Three afternoons to remember
To the editor:
“What am I doing here?” “What is this to me?” I kept asking myself these questions as I marched with 75,000 Latinos in the hot Florida sun from the “pulga” or flea market on Ortiz Avenue to Palm Beach Boulevard in Fort Myers. As a retired 75-year-old school superintendent living in luxury on Sanibel Island, one of the 10 most desirable places to live in the United States, born in New York City of parents who were also American citizens, what could this protest march comprised almost entirely of Latino immigrant workers and their families have to do with me?
At 74, I was at least 45 years older than the average age of the marchers and the guayabera I wore to proclaim my Latino identity had rested in the back of my closet for more years than I cared to remember. Except for reading my poetry at a few tertulias, or Spanish language literary gatherings, I had not participated in Latino cultural or political life since finishing my term as president of the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce five years before.
It was during that chamber presidency that I had participated in a demonstration supporting the boycott of Taco Bell by the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, a group of migrant workers led by Lucas Benitez. However, my executive board at the time was hesitant about chamber endorsement or involvement so when the media interviewed me, I had to explain that I was participating as an individual and not on behalf of the organization.
“How much has changed, and for the better!” I said as I marched with Leonardo Garcia, executive director of the chamber. He informed me that the chamber’s executive board and most of its business and professional members were in full support of the protest march.
“But what am I doing here now?” I asked myself again, reviewing in my mind the arguments now raging throughout our country against the protest demonstrations: “a protest against our government for seeking to enforce its laws … a demonstration on behalf of workers who many say undermine other workers, including Latinos who are here legally … a march by and for people who break our laws every day together with the business owners who employ them illegally … no respectable law-abiding American citizen should even be connected to or even less march in it.”
I did not have such doubts or uncertainties when I participated in the March for Jobs and Freedom in August 1963, now known as the Civil Rights March on Washington. Of course, I was 43 years younger and that march was much better organized and focused on the specific goal of influencing civil rights legislation. It was clear to me then, as a child of Puerto Rican parents, that the struggle to improve the rights of African-Americans was also my own. But then as now, there was great trepidation about the potential volatility of so many Blacks and whites assembling in the nation’s capital; President John F. Kennedy at first was passionate in trying to persuade us to call the march off, then gave lukewarm support — but more than a thousand troops were deployed to quell the anticipated rioting. Fortunately for all of us who were there and for the history of our country, Kennedy’s worst fears were never confirmed and the march turned out to be the most peaceful and orderly demonstration ever held in Washington.
And that was what was in my thoughts and memory during the April 10 march in Southwest Florida and what the march shares most with the 1963 March on Washington — not mere orderliness, but a dignity and reverence for the cause bordering on the religious, like pilgrims filling with hope as they begin their journey toward the shrine of equality and opportunity. Even the police, some armed in newly issued riot gear with masks and shields that made them look like Darth Vader, were impressed by the outstanding decorum of the marchers.
In all marches and demonstrations, there are signs, slogans and chants. Our April 10 march did not lack for them, including “Somos Obreros, no Criminales,” (We are workers, not criminals) and “Latinos unidos no serán vencidos” (Latinos united will never be divided). Ironically, the one that impressed me most was the one I had approved — along with other judges — as a question for use on the A-Team, a high school quiz show on local NBC: “¡Sí, se puede!” (Yes, we can!)
I realized then why I was marching and what “all this” meant for me and should mean for every Latino, as well as for every other American descended from immigrants — to give to others the chance to fulfill the promise of America that our parents were given, to welcome the poor, the huddled masses, now marching with me yearning to be free.
Together with Aug. 23, 1963, the Monday of April 10, 2006, became for me an afternoon to remember.
On June 14, 2025, our Pacheco family was represented at the No Kings Protest on Sanibel by my wife, Marjorie. At 94, I was physically unable to join the protest but for both of us, the participation of so many Sanibelian friends and neighbors in the protest made it another day to remember.
Joe Pacheco
Sanibel