Navigation Bureaucratic impression in the search for an accurate count of lation a military service in world war

"No, you are Spanish. So how Hailing In the small town of San Saha, nestled in the heart of central Texas, the Botello brothers were hailed as heroes upon their return from World War II. Five of them had answered the call to serve their country, and their contributions did not go unnoticed. But little did they know that their service would lead to a bureaucratic conundrum that would leave a lasting impact on their community. When 25-year-old Trinidad Botello returned home in fall of 1945 after being discharged from the U.S. Army, he was filled with a sense of accomplishment and pride. As he handed over his discharge papers to the town clerk for record-keeping, he couldn't help but notice the section for race. Under 'Race,' there were only three choices: 'White,' 'n***o,' and 'Other (specify).' Without hesitation, the clerk typed in 'Mexican' for Trinidad's race. That same year, Trinidad's younger brother, Crisantos D. Botello, also returned home after serving in the U.S. Army. Like his older brother, he was also described as having brown eyes, black hair, standing at 5 feet 5 inches, weighing 140 pounds, and being a U.S. citizen. However, when it came to 'Race,' the clerk's typewriter clicked out a different word: 'White.' Confused and baffled by this discrepancy, Trinidad and Crisantos compared their discharge papers. To their surprise, they found that all five brothers had been categorized differently. John was labeled as 'Mexican,' Simon as 'White,' and Gregorio as 'White.' It was an absurd realization for the Botello brothers, who had grown up together with the same heritage and culture, to suddenly be labeled as different races by the U.S. Army. The botched racial categorization of the Botello brothers' discharge papers was just one example of the bureaucratic imprecision that plagued Latino/a military service in World War II. In fact, this issue continued to haunt demographers, public policy makers, historians, and even family members to this day. The fluidity of racial assignments for Mexican Americans and other Latina/os during this period was a source of great irony and frustration. Even World War II veterans were not immune to the arbitrary racial categorization. Aniceto 'Cheto' Nuñez, a veteran from West Texas, recalled being asked his race by a drill instructor. When he answered 'Mexican,' the instructor pressured him to identify as 'Spanish' instead. Cheto's response was a poignant reminder of the absurdity and absurdity of the racial labels imposed on them during the war. As the years went by, the Botello brothers and their fellow Latino/a veterans remained proud of their service, but the lingering confusion about their racial categorization continued to bother them. It was not until decades later that Karl Eschbach, a demographer, and Maggie Rivas-Rodriguez, a historian, discovered the discrepancies in the Botello brothers' discharge papers and were determined to shed light on the issue. Their research uncovered that this bureaucratic idiosyncrasy extended far beyond the Botello brothers and affected countless other Latino/a veterans. The search for an accurate count of Latino/a military service in World War II was like navigating a maze of misinformation and imprecision. But thanks to the efforts of Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez, and their determination to uncover the truth, the Latino/a veterans of World War II were finally given the recognition and acknowledgement they deserved. They were not just soldiers, but brave and proud Americans who had defended their country with honor and dignity, regardless of the racial label assigned to them. And the Botello brothers can finally rest knowing that their legacy will be remembered for generations to come. Trinidad D. Botello was always proud of his Mexican heritage, despite the struggles his family faced in a predominantly white community. Growing up in San Saba, Texas, he and his four brothers, Simon, John, Daniel, and Marco, were often the only Mexican students in their school. But they never let that stop them from excelling in their studies and making a name for themselves. As soon as they were old enough, the Botello brothers enlisted in the US Army, eager to serve their country and make their family proud. However, their experiences in the military would prove to be a defining moment for each of them. Trinidad was the first to join the Army, followed shortly by his brothers Simon and John. They were all placed in different units, but that didn't change the fact that they were family and always had each other's backs. During their training, Trinidad noticed that he and his brothers were often treated differently by their superiors. While their white comrades were given privileges and opportunities, the Botello brothers were often given menial tasks and faced discrimination. But the brothers refused to let that bring them down. They were determined to prove themselves and earn the respect of their fellow soldiers. And they did just that. Trinidad became known for his bravery and courage in combat, earning several commendations and rising through the ranks quickly. Simon showed his exceptional leadership skills and was eventually promoted to a higher position. John, with his intelligence and quick thinking, became a valuable asset to his unit. Their hard work and dedication paid off when they were all deployed to a warzone. It was during this time that they faced some of the most challenging and dangerous situations of their lives. Trinidad and his brothers served with honor, doing their best to protect their fellow soldiers and complete their missions. However, they soon realized that even in the Army, their race was the determining factor in how they were treated. On their discharge papers, Trinidad was identified as 'Mexican,' while Simon was classified as 'white,' and John was listed as 'Mexican.' It was a shock to them all, as they had never been defined by their race before. But now, it was clear that even in the military, they were seen as different because of their heritage. Despite this, the Botello brothers refused to let it affect their bond and their love for their country. They returned home as heroes, their bravery and sacrifice recognized by many. Years later, Trinidad and his brothers participated in the Voces Oral History Project, sharing their experiences and the struggles they faced as Mexican Americans in a country that did not fully accept them. It was their hope that their story would inspire others to never give up in the face of adversity and to always be proud of who they are. Today, Trinidad, Simon, and John are remembered as pillars of their community, not just for their military service but for their unwavering pride in their heritage. Their story serves as a reminder that no matter how society may try to label us, we have the power to define ourselves and make a difference. Crisantos D. Botello was a young man living in Fort Stockton, Texas during the turbulent years of World War II. Like many others, he was swept up in the wave of patriotism that spread across the country as the United States entered the war. But for Crisantos, his experience in the war would be colored by a confusing and often frustrating issue: his race. Growing up in Fort Stockton, Crisantos was always proud of his Mexican heritage. His parents had immigrated from Mexico and instilled in him a strong sense of cultural identity and pride. But despite this, Crisantos never felt like he completely fit in. In a country that often saw race as a binary of white and non-white, he often found himself categorized as simply 'Mexican'. This persistent labeling followed him into the military, where he was determined to do his part in fighting for his country. But even there, he faced discrimination. In the navy, where he served, he was often singled out by officials as being 'Mexican' rather than being seen as an individual. But then, something strange happened. As the war progressed and the need for more manpower grew, suddenly Crisantos was no longer seen as 'Mexican' but as 'white'. This change in racial classification seemed to miraculously erase the years of discrimination he had faced. Suddenly, he was welcomed into the ranks of the 'white' servicemen with open arms. This switch in race also came with certain privileges and opportunities that had previously been denied to him. He was given more respect and allowed to take on more challenging tasks within the navy. For the first time, he felt like he truly belonged. But even as he reaped the benefits of his new race, Crisantos couldn't help but feel conflicted. How could something as arbitrary as a government classification determine his worth and treatment? And what did it mean for the thousands of other Hispanic servicemen who were still being categorized as 'Mexican' and facing discrimination? As the war raged on, these questions continued to linger in Crisantos' mind. And as he fought alongside his fellow soldiers, regardless of their race, he couldn't help but wonder if this war was truly about fighting for freedom and equality for all, or simply about upholding a flawed and biased system. In the end, Crisantos' story, like so many others, highlights the complexities and contradictions surrounding race in America during World War II. It serves as a reminder that true equality and justice cannot be achieved through government classifications, but through recognizing and valuing the worth and humanity of every individual, regardless of their race. ound It had been six months since Xil Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez had joined the army. They had enlisted together, their shared heritage as Native Americans bringing them together. For Xil, it was an opportunity to escape the reservation and prove himself in the white world. For Rivas, it was a chance to honor his ancestors and defend his country. As they arrived at basic training, they were met with a mix of excitement and fear. They were surrounded by men from all walks of life, all with different reasons for enlisting. But for Xil and Rivas, the one thing that bound them together was their heritage. As they trained and prepared for war, they were reminded of the traditional values and teachings of their ancestors. They were taught the art of survival, the importance of teamwork, and the power of perseverance. The skills that their elders had passed down to them would now be put to the test on the battlefield. It wasn't long before they were sent overseas, joining the other soldiers in the fight against the Axis powers. They quickly gained a reputation as fierce and skilled fighters, drawing respect and admiration from their fellow soldiers. Xil and Rivas were determined to prove themselves as capable soldiers, determined to shatter stereotypes and leave a lasting impact. But as they fought side by side with their fellow soldiers, they realized that they were not the only minority group serving in the war. They met Japanese and Chinese Americans, who had also joined the fight. They heard about Puerto Ricans and Mexican Americans, who were serving in their own segregated units. And they felt a kinship with these soldiers, knowing that they too were fighting for their country and proving their worth. But there were also challenges that came with being a minority in a predominantly white army. Xil and Rivas faced discrimination and microaggressions, including being mistaken for each other even though they were from different tribes. But they stayed focused on their mission, knowing that they were part of a greater cause. As the war raged on and they faced unimaginable horrors, Xil and Rivas relied on each other and their heritage to stay strong. They remembered the sacrifices of their ancestors and the teachings of their elders. And when peace was finally declared, they returned home as heroes, their names etched in history alongside their fellow minority soldiers. Years later, as they looked back on their time in the war, Xil and Rivas couldn't help but feel proud of what they had accomplished. They had not only fought and served their country, but they had also shattered stereotypes and opened doors for future generations. Their journey had not been easy, but it had been worth it to prove that they were more than just their race. They were American soldiers, united in the fight for freedom and equality. And their legacy would live on, inspiring others to never give up and always fight for what is right. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were two young Latina historians with a passion for uncovering the untold stories of their community. As they sat in the musty archives, poring over old census data, their excitement was palpable. 'Look at this, Rivas!' Eschbach exclaimed, pointing to a table labeled 'Latino World War II Veteran Population Counted in the United States Census'. Rivas-Rodriguez leaned in to get a closer look. 'Wow, this is incredible. It's so powerful to see the numbers and realize the impact these veterans had on our country.' As they continued to examine the table, they noticed a gap in the data - the 1970 census did not include women veterans. Eschbach furrowed her brow in frustration. 'That's not right. Why would they leave out such an important group of veterans?' she questioned. Rivas-Rodriguez nodded in agreement. 'It's just like the wording of the census question. It underestimated the number of Hispanic veterans. We need to dig deeper and find the missing pieces.' With renewed determination, the two set out to complete the missing data. They combed through old military records, cross-referenced names and dates, and eventually were able to estimate the number of Latina/o veterans who served in the U.S. military during World War II. Their findings were both heartbreaking and inspiring. The number of Latina/o service personnel who had died during their time in the military was higher than they expected. They knew they had to honor these veterans and their sacrifices. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez went to work, organizing a tribute to honor these overlooked Latina/o veterans. They reached out to their families, published their stories, and created a monument to commemorate their service. Their efforts did not go unnoticed. As more and more people learned about the contributions of these brave veterans, they were celebrated and recognized for their sacrifices. The Latina/o community was able to find closure and pride in their loved ones' service. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez's dedication to uncovering the truth and honoring their community's past was a testament to their unwavering passion and determination. Their work shed light on the overlooked Latina/o veterans and ensured that their sacrifices would never be forgotten. The postwar period in the United States was one filled with sorrow and heartache. As the country tried to piece itself back together after the turmoil of World War II, the number of deaths continued to rise. The National Center for Health Statistics (NCHS) worked tirelessly to track and record these deaths, producing a life table for the U.S. population every decade. Using data from registered deaths and census counts, the NCHS calculated the death rates for each population, including white and black populations. But there was one group that held a certain level of uncertainty when it came to their mortality rates – the Latina/o veterans. It was well known that specific service experiences, such as exposure to combat and service in particular theaters, were linked to increased mortality rates among veterans after the war. However, it was found that active duty status alone did not predict subsequent mortality. The NCHS's study found a countervailing effect on the Latina/o veteran population. Health selection played a role, as many of these veterans entered the military in good health and were therefore less likely to die after the war. But at the same time, the negative effects of service also took a toll on their health. Despite the uncertainty surrounding the mortality rates of the Latina/o veterans, the NCHS was able to compare their rates to those of the general Hispanic population. It was found that, while there were some differences in the age patterns of mortality, the rates were similar to or slightly lower than those of non-Hispanic whites. But as with any study, it was necessary to be sensitive to departures from the average mortality schedules for the U.S. population. The NCHS took this into account and made adjustments to their estimates, but even with these corrections, there was only a modest increase in uncertainty. In the end, the NCHS's estimates showed that the number of deaths among the serving Latina/o population was indeed higher than originally thought. But even with this increase, it was still a modest number in comparison to the overall mortality rates of the U.S. population. The postwar period may have been a time of great loss and grief, but the NCHS's work served as a reminder of the sacrifices made by Latina/o veterans and their families. And while their lives may have been cut short, their memory and service will never be forgotten. reetime of uncertainty and fear, Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez set out to uncover the true number of Latino veterans who served in World War II. Their journey began when they stumbled upon an old table during a visit to the local census bureau. The table, labeled 0.2, contained estimates of the number of Latinos who served on active duty during World War II. Being history buffs, the two friends were immediately intrigued and decided to delve deeper into the data. As they read through the numbers, they noticed that the estimates were based on census counts of veterans from 1970 to 2000. They were fascinated by how consistent the estimates were over time, hovering around 340,000 to 380,000 Latino World War II veterans. But as they continued to study the data, they realized that there may be inaccuracies in the numbers. After all, the census can be subject to undercounts and question wording can heavily influence the results. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were determined to get to the bottom of this. They started by looking at the veteran population alive in 1945 and the deaths during active service. From there, they began making adjustments for census undercounts, speculating that the 1970 count of Latina/os was low due to question wording. They also considered the possibility of adjustments for the hard-to-enumerate undocumented immigrant population. As they dug deeper and analyzed each data point carefully, they came to the conclusion that the true number of Latino World War II veterans was likely higher than the estimates provided in the table. While the exact number was still uncertain, their research pointed towards a larger population than previously thought. But why were accurate estimates of Latino World War II veterans so important to Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez? As they discussed the significance of their findings, they realized that these veterans and their sacrifices had been largely ignored in mainstream history and media. They were determined to not only uncover the true number of Latino World War II veterans, but also to bring their stories and contributions to light. They interviewed surviving veterans and their families, recorded their experiences, and published them in a book entitled 'Forgotten Heroes: The Latino Veterans of World War II'. Through their research and book, Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were able to shine a light on a forgotten chapter of American history and honor the brave men and women who served their country. The book became a bestseller and brought much-needed recognition to the Latino veterans of World War II. Their work also sparked a movement to erect a national monument dedicated to the Latino World War II veterans, which was finally unveiled in Washington D.C. years later. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez's dedication and determination had not only uncovered the true number of Latino veterans, but had also given them the recognition and gratitude they deserved. As they stood at the unveiling ceremony, surrounded by surviving veterans and their families, Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were overwhelmed with emotion. They knew that their efforts had made a difference, not only in correcting historical records, but also in bringing a sense of closure and recognition to the brave men and women who had fought for their country. In 1965, the United States was involved in the midst of the Vietnam War. As young men were being drafted to serve in the conflict, nineteen-year-old Luis Santiago was eager to enlist. He had always felt a strong sense of patriotism and was eager to serve his country. Luis was born and raised in San Antonio, Texas, to Mexican immigrant parents. He grew up proud of his heritage and strived to make his parents proud. When he saw the struggles and discrimination faced by his community, he felt a strong sense of duty to defend his country and his people. After completing basic training, Luis was deployed to Vietnam in 1966. He spent the next several years serving in combat, facing the brutalities of war and witnessing the loss of many of his fellow soldiers. But amidst the chaos and violence, Luis found a sense of camaraderie with his fellow soldiers and a deep sense of purpose. As the war came to an end in 1970, Luis returned to the US, grateful to be alive but also haunted by the memories of the war. He struggled with PTSD and found it difficult to readjust to civilian life. Though he tried to find work and stability, he found himself constantly restless and unsatisfied. Five years before the 1970 census was taken, Luis had moved from his hometown to California, hoping for a change of scenery and a fresh start. He found work as a mechanic and settled into a small community of Latino veterans who had also migrated to the area. But as the years went by, Luis couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong in the US anymore. He had seen firsthand the devastation and destruction caused by war, and he no longer felt a strong connection to his country. He yearned for a simpler life, away from the hustle and bustle of American society. As he approached retirement age, Luis made the decision to move back to Mexico, the country his parents had left behind. He wanted to retire in a place where he could live comfortably on his pension and reconnect with his roots. Luis was not alone in his decision. Many other Latino military veterans, both foreign-born and native-born, chose to retire in Mexico or other Latin American countries. The lower cost of living and warmer climate were attractive, and for some, it was a way to escape the memories and aftermath of war. This trend of Latino military veterans migrating to other countries was not new, as some had also done so after World War II. But as time went on, the self-definition of ethnicity changed, leading to underestimations of the Latino veteran population in census counts. Regardless, for Luis and many others, moving to another country was a small price to pay for the sense of peace and fulfillment they found in their new homes. And though they may have physically left the US, their experiences and sacrifices as veterans would always be a part of them, shaping their identities and perspectives for the rest of their lives. was also consistent for those who had immigrated to the U.S. before 1940, with a service rate of 26 percent for Hispanics and 53 percent for non-Hispanics. XVIIL Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were two researchers who were fascinated by the history and experiences of Latino men during the World War II era. After reading through government census data from 1980, 1990, and 2000, they came across some interesting statistics that sparked their curiosity even more. The data showed that out of the Hispanic population in the United States during the World War II era, only a small percentage identified their Latino ancestry on government forms. This led Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez to question the accuracy of their findings. They believed that there may have been an underreporting of Latino ancestry on the forms, and that the actual number of Hispanic individuals in the country during that time may have been higher. Their suspicions were confirmed when they analyzed the numbers for their second question: what percentage of Hispanic men from that era served in the military? They compared the service rates of Hispanic men to non-Hispanic men and found a significant difference. The census data showed that the highest rates of service were among men aged 16 to 22 in 1940, which would make them approximately 21 to 27 years old at the end of the war. Sixty percent of Hispanic men in this age group who were born in the U.S. reported serving in the military during the World War II era. This number, however, was 20 percent lower than the service rate of non-Hispanic U.S. citizens in the same age group. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were not surprised by this information. They knew that veterans often received benefits and recognition for their service, and that many Hispanic men may not have been aware of or had access to these resources due to language barriers and discrimination. They also considered the fact that many Hispanic men may have been undocumented immigrants who were not eligible to serve in the military. But the researchers were most intrigued by the service rates of Hispanic men who had immigrated to the U.S. before 1940. Out of this group, only 26 percent reported serving in the military, compared to 53 percent of non-Hispanics. This data challenged the common belief that immigrant populations were more patriotic and likely to serve in the military. Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez delved deeper into these findings and discovered that many immigrant men faced barriers to joining the military, such as language barriers, lack of proper documentation, and discrimination. This information shed light on the struggles and challenges faced by Hispanic men during the World War II era. Through their research, Eschbach and Rivas-Rodriguez were able to unveil a hidden part of history and give a voice to the experiences of Latino men during a significant time in American history. Their findings challenged traditional beliefs and sparked important discussions on the contributions and sacrifices of Hispanic individuals during the World War II era. Preface xix Growing up in Puerto Rico, I always knew that there was something special about us. We were different from mainland-born Hispanics, but in what way, I couldn't quite say. It wasn't until much later in life, when I stumbled upon a research study on the Latino population during World War II, that I finally began to understand our unique history. The study revealed that during the war, the mobilization efforts in Puerto Rico were not as aggressive as those on the U.S. mainland. As a result, Puerto Rican men who were born on the mainland and likely lived there on Pearl Harbor day, served in the military at a similar rate to Mexican Americans. It seemed that geography, rather than ethnic origins, was the key factor in determining service rates. This revelation sparked my curiosity and led me to wonder about the experiences of Puerto Ricans during the war. Were they proud to serve their country? Did they face discrimination and prejudice as a minority group? And what about those who were already living in the United States at the start of the war? Did they serve at lower rates than their native-born counterparts? Unfortunately, the research study did not have enough data to fully explore these questions. But from the available census files, it seemed that the service rates for immigrant Hispanics were quite close to those of U.S.-born Hispanics. This surprised me. I had always assumed that immigrants would have faced even more obstacles in joining the military. But as I delved deeper into the history of Latina/os in the United States, I discovered that our population has changed and grown significantly since the end of World War II. In 2013, the census recorded more than 51 million Latina/os, making us the largest minority group in the country. And our community, once predominantly Mexican American and Puerto Rican, has now expanded to include people from all over Latin America. As I reflected on this evolution of the Latina/o population, I couldn't help but feel proud of how far we had come. Despite facing challenges and discrimination, we had persevered and thrived in a country that was not always welcoming to us. And although war is a tragic event, it had also played a role in bringing our community together and shaping our identity. The sacrifices and contributions of Latina/os during World War II helped pave the way for future generations, and we continue to honor and remember their legacy. This book is an attempt to shed light on the often overlooked history of the Latina/o community during World War II. It is a tribute to the men and women who served their country with pride and resilience, and a reminder of how far we have come as a community. I invite you to join me on this journey of discovery and understanding. The sun was setting over the University of Texas at Austin as the final interviews for the U.S. Latino & Latina World War II Oral History Project came to an end. For the past two decades, the project had been on a mission to document the stories of the Latina and Latino wartime soldiers and defense industry workers who had played a crucial role in the war. As the project's fourth volume was being finalized, there was a sense of deep gratitude among the team. They knew that they could never truly repay the debt they owed to the brave individuals who had shared their stories with them. These soldiers and workers had not only fought in countless battles, but had also continued to struggle post-war for a better world for all.The editors and contributors of the book also wanted to acknowledge the families and friends of these soldiers and workers. They understood that without their support and sacrifice, these individuals would .