In War, at Least, We All Claim the Loyal as Our Own

All we could see at first were the faces of the three soldiers captured in Serbia. The faces of America, scarred and grim but somehow telegraphing inner resolve. The country breathed a collective gasp: They’ve got three of our own.

We later learned their names: Gonzales, Ramirez and Stone.

The surnames of immigrant America. Bits of biographical data that began hinting at the ethnic mosaic we call the United States.

We also learned their hometowns, places that vividly suggested regional roots: Huntsville, Texas. East Los Angeles. Kenockee Township, Mich.

For many Mexican Americans, the war story unfolding on our television sets became more personal at that point. We pieced together the faces, the names, the cities of origin and we felt an even deeper connection to the faraway drama.

Latinos shared a collective recognition: They’ve got two of our own.

Friends called me to underscore the ratio: Did you see? Two of the three . . .

They hardly needed to finish the thought.

Many minorities, I think, make similar mental notes with other types of news stories all the time. It’s an instinctive sensitivity to stereotyping.

When Latinos make news for committing crimes, we breathe a collective groan. We cringe when the drunk driver turns out to be a Gonzales. We curse when the rapist turns out to be a Ramirez. We know we’re being judged as a group by the bad acts of a few.

By the same token, Latinos feel an extra pride when we make the news for doing good.

The sad thing is, stereotypes often don’t work in reverse. Good never gets generalized when it comes to certain races. Bravery, honesty and responsibility remain attributes of individuals. The rest can still be tarred as lazy or dirty.

Or disloyal.

Sad as it is, the capture of Staff Sgt. Andrew A. Ramirez and Spc. Steven M. Gonzales tells the public that Mexican Americans are loyal Americans, says Rick Aguirre, an Orange County attorney who organizes a yearly tribute for U.S. veterans of Mexican descent.

“That’s the irony,” he said. “It’s only in a time of conflict like this that we get recognized. That’s the bittersweet taste in our mouth.”

Rick’s father, Alfred, 78, born and raised in Placentia’s old barrio, celebrated this week the 54th anniversary of his landing on Okinawa. His two brothers and nine first cousins also served in World War II--a total of 12 vets from the Aguirre clan, whose roots are in Michoacan, not Michigan.

During war, you don’t hear people complaining that Latinos have too many children. We become Americans with sons to spare for battle.

The senior Aguirre came home to become a pioneering Placentia councilman, Orange County’s first elected Latino, his son says. But other Latinos came home to resume marginalized lives.

Sometimes even the dead were denied their rightful place in society.

Consider Pvt. Felix Z. Longoria, killed in action in the Philippines. His corpse was refused a wake by the only mortuary in his hometown of Three Rivers, Texas. Whites would not stand for it in an era when signs in store windows still read: No dogs or Mexicans allowed.

A protest by the American GI Forum, a Latino civil rights group, caught the attention of Lyndon Johnson, then the junior senator from the Lone Star State. LBJ arranged a hero’s burial for Longoria at Arlington National Cemetery.

Since the Civil War, 38 Latinos have earned the Medal of Honor, a third of them for bravery during the Vietnam War. At that time, Latinos accounted for 20% of the troops but less than 10% of the population back home.

Poverty frequently pushes people to the front lines. Many able-bodied men with no skills and no excuses are handed rifles and ordered to march. The one thing they bring themselves is valor.

In times of peace, poverty pushes them aside again.

Nowadays, Latinos are underrepresented in uniform. The armed forces don’t take recruits without a high school diploma, which excludes almost half of all Latinos over 25.

The military can be pickier in peace. But in war, the draft doesn’t discriminate against dropouts.

War is when we let our multicultural passions dissolve. We close ranks. The language of unity prevails. Politicians and generals all step forward to express support for “our men.” We all feel included, finally.

“The United States takes care of its own,” President Clinton declared after the three soldiers were captured.

Let’s hope that’s still true once they come home.

Agustin Gurza’s column appears Tuesdays. Readers can reach him at (714) 966-7712 or online at agustin.gurza@latimes.com.