Started this project after overhearing some wild stereotypes at a barbeque last month. Dude claimed all cholos carry knives and hate cops, while his buddy swore “real Americans” want them deported. Sounded like neither actually talked to these groups. Grabbed my notebook right then – time for some boots-on-the-ground truth hunting.
First Phase: Tracking Perspectives
Rode the bus into Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood Tuesday morning. Just sat at Tony’s Taco joint sipping horchata for three hours, scribbling notes:
- Tattooed abuelo fixing lowrider: “We keep streets clean when cops won’t show. People call us thugs til they need help changing tires in snow.”
- Teen girl tightening bandana: “My uncle’s ICE. Thinks my boyfriend’s trash cause he’s got tatts. Meanwhile dude volunteers at shelter.”
Thursday drove to suburban Michigan – farm supply store parking lot. Chatted pickup truck guys:
- Bearded guy loading feed bags: “Caught cholos stealing my catalytic converter last winter. Whole crew just laughed when cops came.”
- Veteran in camo cap: “Saw vatos rebuilding playground after tornado. They ain’t saints but neither are our pill-popping neighbors.”
- Chicago guy learned ICE man’s brother OD’ed on cholo-pushed fentanyl
- Biker discovered kid’s tattoos covered burn scars from saving his sister
- Everyone agreed politicians benefit from their conflict
- Cholos feel police abandoned their blocks
- Blue-collar guys feel abandoned by immigration enforcement
- Both sides wear uniforms (bandanas/cowboy hats) like armor
The Clash Moment
Last Sunday organized meetup at my garage. Brought six folks total – three from each “side”. Sweated bullets when steroid-looking biker started grilling tattooed kid about gang signs. Nearly ended when someone shouted “rapist!”… until Linda the church lady slammed her walker down.
Whole room froze. That’s when the magic hit.
Arguments died down. Beer got passed around. Actual revelations started popping:
What Stuck With Me
Three big takeaways scribbled on my workshop wall:
Left my garage at 2am smelling like carne asada and cheap lager. Notebook pages wrinkled from taco grease. Mind completely blown by how much pain sounds the same in Spanish and English when we actually listen.
