Photo by Chad Brady.
Pablo Alvarado co-founded the Institute of Popular Education of Southern California in 1991, Los Jornaleros del Norte day laborer band in 1996, and the National Day Laborer Organizing Network in 2001. Before joining us for the program “When Does Protest Make a Difference?,” Alvarado chatted with us in the green room about his childhood in El Salvador, a song that resonates with him, and his favorite place to find community in Los Angeles.
What’s one item of food that you always have in your refrigerator?
Salvadoran cheese. It’s the flavor that takes me back to when I was a little kid. My mother used to have that cheese. Now they put a vegetable that they didn’t put in it before called loroco. It’s actually the vegetable that Salvadorans use to make pupusas.
What’s a movie that moves you?
I love labor movies like Salt of the Earth, North Country, Bread and Roses. When you have a group of oppressed individuals, and then they understand that their interests are at risk, that they’re not being treated right, and they come together and they fight back, it brings me so much joy. A lot of colonial ideas have been imposed in our minds and hearts—that have to do with nationalities, how we speak—at the end of the day, these divisions are imposed from the top down. So seeing people coming together, whether it’s in real life or in a movie, it does something I cannot even describe.
Who’s the first person you call to share good news with?
My wife and then I call my sister as well. My sister is like my second mom. She is the oldest in the family, so she’s always taking care of everybody.
Did you have a favorite book growing up?
We didn’t have books. My dad only went up to third grade, and my mother didn’t finish first grade. When she would go and buy the food for the week in the market, she would get the beans wrapped up with newspapers. So she learned how to read by trying to figure out the newspaper. And then she taught us to read, everybody in the family. My dad did buy one book that came out every year, and it was called Escuela Para Todos—“school for everyone.” Since 1975 up to 1990, every year we had that book. It was about everything. That’s the only book that I read when I was a little boy. But then later in college, I read a lot of books. One that I really liked is One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. That’s still one of my favorite books.
What’s the first protest you remember attending?
In the village where I grew up, there was only one flat area where we could play, and it belonged to the richest landowner in the region. He let us use it. But then one of the most powerful families in the village, which was a military family, bought the property. I remember that there was a huge meeting with all the peasants and then that family. I remember a negotiation taking place that the community was gonna gather money and then rent the field every month on a monthly basis. But then as people went to work the next day, [the family] began preparing the land to grow corn and beans and stuff like that. They violated the agreement. The entire community was really angry. We came together, and we occupied the land. I was 10 years old. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew that we were very close to a massacre, because the exchange was really rough. People had machetes and some of them had guns, and it was the moment when the Civil War was starting in El Salvador. It was very, very, very, very tense. That was my first protest. I think that was the first time that I thought, oh, there is injustice.
Where’s your favorite place to find community in Los Angeles?
I have many, but it’s the day labor corners, where the workers gather every day. I just love going there and talking to people. I think that the truth is closer to the people who make a living with their hands. I think that the truth is closer to people who know how much a can of beans cost. The truth is closer to folks who are like that. When I see workers offering the only thing that they have, which is their labor, and they do it with a forehead high, there’s no lack of dignity there. They stand there. They do the work. I think that’s the most beautiful thing. There’s a day labor center in Pasadena that is a few blocks away from where I live. Every time that I feel sad or that I don’t know which direction I should lead the organization that I help run, I go there, I talk to the workers, and I find my direction.
Do you have a song you relate to?
There are so many. There’s one that’s called “No Basta Con Orar,” which means it is not enough to pray. It’s a song of protest that says, you know, everybody prays, the priest prays, but the pilot who flies the plane that throws bombs at little kids also prays before getting into the plane. That is not enough to pray. That actions and doing good things in solidarity with people who suffer is what matters the most.