Natalie Nowak
Pilsen. In case you haven’t heard of it, it’s a neighborhood near the Lower West Side in Chicago, right near Chinatown. It’s a relatively large neighborhood with dozens of restaurants, shops, apartment complexes, and an important museum: the National Museum of Mexican Art. This museum is one of the only places left that houses the incredibly rich history and culture of Latino immigrants in Chicago. Not only is it a sacred place for its historical art, but it also serves as the residents’ sounding board in response to the increasing gentrification in Pilsen. While the neighborhood has retained the majority of its Hispanic makeup, it has also seen an incredible rise in the percentage of white households. When I visited Pilsen for the first time, I felt like I was trespassing on someone’s property. I was an outsider. I knew at that moment that I had stepped into something frightening: an entire culture washing away in front of my eyes.
I didn’t intentionally visit Pilsen. I hadn’t even really heard of it before. All I knew about it was that it had a strong Hispanic influence. Most neighborhoods in Chicago have some connection to ethnicity, and this is thought to be the “main” Mexican neighborhood. The day when I first encountered Pilsen, I had the intention of going to some shops in Lincoln Park, an upscale neighborhood on the North Side. Unfortunately, that same day, the Pride Parade was scheduled right where I would be headed, and I was not about to throw myself into the crowd of millions of people there. By the time I found out the parade was scheduled there, I was already headed into the city from the suburbs, so I had to make a backup plan. I quickly came up with a new plan to visit the Heart of Italy, a neighborhood just west of Pilsen. It was a warm day, and I only wanted to take public transportation halfway there so I could walk the rest. I got off the L right before Pilsen and headed towards the Heart of Italy.
I knew I had undoubtedly entered a new neighborhood. The smell of taquerias and elote flooded my senses. I saw the bright and vivid murals embraced in Spanish poetry. Kids ran through the streets with not a care of the loud clanking train overhead. It felt incredibly homey and carefree at first. As I made my way down 18th Street, I saw Giordano’s (a famous Chicago pizza chain), over-the-top coffeehouses, and an expensive smoothie bar. I didn’t pay much attention to this at first; I was used to seeing these types of businesses in other neighborhoods.
However, I started to see signs of protest the deeper I got into the neighborhood. Yard signs protesting the rising property costs, chalk depictions of kids’ families immigrating from Mexico, and banners hung on families’ porches with sayings like, “LEAVE US ALONE.” I wanted to ask some of the residents what was going on, but at the same time, I felt like there was a message being conveyed to me: look for yourself. From there, I started my search.
I did a quick Wikipedia search about the neighborhood and pulled some facts together about demographics and history. When I looked up Pilsen on Google, my search results flooded with articles about Hispanic families leaving because of rising costs, the gentrification debate, and stories about the loss of culture. Both DNAinfo and WTTW cite rapid decline of Pilsen’s Hispanic families. One of these statistics mentions a staggering 26 percent drop in 10 years. This net emigration is a direct result of rising rent and housing costs, as well as a response to wealthy and young white residents moving in (Lulay). One of the most striking examples of gentrification in Pilsen is the increasing number of modern and upscale restaurants throughout the neighborhood–three opened up in 2017. Perhaps even more striking is the fact that some of the original Latino-owned restaurants are modifying their menus to attract visitors and new residents (Bloom). For lack of better words, they are “Americanizing” their menus. While Pilsen’s Hispanic families couldn’t completely stop these restaurants from opening or stop young white residents from moving in, they have remained opposed to new development plans and rising costs (WTTW). Even though I knew I could get a full scope of the situation through the news, I headed to the Mexican museum. I felt like I would get a better sense of what was going on through the art.
The collection at the museum was compelling. It ranged from ancient to modern to street art. The museum even housed a stage for children’s plays. Instead of starting the traditional way and working my way forward through history, I thought it would make more sense to start at the present and go back in time. I was eager to know how intertwined Latino history and culture were with Pilsen’s residents. The first exhibit was intense and tear-jerking: poetry about families being torn apart, torn-up Chicago Tribune newspapers, ironic and modern depictions of “Don’t Tread on Me,” and a film with a first-person view of homelessness. The list goes on. The exhibit was an uncensored response to the gentrification in Pilsen and its effects on the families there–especially the Hispanic families. I felt the pain and loss even though I had never experienced it myself; after all, I grew up in a comfortable, safe, and predominantly white suburb. Yet, when I was in that exhibit, it brought me face-first to the struggles some of the families endured. The next exhibit was similar, but it hit closer to home. A local school had gathered the art of some of its students to put on display at this museum. These students, however, weren’t just random and talented artists. They were young men and women that had fallen into the pit of gangs, street life, drugs, and violence. Many of them experienced depression and developed other mental illnesses. The school had courageously asked these students to make art instead of war, and the results were terrifyingly beautiful. There were no limits to the art forms or the themes. I read about how, for some, they felt like the streets were their destiny, and I saw what depression looks like when it’s mixed with street life. And, perhaps most importantly, I understood why these students felt like their home was being snatched before their eyes. These students were my age and could have easily been given the relatively comfortable life I had. Instead, they had to fight what they were given. As I left the exhibit almost crying, I traversed through the modern and ancient art exhibits and kept noticing one important aspect of Mexican culture: home.
For many residents, Pilsen was–and is–home. Whether it’s the young teenagers that got mixed into trouble or the immigrant parents seeking a better future for their families, Pilsen is where they share their culture and grow together. The prospect of losing your home, whether culturally or physically, is horrifying. It’s something that people try to avoid and ignore, and yet the families here face it with incredible bravery. I never had to know what it felt like to lose my home or my culture, but the words I read, the paintings I saw, and the music I listened to transcended any veil of ignorance. I recognized an entire culture that had been ignored for so long. The power of fear was strong in Pilsen, but the power of bravery was even stronger. To me, it is incredibly courageous for someone to face the prospect of losing everything important in their life with such a fervent and daring attitude. It is inspirational for someone to fight when they know the risks are high and the odds are against them. I learned how important it is to stay brave in the most troubling times and to fight for your culture–even when the chances of “winning” are low.
I will never meet the artists behind all the work at the museum in Pilsen but I don’t have to to know their story. They opened my blind eyes to a world of pain, fear, and, most importantly, persistence. I didn’t have any specific reason to be in Pilsen but, in retrospect, I now know it wasn’t just by chance. It’s important for me to pass on the story of Pilsen and the incredible lessons its residents taught me through their art. Although I can’t account for any personal experiences with losing my culture, I understand the fear associated with that, but also the courage one must adopt to fight that fear.
Works Cited
Bloom, Mina. “How Restaurants Feed the Gentrification Debate in Pilsen and Logan Square.” Eater Chicago, Vox Media, 6 Feb. 2018.
Lulay, Stephanie. “Pilsen Gets Whiter As 10,000 Hispanics, Families Move Out, Study Finds.” DNAinfo, DNAinfo, 13 Apr. 2016.
Pupovac, Jessica. “Pilsen Develops New Tools To Fight Gentrification.” WTTW, WWCI.