>> Voiceover: From the Library
of Congress in Washington DC.
>> Martha Kennedy: Good
afternoon everyone.
My name is Martha Kennedy.
I am a curator of Popular
Graphic Art in the Prints
and Photographs Division, and
it's my pleasure to welcome you
to the 2018 Swann
Fellows Lecture today.
This program is sponsored by the
Swann Foundation for Caricature
and Cartoon, and the Prints
and Photographs Division.
The Swann Foundation
is one of the few
that provides direct support
for scholarly graduate research
in the field of caricature
and cartoon
through annually
awarded fellowships.
Since 1977, it has
been an important part
of the library's
graphic arts program.
The foundation underwrites
important work relating
to caricature and cartoon
here at the library,
and this includes
preservation and processing
of the library's
holdings of comic art,
development of these
collections,
related public programs,
and many exhibitions
in the graphic arts
galleries and other galleries
in the library's Thomas
Jefferson building, and in fact,
there some up right now that
you might find of interest,
if you haven't seen them.
There is a new selection of
original Herb Locke drawings
from 1968 in the Herb Locke
Gallery, part of this complex,
and also, Drawn to Purpose,
which consists of illustration
and cartoon art by
women creators.
This event is being
videotaped for future broadcast
on the library's
website and other media.
So, we encourage
you to ask questions
and offer comments
after the talk.
If you participate in
the Q&A, please realize
that you are consenting
to the library
to possibly using your
filmed image and remarks.
Today's speaker, Erika
Pazian, is a PhD candidate
in the Department of Art
History at the Graduate Center
at the City University
of New York.
Her research focuses on
Mexican visual culture
in the 19th century, and her
dissertation examines the visual
culture of the United States and
Mexico from post-independence
to 1876, in order to establish
the role of imagery in formation
of national identity in
each of these countries.
She has presented her research
at the Association of Historians
of American Art, their
bi-annual symposium,
and the College Art
Association Annual Conference.
She has received support for
her research through the Center
for Latin American,
Caribbean, and Latino Studies,
their 2016 Summer
Research Travel Fellowship,
and the Early Research
Initiative Knickerbocker Award
for Archival Research
in American Studies.
She's been teaching art history
at the University of Minnesota
in Morris and St. Olaf College.
During this year, she
will complete fellowships
at the Amon Carter Museum of
American Art in Fort Worth
and the American
Antiquarian Society in Wister.
It has been a pleasure for
me to introduce Erika to some
of the resources in the Prints
and Photographs Division
and some other divisions
here in the library.
Her lecture today is titled
Villains to Vanquished,
Envisioning the Enemy in the
United States-Mexican war.
Please join me in
welcoming Erika Pazian.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
>> Erika Pazian: Thanks, Martha.
I also want to think
the Swann Foundation
for generously supporting this
fellowship, and the Prints
and Photographs Division
staff, who provided me
with helpful suggestions,
remained patient
as I called item after
item from their collection.
So, I really felt that
I benefited greatly
from this six-week fellowship
that I completed last year.
So, this presentation focuses
on images of the other produced
on both sides of the
US-Mexico border,
in response to the
US/Mexican war of 1846 to '48.
The 20-month conflict was a
watershed event for both nations
that transformed the
North American continent.
Many US citizens during the
war was an imperialistic thrust
toward a fulfillment of
manifest destiny that threatened
to expand slave-owning
territories.
Mexicans' sense of both their
young nation's instability
and the aggressive nature
of their northern neighbor was
heightened by the conflict.
With the signing of the
Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo
on February 2, 1848, Mexico
lost approximately half
of its national territory
in the north,
and the United States acquired
the modern states of California,
Nevada, Arizona, New
Mexico, and Utah,
and parts of a couple
others, as you see here.
Both nations were plagued
by internal conflicts
after the war, and each
was plunged into civil war
within 15 years of
its conclusion.
During this time
of turmoil, Mexican
and US artists inundated
visual culture consumers
with satirical illustrations,
comic and military prints,
and political broadsheets
that reached --
reacted to the events
of 1846-'48 and worked
to build a sense of national
identity among their viewers.
Through comparative analysis of
images produced on both sides
of the border, this presentation
will first address the national
identity inherited from each
country's European rulers
in the years prior
to independence before
examining images
that conveyed localized
notions of nation
in the decades following
independence.
After the outbreak of the war,
artists in the United States
and Mexico continued to create
allegories of power and homeland
but also used representations
of battle's actualities.
This doublespeak allowed
artists to celebrate
that which made their
homeland unique,
while simultaneously
vilifying the apposition.
Through an examination of
battle scene lithographs
and satiric periodical
illustrations
that exemplify this concept,
this presentation will
demonstrate the US-Mexican war
prompted artists to accentuate
differences between homeland
and enemy and encouraged
each nation to define itself
in contrast to its foe.
These over-arching efforts
to construct national identity
inflected the visual cultures
of both Mexico and the United
States during the period
of the North American
Continent's division
into distinctive segments.
National identity is
a complicated term
that is often defined
dependent upon its context.
Benedict Anderson
defines nation as,
"An imagined political
community, and imagined both
as inherently limited
and sovereign."
And Leonard Nuovi
describes nationalism as,
"A sense of difference with
regard to other communities."
In the decades prior
to the US-Mexican war,
the notion of nation
was largely complicated
by both countries'
statuses as colonies.
This is made evident
in an examination
of the allegorical
figure of America,
which we'll look at
in just a second.
Difference, when it
comes to the Americas,
was defined for centuries
by Europeans.
There was no distinction
between North and South America,
much less the United
States and Mexico,
and the name America referred
to the Western Hemisphere,
alternatively called the
New World by Europeans.
After the "discovery,"
(I'm using air quotes)
of the Americas, European images
depicted the personification
of America as an indigenous
woman, two examples
of which you see here.
The figure highlights
both the exotic nature
of this new destination and
the economic abundance the
land possesses.
The profusion of feathers that
make up the figure's headdresses
and skirts, as you can see
here and here, and then also,
an addition of a cloak
here, also made of feathers,
marks the figures, and by
extension, the land, as exotic.
Their accoutrements, the bow and
arrow that you see on the right.
She has the quiver
slung over her back
and the arrow right here --
excuse me, left, and the parrot,
with the figure on the right,
along with their bare torsos,
emphasized a deep connection
between the primitive
people and the land.
In addition, the
potential wealth
of the land is highlighted
in both images.
The figure on the left passively
spills gold coins from the arrow
and her hand, while the
figure on the right sits
on a throne made
up of a plethora
of exotic fruits and vegetables.
Images such as these
informed Europeans view
of the Americans is a
singular, exotic land inhabited
by exotic flora,
fauna, and peoples.
As it was the European
nations of Spain and England
that colonized Mexico and
United States respectively,
European symbolism, accordingly,
made its way to the New World,
and the depiction of America
across the Atlantic
was continually used,
both in the United
States and Mexico,
as a symbol for their
own nation.
In the United States,
early images
such as the one you see
here, were often copied
from British models, and
continue the tradition
of depicting America
as an indigenous woman.
The America figure, which is
located right here to the right
of this obelisk, is once
again, bare breasted,
and the partial clothing
she wears is made of fur.
This link to the
notion of America
as an untamed wilderness
is further emphasized
by her feathered headdress,
unkempt hair, and the arrow
on the ground in front of her.
In addition, she wears a pearl
armband, which you can just make
out here, likely an allusion
to the wealth of America.
Despite the many references to
previous depictions of America,
this image published in the
United States at the end
of the American Revolution,
offers us a glimpse
of the transformation this
allegorical figure undertakes
in the US to context
in later years,
and that glimpse is represented
by all the Grecian figures
you see on the right.
After the war of
1812, the first war
that the United States fought
as an independent nation
against a foreign
enemy, the nation worked
to shed representations of
itself established by others,
and instead, created
symbols and images
that reflected its
ideals on its own terms.
Accordingly, America received a
makeover, as demonstrated here.
Now, she seated right here.
As with the previous image,
America is, once again,
surrounded by references to
antiquity, but in this instance,
America herself has adopted
the look of a Roman goddess.
Like the Minerva, the goddess of
wisdom, who stands beside her,
America wears a modest gown,
gladiator sandals, and a cloak.
She still dons a
feathered headdress,
and a cornucopia
rest beside her foot,
as seen with other examples,
but even these vestiges
of previous depictions of
America have shifted in meaning.
Now, the feathered
headdress mimics Minerva's
and maintains her orderly,
rather than unruly hair style.
The cornucopia rests beneath
the shield that you see here
that bears the arms
of the United States
and includes the motto
"Union and Independence,"
as if to convey that the
country is no longer a place
of potential wealth, but
instead, enjoys prosperity,
due to its people's commitment
to commerce and agriculture,
who are personified by these
two figures right over here.
This prosperity is not
without great sacrifice
and great leadership, as
represented on the right
by this triumphal arch,
celebrating the war of 1812,
and this equestrian statue
of George Washington.
Thus, in the US context, the
personification of America sheds
or reframes the characteristics
adopted from European depictions
and incorporates Greco-Roman
themes to tie to Greece,
the birthplace of democracy,
in order to identify the nation
as one built on democratic
foundations
and create a new
vision of America.
In Mexico, the figure of
America was an integral part
of the visual culture
of the colonial era.
In this image, we see that the
figure of America, oops, sorry,
here on the right, includes many
makers of the European vision
of the American continent
and its peoples.
She wears a feathered headdress,
and a quiver is slung
over her shoulder.
Though more modestly dressed
than European models
previously discussed,
she wears a dress vaguely based
on generic indigenous attire
that clearly marks her as other.
Her clothing and accoutrements
are further contrasted
by the figure of
Spain on the left,
whose appearance bears
much more in common
with the previously discussed
Minerva, as Spain is depicted
as a Roman warrior, wearing
an armor dress and helmet
and brandishing a
sword and shield.
Although the figure
of New Spain,
as Mexico was called during the
colonial era, is clearly marked
as the other, she
is, at the same time,
embedded in the affairs
of her colonizer.
The colors of her clothing
match those of the Spanish flag,
and her hand, like Spain's,
reaches out to take an oath
on the book and cross religion
holds to defend the cause
of Fernando VII, the former king
of Spain, who was overthrown
by Napoleon in 1808, a year
before this print was published.
Firmly entrenched in
Spain's visual traditions
and political affairs,
this image reflects the
continued European view
of America as an exotic other,
with no unique identity
of its own.
Mexican independence
in 1821 marked a shift
in Mexicans' perceptions
of national identity,
as Mexicans rejected
the identity
of their Spanish
colonizers and attempted
to forge a new independent
character.
Thereafter, images of Mexico, no
longer New Spain, began to shift
to highlight the proud
pre-Columbian heritage
that for centuries had been
suppressed by the Spanish.
The personification of Mexico
in an 1848 lithograph
demonstrates
this transformation.
In many ways, the figure
parallels the depictions
of America previously discussed.
Perched on a crocodile throne,
which is hard to make out,
but here his head is right here,
she wears an elaborate
feathered headdress
and extravagant jewelry
to represent her status,
holds a bow in her left hand,
and rests her right hand
on a cornucopia of produce.
However, slight changes localize
her to the Mexican context.
The nopal cactus on
her left, seen here,
is a symbol of the nation,
and her dress is specifically a
weave heel, an embroidered dress
that was associated with
pre-Columbian culture.
In addition, the battle
scene to her right,
which you can just make out
here, it represents the struggle
for independence from Spain.
Rather than completely
re-envision the figure
of America, Mexico localizes
the once broad stereotypes,
emphasize the components
of Mexican culture
that predate Spanish
colonization.
So, freed from the yoke
of their foreign rulers,
independent Mexico and the
United States both attempted
to establish national cohesion
through reinvented
allegorical figure of America
that constructed
national paths apart
from their European colonizers.
While these images helped create
a sense of different with regard
to the European continent, it
was not until the US-Mexican war
that artists on both sides
set to distinguish themselves
from their previous ally.
So, switching gears, although
the decades following each
country's independence allowed
each nation to separate itself
from its foreign ruler, Mexico
and the United States struggled
to find a tenable balance
between creating a
distinct national identity
and maintaining diplomatic ties.
Their uncomfortable relationship
became increasingly stressed
after Texas seceded
from Mexico in 1836,
as Mexican media outlets claimed
that the United States had
fomented the unrest in Texas,
and that the United States
promoted Mexico's ruin,
in order to enrich itself.
After the annexation of Texas
by the United States in 1845,
a move seen as an act
of aggression by Mexico,
all diplomatic communication
lines
between the two were
severed, and by January
of the following year, it
became increasingly clear
that it was only a matter of
time before war was declared.
On May 11, 1846, President James
K. Polk went before the Senate
and House of Representatives
and delivered a speech
calling for war.
Congress approved
the declaration
of war two days later,
and Mexican President Mariano
Paredes y Arriaga released a
manifesto declaring a
defensive war on the same day.
The relationship between the
neighboring nations abruptly
shifted from resentment to open
warfare, and cultural producers
in both nations dutifully
rose to meet the challenge
of bringing the public
the most up-to-date
and complete coverage a
war had ever received.
Many of the major battles
and prominent heroes
of the war received
media coverage,
if you will, through
lithographs.
The war coincided with an
outburst as lithography,
as improvements in the
medium allowed producers
of visual ephemera to distribute
their images to larger audiences
than ever before and reach
them with an expediency
that fine artists cannot match.
To today's viewer, the prints
you see here may not bear much
resemblance to today's newspaper
graphics, but during the war,
the public viewed prints
as news sources and relied
on war imagery to
accurately convey settings
and outcomes in a timely manner.
Images were often stylized
to evoke sentiments of pride
and patriotism and were not
overly concerned with accuracy,
but nevertheless,
maintained journalistic value.
Nathaniel Currier, the
man today associated
with this scenic picture prints,
thanks to the ubiquitous
holiday jingle,
was in his own time considered
one of the most prolific
and innovative lithographers
in the United States,
producing over 85 prints of
the US-Mexican war alone,
including the one you see here.
To a casual viewer,
this lithograph includes
many characteristics
of a typical battle image.
The opposing sides are
clearly distinguished
by contrasting colors
of their uniforms.
The victor of the battle
dominates the picture plane,
and the text caption beneath
the image identifies the date,
location, and outcome of
the conflict depicted.
Upon closer inspection, we can
identify several visual cues
that work towards two
goals, celebrate the victory
of the US forces, and
depict the Mexican forces is
inferior enemies.
In order to establish
legitimacy,
the artist roots the
scene in reality.
The text beneath
the image explains
that this is a depiction of
Colonel William S. Harney,
who led parts of the first,
second, and third dragoons
in a pursuit of the retreating
Mexican forces during the Battle
of Churubusbsco on
August 20, 1847.
This event was an important part
of a larger final drive
towards Mexico City
and received major
media coverage.
By the time the image was
printed, the skepticism
of engaging in a
seemingly unprovoked war
that many US citizens
initially felt, was replaced
by an acceptance to the idea
that the war was necessary
to fulfill a manifest destiny.
This was, in large part,
thanks to images such as this,
which makes clear the
contrast between the Mexican
and US forces and
conveys fundamental ideals
of US national identity.
In particular, Colonel Harney
embodies the national character
through his attire, his
demeanor, and his leadership.
When we compare his uniform
to the slightly blurry diagram
on the right, my apologies.
We see that his uniform
is an amalgamation
of several different
military-issued uniforms,
as he wears the trousers
of a dragoon major,
the jacket of the
dragoon general,
and his hat is loosely
based on the hat, actually,
of a private in the infantry.
The tassel that we see in
the Currier image is sort
of a mystery as to
where exactly this long,
flowing tassel comes from,
but it certainly emphasizes
the Colonel's rapid movement
and heightens the
urgency of the pursuit.
Harney's domination
of the battle is further
conveyed pictorially
through the many diagonal lines
incorporated in this image.
This sword sheath, we see here,
attached to Harney's belt,
parallels his left leg,
conveying the Colonel's
dynamic movement.
The sheath's diagonal
is extended
through the horse's back left
leg and leads us to the ground,
where we see a variety of
refuse from the Colonel's wake.
We see the obvious markers
of a defeated force,
including a musket and a sword
from a fallen Mexican soldier.
But then, we also see
more symbolic symbols
of Mexican identity,
including the trampled agave
and the tattered sombrero here.
These seemingly haphazardly
placed items impressed
on the viewer both
the physical reality
of the US troops' victory over
the Mexican forces, and also,
the ideological defeat of the
Mexican people and its lands.
The idea of physical
and ideological victory
is further conveyed
through the positioning
of the sheath's counterpart,
the sword itself.
The sword's parallel position
to the sheath further emphasizes
this ideal of movement,
but also brings our eye up to
the upper half of the image,
where we see the sword paired
with the American flag.
On left side of the image, we
see a faint palm tree appearing
out of the battle smoke, and
finally, the last symbol to rise
above the conflict is
the cross held high
by a fleeing Mexican soldier.
The contrast between
these symbols
and the countries they are
associated with this made clear.
The sword and the flag embody
the United States military
strength and the
ideals of liberty
and freedom, respectively.
The palm tree and cross
symbolize the exotic foreignness
of the land and the stubborn
traditions of its people
through their adherence
to Catholicism.
Although many US citizens
considered Christianity the
ordained religion of
progress and believe
that it was the divine
right to colonize the lands
of native North American
peoples, Catholicism,
particularly in the context
of Mexico, was associated
with corruption and an
unwillingness to modernize.
Thus, as Harney and his troops
forge ahead with strength
and liberty, of Mexico and
its soldiers remain backwards,
extolling a corrupt
religion, and trampled
by a seemingly inevitable --
the seemingly inevitable
nature of progress.
Through formal and
iconographic analysis,
we can identify the myriad
of ways US cultural
producers attempted
to bolster national identity
through the aggrandizement
of its own forces
and the denigration
of the Mexican troops.
Turning now to Mexico,
in the Mexican context,
imagery of battle
scenes produced
for Mexican audience are
scant, but the few examples
in existence similarly
display visual cues that work
to evoke sympathy for
the Mexican troops
and unite the Mexican people.
This lithograph, produced in
Europe for distribution Mexico,
depicts the Battle of
Monterey, a multi-day battle
in Northern Mexico
that involved assaults
on the city's fortifications
by multiple divisions
of the US Army.
The battle ended with an
8-week armistice in exchange
for Mexico's surrender
of the city
and the Mexican forces'
armed evacuation.
The fact that Mexico's
5000-strong army was unable
to defend the well-fortified
city from General Zachary Taylor
and his troops was a major blow
to the Mexican Army's morale,
leading some scholars to argue
that this battle marked the
beginning of the end of the war
for the Mexican forces.
Many Mexican soldiers deserted
as the army marched south.
Yet, this image conveys
resolve instead of dissolution,
unity instead of division.
According to the caption beneath
the image, the heroic events
of the city takes place
on September 23rd,
the final day of fighting.
The scene maintains many
markers of authenticity.
Soldiers on both sides
of the melee are dressed
in accurate uniforms,
and the conflict is set
in the streets near
the Plaza Major,
in keeping with the
battle reports
that detailed the
advancement of US troops
to two blocks east of the Plaza.
Yet, the image also carries
an agenda, as evidenced
by this scene on the right.
The colonel that we see
here, calls on the soldiers
to forge ahead, and the troops
enthusiastically follow.
The soldiers represent
a cross-section
of the Mexican people.
We have members of
the officer corps,
clad in regulation uniforms,
representing the upper echelons
of society, while the dragoons,
wearing a variety of attire,
denote the poor farmers
and laborers
who were often coerced
into service.
Accompanying them as
a military chaplain,
who we see here,
holding a cross.
You can barely make
out in one hand,
and the Mexican flag
in the other hand.
The image works to
convey a clear message.
Regardless of their station
in life, on the battlefield,
each man exhibits heroism
and resolve, as they fight
and die for their country.
The depiction of the
Mexican forces contrasts
with the US troops,
who are barely visible
but an important
component of the image,
to reinforce Mexican identity.
Several US troops on the left
attempt to make their way
through the barricade,
while three of their
compatriots demonstrate
that this journey is not an
easy one, these three here.
The US soldiers,
following their commander,
these three in particular,
look young and almost timid
and no match for the musket and
ax-wielding Mexican soldiers.
In addition, the US
reinforcements, largely shroud
in smoke, appear small
and insignificant.
The image convinces the viewer
that the Mexican forces are
in control of the space,
through both the determination
of the soldiers and the
intimidating setting,
as the cathedral that we see
in the background
looms large overhead.
Much like Currier's print, the
image similarly conveys physical
and ideological dominance
over the enemy.
Once again, we see this message
through the use of
flags and crosses.
While Currier used the cross as
a symbol of Mexico's weakness,
here it is positioned as a
source of strength and pride.
As aforementioned, the Mexican
chaplain thrusts the cross
into the air with his right hand
and bears the Mexican
Standard in his left hand.
The chaplain's right hand
leads the viewer's eye,
if we follow the
cross, to the US troops
in the center background,
which includes a barely
visible US flag right here.
The Mexican Standard
points upward right --
echoing the position of several
of the muskets also
pointed upwards,
carried by the Mexican forces
and leading the viewer's eye
in the direction of
the cathedral steeple
in the central background.
Each component, the
flag, the cross,
and the muskets work together
to communicate a clear message.
Mexico's defense of Monterey
was fought for the love of God
and country against a weak
and insignificant enemy.
Although this print was made
two years after the conclusion
of the war, its outcome,
a major blow to Mexico,
the need for a united
national identity remained.
When comparing this image to
the lithograph that inspired it,
which you're seeing on the
bottom right, we see that one
of the most significant
changes is the incorporation
of this large cross
section of Mexican society.
While the makeup of these
troops is a relatively accurate
depiction of the types of
soldiers who participated
in the defense of Monterey,
the artist likely focused
on these figures to
establish societal unity.
The war did little to unite
deep divides between the classes
that led to uprisings
and frequent changes
in government leadership.
Thus, the artist recalls a
time from the recent past,
when all Mexicans came
together against a common enemy,
and when people put aside
their differences to fight
for country and honor.
These ideals permeated the
visual culture of the era
on both sides of the border
and extended to other media,
such as satiric periodicals,
to which we will now turn.
While battle screen
prints attempt
to sway viewers' opinions of
themselves and their enemies,
through pictorial nuance
that incorporated
cultural stereotyping
and patriotic symbolism, satiric
periodicals often exaggerated
these same ideas to further
their nationalistic agenda.
The two publications we'll look
at today both began publication
shortly after the outbreak
of the war and address the
conflict through satirical text
and imagery guided by
a central character
that also provided each
publication's title.
These publications are
Yankee Doodle on the left
and New York City-based
weekly satirical journal,
first published in October
of 1846, and El Calavera,
a bi-weekly satiric
periodical first printed
in Mexico City in
January of 1847.
Both publications
attempted to incite a sense
of national identity in
their respective readers
through depictions celebrating
their homeland heroes
and vilifying their neighboring
enemies, so that regardless
of the war's outcome, the people
of each country would remain
ideologically united behind
principles of freedom,
independence, and homeland.
Both the Yankee Doodle and El
Calavera are early examples
of satirical humor
in the popular press
in their respective nations
and were likely inspired
by European models such
as the French Le Charivari
and British Punch Magazine.
To distinguish Yankee Doodle
from its foreign precedence,
editor Cornelius Matthews,
stated plainly within the pages
of the periodical, that the role
of the publication's namesake
was to "embody and reproduce,
in permanent form, that free
spirit, that exuberant life,
that creative energy,
and refining enthusiasm,
which so eminently
characterize us
and distinguished the
New World from the old."
In the Mexican context, while
depictions of El Calavera
or The Skull date back to
preconquest Aztec imagery.
Editor Ignacio Diaz Trioque's
[assumed spelling] illustrated
satirical publication would
have been a novelty to viewers,
as it is generally
credited as one of the first
of its kind in Mexico.
Regardless of the inspiration
for these publications,
editors of full journals
consistently published images
that incorporated
negative stereotypes
of the enemy while
celebrating their homeland.
Unlike the battle scene prints
discussed earlier, which focused
on the events of the
war on the battlefield,
satiric periodicals
primarily centered
on the important political
figures and diplomatic events
that steered the course of
the war, satirizing the enemy
to gain popular support
for the war cause.
In the July 17, 1847, edition
of Yankee Doodle, Santa Ana
and his generals incorporates
exaggerated stereotypes
to humiliate the
country's leadership,
as the caricature's namesakes
are depicted from left
to right is neurotic,
inept, sulky, and devious.
Each figure dons
an elaborate hat
and bears a grotesque
expression,
accentuated by absurd eyebrows
and the stereotypical
large moustache,
an omnipresent feature
of Mexican soldiers
in images created by US artists.
Mexican President, General
Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana,
the second from the right,
looks despondent and frail
as he clutches his cloak
tighter to his torso and looks
up hopelessly at his
oversized head gear.
His sizing is actually
out of character,
as the general was
infamously tall.
The incongruity is explained
in the text beneath the image,
as the editor explains that
this group portrait was inspired
by the publication of the first
volume of J.T. Headly's book,
Napoleon and his Marshals.
These figures -- excuse me,
these figures, the editor states
with heavy sarcasm, are "A group
of four heroes, whose prowess,
if not cut off in the
bud by some mishap,
to which military chieftains
are particularly liable, will,
no doubt, rival those
of the little corporal."
The image and text work together
to demean Mexican leaders,
and in a similar manner,
celebrate US victory.
As the text goes on to read,
"The Palms, Rio Grande,
Buena Vista, Monterey, Cerro
Gordo, will remain monuments
of what the generals would have
accomplished, had it not been
for a series of unlooked for
accidents, which Generals Taylor
and Scott of the US Army
were mainly instrumental
in producing."
The publication plays on Santa
Ana's nickname of the Napoleon
on the West to humiliating
effect, seemingly inferring
that Santa Ana, like
Napoleon, will end up disgraced
and exiled, due to the
ineptitude of himself
and his generals,
and peerless prowess
of the US military leaders.
While Santa Ana and his generals
used exaggerated stereotypes
to demean the Mexican military,
the periodical also
featured images meant
to highlight the diplomatic
superiority of US leaders
at the expense of their
Mexican counterparts.
Triumph of the Letheon
from April 10, 1847,
edition of the periodical,
seen here, is one such example.
The cartoon illustrates
the peace negotiations
between the two warring
countries,
through the three
political figures featured
in the foreground.
In the background, Yankee
Doodle observes the scene
at a distance, but with his
hand to his chin in thought.
In the foreground,
President Polk is the central
and imposing figure, who calmly
administers Letheon to Santa Ana
by holding the tube
from that extensor
in the anesthetic's container,
and with the other hand,
forcing Santa Ana to
swallow the substance
of plugging the general's nose.
The jug on the left
of the image,
in addition to the Letheon
label, is also marked $3 million
that you see here, the amount
appropriated by Congress in 1847
to negotiate peace with Mexico.
Santa Ana, with his
characteristic long hair
and large mustache, resigns
himself to accept the substance,
as his hands are literally
and figuratively tied,
and he closes his
eyes and leans forward
to receive the anesthetic.
Meanwhile, Thomas Hart Benton,
a senator from Missouri,
and a staunch advocate
of the westward expansion
of the United States, saws
off Santa Ana's left leg,
labeled New Mexico, while Santa
Ana's infamous prosthetic peg
leg is visible behind Benton,
and you can just make
it out here, the peg.
The cartoon humiliates Santa
Ana on multiple levels.
His willing acceptance of the $3
million would have contradicted
the popular opinion of
Mexican society and government
as the United States began a new
offensive, targeting Vera Cruz
and Mexico City by the time
negotiation talks formally
began, making any consideration
of peace a disgrace.
In addition, Benton saws
off Santa Ana's left leg,
which further highlights
the inconsistency.
It was the same like that
had already been amputated
in 1938 during the
Pastry War with France.
Although the United States was
not involved in that conflict,
the switch brings attention
to fate of the prosthetic leg,
which was captured by US
forces during the battle
of Cerro Gordo, and oddly
enough, is still on display
at the Illinois State
Military Museum.
Benton, and by extension,
the US forces,
immobilized Santa
Ana militaristically
through the capture of his
prosthetic leg and politically
by forcing him to accept an
unpopular peace agreement.
While in reality, a
treaty was not signed
until the following year,
the implications of the image
that the United States
is clearly in control
of its foe is made clear.
The stereotypes of the enemy
included in the representation
of Santa Ana reached across
multiple media platforms,
as seen in this single-sheet
lithograph
that similarly used the
theme of bodily dismemberment
as an allegory for
military paralysis.
Each figure's features' are
exaggerated to the point
of absurdity, with long,
unkempt hair, bushy facial hair,
and noses so large
that they peek out from
under the soldiers'
large sombreros.
Their military uniforms
distinguish their officer rank,
but they are completely
defenseless in the wake
of their limb amputation.
They stare in bewilderment
at their missing legs,
resigned to this loss
of body, as, perhaps,
an allusion to the
presumed loss of land
that Mexico would endure
in the coming months.
As many US citizens viewed the
war and the eventual extension
of the US's lands to the Pacific
Coast as divinely ordained,
cultural consumers viewed these
images of Mexicans' compliance
with the loss of land is
appropriately emblomatic
of the forthcoming US victory.
Switching to Mexico,
in this context,
satiric publications
similarly bolstered views
of viewers' sense of national
identity at the expense
of their, what the same
time, extolling the virtues
of the homeland through
allegorical figures
that incorporated popular
Mexican traditions.
Although the character of
Yankee Doodle rarely featured
prominently in the pages of
his namesake publication,
the images featured in the
stearic periodical, El Calavera,
always featured the
character of the same name,
and you see him here
on the right-hand
side of this masthead.
The inaugural issue
of El Calavera specifically
identifies its namesake
character as the hero of
the publication, stating,
"You will see that El
Calavera, if he is understood
with only a picturesque
epigram can change the lover
of meanness to good."
Although El Calavera
was first positioned
as an objective bystander, you
can see he's sort of outside
of the melee in this one, he
became increasingly prominent
in later images, as
the war progressed,
and Mexican citizens became
increasingly disenfranchised,
as their military forces
suffered continuous defeat
and the US troops move
ever closer to the capital.
In a cartoon published
in the May 7, 1847,
edition of El Calavera, the main
character takes center stage,
embodying the nation's
ideals and conveying no signs
of an impending defeat.
Rather than dwell on the
disillusion and despair
of losing almost half of
the nation's territory,
El Calavera maintains
a courageous outlook
and firmly extols the
virtues of his nation.
The character wears a regulation
uniform of the Mexican
and proudly holds, in one hand,
a flag that bears the freedom --
the values of freedom, homeland
-- independence and homeland,
while the other hand raises
a sword ready for battle.
The sword is positioned
directly in front of the flag
with El Calavera's hand in
front of the word Independencia,
or independence, and
the sword pointing
to the word Patria, or homeland.
Much like the chaplain's
positioning
in the heroic defense
of the City of Monterey,
the image makes clear
the ideals the troops aim
to defend during the conflict.
While El Calavera's
attire and accessories link
to current events, the skull
mask he wears carries a long
history in Mexican imagery, and
I have a few examples in here.
Skulls were an integral part
of pre-conquest aspect imagery,
and maintained a
significant role
in Mexican visual culture
during the colonial era.
In addition, skeletons
featured prominently
in images commemorating
the Day of the Dead,
a holiday that transcended
class boundaries.
Thus, the character of
El Calavera is a figure
who embodies the nation's ideals
and affirms the continuity
of longstanding traditions
despite these turbulent times.
As El Calavera courageously
strides into battle,
he effortlessly tramples
his enemy,
symbolized by the
objects under his feet.
Beneath his right foot
lies a disabled canon
with several cannonballs
haphazardly cast on the ground.
Under the canon is the US
flag, not particularly visible,
and its staff leads
the viewer's eye
to this creature on the right.
The monstrous figure bears
the face and military coat
of a soldier, but his body
is grotesque, with the paws
of the beast and the torso and
legs, if you will, of a snake.
The last loop of the figure's
body is conspicuously labeled
"Invasion," Invasion, and
the creature raises its tail,
as if about to strike.
Any potential threat is
suppressed by El Calavera,
who drives the Mexican
flag staff straight
into the creature's head.
The symbolism throughout
the vignette is clear.
Neatly stacked cannonballs,
like the ones you see here,
and their powerful
associated weapon,
were consistently
included in wartime imagery
to represent the military
prowess of the US forces,
as featured on this
song sheet cover.
Here, on the left, the
military might is scattered
across the page, and
the flag is pinned
down by the celebrated
weapon, the defenses
and patriotic symbols
of the US dismantled
under the tread of El Calavera.
The creature's dual,
deceitful identity,
a respectable soldier upon
first glance, but in reality,
a monstrous snake, links
to the perception in Mexico
of the United States as
a suspicious aggressor,
stemming from the US's perceived
involvement in Texas' secession
from Mexico and further
bolstered,
of course, once the war began.
[clearing throat] Excuse me.
Although the image
villainizes the United States
through this depiction, the
main focus is essentially
on the triumph of El Calavera.
The treachery and
self-aggrandizement
of the United States are set
against the earnest
values of Mexico.
The young face of the deceitful
creature contrasted by the skull
that links to centuries-old
traditions.
Al Calavera states
in the prologue
that accompanies this image,
"For I have been invited
to come back from the
afterlife, so that I give back
to my beloved office."
As if to assert that even
when inevitable defeat
makes the principles
of national identity difficult
to maintain, the traditions
and ideals of the nation
will always return.
In conclusion, the
us versus them model,
in which nations define
themselves in opposition
to their enemies, was
integral to the establishment
of national identity
during the US-Mexican War.
Before the conflict, both
countries used visual imagery
to distinguish themselves
from their foreign rulers
after gaining independence,
transforming the allegory
of America from a generic symbol
of the Western Hemisphere,
to a localized figure that
reflected constructions
of the national past and
elucidated the present.
With the outbreak of the war,
allegorical figures alone
remained insufficient
to create distinctions
between two nations
that were once allies
and buoy support for war
that was unpopular
in both countries.
Cultural producers in
both nations turned
to stylized images
on the battlefield
and satirical depictions
of diplomacy
to glorify their own forces
and belittle their enemy.
Through comparative analysis, we
see that artists on both sides
of the border used
similar strategies
to separate themselves from
their foe, in an effort
to bolster national
identity when ideals of whom
and what constituted a
nation were rapidly shifting.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
Questions?
Yes?
>> Female Audience Member:
I'm curious about the
artists themselves.
Were they freelancers or
were they paid specifically
by the magazines and
newspapers and told
to represent a certain
side or [inaudible].
>> Erika Pazian: Short
answer is depends.
Some of the really big
firms could have full-time
lithographers, but lithography
is exploding at this time
to the point that
there are artists
who are making satirical
imagery for this publisher
and making battle scenes for
this publisher, and sort of,
yeah, freelancing a lot
more, as you mentioned.
And that's in the US context.
In Mexico, especially
for satiric periodicals
like El Calavera,
there was a fair amount
of government regulation
in the press.
So, the artists necessarily
remained anonymous.
It's sort of exciting that we
even know the publisher's name
for El Calavera, and actually,
El Calavera, in particular,
was stopped by the government
and Trioque was jailed.
So, those artists we
know a lot less about,
just because they
had to sort of remain
under the radar of
the government.
Thanks for asking.
Mm-hm?
[ Female Member Speaking
off Mic ]
Great question.
Again, the short
answer is depends.
So, the color lithographs
would've been
for an elite audience, because
those were hard to make,
and they had to be hand
colored at this time.
So, that's much more
for the upper echelons,
but a lot of the
black-and-white lithographs,
those were definitely for a
broader audience than before.
That's not to say that everyone
on the street had access
to them, but they were certainly
a lot more inexpensive.
This is sometimes called
"the penny press" too,
just because these publications
were often only a cent or two.
So, they were definitely --
had a much broader audience,
because we have to remember, at
this time, still, in the 1840s,
art is still very
much for the elite.
So, this is sort of
bringing a brand-new audience
to these sorts of images
that were much more in line
with fine art, certainly
not the sort
of thing you would see displayed
at a gallery or anything
like that, but certainly,
with a much broader audience
in mind than, say, painting.
Mm-hm?
[ Female Speaking off Mic ]
Hmm, that's a good question.
Interestingly, this -- a lot
of Texas museums have huge
collections of stuff related
to the US-Mexican
war, not surprisingly,
but Louisiana is really
the main place for news.
That's where all the news
is coming in, and then sent
out throughout the nation,
the US, but in terms of Texas,
I think that there's less
distribution of these images,
simply because some of
the fighting is going
on in what we now know as Texas,
and it had just been entered
into the union the year
before the war breaks out.
So, it does not have the same
sort of distribution centers
that we have in other
major cities.
So, I think that distribution
is a lot more limited.
[ Female Speaking off Mic ]
Hmm, broad sheets, definitely.
Sort of like the Call to Arms
one I showed, but in terms
of the sort of colored
lithographs or things
of that sort, no, not really.
And besides, I don't know that
they really needed to do a lot
of encouraging to get
people to enlist in Texas,
just because people were very
excited to join the US Army
to fight against its
previous country.
Any other questions?
Yes?
[ Female Speaking off Mic ]
Well, I think the most
important thing was
that the images made
clear who won.
So, if there were a bunch
of heads with blood spewing
from them, that made all
the more clear that it was,
if we think about the Currier
image, that Mexico's definitely
on the losing side of this.
In terms of the really
blatant violence,
I don't think it was
particularly curtailed
by publishers and certainly
not by the government,
because these sorts of
images, we also have things
like disaster images that
were sort of generic,
like a town on fire, and
then that would be used
if there's a fire in
Philadelphia or a fire
in Boston, and these sorts
of images could be reused.
So, those were sort of useful
in that the violent depiction
had a common look about it,
so that it could be used
in different contexts.
So, the short answer is not a
lot of oversight with violence.
Because there are ones that --
the Death of Major Ringgold.
He was stabbed in both of
his thighs, and I think,
also received a gunshot wound,
and there's also took blood
and all sorts of gore in the
many depictions of that image.
So, violence, very pertinent,
and it becomes all the more real
to us when in it's
in color, too.
Any other questions?
Okay, thank you so much.
[ Applause ]
>> Voiceover: This has
been a presentation
of the Library of Congress.
Visit at loc.gov.