Visualizing Everyday Racism

Abstract

Drawing from critical race and sociolinguistic discourse analysis, this article further develops the conceptual tool of racial microaggressions—the systemic, cumulative, everyday forms of racism experienced by People of Color—to articulate a type of racial microaggression, we call visual microaggressions. Visual microaggressions are systemic, everyday visual assaults based on race, gender, class, sexuality, language, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or surname that emerge in various mediums such as textbooks, children’s books, advertisements, film and television, dance and theater performance, and public signage and statuary. These microaggressions reinforce institutional racism and perpetuate ideologies of white supremacy. In this article, we use a racial microaggressions analytical framework to examine how the “Mexican bandit” visual microaggression has been utilized as a multimodal text that (re)produces racist discourses that in turn reinforce dominant power structures. These discourses have allowed for the Mexican bandit image to pervade the public imagination of Latinas/os for over 100 years.

Keywords

critical race theory race/ethnicity racial microaggressions visual microaggressions Latina/o studies

Prologue

It was the usual routine of reading a book with my daughter, right before putting her down for the night. We sat together, side-by-side on the floor of her bedroom and I began reading a book titled, Don’t Tell Lies Lucy! A Cautionary Tale (Cox, 2004). It was a book I didn’t recognize. Who knows where it could have come from, a family member, a friend, or perhaps a forgotten birthday gift. My daughter sat beside me listening and looking at the illustrations as I read the story of Lucy, a little girl who had a bad habit of telling lies. We arrived to page 12, where Lucy borrows her friend’s bike and then crashes into a tree. Her friend’s bike is shown in scattered pieces, strewn across the page. On the next page, Lucy explains to her friend what happened to the bike, saying it wasn’t her fault, a “bandit” jumped in front of her. The illustration portrays Lucy’s explanation. Figure 1 is a drawing made by my daughter, Layla, to represent the illustration we saw in this book.¹ Lucy was riding the bike down a path, with a surprised, perhaps fearful expression on her face, a bandit standing in her way. The bandit wore a large sombrero, serape, and sandals. The image stunned me. I stopped reading. My daughter looked at me puzzled and asked, “What’s wrong mommy?”

Figure 1.

Image on page 12 of “Don’t Tell Lies Lucy! A Cautionary Tale” (Cox, 2004).

This is how racial microaggressions often happen—unexpectedly, suddenly, during the everyday, routine moments of our lives. There are spaces where one would think that they are safe from experiencing racism, for example, reading a book at home with your child. But this is not the case. Everyday racism can be experienced anywhere and everywhere. Understanding how this happens in the everyday experiences of People of Color is one of our goals as critical race theorists in education.

Introduction

Racial microaggressions are a form of systemic, everyday racism used to keep those at the racial margins in their place. They are (a) verbal and non-verbal assaults directed toward People of Color, often carried out in subtle, automatic or unconscious forms; (b) layered assaults, based on a Person of Color’s race, gender, class, sexuality, language, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or surname; and (c) cumulative assaults that take a psychological, physiological, and academic toll on People of Color (Kohli & Solorzano, 2012; Ledesma & Solorzano, 2013; Pérez Huber & Cueva, 2012; Pierce 1970, 1995; Solorzano & Pérez Huber, 2012).

According to the conceptual framework of microaggressions, researchers can identify types of microaggressions, or, how one is targeted by a microaggression (Kohli & Solorzano, 2012; Solorzano & Pérez Huber, 2012). For example, scholarship has identified the raced, gendered, classed, and racist nativist types of microaggressions that target various Communities of Color (Allen, 2010; Kohli & Solorzano, 2012; McCabe, 2009; Pérez Huber, 2011; Rollock, 2012; Solorzano, 1998; Solorzano, Ceja, & Yosso, 2000; Yosso, Smith, Ceja, & Solorzano, 2009). This article focuses on one type of microaggression that deserves further examination—visual microaggressions.² Visual microaggressions have the same fundamental elements as racial microaggressions; they are layered, often subtle and unconscious, and cumulative. Visual microaggressions are often non-verbal, visual representations of racist ideas and beliefs about People of Color.

We believe a move toward a visual analysis of microaggressions is necessary to unveil the forms of racism People of Color encounter in their everyday lives and in their everyday environments. We use the example of the development of visual sociology from the traditional sociological perspective. Visual sociologist Douglas Harper (2012) explained this evolution:

Sociology was an invitation to unmask inequalities, to inspire change, to involve oneself in social movements and to experiment with new ways of living. Many of us thought that making sociology visual was parallel to making society visible, and that led to seeing into social realities. (p. 3)

What Harper explains here about the field of sociology is similar to our work as critical race theorists in education. For us, the field of sociology has directly influenced the cultivation of knowledge about societal and structural inequities faced by the People of Color we study (Solorzano, 2013). What is striking about Harper’s commentary is his description of making “society visible” and allowing us to see into particular social realities. In this article, we argue for a visual approach to critical race theory (CRT) in education. Similar to the ways Harper argued for the visualization of sociology, we believe a visualization of CRT in education allows race and racism to be seen in material ways within everyday social realities of People of Color. Moreover, it allows us to see into the realities themselves—realities that have been marginalized, excluded, and erased from the public imaginary. Making racial microaggressions visual allows us to recognize and understand how multiple forms of racism exist in the everyday.

Visualizing Rac(ism)

Scholars across academic disciplines have theorized visual forms of contemporary racism. For example, communications and media studies scholars have documented negative portrayals of People of Color in film and television since the inception of such mediums and the development of the entertainment industry over time (i.e., Abraham & Appiah, 2006; Bogle, 1994; Dates & Barlow, 1993; Fregoso, 1993; Lester, 1996; Marchetti, 1993; Mastro & Behm-Morawitz, 2005; McConnell, 2011; Noriega, 1992; Ramírez Berg, 2002; Wilson, Gutiérrez, & Chao, 2013).³ Social scientists have also explored how racist visual representations function to discursively subordinate People of Color, while maintaining a white power structure inclusive of constructed practices, policies, and identities (Abel, 2010; Chávez, 2001; Dávila, 2008; Harris, 2003). While the purpose of this article is not to provide a comprehensive overview of this literature, we acknowledge these important areas of scholarship that have informed our analysis here. We have, however, paid particular attention to the early theorizing of visual racism as explained by W. E. B. Du Bois.

We concur with Shawn Michelle Smith (2004) that Du Bois was among the first visual race theorists. Among his contributions to a racial visual analysis is the concept of “double consciousness,” first articulated in his 1897 work published in the Atlantic Monthly. Du Bois stated,

[T]he Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,—a world which yields him no self–consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of the world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. (Du Bois, 1897, p. 1)

This “sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others,” or what Du Bois also calls the “veil” serves as a powerful construct to examine how People of Color experience and are effected by visual racism. Smith (2004) explains that “Du Boisian double consciousness results when one attempts to reconcile radically different perceptions of self; competing representations split consciousness” (p. 29). However, Smith continues to explain that the state of consciousness Du Bois articulates should not be literally understood as, “a psychological pathology, but the condition of being African American in white supremacist America” (p. 29). In this sense, we position our understanding of visual racism from the work of Du Bois to explore the ways visual racism, and specifically visual microaggressions, effect the People of Color whose identities become distorted and inaccurately portrayed.

Visualizing Racism From a CRT Perspective

Over a decade ago, Solorzano (1997) urged for the identification of racist stereotypes that manifested visually in everyday life in his article, “Images and Words that Wound.” In this work, he drew heavily from critical race theorists such as Derrick Bell, Kimberlé Crenshaw, Richard Delgado, Charles Lawrence, Mari Matsuda, and others as scholars who established CRT within the law.⁴ Building on this tradition of scholarship, Solorzano explained the goal of CRT in education to

develop a pedagogy, curriculum, and research agenda that accounts for the role of race and racism in U.S. education and works toward the elimination of racism as part of a larger goal of eliminating all forms of subordination in education. (p. 7)

Although this goal of CRT in education continues to hold true, only a handful of critical race studies have attempted to meet the challenge to identify visual forms of racism (see Cappiccie, Chadha, Lin, & Snyder, 2012; Yosso, 2000; Yosso & García, 2010).

A critical race study of how race, racism, and other forms of oppression emerge in the experiences of Communities of Color is guided by the five major tenants of CRT: (a) centralizing race, racism, and multiple forms of intersecting oppressions experienced by People of Color, (b) challenging dominant ideologies that justify the subordinate positions of People of Color created by structural oppression, (c) centering and utilizing experiential knowledge as the foundation for research on Communities of Color, (d) utilizing an interdisciplinary perspective that draws across and within the boundaries of academic disciplines to answer research questions, and (e) encompassing an unapologetic stance for racial justice for Communities of Color (Smith-Maddox & Solorzano, 2002; Solorzano, 1997).

Latina/o critical theory, or LatCrit, is a theoretical branch of CRT that has developed as a more specific lens to study the experiences of Latina/o communities. LatCrit is an extension of CRT that not only encompasses the same five tenants but also allows researchers to examine experiences related to language, immigration status, phenotype, and culture that are used to subordinate Latinas/os. A LatCrit framework lends to the development of other conceptual frameworks to better articulate the intersectionality of systems of oppression for Latina/o communities (Solorzano & Delgado Bernal, 2001). In this article, we refine our analysis even further, using the conceptual framework of racist nativism to understand how visual representations of Latinas/os in the United States symbolize and perpetuate beliefs of foreignness and not belonging, despite country of origin (Pérez Huber, Benavides Lopez, Malagon, Velez, & Solorzano, 2008). Furthermore, racist nativism affords us an analytical strategy to examine a form of racism marked by significant anti-immigrant sentiment that constructs perceptions of Latina/o immigrants as “dangerous,” “criminals,” and draining U.S. economic resources. Racist nativism is a form of racism that (a) occurs in both historical and contemporary contexts, (b) intersects with other forms of oppression, and (c) is based on real and perceived immigration status (Pérez Huber, 2009; Pérez Huber et al., 2008). These racist nativist perceptions are especially important for the visual analysis provided in this article, as they often guide visual portrayals of Latinas/os—both immigrant and non-immigrant.

Now that we have laid the theoretical foundation for how we approach an analysis of visual racism, we now explain the conceptual tools we use in this analysis. When Chester Pierce (1974) first developed the concept of microaggressions, he urged People of Color to “be taught to recognize” these subtle, everyday forms of racism in order to “take action” to counter and challenge them (p. 520, emphasis added). We use the concept of racial microaggressions to recognize the systemic, everyday forms of racism encountered by People of Color that are layered, cumulative assaults based on race, gender, class, sexuality, language, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or surname (Solorzano, 1998; Solorzano, Ceja, & Yosso, 2000; Solorzano & Pérez Huber, 2012). Racial microaggressions can be verbal and non-verbal, subtle or blatant, unconscious or conscious, and take a toll on the People of Color targeted by them. (Pérez Huber & Cueva, 2012; Pierce, 1970, 1995; Solorzano, 1998).

We use the concept of racial microaggressions to analyze how visual forms of racism emerge through everyday images, reinforcing negative, deficit views of People of Color.⁵ According to researchers, there are four major components of racial microaggressions (Kohli & Solorzano, 2012; Solorzano & Pérez Huber, 2012). They are as follows:

Types—How one is targeted by microaggressions, which can be based on race, gender, class, language, sexuality, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or surname.

Context—How and where the microaggressions occur.

Effects—The physical, emotional, and psychological consequences of microaggressions.

Responses—How the individual responds to inter-personal and institutional racist acts and behaviors?⁶

Visual imagery that conveys racist stereotypes, perceptions, and/or beliefs about People of Color can be described as one type of racial microaggression, what we call visual microaggressions. We understand visual microaggressions to be systemic, everyday visual assaults that are layered, cumulative, and based on race, gender, class, sexuality, language, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or surname and function to keep those at the racial margins (People of Color) in their place. These visual assaults can emerge in various mediums such as textbooks, children’s books, advertisements, film and television, dance and theater performance, and public signage and statuary. Visual microaggressions reinforce institutional racism and perpetuate the ideologies of white supremacy that justify the subordination of People of Color over white.

This article began with a story about my (first author) experience with visual microaggressions while reading a children’s book to my daughter. The microaggression visually portrayed the “bandit” of the story as a stereotypical image of a “Mexican” man wearing a sombrero, serape, and sandals. The image of the “Mexican bandit” stereotype is perhaps historically one of the oldest and most widely recognized visual microaggression to target Latinas/os. Rodolfo Acuña (2000) traces the Mexican bandit stereotype as far back as the 19th century during white colonization of the U.S. Southwest. Charles Ramírez Berg (2002) explains the same stereotype (what he calls “el bandido” stereotype) emerged in film in the early 1900s.⁷ Ramírez Berg provides a detailed description of the Mexican bandit image in film. He explains,

El bandido is dirty and unkempt, usually displaying an unshaven face, missing teeth, and disheveled, oily hair . . . Behaviorally, he is vicious, cruel, treacherous, shifty, and dishonest; psychologically, he is irrational, overly emotional, and quick to resort to violence. His inability to speak English or his speaking English with a heavy Spanish accent is Hollywood’s way of signaling his feeble intellect. (p. 68)

Here, Ramírez Berg identifies the characteristics attributed to the Mexican bandit and variations of the stereotypes that he argues also include the “Latin-American gangster” and the “inner-city gang member” seen today in media and film. Thus, significant to our investigation is that the racist, stereotypic image of the Mexican bandit has persisted for over a century. The attributes of criminality associated with such visual microaggressions have come to define dominant perceptions of Latinas/os as a racial group and particularly of Latina/o immigrants (Acuña, 2000; Chávez, 2008; Santa Ana, 2002). Here, we provide examples of visual microaggressions that portray the image of the Mexican bandit over an approximately 40-year period through advertisements and news media. Through these images, we show the progression of the Mexican bandit stereotype from the “dirty bandido” to the undocumented immigrant.

The “Mexican Bandit” as Visual Microaggression

Figure 2 is an advertisement for Elgin watches published in the Chicago Tribune Magazine in 1970. The advertisement shows a photograph of Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata, seemingly lying in dirt with two Elgin watches strategically placed on top of the photograph of Zapata. The headline to the left of the image reads, “Your new Elgin is better than the Elgins Zapata was willing to kill for in 1914.” Below this slogan, the advertisement continues with a narrative that reads,

Emiliano Zapata, the Mexican Robin Hood and revolutionary, tacked up this notice in a Western railroad station: “any engineer or conductor found not carrying an Elgin watch will be killed for concealing valuables.” It seems that the trainmen were tired of having their expensive Elgin stolen and were trying to substitute something less valuable, it didn’t work then and it certainly won’t work now.

Figure 2.

Advertisement for Elgin Wristwatch, Chicago Tribune, May 24, 1970.

The image of Emiliano Zapata is used in this advertisement to tell a story about how “Mexican bandits,” like Zapata, recognized the value of this particular brand of watches and in fact were “willing to kill” for them.⁸ While we assume that the story told of Zapata and Elgin watches is not true, we know that his image is used here to perpetuate stereotypic portrayals of Chicanos as “dangerous” and “criminal.” Moreover, dirt surrounds the worn image of Zapata, relaying the “dirty and unkempt” characteristics of the Mexican bandit as described earlier by Ramírez Berg (2002). The visual microaggression is the image of Zapata and the messages of a “dirty dangerous criminal,” that the image conveys. Several years later, we see the imagery of the dangerous Chicano criminal evolve to include yet another characteristic, undocumented immigrant status.

Figure 3 is a 1975 advertisement for a television documentary called “The Unwanted” that aired on a local National Broadcasting Company (NBC) television station in Los Angeles, California. The prominent image in the advertisement is a Chicano male dressed in jeans and a worker’s shirt, wearing handcuffs around his wrists. Above the image of the man is “Channel 4,” the local television station and to the left of the image is a headline that reads, “He just earned a free trip to Mexico.” To the right of the male image is a description of the documentary that reads,

For many illegal aliens the risk of being deported is worth the chance to earn 4 or 5 times as much as they could working in Mexico. Are these illegal Mexican aliens really criminals or simply victims of an immigration system which has gone unchanged for a decade?

Figure 3.

Advertisement for “The Unwanted,” Los Angeles Times, August 23, 1975.

The image of the handcuffed, undocumented Chicano male reinforces the perception of criminality that the advertisement suggests in the question posed above. Although the narrative also suggests opposing perceptions of the undocumented as “working” and “victim,” the image chosen was the handcuffed, undocumented Chicano criminal. Here, we would argue that the language included in the ad is also significant for several reasons. The term, “illegal” further contributes to the criminal portrayal of the image, whereas the term “alien” dehumanizes, allowing readers to separate themselves from the “Mexican aliens.” Finally, the advertisement supports the perception of undocumented immigrants as exclusively “Mexican,” although immigrants from throughout Latin America and the world come to the United States to work. Now, we fast forward over 40 years to the next visual microaggression in Figure 4. Here we see the Mexican bandit stereotype evolve yet again.

Figure 4.

“Canyon High School Principal Dr. Bowden Ordered to Diversity Training by OUSD,” 2012.

The photograph in Figure 4 is from a high school event organized by students and approved by school administrators in Anaheim, California, a large urban city located approximately 30 miles southeast of Los Angeles.⁹ The image was originally posted in June 2012 by the male student (pictured center) in the photo with the message, “I forgot my green card” to the online social networking service, Twitter (Palabraz, 2012; San Roman, 2012). The event was called “Seniores and Señoritas,” a play on the word “senior” for the high school’s senior spirit week (Do & Rojas, 2012). At the event, students dressed in costume as stereotypic Latina/o characters such as the Latino gang member pictured in this photograph. Also in the photo are two white female students wearing T-shirts that read, “Border Patrol.” One white female student appears to simulate an arrest of the boy, who has placed both hands behind his back. In this visual microaggression, we see several variations of the Mexican bandit stereotype converge. First, the young man is dressed as a stereotypic gang member with baggy jeans, a buttoned Pendleton style shirt and a bandana tied across his head. Second, the “gang member” is a criminal who is being arrested, and third, he is undocumented as conveyed by the role of the white female “Border Patrol” agents.

According to newspapers, this event has been held for several consecutive years at the school (Lopez, 2012). It was not until a Latino high school graduate filed a complaint with the district superintendent that the event was questioned and eventually cancelled. In fact, the student reported that when he had previously complained about the event to school administration he was told to “get a sense of humor” (Do & Rojas, 2012).¹⁰

A Racial Microaggressions Analysis of the “Mexican Bandit”

The image of the Mexican bandit can be understood as what James Gee (2011) calls “multimodal texts,” texts that include words and images meant to communicate particular messages and are a part of a larger discourse. The words and images used in these visual microaggressions convey particular meanings for Chicanas/os and other Latinas/os, as dominant discourse often erases the ethnic diversity of the Latina/o population and homogenizes this group (Hernández-Truyol, 1993). These meanings are mediated by the racist nativist messages the images convey—dangerous, criminal, undocumented, and do not belong in the United States. The Mexican bandit image is clearly gendered, targeting Chicano/Latino males in particular. Scholars have articulated how the Chicano/Latino male is perceived as pathologically deficient and the male brown body criminalized to maintain his subordinate status in the U.S. racial hierarchy (Aldama, 2002; Baca Zinn, 1982; Cruz, 2006; Malagon, 2011; Sosa Riddell, 1974).¹¹

The messages portrayed by these visual microaggressions would not be possible without the dominant discourse that guides public imagination of U.S. immigration. The function of visual microaggressions as multimodal texts articulates the relationship between these everyday racist assaults and institutional structures of racism that mediate the public discourses about People of Color that in turn, create and perpetuate these racist stereotypic images. In this section, we use a racial microaggressions analytical framework (Figure 5) to illustrate how these visual microaggressions, a type of racial microaggression, are intrinsically connected and mediated by institutional racism and white supremacy.

Figure 5.

A model of a racial microaggressions analytical framework.

Visual Microaggressions and Institutional Racism

At the center of Figure 5 are the three “Mexican bandit” visual microaggressions we provided in this article. These images are placed in the center of the model in Figure 5 as “types” of racial microaggressions. Surrounding the images in the model is institutional racism (in black), the formal or informal structural mechanisms, such as policies and processes, that systematically subordinate, marginalize, and exclude non-dominant groups and mediates experiences with racial microaggressions through visual representation in its various forms (i.e., textbooks, children’s books, advertisements, film and television, dance and theater performance, public signage and statuary). Institutional racism is inclusive of the structural systems that have historically operated to maintain the social, economic, and political subordination of non-dominant groups and communities.

In the images we have presented in this article, the institutional racism that supports the “Mexican bandit” visual microaggression are the racist nativist discourses that allow for the discursive constructions of Latinas/os as criminal, dangerous and non-native as the visuals portray. To understand the institutional racism that perpetuates visual microaggressions, we must understand how these images are connected to a broader discourse.

According to critical discourse analysts, discourse can be understood as the “ways of speaking about a topic from a particular point of view” that create discursive practices to (re)articulate positions of power within a social order (Santa Ana, 2002, p. 53; see also Fairclough, 1995; Foucault, 1980). George Lakoff (2006) explains discourse in another way, as “mental structures” that we use unconsciously and that shape our ideas, concepts, interactions, perceptions, and actions and define our common sense of issues. For example, Lakoff and Ferguson (2006) have identified the frame of “illegality” as a dominant frame of public discourse around immigration reform that further criminalizes undocumented Latinas/os. Leo Chávez (2001), a cultural anthropologist, found a public “fear” of Latina/o and Asian immigrants to guide national discourse on immigration, as represented visually in U.S. print media. Otto Santa Ana (2002) found messages of immigrants as “dangerous” and a “burden” to dominate public immigration discourse through use of metaphor. We have seen all of these messages in the visual microaggressions provided here.

These discourses have a history. Research has found that the social constructions named by these discourses have historically targeted Latinas/os regardless of country of origin, and Mexican immigrants in particular (Acuña, 2000; De Genova, 2005; Pérez Huber et al., 2008; Sánchez, 1997). Beyond perpetuating these social constructions, this discourse also functions to construct the legitimacy of whites as the “native” dominant group and their superordinate social positions of power within the U.S. racial hierarchy (Dávila, 2008; Pérez Huber et al., 2008). Thus, these discourses are racist nativist discourses (Pérez Huber, 2011).

However, Gee (2001) complicates the meaning of discourse when he argues that discourse is about much more than words and language. He explains discourse “integrates ways of talking, listening, readings, acting, interacting, believing, valuing, and feeling” and is learned through a process of socialization (p. 719). Gee (1996, 1999) further delineates a differentiation between what he calls “Discourse” with a big “D” and discourse with a little “d.” A discourse (with a little “d”) is the ability to “consume,” or interpret the discourse. Discourse (with a big “D”) is a learned socialization process to not only interpret but also enact and produce the “Discourse.”

We argue this is precisely what racist nativist discourses do as a form of institutional racism. They function to (a) frame deficit (racist nativist) common sense understandings of People of Color, (b) enact and produce “multimodal texts” (i.e., visual microaggressions) that represent the discourses, and, (c) in turn, (re)produce the discourse.

With Gee’s explanation of discourse, along with the work of critical discourse analysts (Fairclough, 1995; Lakoff, 2006; Santa Ana, 2002), we can understand racist nativist discourses as a learned, complex, structural process of communication that (re)produces racist nativism to systematically subordinate, marginalize, and exclude People of Color. Racist nativist discourses as a structural process then are a form of institutionalized racism. Through the words and imagery of the visual microaggressions in this article, we see racist nativist discourses emerge.

Across the three visual microaggressions we present in this article, the Mexican bandit stereotype represents and (re)produces racist discourses of Latinas/os as dangerous criminals who pose a threat to an American way of life. In 1970, the Elgin wristwatch advertisement (Figure 2) portrays Emiliano Zapata as a Mexican bandit willing to steal and kill for an expensive accessory. Several years later in 1975, a less threatening Mexican bandit emerges as the undocumented immigrant Chicano portrayed in a newspaper advertisement (Figure 3). Over 40 years later in 2013, we see the perpetuation of racist nativist discourses that lead to the normalized practices of a more explicit form of racism through Latina/o caricature in high school social events (Figure 4). It is this historically recent image of the Mexican bandit we find to be most troubling because of the explicit relationships with structural oppression that our analysis reveals.

The visual microaggression in Figure 4 was the school-sanctioned practice of dressing in stereotypic attire that students attributed to Latinas/os. Newspapers reported many students participated in the school-wide event, dressed in similar costume as depicted by the high school students in this figure (Do & Rojas, 2012; Lopez, 2012). The question that must be asked is, how do so many students know what a Latina or Latino person is supposed to look like? We argue that it is the racist nativist discourses afforded by institutionalized racism that have allowed for this “common sense” understanding of Latina/o communities across a high school student population and the administrators who condoned the event. As Gee (2002) explains,

Discourses need not have any overt label that their participants know and use. An overt label is not important—all that is important is that people can recognize (consciously or unconsciously) that in a word and deed someone is being a “certain kind of person” (who) engaged in a “certain kind of activity” (what). (p. 36)

In the case of the high school students in Figure 4, and all those who participated in this event explicitly and implicitly, racist nativist discourses were interpreted, enacted, and (re)produced. Students and administrators had to develop an understanding from these discourses about who Latinas/os are, and how they engaged and condoned visual microaggressions to enact the discourse through dress and action¹² (i.e., gang-member attire, being arrested, complacency) and they (re)produced these discourses by reifying the racist nativist social constructions of Latina/o communities. This was institutional racism, a structural process that systematically subordinated and marginalized Latinas/os, and mediated the visual microaggressions enacted by students.

Visual Microaggressions and Macroaggression

The final piece of the model we illustrate in Figure 5 is the macroaggression (in red). We define macroaggressions as the set of beliefs and/or ideologies guided by white supremacy, that justify actual or potential structural arrangements that legitimate the interests and/or positions of a dominant group over non-dominant groups. Thus, the macroaggression names the ideological foundation that justifies the institutional racism, from which visual microaggressions emerge.

To identify the macroaggression within our analysis of the Mexican bandit as visual microaggression, we must ask the question, what are the ideologies that support the (re)production of racist nativist discourses? If the institutional racism we have identified as racist nativist discourses function as a structural process to construct the legitimacy of white as “native” and justify their superordinate social positions of power within the U.S. racial hierarchy, then it is white supremacy that serves as an ideological foundation for the imagery of the Mexican bandit as visual microaggression.

Within the visual microaggressions we provided in this article, white supremacy is unseen. It is perhaps what Gee (2011) calls the “unsaid” of the multimodal text or visual microaggression. Visual racism is something we are socialized to consciously or unconsciously recognize yet remain unable to name because “the overt label is not important,” only the recognition that the racist discourse defines for us. Yet, it is not the (re)production of the discourses and the social constructions of racist nativist discourses conveyed through the visual microaggressions that are most problematic—it is the privileging of whiteness as the “unsaid” rule of logic these visuals afford its readers. Although contemporary “post-racial” discourses attempt to shroud the existence of race and racism in today’s society (Bonilla-Silva, 2003), the visual microaggressions in this article suggest that contemporary everyday racism is very much alive.

Theorizing Effects of Visual Microaggressions

When W. E. B. Du Bois first began theorizing visual racism at the turn of the 20th century, it may have been difficult for him to imagine that over a century later People of Color would continue to struggle with double consciousness, the sense of “always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others.” Yet we find ourselves at the turn of the 21st century, still living within a world where People of Color experience the same “peculiar sensation” Du Bois described so long ago. In fact, it was this peculiar sensation while reading a book one night with my daughter, that lead to the work my co-author and I have presented in this article. The concept of double consciousness has served our analysis in two ways. First, it assists us in understanding the subordinating and oppressive functions of visual microaggressions. Second, it provides an explanatory framework for potential effects of microaggressions on People of Color. Others further confirm the significance of the effects of everyday racism.

In his activist work, African American leader Malcolm X theorized the effects of daily racism experienced by African Americans in the United States. In a speech featured in the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) documentary, “Malcolm X: Make it Plain” (Bagwell, 1994), Malcolm X pronounced,

Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose and the shape of your lips? Who taught you to hate yourself from the top of your head to the soles of your feet? Who taught you to hate your own kind? Who taught you to hate the race that you belong to so much so that you don’t want to be around each other? . . . You should ask yourself who taught you to hate being what God made you.

In this speech and others, Malcolm X argued that through the ideologies of white supremacy, African Americans were being taught to hate themselves and their communities. Changing physical appearance and disassociating oneself from a racial group are symptoms of white supremacy, Malcolm X argued. These practices continue today, not only within the African American community but also in many Communities of Color (see Berry & Duke, 2011). Malcolm X continues to remind us that future research on visual microaggressions should examine how the effects of everyday racism shape the beliefs, values, and identities of Communities of Color.¹³

Similar to Du Bois and Malcolm X, current research documents the internalization of negative racial group perceptions among Latinas/os. For example, Suárez-Orozco and Suárez-Orozco (2002) found that immigrant children “develop a keen eye for discerning the place of race and color in the U.S. status hierarchy” (p. 98) through a process they call “social mirroring.” They describe how immigrant children develop identities based on the perceptions and expectations the larger society holds for them, which are largely tied to negative reflections of their race. They state, “When these reflections are received in a number of mirrors, including the media, the classroom, and the street, the outcome can be psychological devastation” (p. 99). In many ways, negative social mirroring can be learned through the everyday experiences with visual microaggressions.

To understand the reactions youth have to negative social mirroring, Suárez-Orozco & Suárez-Orozco (2002) developed a model that outlines three possible reactions that include “resigned,” “oblivious/unaware,” and “resistant.” They found that resistant responses lead to more positive outcomes for youth, while resigned and oblivious/unaware responses lead to more negative, self-defeating behaviors.¹⁴ Based on their analysis, a key element for youth developing more positive outcomes to negative social mirroring is hope. When youth maintain what we call transformative hope, they are less likely to internalize the racist perceptions dominant society holds for them, and more likely to engage in their own advancement and that of their communities.

Conclusion

In this article, we have utilized a racial microaggressions framework to analyze three visual microaggressions that span across 40-years time. The analysis revealed that the Mexican bandit stereotype is much more than simply an image. The Mexican bandit image is a visual microaggression, which serves as a multimodal text that strategically functions to disseminate and (re)produce racist nativist discourses that construct misrepresentations of Latinas/os as criminal, non-native, and a threat. Moreover, our analysis revealed that ideologies of white supremacy maintain and legitimize these discourses and has allowed for the Mexican bandit image to pervade the public imagination of Latinas/os for over 100 years.

As we move forward from these unfortunate findings, the conclusions of Suárez-Orozco and Suárez-Orozco (2002) resonate with us because we are reminded of the significance of transformative hope. (see Burciaga, Perez Huber, & Solorzano, 2010). Their work leads us to an important question for future investigations of microaggressions—how do we cultivate a sense of transformative hope within Youth of Color that will enable them to resist the racism they will encounter in their lives and take action to challenge it? This is an important question for educators, administrators, and academics working with Youth of Color to consider.¹⁵ Devising answers to this question would mean providing youth with tools that allow them to recognize microaggressions, and as Chester Pierce urges, “construct his [or her] future by taking appropriate action at each instance of recognition (Pierce, 1974, p. 520, emphasis added). We conclude with this important question in mind, and hope it is a question future research will consider.

Epilogue

We leave the reader with the following epilogue and return to the story at the beginning (Prologue) of the article. Although it may not serve as an answer to the question we posed, this story is an actual event I (first author) experienced with my 9-year-old daughter.

After gathering my thoughts about the image I saw before me, I decided to attempt to engage my daughter in a discussion about what we were seeing in the illustration of the Mexican bandit in the book. I asked her what the image looked like and what the “bandit” in the picture was wearing. She quickly identified the sombrero as part of the costume the boys in her baile folklório group wear. I asked her,

“Who wears a sombrero?”

“Folklório people.”

“And who are folklório people?”

“Latinos.”

“So what is this picture telling us?”

“It’s telling us that Latinos are bandits?!”

When my daughter made the connection that the bandit represented Latinos, she was shocked. She began to ask questions about why the author would do such a thing, and whether it was done intentionally. I tried to respond in a way that would alleviate some of her concerns, but found myself confused about what to do next, now that I had given her the tools to recognize this visual microaggression before us. I continued reading the book and looked up at her after a few moments. She was crying. I asked her what was wrong and she replied, “But I’m Latino, so they’re saying I’m a bandit.” I didn’t know what to say. I attempted to console her and explain the automatic and unconscious ways people engage in microaggressions. I felt horrible that I had led her to this pain. For weeks, I asked myself if I had made a mistake by having that conversation about the visual microaggression in the book we read together that night.

Several weeks pass and I return to the microaggressions work, this time for a class presentation for my graduate students. As I prepared for the presentation I would give in class that night, I sat in my office and flipped through a 1967 dissertation I found in the library titled, “The Indian Savage, The Mexican Bandit and The Chinese Heathen—Three Popular Stereotypes” (Evans, 1967). Wrought with racist, deficit beliefs about People of Color, I turned to Chapter 2, “The Mexican Bandit” to pull a quote for my presentation. I found a note, written in my daughter’s handwriting on page 69 where the chapter began.

I had left the dissertation on my kitchen counter as a reminder to bring it with me to campus that day. My daughter saw it, read the title, found the chapter on the “Mexican Bandit,” and left me this note (see Figure 6) because she thought it would relate to the book we had read that night in her room, several weeks ago. It read, “To: Mom. You should read this part because it relates to ‘Don’t Tell Lies Lucy!’”

Figure 6.

Note written by first author’s daughter, Layla Huber-Verjan.

How do we cultivate a sense of transformative hope within Youth of Color that will enable them to resist racism and take action to challenge it? We conclude this article with this story as an example of the possibilities for visual microaggressions beyond that of a conceptual framework, but as a tool for empowerment. Perhaps it can serve others as it did for me, as a tool for hope that enabled my daughter to resist the racism she saw around her and to take action, in a note to her mother. Some would argue that children are too young to engage in conversations about race and racism. Along with the scholars we acknowledge in this article, we disagree. Youth are not only capable of articulating race and racism, but live with it every day. Thus, they are just as capable to develop strategies to take action against it.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

Author Biographies

Lindsay Pérez Huber, PhD, is an assistant professor of social and cultural analysis of education in the Department of Advanced Studies of Education and Counseling at California State University, Long Beach.

Daniel G. Solorzano, PhD, is a professor of social science and comparative education in the Graduate School of Education and Information Studies at University of California, Los Angeles.

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