, that is the old guard of the Porfirio Díaz regime—promoted through their unique concept of nationalism, which in one way or another legitimized their opposition to measures taken by postRevolutionary governments . . . in particular those that posed a threat to . . . bureaucracy and the semi-feudal lordships called haciendas.” Tania Carreño King, “I Am Mexican, I Come From an untamed Land,” 2000, 89. 386 Julián Gállego in Visión y símbolos en la pintura española del Siglo de Oro (Ensayos Arte, 1984) 228-229 notes the significance of the horse in representations of kings. 387 González de Zárate 29. See also Lenaghan 21. 388 Marilyn Stokstad, Art History Revised Second Edition, Combined Volume (Pearson Education, 2005) 232. 389 The significance of the horse and rider in Mexico, both historically and visually, is complex. In Mexican art, there are many instances where the horse and rider signifies the Conquest and oppression of Mexico. For instance, in two panels of Diego Rivera’s 1928-1929 mural cycle, The History of Cuernavaca and Morelos, at Cortez Palace in Cuernavaca we see the horse and rider portrayed as violent invader in the Conquest scene and oppressor in The Enslavement of the Indian. José Clemente Orozco’s, 1938-1939 frescoses about the Spanish Conquest of Mexico at Hospicio Cabañas in Guadalajara also include two examples of associations of horse and rider with the Conquest in “TwinHeaded Horse” and “The Mechanical Horse.” Another example is David Alfaro Siquieros’ 1950 image, The Resurrection of Cuauhtemoc at the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City. I am indebted to Dr. Ruth Capelle for her directing me to these images as examples of the negative connotations of the horse in Mexican murals. 497 390 Brehme’s portrait of Zapata is one of “the” most recognized illustrations of him. The portrait of Zapata taken at the Moctezuma Hotel was most likely first distributed as a “real photo” postcard in 1912 and 1913, as images of the leaders of the Mexican Revolution were popular subjects. This form of circulation encouraged recognition of Zapata, both nationally and internationally. Susan Toomey Frost asserts that she has done extensive investigation and has built a collection of Hugo Brehme’s postcards. On her website (http://www.io.com/~reuter/brehme.html accessed on June 16, 2003) Frost notes the earliest postcards by Brehme encountered are postmarked 1913. In the photograph, Zapata stands next to a staircase at the Mocteczuma Hotel, located in the city of Cuernavaca, Morelos. The hotel served as Zapata’s lodgings and possibly his headquarters between May 26 and August 1911The Casasola Archive, Fototeca Nacional del INAH incorrectly dates this photograph [#63464] between 1914 and 1918. May 26, 1911 is the date of Zapata’s arrival into Cuernavaca and June 10, 1911 is the date of publication in El Diario del Hogar of another photograph of Zapata at the Mocteczuma Hotel, recognizable by the brick work in the background, wearing the same uniform, which indicates that both photographs were very likely taken on the same occasion. Arnal (“Constuyendo símbolos-fotografía política en México: 1865-1911,” 1998, 65) places this photograph within May and June of 1911 based on comparison with the documentary photograph of the handing over of Cuernavaca by Manuel Asúnsolo to Zapata. On Zapata in Cuernavaca, see Brunk ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 39-40 and Womack 93-94. 391 The sash worn by Zapata is a typical decorative aspect of a uniform of power. The colors of the sash are usually national colors or symbolize affiliation with a particular group or organization. The hand on the hilt of the sword imitates a conventional military stance. See Woodall 87. 392 For an indepth discussion of Brehme’s portrait of Zapata see, Avila, Zapata: Figure, Image, Symbol 40-51. 393 A constant vilification of Zapata in the press between 1910 and 1920 heightened public interest in this leader, while also fueling fears, and swaying popular opinion against “the bandit” he was portrayed to be. For an indepth discussion on the topic of Zapatismo and Bandity see Samuel Brunk, “The Sad Situation of Civilian and Soldiers”: The Banditry of Zapatismo in the Mexican Revolution,” The American Historical Review 101:1 (February 1996) 331-353. This particular portrait image was not widely circulated by Zapata’s adversaries during the Mexican Revolution, as it is exactly the opposite character they desired to project. It is not included in the news journals of the day, as the intent of most urban publications was to represent Zapata negatively. Ironically, the narrative associated with Zapata the military leader, constructed by Zapata’s enemies, is that of a hostile bandit, incapable of decorum or leadership. Illustrations of this photographic portrait in caricature form evidence of the violent rebel stereotype. 498 394 I build upon Ariel Arnal argument of relating the act of wearing symbolic objects of the uniform of the federal government to the prehispanic practice of wearing the skin of a sacrificial victim, which she writes is an act that creates instantaneous recognition. She relates cannibalism as a symbol for triumph over one’s enemy and the simultaneous expression of respect and admiration. Ariel Arnal, “Constuyendo símbolos-fotografía política en México: 1865-1911.” Estudios Interdisciplinarios de América Látina 9:1 (1998) 66. 395 “Zapata, General of the Southern Forces,” encapsulates essential characteristics of leadership and status that became part of the popular narrative of Zapata the military leader. Brehme very likely requested or assisted Zapata in invoking established paradigms associated with traditional portraiture. Zapata generates an impression of formidable strength and unquestioned leadership through the composition, his alert pose and matching gestures. Zapata is the focal point, located centrally and in the forefront of the photograph. The full-length format of the composition is traditionally reserved for important figures of state. The three-quarter turned posture is reminiscent of men of power in traditional portraiture. The banister of the brick staircase behind Zapata resembles or refers to classical columns, a common motif in portraits of power. 396 Other visual elements that convey Zapata’s role as leader include: the differentiation in scale between Zapata and the figures in the background, the steps behind Zapata to the viewer’s left, which can be read as leading upward symbolically suggesting Zapata’s role in elevating or leading the agrarian community of Mexico towards justice and the attainment of a better life, and the distinction between the dark shadowy background and the illumination of Zapata in the foreground, which again alludes to the notion of Zapata leading the Mexican people towards a brighter future. 397 In prints eight by Yampolsky and sixteen by Aguirre Zapata is drawn with the same linear patterns used to evoke the landscape that surrounds him here in print twentyfive. Thus, I see an interconnected mode of depicting Zapata and landscape through expressive linear gestures throughout the portflio. 398 The fallen figure’s right foot is a motif that can be found in the work of Picasso, particularly in Guernica and his classical period. I believe there are numerous references to Pablo Picasso’s Guernica (1937), which is a national and personal commentary on the tragedies of war. This and references to other important works connects this portfolio to a long history of images about war. 399 These photographs were widely circulated in newspapers and on broadsheets in high numbers around the time of Zapata’s death in April 1919. See Excélsior, El Demócrata, and El Nacional. On April 12, 1919 El Universal’s headline reads “Zapata’s Corpse” and includes: a head shot of Zapata while lying on his side and a drawn depiction of the ambush that resulted in Zapata’s death. The front page of El Universal on April 14 addresses the funeral and includes an image of Zapata, similar to those of him in 499 the coffin. El Pueblo did a whole lay out on how Zapata’s rebellion developed and included images, one of which was the image of Zapata propped up. For an indepth address of the photographic images of Zapata in death see Avila, Avila, Zapata: Figure, Image, Symbol 56-63. 400 Dead body politics and the issues that surround the reburial of Zapata’s remains will be addressed in my dissertation. 401 Zapata is depicted similarly in Diego Rivera’s “The blood of the revolutionary martyrs fertilizes the land” painted in 1926 at the College of Agriculture in Chapingo. 402 Womack (323) asserts that Zapata’s death was planned by Pablo González who was authorized if not directed by Carranza. Brunk (Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico, 227) indicates that González immediately telegraphed Carranza after Zapata had fallen to inform him of their success. 403 This image projects Zapata as a specter, a mode of representation that will be used again in prints sixty-seven and eighty-seven. 404 I am grateful to Pablo Escalante, Ph.D., Faculty in Department of Art and Researcher at the Institute of Aesthetic Studies, National Autonomous University of Mexico who drew my attention to this connection during a research trip in Mexico in 2007. 405 My source on Saint Paul is Apostolos-Cappadona 272. 406 For a brief address of the fallen figure in the portfolio, see endnote 220 of this study. 407 I am indebted to Elena Aviles for explaining (on February 24, 2012) the literary concept of pathetic fallacy and its application to this image. 408 See Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 51-60. 409 In pre-Columbian times Mexico City was known as Tenochtitlan and served as the capital for the Aztecs, in the sixteenth century it was demolished by the Spanish during their conquest of the Americas. With rubble from the Aztec’s palace and temples and building directly on top of these structures, the Spanish constructed new institutions, which became identified as the center for the new Spanish government and religious administration of the Americas. These structures, such as the National Palace and the cathedral, remain in place today. Traditionally only the social elite and those that supported their lifestyle dwelled in the capital, and it was from here that most political and social decisions, with national consequences, were enacted. Much remained the same moving into the twentieth century. 500 410 Cuevas-Wolf 196. 411 See Carreño King 24. 412 For my indepth interrogation of the vilification of Zapata in the Mexico City press during the Mexican Revolution see Avila, Figure, Image, Symbol: Emiliano Zapata 6896. 413 In 1910, eighty-five percent of the Mexican population, the majority being of the rural populace, were illiterate. Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 476. The role of printed news had a circumscribed role, since the rural population relied more on an oral tradition of communication and acquiring information that included word of mouth, storytelling, and corridos. Therefore, the target audience of publications was primarily the small, educated urban population, who tended to be the middle class and elite members of Mexican society, that is, the sector that owned and controlled most businesses and much of the land or the professional classes (lawyers, clerks, etc) who worked for this elite. 414 As previously noted, in the portfolio U.S. imperialism is also addressed in prints two, eleven, forty-five, forty-six, and seventy-nine. 415 For more on Lucio Blanco see Alfonso Franco Sapia-Bosch, The Role of General Lucio Blanco in the Mexican Revolution, 1913-1922, Unpublished Dissertation (Georgetown University, 1977). 416 See Brunk (¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico, 114, 121, and 128) in regards to exchanges between Lucio Blanco and Zapata. 417 See my narrative of the Mexican Revolution, as well as my discussion of prints twenty-five, fifty-six, and fifty-seven. 418 Miguel A. Sánchez Lamego, Historia military de la revolución Zapatista bajo el regimen huertista (Taller Gráficos de la Nación, 1979)15-17 and Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 82. 419 There are interesting compositional and thematic similarities between print fortyfour and print one, including the destroyed village in the background and the procession of villagers forced to abandon their homes. I see this as a connection being made between Huerta’s regime and that of Porfirio Díaz, particularly in terms of their oppressive and violent nature. 420 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946 595. 501 421 In my investigation of the photographic documentation of the Constitutionalist army’s entrance into the capital city in August of 1914 I relied on both Gustavo Casasola’s, Historia Gráfica de la Revolución Volume 2, Cuaderno 7, 1946 757-759 and Krauze’s, Venustiano Carranza. 422 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico130. 423 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 130. 424 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 131. 425 Womack 216. For Womack’s full address of the Convention of Aguascalientes see 216-219. 426 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 521. 427 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 523. 428 If one considers perspective in terms of the viewer’s point of view, the scene could be read two ways. If the image is viewed while hanging on a wall, then it appears as if Zapata is falling back. The agitated linear patterns that surround Zapata lends to the sense of the body falling backwards toward the ground. If one reads the image flat on a table, Zapata’s reads as if he is lays on his back on the ground. I suggest that both readings would be acceptable to the TGP, as they often incorporated elements that had multiple layers of meaning that instigate multiple readings. 429 Regarding the photographic image of dead Zapata see my discussion of print twenty-five. 430 Brunk (¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico 190) describes the ferocity and brutality Carrancistas engaged to derail Zapatismo, which included the massacre of 286 men, women, and children from the village of Tlaltizapán who were presumed supporters of Zapata’s. Brunk (¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico, 192) also writes, “Zapata . . . displayed his anger at the United States support for Constitutionalism in a number of documents, attacking Carranza for permitting the United States to send troops into northern Mexico in pursuit of Villa after his March 1916 raid on Columbus, New Mexico. Carranza he declared, was discredited: it was simply a matter of the people joining arms to bring him down.” Brunk (¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico, 205) also explains, Zapata and Magaña wrote a manifesto in January of 1917 that “invited those who had previously been neutral to work for the reconstruction of Mexico” and made clear his opposition to Carranza. 431 O’Malley contributes: “After the 1929 campaign to bring all political forces under the umbrellas of the PNR, less emphasis was put on Carranza’s role in Zapta’s assassination.”. O’Malley 127. 502 432 A photograph is the source for this depiction of Zapata. The image actually shows Zapata in a full figure portrait in Hugo Brehme’s studio in Mexico City during the occupation by the Constitutionalists of the capital, sometime between late 1914 and early 1915. In it, Zapata wears a light colored charro uniform. This studio photograph, more than most, divorces Zapata from the context that typically describes him as Revolutionary leader in rebellion for land reform. Here he is cast more as a typical charro. This image could potentially be considered an official portrait of Zapata as a General in the Constitutionalist Army who at the time were attempting to take leadership of the country. Awkwardness at being out of his element, in the capital city and the photographer’s studio, creates a less than heroic, confident image of the warrior. This photograph is not one of the common images of Zapta and for me the question is raised, Why this photograph? Perhaps it is a simple as that is does function as an official portrait of Zapata when he was leading the country, and is comparable to the typical portrait of Cárdenas that is also used in the print. 433 Print twelve also includes the Maguey or Agave plant, however, in that context the plant likely makes reference to the henequin plantations in Mexico that were literally labor camps for dissidents of the Mexican government. Henequin is the fiber of the plant that is used to make rope, twine, and coarse fabrics. 434 For more on the alliance between Obregón and the Zapatistas see Hall, Álvaro Obregón: Power and Revolution in Mexico, 1911-1920 239-241. 435 For an extensive examination of the official transformation of Zapata see O’Malley 41-70. 436 Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, Reburial and Postsocialist Change, 1999, 32. 437 Hall, Álvaro Obregón: Power and Revolution in Mexico, 1911-1920 68. Popular revolution here, refers to the armed struggle of the agrarian lower classes. 438 Brunk, ¡Emiliano Zapata! Revolution and Betrayal in Mexico xii. 439 O’Malley 51-52. 440 Lynn Stephen, “Pro-Zapatista and Pro-Pri: Resolving the Contradictions of Zapatismo in Rural Oaxaca,” Latin American Research Review 32:2 (1997) 50. 441 Stephen 52-53. 442 Because we are dealing with Zapata, here the popular classes primarily refers to the agrarian lower classes. 503 443 Stephen 58. 444 For an indepth address of the multiple identities of Zapata see Avila, Zapata: Figure, Image, Symbol. 445 For Zapata the popular class group he was focused on fighting for were the agrarian lower classes who had unjustly had their land usurped from them. 446 Florencia Mallon, “Exploring the Origins of Democratic Patriarchy in Mexico: Gender and Popular Resistance in Puebla Highlands, 1850-1876,” Women of the Mexican Countryside, 1850-1990. Heather Fowler-Salamini and Mary Kay Vaughan, eds. (The University of Arizona Press,1994) 9. 447 Sharon MacDonald, “Drawing the lines—gender, peace and war: An Introduction” Images of women in peace and war: Cross-cultural and historical perspectives (Macmillan, 1987) 3-4. 448 MacDonald 1. 449 For instance General Juan F. Azcárate wrote in his memoirs that, “the image of soldaderas accompanying revolutionary troops was a creation of the film industry. ” See Juan F. Azcárate, Esencia de la revolución Mexicana (Costa-Amic, 1966) 80. This type of commentary suggests women were absent from the revolutionary armies, which is a false assertion and a point I will expand on further in this chapter. 450 A good example is the comment made in 1914 by Fritz Arno Von de Ellen who wrote, “the loyalty of the soldier’s wife is more akin to that of a dog to its master then to that of an intelligent woman to her mate.” Fritz Arno Von de Ellen, “Mexican CampFollowers, Harper’s Weekly 58:19 (May 2, 1914) 19. 451 Reséndez Fuentes develops these categorizations in his essay and it is important to understand that his author’s approach to organizing the armies of the revolution do not necessarily reflect unified efforts. See Andrés Reséndez Fuentes, “Battleground Women: Soldaderas and Female Soldiers in the Mexican Revolution.” The Americas 51:4 (Apr., 1995) 525-553. 452 Other texts key to my investigation of the historiography of women in the Mexican Revolution include: Vincent Starett, “Soldier Women of Mexico,” The Open Court (1918) 376-382; Andrés Reséndez Fuentes, “Battleground Women: Soldaderas and Female Soldiers in the Mexican Revolution,” 252-553; Gabriela Cano, “Soldaderas and Coronela,” Encyclopedia of Mexico: History, Society, & Culture. Volume II, M-Z. Michael S. Werner, ed. (Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997) 1357-1360; Laura Kanost, 504 “Viewing the Afro-Mexican Female Revolutionary: Francisco Rojas González’s La negra Angustias” Hispania 93:4 (December 2010) 555-562. 453 See Elizabeth Salas, Soldaderas in the Mexican Military: Myth and History. (University of Texas Press, 1990) 67-81. For her study, Salas builds on the interviews and research of others, including Oscar Lewis’ account of Guadalupe Vélez in Death in the Sanchez Family (1969); Jane Holden Kelley’s interviews with Chepa Moreno and Dominga Ramírez in her study Yaqui Women: Contemporary Life-Histories (1978); Marta Romo’s article “Y las soldaderas? Tomasa García” (1979); Esther R. Perez, James Kallas, and Nina Kallas invaluable interviews published in Those Years of the Revolution, 1910-1920: Authentic Bilingual Life Experiences as Told by Veterans of the War (1974); Anthony Quinn’s autobiography, The Original Sin (1972) where he provides a biographical sketch of his mother Manuela Oaxaca; and Elena Poniatowska’s docu-novel Hasta no verte Jesús Mío (1969). 454 Jiménez y Muro as part of a conspiracy intend to bring Madero to power wrote “The Political and Social Plan,” a very progressive plan that laid out her own ideas about reform. See Macias 29-32. Some of her ideas are tied to the principles of the Mexican Liberal Party (PLM), such as agrarian reform, hours of work week improved wages and working conditions for rural and urban laborers, educational reform, and restoration of municipal autonomy. However, Jiménez y Muro proposed other reforms that were not attached to the PLM, for instance decentralization of Mexico’s educational system, housing for urban dwellers, and restitution of usurped village lands. The last point drew Zapata to Jiménez y Muro, who joined the Zapatistas after Madero’s assassination in 1913. 455 Macías 25-57. 456 Macías (40 and 44) is an exception and notes José Guadalupe Posada’s prints, José Clemente Orozco’s paintings of Zapatistas and his “House of Tears” series on prostitutes, and even photographs “by” Casasoloa, but only in passing. Additionally, her attributing authorship of photographs to Casasola reveals her lack of understanding the nature of the Casasola Archive. 457 Although my investigation here is limited to particular photographs and graphic images, elsewhere I expand on this study and consider how images of women of the Mexican Revolution by Mexican artists of the twentieth century compare to the historical recovery work about these women. 458 Yampolsky incorporated women into print eight and print forty-nine. Print eight focuses on Zapata’s narrative and the one women that is visible is one of the two laborers in the foreground of the image. I expand on print forty-nine in more depth further in the chapter. 505 459 For the intents and purposes of my discussion on the iconicization of heroes of the Mexican Revolution, I limit my study of women in the portfolio to this theme. However, I have examined and considered the various types and roles women are assigned throughout the portfolio, but leave that for a separate project. Another major point of inquiry that relates to the representation of women in the TGP’s portfolio is the issue of assigned gender roles and norms in Mexico. Through the course of this is study I have confronted issues pertaining to gender, but here only scratch the surface on the topic, which I leave for full consideration for another project. 460 For an address of the women of the revolution and theater see Alicia Arrizon, “Soldaderas and the Staging of the Mexican Revoluton,” TDR 42:1 (Sprint 1988) 90-112. 461 Publications produced by the Gustavo Casasola Publishing House such as the Hecho y Hombres illustrated biographic series about Díaz, Zapata, Carranza, Obregón, and Villa completely omit the presence of women from the narrative of the Mexican Revolution. See Casasola, Hechos y hombres de Mexico, Biografia ilustrada del general Porfirio Díaz (1994); Casasola, Hechos y hombres de Mexico, Biografia ilustrada del general Emilinao Zapata (1994); Casasola, Hechos y hombres de Mexico, Biografia ilustrada del general Venustiano Carranza (1994); Casasola, Hechos y hombres de Mexico, Biografia ilustrada del general Álvaro Obregón (1994); Casasola, Hechos y hombres de Mexico, Biografia ilustrada del general Francisco Villa (1994). 462 Casasola, Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 (Editorial Gustavo Casasola, 1991) 170-449. This book reads more like a narrative of general history rather than a specific history of the Mexican military and it is repetitive of the many publication efforts by the Casasola family. In general, text lists significant dates of the Mexican Revolution and provides a small narrative about the events noted. In most instances, the text does not correspond to the images. Most of the photographic images are titled with descriptive text. 463 According to Ross (121) Aquiles Serdán was a shoemaker in Puebla. 464 Ross 122. 465 One such version is found in Ross 121-123. 466 See Angeles Mendieta Alatorre, Carmen Serdán, (Centro de Estudios Históricos de Puebla, 1971); Siurob Beatriz Padilla, Y sucedió en Querétaro, Historia, Costumbres y Leyendas, Cuarta Edición. (2007) 124; David Bevera, 100 Breves Biografias de Mexicanos Celebres (Berbera Editores, 2010) 207; Jaime Espinosa and María Elizabeth, “Historia por contar: Mujeres Poblanas en la Revolución Mexicana” (2010). 467 Thomas Benjamin (4-5) claims that Carmen Serdán escaped the house prior to the start of the fighting. His sources are unidentified and it is not communicated why he 506 counters the typical narrative, which simply leaves this scholar bewildered by his statement. 468 Ross 120-121. 469 See Bevera 207. 470 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 1, 1946, 203-208. 471 Working with Dr. Kirsten Buick I intend to investigate Mexican women’s attitudes toward domesticity, so that the complexities of an image like this one of Serdán can be better understood. 472 See Casasola, Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 174. 473 Earl Shorris, 1936, Under the Fifth Sun: A Novel of Pancho Villa (1980) 336. 474 I have an interest in the lack of representation of violence against women, which stems from conversations around my dissertation project with Dr. Kirsten P. Buick. The dissertation project reflects the beginnings of my exploration into this subject and issues that prevail. 475 Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 1, Cuaderno 4 307 and 336. 476 See the Library of Congress, Lot 9563-14 for a photograph of a lunch scene in Madero’s camp during the siege of Ciudad Juárez on April 28, 1911 that includes Francisco I. Madero (seated at makeshift table) and Sara Madero (in black) and Raúl Madero are behind him. For photographs of Madero’s entrance into Mexico City, after Díaz’ defeat in June of 1911, that show Sara Madero by his side in the car that delivered them to the national palace see Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 1, Cuaderno 4, 306. 477 See the interview given by Sara Madero and printed in The San Antonio Light on April 11, 1913, which is reproduced in Juanita Luna Lawn, “The Mexican Revolution and the women of El México de Afuera, The Pan American Round Table, and the Cruz Azul Mexicana,” War Along the Border: The Mexican Revolution and Tejano Communities, Arnoldo de León, ed. (University of Houston Center for MexicanAmerican Studies, 2012) 159-160. 478 This is also parly due to ideology about the relational function of lower class to upper class women, which is an issue that Dr. Buick has made me aware of and I intend to research as I develop my work on gender and women of the Revolution. 507 479 Cano 1359. In a more expanded exploration of the depiction of women of the war I also investigate the painted representation of these figures. In terms of the stereotypical image of the women of the war as Indian, rural, and lower class I consider the role of Luz Jímenez in the construction and perpetuation of Mexican women in general as Indian, rural, and of the lower class. See Rafael Tovar, et. al., Luz Jiménez, símbolo de un pueblo milernario 1897-1965 (Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 2000). 480 Reséndez Fuentes 538. Soto (44) also asserts, “Most of the soldaderas were Indians or poor mestizas . . .”, but she says little else on the matter and her sources are not documented. These descriptive traits are problematic for a number of reasons. One, they are too narrow and too broad. Two, these identifies suggest that all women that participated in the Mexican civil war were of the lower classes, which is false. In my definition for and application of the labels of Indian and mestizo as constructed cultural and social identities I recognize that most Mexicans are likely both Indian and mestizos. Thus, Résendez Fuentes’ and Soto’s labels are too vague in their description of the women of the war and consideration of class is also necessary to truly begin to understand the role of women in the revolution.. 481 Soto 44. 482 For more on the role of these women see Mendieta Alatorre, La mujer en la revolución mexiana, (Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1961) 66-77. For his discussion of women in the Maderistas and Orozquistas armies see Reséndez Fuentes 527-530. 483 Cano is a primary sources for the following address of the distinctions between the armies of the north and south of the Mexican Revolution. Cano 1358. The issue of women’s participation and attachment to armies of the north vs. the south raises questions about the abduction rate and practices of violence against women. I wonder if the abduction of women was more prominent in the north or the south, based on the need for or lack of presence of women. I also wonder if more women were sexually violated in the north of Mexico during the Mexican Revolution because they were of greater need or in the south because they were not as readily available to the soldiers of the southern forces? 484 Cano estimates women’s participation in the Zapatista army was distinct from their roles and status in the federal and revolutionary armies of the north, as they were not bound to the domestic demands and personal needs of the soldiers. Instead, in the Zapatista army women were more often engaged as soldiers who worked as combatants, spies, and messengers. Cano raises an interesting point about the geographic nature of armies’ activities during the Mexican Revolution and its implications on the reliance on and need for women. This subject is not commonly addressed in the literature about women of the Mexican Revolution, but it does intersect with my assessment of the iconic image of 508 women of the Mexican Revolution as reflective of females who were primarily part of the federal armies and not the revolutionary armies. 485 Salas 73-76. 486 Salas 42. 487 Salas 42. 488 See R. Douglas Cope, The Limits of Racial Domination: Plebian Society in Colonial Mexico City, 1660-1720, 13. 489 Marco Polo Hernández Cuevas, “The ‘Afro-Mexican’ and the Revolution: making Afro-Mexicans Invisible through Idoelogy of Mestizaje in La raza cósmica” PALARA 4 (2000) 59-60. 490 See Laura A. Lewis, “African Mexicans,” Encyclopedia of Mexico: History, Society & Culture (volume 1, A-L), Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 2. 491 Kanost 555. Within the Casasola Archive there is a photograph of a woman who appears to be of Afro-Mexican descent from the state of Michoacan, see Casasola, 1946, Volume 2, 242. 492 See Andrés Reséndez Fuentes 527. 493 Reséndez Fuentes develops these categorizations in his essay and it is important to understand that his author’s approach to organizing the armies of the revolution do not necessarily reflect unified efforts. 494 For his discussion of women in the Federal Army see Reséndez Fuentes 530-533. 495 Reséndez Fuentes 528. I take issue with the manner that Reséndez Fuentes conflates the Zapatista army into the Maderista army. In particular he identifies Esperanza Echeverría and Rosa Bobadilla as part of the Maderista contingent, but later acknowledges them as Zapatistas. As addressed elsewhere in this project, Madero and Zapata never truly joined forces and were more often on opposite sides of the battle then fighting together. 496 Reséndez Fuentes 529. 497 For Reséndez Fuentes’ address of women and the Zapatista army see 533-536. 498 For Martínez’ account see, Oscar Lewis, Pedro Martínez: A Mexican Peasant and His Family (Random House, 1964) 92. 509 499 Cano supports the likelihood of coercion involved between Zapatista soldiers and villagers, when he wrote, “The local people provided food, fodder, and their community’s services, sometimes under threat, at other times voluntarily.” Cano 1358. 500 For Reséndez Fuentes’ discussion of women and the northern revolutionaries see 537-539. 501 Reséndez Fuentes 537-538. 502 Salas 75-76. 503 Lieutenant Angel Jiménez, interview in Perez, Kallas, and Kallas 69. 504 I will focus my discussion on the two groups with women in them. It is worth noting, however, the group without women seems to include two soldiers, one standing with his back to the viewer and one seated facing the viewer, and a prisoner who is held with his back to the viewer by the standing soldier. 505 See María Herrera-Sobek, The Mexican Corrido: A Feminist Analysis (Indiana University Press, 1990) for an indepth address of corridos and women. 506 The material history of the guitar needs to be investigated to truly comprehend the significance of the guitar in this image. 507 Corridos about women of the Mexican Revolution include “La chinita maderista,” a recruitment song; “La soldadera,” that deals with a soldier going into battle who hopes that his woman will join him; “La guera,” about the leadership capabilities of women; “Juana Gallo,” which tells the story of a fearless woman in the midst of battle; “Adelita,” one of the most well-known corridos about women of the war, of which there are numerous versions; and in “Yo me muero donde quiera” a woman sings about herself and other women of the Revolution. See Salas, 89-94. 508 See Soto 61. 509 Although I limit my address to the corrido and women of the Mexican Revolution Herrera-Sobek identifies seven key images of women that have been constructed through lyrics of the corrido: 1, the unfaithful wife; 2, women as soldiers, which I would change to women of the Mexican Revolution; 3, women as mothers; 4, women as evil; 5, women as lovers; 6, women as sex objects; and 7, the image of the aggressive female of the 1970s. See Maria Herrera-Sobek, “Mothers, Lovers, and Soldiers: Images of Woman in the Mexican Corrido” Keystone Folklore 23 (1979) 56. 510 510 See Joy Elizabeth Hayes, Radio Nation: Communication, Popular Culture, and Nationalism in Mexico, 1920-1950 (University of Arizona Press, 2000) for an address of how the government used the medium of radio to promote national identity and build support for the new regime following the Mexican Revolution. 511 La cucaracha, one of the best known revolutionary corridos, celebrates the exploits of Pancho Villa's army and pokes fun at his enemy Venustiano Carranza. A particular image of a woman of the Mexican Revolution that was widely distributed during the insurgency is by José Guadalupe Posada and illustrates a 1915 lyric sheet for, “Corrido de la Cucaracha.” Image source: Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division LC-DIG-ppmsc04550 http://catalog.loc.gov.] This image was first brought to my attention by Benjamin C. King in his essay “Iconography and Stereotype: Visual Memory of the Soldaderas” Michigan Journal of History (Fall 2005). The woman on this lyric sheet is presented as bold and confrontational with her assertive stance—her hands on her hips and feet spread apart. Her shawl crisscrosses her chest, mimicking revolutionary bandoliers worn by soldiers, and marks her as a revolutionary woman. However, her European facial features and elaborate ruffled dress reflect European aesthetics that were imported into Mexico during the Porfirian regime (1876-1910) counters the typical image of female Mexican revolutionaries. Additionally, this figure is removed from the context of the war as she stands in an ambiguous setting. In this context, the diverse identity of women of the Mexican Revolution is complicated, if not completely replaced by what Benjamin King identifies as “a Marianne of the French Revolution, an archetypal image of Liberty.” Furthermore, the Mexican graphic artist José Guadalupe Posada died in 1913 and therefore he could not have produced the 1915 lyric sheet. For the majority of his career, Posada worked for Aracio Vanegas Arroyo who was the largest publisher in the country. The publisher produced materials for popular consumption and made editorial decisions regarding the content of all published items, not Posada. It was not uncommon for the publisher to take an image and reissue it over time in various contexts. This is particularly true after Posada’s death and true for the figure on the lyric sheet for the “Corrido de la Cucaracha.” The same image of the woman can also be found in a two-part narrative on the front and backside of a broadsheet titled ““La Tragedia de Belen Galindo.” 511 See Posada’s Broadsheets of Love and Betrayal (The University of Texas at San Antonion, Department of Art and Art History, 2012)12. In this context, the women is murdered by her husband after her mother-in-law falsely accusses her of adultery. And there is yet another corrido titled “Tiburcia o la Estacion de Morelos” (Tiburcia or the Morelos Station). The lyrics of this sheet focus on the possible destinations on a train in Morelos. Although Posada died during the early phase of the Mexican Revolution, he produced numerous prints dedicated to the figures and events of the war. See Toor, et. al., Monografia. He created various depictions of women of the Mexican Revolution that are closer to the stereotypical photographic images we know. An illustration for a lyric sheet of a corrido titled “La Coronela” depicts a woman with a large sombrero, long sleeved ruffled blouse, and long dark skirt holding a rifle at her side. See Toor, et. al., Monografia. The figure in the print reads like the women of the revolution in photographs and likely it is based on one. Posada’s graphic images are key to the early narratives and representations that developed around the Mexican Revolution, particularly because of their wide and savvy distribution by Vanegas Arroyo. Although not the focus of this study, Posada’s images of the Mexican Revolution merit further examination in relation to the visual material produced during and around the civil war. When it comes to Posada’s work, it is important to discern who is making editorial choices, the artist or publisher. This helps to clarify and comprehend the meaning of a particular image and in the case of the 1915 lyric sheet for “La Cucaracha” I would venture to guess that the female figure was not intended by Posada to represent women of the Mexican Revolution. In his eagerness to build on Posada’s artistic talent, particularly after his death, Vanegas Arroyo recontextualized the image of the women, which adds meaning and complexity to the understanding of the stereotype of women of the revolution. Vanegas Arroyo made important contributions to Posada’s images through his contextualization and redistributuion of his work and also added to the multiplicity of narratives of the Mexican Revolution. Vanegas Arroyo’s significance in terms of our understanding of Posada’s work is underexamined, but merits further consideration. 512 512 See Soto 43. 513 Salas 44. 514 Although not a focus of this project, I am investigate elsewhere the absence of the representation of violence in depictions of women from the Mexican Revolution. Sexual violence is an issue that is often downplayed in the historiography of the Mexican Revolution. Although I recognize sexual violence during war is committed against both women and men, in maintaining the focus of this chapter I address the issue here as it relates to women. Susan Brownmiller asserts, when there is war, rape is inevitable. Susan Brownmiller, Against Our Will (Penguin, 1976) 31. Brownmiller’s book was a significant resource in its historic study and presentation of documented cases of rape during war. Her insightful assessment of the meaning of violence against women in war is useful to my examination of this topic. However, her focus is the rape of women by men from outside their own national groups and my project is complicated by the nature of the Mexican civil war, where countrymen fought and raped each other. As symbols of nation and traditionally considered the material possession of men, in warfare women’s bodies become part of the battlefield. Brownmiller describes rape as a weapon of terror and revenge, “And the effect is indubitably one of intimidation and demoralization for the victim’s side.” Brownmiller 37. See also Mallon 7-10. In this context, the author describes the act of rape during war as, “a message passed between men—vivid proof of victory for one and loss and defeat for the other.” There are stories that have surfaced about the violence that women endured during the Mexican Revolution. Women were regularly raped during the war. Macías writes, “During the worst years of fighting, rape followed by murder became as commonplace as the routine shooting of prisoners. Hundreds of thousands of women . . . died in the gratuitous slaughter that marked the period or perished as a result of disease, exposure, and hunger.” Macías, 43-44. During the Mexican civil war countrymen were fighting against one another, which complicates the meaning of violence against women. However, in terms of the narratives that addressed the violence against women during the civil war, it would have been counterproductive to post-war unifying efforts, as well as sullied the reputation of the heroes of the nation, to remember these particular details of the battlefield. Missing too are visual representations of violence against women in Mexican art. The missing image of violence against women is a subject I have investigated for a number of years and is part of a larger project. 515 Salas 40. 516 On women and the revolution and parenting see Starett 382. 517 Salas 89. 518 The following is drawn from Salas 83-89. 513 519 Michael Maccoby, “On Mexican National Character,” Chicanos: Social and Psychological Perspectives, Nathaniel N. Wagner and Marsha J. Haug, eds. (C.V. Mosby, 1971) 123-131. 520 Salas, 87 521 Salas 91-93. 522 Marta Romo, “Y las soldadera? Tomasa García toma la palabra,” Fem 2:4 (1979) 12. 523 Salas 50, 91. 524 Salas 91. 525 Salas 92-93. In this corrido Guizar categorizes the Adelita as a virtuous, pretty girl and Valentina as a colonel who nurses his wounds. 526 Interestingly, the Casasola 1946 publication, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, does not include any of these types of women. They are included however in the much later Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 also produced by the Casasola publishing house. 527 See Casasola, Anales Graficos de la Historia Militar de Mexico, 1810-1991 290, 346, and 439. In particular an image on page 439 depicts a row of four women who appear well-groomed and wear pristine white dresses. The woman to the viewer’s left wears earrings and to her right a young lady wears a bow in her hair. 528 Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 2, Cuaderno 7, 666. 529 Cano 1359. 530 Macdonald 6. 531 Salas 79. For a discussion of women who provided food services for the federal army see Reséndez Fuentes 530. 532 533 Macias 40-43. 534 Salas 73. 514 535 Salas 76. 536 See Salas 53-66 for a discussion of 1,256 soldaderas who were captured along with General Salvador Mercado’s federal army and interned at Fort Bliss, Texas. 537 See Tuñon Pablos 86 and Cano 1357-1360. 538 Salas 50-51. 539 Salas 11. 540 In particular the Chican@ Movement embraced and perpetuated the image of the women of the Mexican Revolution, which has contributed to her recognizability and meanings. 541 Other women who are also thought to be the models for La Adelita include Altagracia Martínez also known as Marieta Martínez and Adela Velarde who was a revolutionary military nurse. 542 See Macías 39 and Mendieta Alatorre 83. 543 Reséndez Fuentes 542. 544 See Macías 39. 545 Starett 376-377. 546 I was introduced to this narrative by J. H. Plenn’s essay “Forgotten Heroines of Mexico: Tales of the Soldaderas, Amazons of War and Revolution” Travel 66 (1936) 27. Rafael Muñoz famously wrote a number of novelas and stories about the Mexican Revolution including El feroz cabecilla. Cuentos de la Revolución en el Norte (1928), El hombre malo y otros relatos (1930), ¡Vamanos con Pancho Villa! (1931), Si me han de matar mañana (1934), and Bachimba (1934). 547 See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 2, Cuaderno 7, 666. One of the most well-known images of this type is a full length portrait of a woman leaning out of a train car. 515 Her shawl covers her head as it catches the wind, which suggests the train is moving. Her disheveled appearance, stained clothes, and a look of distress speak of the hardships of her existence. Perhaps, she is franticly looking for a soldier lost in battle, or she has witnessed some horrible act of war. There are numerous versions of this image; some isolate the leaning woman on the train, while others pull back and expose a group of seven women that surrounds her. The leaning woman appears to be the dirtiest of the group, in particular the women directly to her right wears what appears to be an impeccably clean white dress. However, the leaning woman wears shoes, while the other two women to her right are barefoot. The women’s clothing and footwear may be an indicator of varying social status amongst the group of women and is a point of investigation for future study. Additionally, the need or directive to stand outside of the train car indicates the train cars were full and perhaps reveals a hierarchy between men and women, in terms of the designation of space for women. The precarious position of the leaning woman on the bottom step of the platform outside of the train car possibly suggests that she is of a lower status than the women who are located more securely on the train car. 548 Starett 376-377. 549 This determination is based on my research of numerous documentary photographs of women from the Mexican Revolution, primarily from the Casasola archive. This point is supported by Cano’s (1358) estimation that that the federal and revolutionary military camps that had women attached to them operated primarily in the north of Mexico. Additionally, Villista and Zapatista armies are typically described as not including large contingents of women. Villa in particular is recognized as being opposed to allowing women in his camp because he believed they slowed the army down. 550 This is true for the Chicano Movement. 551 MacDonald (6) explains, “Where war is defined as a male activity, and where highly-valued masculine characteristics are often associated with war, a female warrior must be seen as inherently unsettling to the social order.” 552 Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 2, Cuaderno 7, 242. 553 For a discussion of some of the women that had risen through the ranks of armies of the Mexican Revolution as coronelas, see Macias, 42-43 and Cano, 1359. Cano identifies a number of women who served as coronelas for either the southern or northern revolutionary forces including, Rosa Bobadilla (1873-1957) a native of Jojutla, Morelos who took over after her husband died; Amelia Robles Avila aka Amelio Robles or El Guero born in 1889 in Xochipala, Guerrero who obviously, due to her nicknames, took on a male identity; María de la Luz Espinosa de la Barera who distinguished herself on the battlefield and dressed like a man; María Quinteras, who fought in ten battles between 516 190 and 1913 for Villa’s army; Aurora Ursúa de Escobar who was from Jalisco and served both as Madero’s secretary and as a coronel under Villa; and Angela “Angel” Jiménez from Oaxaca and Petra “Pedro” Ruiz from the north of Mexico who both fought for the Constitutionalist forces. 554 Cano, 1359. 555 An exception is the women with a gun tucked into her pant’s right pocket who is located at the top right of the Casasola publication and labeled “Mujer revolucionaria del estado de Michoacán”. See Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 2, Cuaderno 7, 242. 556 This approach is not unique to photographs of women, as there are a number of studio portraits of Zapata during his time in Mexico City during the Mexican Revolution. However, in the case of Zapata, there are numerous representations that also show him leading or surrounded by his troops and located within the battlefield. 557 Reséndez Fuentes, 527. Echeverría’s presence in Mexico City on this day is also documented in El Imparcial (June 8, 1911). 558 I do want to acknowledge that although the actual identities of most women are not included in the Casasola publications, there are exceptions. Carmen Serdán is named in Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 1, 203 and Valentina Ramirez is named, see Casasola, Historia gráfica de la revolución, 1900-1946, Volume 2, 242. 559 Vincent Starett wrote of women of the revolution in relation to their devotion to their soldier husband or consort, For him crimes may be committed without remorse. . . . She will beg, she will borrow, she will steal for him. It is said that she will not hesitate to take a life for him. On the battlefield she will be at his side whenever it is possible, and she has been known to seize his rifle when he has fallen . . . She rests not until he is comfortable. Her babe, even, is a secondary consideration when her lover is near. Starett 381-382. Although brief, Stareet’s is a significant essay because it was published while the Mexican Revolution was ongoing and serves as a primary source for most scholars on the topic of women of the Mexican Revolution. Although written as a first-hand account of the Mexican Revolution, it is not clear and never stated if Starett himself actually was in Mexico during the war to witness any of what he describes. Starett descriptions of women contribute to the negative connotations about them and he undermines the various motives women joined the armies of the Mexican civil war. Furthermore, he literally attacks these women as parents when he asserts that their man is above all else, even their children. 517 560 Ana Lau and Carmen Ramos, Mujeres y Revolución, 1900-1917 (INEHRMINAH, 1993). 561 Soto 98. 562 Soto (111-113) provides a brief, but useful address of women and the struggle to obtain the right to vote in Mexico. See also Morton’s book Woman Suffrage in Mexico. “During the period 1920to 1934, only four Mexican states amended their laws to include women’s suffrage. States that allowed women to vote were Yucatán, under Felipe Carrillo Puerto’s governorship (1922); San Luis Potosí, under governor Rafael Nieto (1923); Chiapas (1925); and Tabasco, under Socialist Tomás Garrido Canabal (1931 to 1934).” Ward M. Morton, Woman Suffrage in Mexico (University of Florida Press, 1962) 9-12. 563 Soto explains Calles was opposed to suffrage, “because [suffrage] groups, such as the League of Catholic Women, organized in 1924, vehemently resisted his anti-clerical policies.” She also wrote (112), “the activities of the League of Catholic Women increased the government’s suspicion that women served as a political tool of the Catholic Church; women’s participaton in the Cristero Rebellion of 1926, in which Catholics took up arms against the government, continued to be used as a countersuffrage argument; and women’s involvement in the assassination of President-elect Obregón (1928) kept women suspect in the eye of revolutionary politicians.” 564 For Reséndez Fuentes’ examination of the decline of women in the Mexican Revolution see 548-551. 565 Salas 50-51. 566 Mallon’s essay “Exploring the Origins of Democratic Patriarchy in Mexico: Gender and Popular Resistance in the Puebla Highlands, 1850-1876” (1994) is not about the Mexican Revolution, but it does provide insight into the role of women during political and military battles and provides insight into why women are left out of the discourses that narrate these histories. See in particular, Mallon 7-10. 567 Mallon 9. 568 See John Reed, Insurgent Mexico (International publishers, 1914) 134. 569 Salas 88-89. 570 MacDonald 6. 518 571 This issue is addressed throughout O’Malley’s book The Myth of the Revolution: Hero Cults and the Institutionalization of the Mexican State, 1920-1940. 572 Prints that I refer to include one, six, eight, fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one, fifty-four, sixty-one, eighty-three, and eighty-five [See Appendix 1]. 573 Stephen R. Niblo, Mexico in the 1940s: Modernity, Politics, and Corruption (Scholarly Resource, 1999) 75. 574 I have published on print sixty from the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana previously, see Avila, “Laborious Arts: El Taller de Gráfica Popular & the Meaning of Labor in Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana,” 62-82. Furthermore, the time frame of each presidency is incorrect, Obregón served as president until 1924 and it was in that year that Calles took over. In terms of the connection between post-war reconstruction, nation-building, and education Leonard Folgarait writes: How is a Revolution without an explicit ideology defined, and how can the years of violent chaos be reconciled to such a definition and rationalized as the preparatory stage for the now consolidated state? The need is thus established for a massive propaganda campaign. Obregón and his Cabinet members, especially the Secretary of Public Education, José Vasconcelos [1921-1924], promoted a vision of a government that would take care of its citizens, educate them, raise their standard of living, and above all, for the sake of social peace, that would open the world of political opportunity to the ambitious bourgeoisie, distribute land to peasants and relieve the urban worker from centuries of oppression.” Folgarait, Mural Painting and Social Revolucion in Mexico, 1920-1940: Art of the New Order, 6. 575 “Obregón instituted educational and cultural policies . . . intended to support social growth and enrichment, spread equality of opportunity, and forge an inclusive nation for the benefit of all its people, whatever the wealth, social condition, or ethnicity . . . The Secretariat of Public Education was established and charged with enormous tasks in a country 72 percent illiterate.” Alicia Hernández Chávez, Mexico: A Brief History, trans. Andy Klatt (University of California Press, 2006) 240. Craven details Obregón’s contributions in education and new construction when he writes, One of Obregón’s first acts as president was to increase federal spending on education from only around five million dollars annually to fifty-five million. In the period of his presidency from 1920 to 1924, the Mexican government not only built one thousand new rural schools, but also two 519 thousand new public libraries. This meant that the sum granted to education in Mexico stood at 15 percent of the entire national budget by 1923, as compared to only 1 percent in 1919. Despite the devastation in 1920 of a nation virtually in ruins, the Obregón government would succeed in elevating the national rate of literacy from around 15 percent to 25 percent. Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990, 34.) 576 Andrae Michael Marak, The making of modern man: the Callista education Project, 1924-1935, dissertation, Department of Latin American Studies, University of New Mexico, 2000, 310. 577 Thematically and stylistically this image references “La maestra rural” panel that is part of Diego Rivera’s mural cycle at the Secretaría de Educación Pública (or Ministry of Education) building in Mexico City, painted between 1923 and 1928. The figures in the middle ground of Zalce’s image specifically reference Rivera’s panel. Craven describes the “ovoid-shaped campesinos around the teacher as densely over-determined motifs.” He links this particular visual treatment of the campesinos to: “Giotto’s volumetric figures, . . . monolithic . . . Olmec art, and the glyp-like figures found in the Aztect manuscripts, such as the Codex Mendoza.” Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910-1990 40. 578 Marak 310. 579 Mary Kay Vaughan’s books provide a wonderfully nuanced look at how enabling, as well as constraining this paradoxical situation was, see in particular Cultural Politics in Revolution. 580 In 1927 Calles’s Minister of Education, Puig Casauranc, laid out these goals for rural schools: “Rural schools advanced citizenship training by teaching that the Mexican Revolution had given children and adults wide range of rights as citizens; the Revolution, however, also brought with it an equally large number of duties with which Mexicans had to comply. Educators promoted social efficiency by teaching the virtues of utility and practicality through agricultural and industrial training. Both of these goals were aimed at fully incorporating rural and indigenous people into Mexican mainstream society.” Marak 117. Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds explain: “To facilitate the acculturation of the Indian, heavy emphasis was placed on teaching of Spanish.” Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 562. In reference to the placement of rural schools and building a political base in the countryside see Marak (2000, 146): “Whereas Obregón focused on using the expansion of education into the countryside to overcome the political independence of municipal authorities, Calles’ parallel school system began making inroads on the control that the individual states had over primary education.”. 520 581 Hernández Chávez 245. Even after his presidency, Calles was still the primary figure associated with the power struggle with the Church. Officially, after 1929, Calles served as minister of war, during which time he continued to suppress the rebellion of the Critero War. 582 An intervention by the United States Ambassador, Dwight Morrow resulted in a peace treaty between the Mexican government and the Cristeros in 1929. 583 Leopoldo Méndez’ 1939 portfolio, “En el nombre de Cristo” is an interesting point of comparison with the four images from the TGP’s portfolio on the Mexican Revolution. Méndez dedicated the seven lithographs to detailing the gruesome murder of teachers as part of the Cristero Rebellion, which reveal heavy criticism against the agressors and the Church. 584 Gilly 1313. See also Camín and Meyer 1993, 132 and Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds (2003) 576. 585 On the multiplicity of the narratives of the Mexican Revolution in relation to Cárdenas, see Knight, “Cardenismo: Juggernaut or Jalopy?,” 77. 586 Knight, “Cardenismo: Juggernaut or Jalopy?” 86. 587 Niblo 115. 588 See Niblo’s discussion 115-132. 589 Niblo 117. 590 Niblo 121. 591 Niblo 115. 592 Niblo 137. 593 See Niblo 103 and 94 respectively. 594 There is an interesting contrast between the organic and soft surfaces (roof, sombreros, and fabrics) associated with the campesinos and the hard surfaces (brick, metal, stone) of the associated with the soldier. 595 The Massacre at Tlateloco was a government massacre of student and civilian protesters that took place on October 2, 1968 in the Plaza de las Culturas in Tlateloco section of Mexico City ten days before the Summer Olympics celebrations in the capital. 521 For a dramatic recount of events see Elena Poniatowska, Massacre in Mexico, Trans. Helen R. Lane (The Viking Press, Inc., 1975). 596 I have published on print eighty-four from the TGP’s Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana previously, see Avila, “Laborious Arts: El Taller de Gráfica Popular & the Meaning of Labor in Las Estampas de la Revolución Mexicana,” 62-82. 597 Visual elements in this image seem to quote earlier prints in the portfolio. In print eleven, “La huelga de Cananea…” a similar tenebrist treatment of the factory was applied to the mining industry building in the upper left corner. Another similarity between the two prints is the illustration of a focal figure tightly gripping a tool as a weapon. In print thirteen, “La huelga de Río Blanco: Los obreros textiles se lanzan a la lucha,” 7 de Enero de 1907” (The Rio Blanco Strike: The Textile Workers Jump into the Struggle, January 7, 1907), by Fernando Castro Pacheco, the body language of the striking textile workers is similar to that of the crowd in print eighty-four and print eleven; in each image the crowd is angry and has been provoked by injustice to rebel. Both the position of print eleven in the portfolio sequence and the location of the viewer in the print, at the head of the striking miners, allude to the beginnings of revolution. In print eighty-four, however, the artist presents the figures in backside profiles that draw the audience into the crowd. 598 This figure can be read as a Mexican version of French Libertè, and a direct reference to Delacrix’s 1830 painting “Liberty Leading the People.” 599 Wechsler, Mexico and Modern Printmaking75. 600 See Niblo 83-237. 601 James Wechsler makes a similar observations when he acknowledged, “by ending with Alemán’s industrialization campaign, the portfolio links porfiriato-style imperialism to Mexico’s new Cold War-era strategies.” 602 My source for these lyrics comes from a webpage http://www.umich.edu/~ac213/student_projects06/joelan/adelita.html created by Laura Norris and Joseph Reiss for Maria Cotera’s course, American Culture 213, Introduction to Latina/o Studies course at Michigan University in the Fall of 2006. Accessed on September 30, 2012. 603 Some themes I have researched and developed for long concentrated periods of time and others topics I feel I have only scratched the surface, this is particularly true for my work on the representation of gender and landscape. As I move forward beyond this project I will continue to pursue these themes, as they have become crucial and continuous points for my future scholarship. 522 604 Hannes Meyer, Taller de Gráfica Popular: doce años de obra artística colectiva VIIII-X. 605 The personal letters of Leopoldo Mendez and Pablo O’Higgins are the sources I refer to specifically here. Mendez’ letters are held in the collection of the Centro Nacional de las Artes and O’Higgins are in the possession of his widow and the O’Higgins Foundation. Unfortunately, both institutions have denied me access to the letters for their own distinct reasons and I wait for the letters to become available in order to further pursue my points of inquiry. 606 The first theme I investigated in this project was the representation and significance of Zapata, which was initially intended to be part of my M.A. thesis project where I planned to address approximately one hundred years of image production of the revolutionary leader. Although I conducted extensive research on images of Zapata, in the end the thesis focused more narrowly on photographs and caricatures of Zapata produced during the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). Nonetheless, that research was a seminal foundation for this project and Zapata serves as an important lens and filter for my subsequent ongoing work on the Mexican civil war. It is my belief that Zapata also served as symbolic and foundational importance for many members of the TGP, but not necessarily all of them. For instance, TGP artist-member Ignacio Aguirre was a Carrancista, which would have put him at odds with Zapata at least during the war. 607 I am indebted to O’Malley for her indepth address in her book The Myth of the Revolution: Hero Cults and the Institutionalization of the Mexican State, 1920-1940 of commemorations of Madero and Zapata and the connections she makes between the Revolution and its heroes in terms of religious connotations. 608 Meyer, Sherman, Deeds (2003) 611-612. 609 Luis Camnitzer gave a talk entitled “Art and Dishonor” at Site Santa Fe on November 13, 2007 as part of a lecture series in conjunction with the exhibition Los Deseparecidos. 610 Here I build on Walter Benjamin’s statement that we should brush history against the grain found in, “Theses on the Philosophy of History,” Illuminations, Hannah Arendt, ed., Harry Zohn, trans., (Schocken, 1978) 256-257. 523 BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary Resources Ades, Dawn and McClean, Alison. 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