You can't beat Gabriel Martinez's prices. Tacos for a buck and the biggest, meatiest burritos this side of East L.A. for a mere $2.
But summer heat has fired Salt Lake City streets into a blistering furnace, and spicy Mexican food is not selling well right now. Maybe 30 customers a day — mostly professionals in suits and construction workers in hard hats — stop by Martinez's taco stand at 200 South and State.
Martinez's two other taco carts are doing a little better, but none is pulling in the $1,000 a day he used to make with a cart at 800 S. State. That was before the city made him move after neighboring Taco Time complained about unfair competition and Sears complained about the crowds queuing up for lunch in its parking lot.
"It's not so good here, maybe $200 a day," Martinez shrugs. And that's on a good day.
Still, Martinez is thinking of deploying three more street-corner taco carts in the city, each costing a cool $8,000. You have to spend money to make money, he notes with entrepreneurial fervor.
The former cook and would-be king of Salt Lake taco vendors is, quite simply, a self-employed businessman living the American dream — a dream far, far removed from his Sonora, Mexico, homeland where jobs are few and despair is pervasive.
"No more Mexico for me," said Martinez, who came to Utah four years ago after first migrating to California. "The people here are good, the money is good. I like it here, and I plan to stay."
Martinez is hardly alone. In fact, he is one of tens of thousands of Hispanics from across the Western Hemisphere — from Cuba to Chile, from Baja to San Antonio — who have poured into Utah in recent years. And the number is burgeoning.
Some estimates place the number of Hispanics — legal and illegal immigrants — in Utah at between 200,000 and 250,000, or about 10 percent of the population. Official 1998 estimates by the U.S. Bureau of the Census place the number at 142,479, or 7 percent of the Utah population.
The estimate of the number of immigrants here illegally ranges from 50,000 to 100,000.
The numbers game
No matter how you look at it, the Census estimates, Latino advocates say, are laughably underrepresentative of the actual number of Hispanics living and working in Utah. They point to huge Hispanic neighborhoods all along the Wasatch Front and growing populations in rural areas, too.
Some west-side neighborhoods, sometimes called colonias by their Hispanic residents, are almost entirely Spanish-speaking. There are now Utah Spanish-speaking television and radio stations, Spanish newspapers and tabloids, even a Spanish Yellow Pages and chambers of commerce.
Estimates based on the number of Hispanic children enrolled in Salt Lake public schools place the percentage of Hispanics in Salt Lake City at 22 to 25 percent — and growing.
According to the Utah Department of Workforce Services, the state's Hispanic population grew by 57.6 percent from 1990 to 1997, one of 18 states to see Latino growth rates above 50 percent.
Over the next two decades, demographers say one out of every three Americans will have some Hispanic heritage. In recent years, the number of Latino-owned businesses has almost doubled, and the purchasing power of Hispanics — a barometer of their influence on the economy — has risen 65 percent.
Those are economic and social trends that should not be ignored.
"In the early years, a lot of local politicians did not know who we were," said Theresa Martinez, an associate professor of sociology at the University of Utah. "I've got news for them, they had better get to know us. That is not a threat. But they had better realize we are important to this community and they can no longer ignore us."
Salt Lake Mayor Rocky Anderson agrees wholeheartedly, crediting much of his successful mayoral bid on the enthusiastic support of all segments of the Hispanic community.
"It was huge," he said of the support. "My sense is if they would all vote they would be a deciding factor in many, many elections."
Political payback
That prospect is not lost on politicians across the nation who are scrambling to curry favor with Latino voters, a large portion of whom are becoming politically active for the first time. Massive voter registration campaigns are heightening the political urgency to respond to Latino concerns.
No matter how you add up the numbers, Anderson said, "they have tremendous political clout." And it will only to get stronger as the Hispanic community grows in size and political savvy.
That portends long-term changes to Utah's political landscape where Latinos are grossly underrepresented on appointed boards and commissions and in elected offices.
Anderson, who has tried to reverse that trend by appointing 22 additional minority members to city boards, recalls a recent meeting with senior management of the Salt Lake Police Department. "I looked around the room and my first question was, 'Why is it so white here?' " he said.
The same thing could be asked of Gov. Mike Leavitt's senior staff or of the Legislature. Currently, only two of 104 state lawmakers are Hispanic, and one of those, Rep. Loretta Baca, D-Salt Lake, has already lost her re-election bid to a non-Hispanic.
Some activists suggest the paucity of Latinos in state and city governments may be a function of political discrimination by a well-entrenched GOP establishment. Hispanics typically support the Democratic agenda of more-socially progressive programs, from Head Start to food stamps.
It is not surprising that civil rights activists say they will be closely watching Republican-controlled reapportionment to ensure Latinos are more fairly represented in the Utah Legislature and in Congress. And they say they will not tolerate what happened 10 years ago when Republicans carved up the west side of Salt Lake County — a largely Hispanic, largely Democratic area — and split it among the predominantly Republican 1st and 3rd congressional districts that included staunchly conservative Utah and Davis counties, as well as rural Utah.
It also assured that the political voice of Utah Hispanics was diluted to insignificance between all three congressional districts. The result, local Hispanic leaders say, is that GOP incumbents have done little to respond to Latino concerns.
If the 2000 reapportionment were to again disenfranchise Latinos, "it would be a lawsuit waiting to happen," said state Sen. Pete Suazo, D-Salt Lake.
Labor pains
The record number of Hispanics coming to Utah presents perplexing problems to a white-bread culture steeped in conservative Euroamerican values.
Certainly many Hispanic values are the same as their white neighbors here. Family is of paramount importance, and Hispanics tend to have very large families that stick close together.
They also tend to be deeply religious.
But the latest wave of Hispanic immigrants comes to Utah with more differences than similarities. Not only are there language differences that present social challenges, but they come with a different attitude toward life.
Hispanics are extremely entrepreneurial, and their willingness to work long hours for little pay is legendary. It is not unusual for unskilled immigrants to work two or three jobs.
"They come with strong backs and a determination to provide for their families. And they will do the jobs no one else will do," said Orlando Romero, a Hispanic business advocate with Salt Lake Neighborhood Housing Services.
Across the state, it is Hispanic migrants who clean office buildings in Salt Lake, pick apples in the Payson orchards and cut meat at the slaughterhouses in Hyrum. They lay the concrete and muscle the jackhammers on I-15 reconstruction.
In the past decade, they have become the inevitable and indispensable backbone of Utah's construction and service industry.
"Clearly, the Utah economy cannot function without them," said Mike Martinez, a Utah attorney who champions Latino causes. "We need laborers, we need them pouring concrete and mowing lawns and washing windows and serving in restaurants."
In Ephraim, Hispanic workers — most from the Mexican state of Guanajuato — constitute more than 50 percent of the work force at Moroni Feed Co., a huge turkey processing plant.
The company needs about 550 workers during its peak season, and competition with other businesses for Hispanic workers to cut and package 5 million turkeys is intense. In fact, it is an unfair stereotype to say Latino workers are taking jobs away from local residents, said George Dyches, manager of the processing center.
"We get to the point we need employees," Dyches said, "and there aren't enough (local residents) to do the work. We couldn't function without them (migrant workers from Mexico)."
Hispanic immigrants typically earn as much in one day of manual labor in Utah as they would in a month working in their poverty-ravaged Mexican homelands.
Generally, Hispanics in Utah lag far behind whites in economic prosperity. The poverty rate among Hispanics in Utah in 1997 was 27.1 percent, compared to a statewide rate of 8.3 percent. Median household income is about $24,000 a year, only 65 percent of that for non-minority households.
Unemployment runs at 9 to 10 percent compared to 3 percent statewide. And the dropout rate among Hispanic children in the public schools is a mind-numbing 62 percent; most dropouts immediately enter the manual-labor work force.
Party problems
But the burgeoning Hispanic culture in Utah is about more than hard work and low pay.
Where Utahns tend to be reserved, Hispanics tend to celebrate everything. They celebrate historic events important in their native homelands, they embrace a litany of religious celebrations, and major birthdays are rites of passage that warrant huge community festivals with traditional music, food and dancing.
There are Cinco de Mayo celebrations and Mexican independence day celebrations and christenings and marriages. Even funerals are a time to celebrate life.
The Hispanic zest for life is also visible from the passion expressed in the cars they drive to the colors they paint their houses, from the decibel level of the Latin music booming from open doorways to their lust for spicy foods.
"Hispanics tend to work hard and party hard," Suazo said. "The dynamic is evident in the neighborhoods, where you see people sitting on their front porches drinking beer and listening to music. It's what they do."
Just visit any west-side park on a Sunday and you will find hundreds of people, mostly Hispanics, eating and laughing and celebrating a way of life foreign to most Utahns. And then there is the music, portable stereos booming an eclectic and competing mix of salsa, Tex-Mex and traditional tunes.
"There is a real effort under way to educate newcomers that this is Salt Lake City, that there are different standards," Suazo said. "We try to teach them that it is not OK to park your car on the lawn, that you don't drink beer in the park, that you keep your music turned down."
The lessons in Utah reality are a "real culture shock" to many immigrants, Romero added, and many bristle at the rules and regulations that are as foreign as their new homeland. Even something as simple as being stopped for a traffic violation can lead to misunderstandings with potentially deadly consequences.
In many Latin countries, when a motorist is stopped, it is a sign of respect for the driver to get out of his car and approach the police officer. In this country, that same thing is viewed by police as a menacing gesture warranting drawn guns and verbal warnings the Hispanic driver may not understand.
"Some things that are OK in their home countries they simply don't know it is wrong by our society's standards to do those same things here," he said.
Conflicts between white and Hispanic cultures are nothing new. Suazo remembers a time as a child a generation ago when his parents got crossways with local animal control officers for killing a goat in the family's back yard.
"They didn't understand that the slaughter of a goat was a very important rite of passage into manhood, that it is a ceremony where young men are taught how to slaughter a goat and cut it up for the family," Suazo said. "It was an important part of my family's culture that created friction (with traditional Utah values)."
Shared values
Perhaps the biggest difference between white and brown is religion. Although many of the immigrants are Mormon converts seeking to establish roots in the homeland of their new faith, many more are steeped in the traditions of Catholicism.
Religious conflict was more a problem in decades past when Hispanic populations were small and socially isolated and differences were viewed with outright suspicion, if not bigotry.
But as populations have grown, the Latino community has become increasingly visible and increasingly vibrant. Although significant cultural differences remain, community leaders on both sides say there is a greater attitude of ethnic and religious tolerance today than even a few years ago.
"Twenty years ago, I was still being called spic," said 38-year-old Ramon Cardenas Jr., who now operates the Red Iguana restaurant started by his parents. "You don't see that much anymore. Utahns are becoming much more acculturated to who and what the Latin community is, that it is more than burritos and tacos."
Religion is something that can and often does divide communities. Even in the Latin community, there is conflict between Mormon Hispanics and Catholic Hispanics.
But religious leaders tend to downplay differences, instead focusing on similarities.
In Sanpete County, local Mormon and Catholic leaders, as well as city officials, jointly organized an annual "friendship day" where Latinos and whites could come together for dinner, dancing and other activities designed to promote tolerance and respect.
"We've really had very few problems," Dyches said, "and the problems that have come up tend to be misunderstandings more than anything."
One Salt Lake priest, who asked not to be identified, said religious differences have not been a significant problem for immigrants. "I find their faith is very strong. Our Masses are packed, and they really take their faith seriously. They rely on that to get through a lot of their struggles."
In that, the immigrants share moral affinity with their non-Catholic neighbors.
"They came originally for the work, but they stay primarily because of the family structure and the family values they find here," said Leticia Medina, a longtime Latino advocate and now director of the Utah Office of Hispanic Affairs. "They found Utah to be a good, safe place to raise their families."
The growing numbers of Latinos is not unique to Salt Lake City. There is a significant Hispanic population in the St. George area, where they work a variety of construction and service jobs. They are moving into Cache County, where they work the farms and meat-packing plants.
One of the largest Hispanic populations in the state lives in Park City, where they constitute an indispensable work force to service-related businesses in the state's most affluent area.
The Salt Lake Diocese has established Spanish-speaking Catholic missions in the Mormon pioneering communities of Ephraim, Fillmore, Milford, Delta, Tremonton and Monticello. Statewide, there are more than two dozen Spanish-speaking missions.
Longtime Hispanic residents of Utah look at the size of the latest migration with some wonder. It wasn't so long ago, a few years really, that it was next to impossible for Mexican cooks to get authentic Mexican produce, cheeses and seasonings.
Today, there is a food distributorship that specializes in those products, there are Hispanic markets with fresh and exotic foods from across Latin America, and there is a plethora of ethnic restaurants catering to a variety of immigrant tastes ranging from Peruvian to Argentinian cuisine.
Migration waves
The first significant wave of Hispanic immigrants didn't have that. They were comparatively small in number, and they were socially isolated. Although most were American citizens with roots in New Mexico and southern Colorado stretching back hundreds of years, they found themselves politically disenfranchised.
These immigrants came during the 1940s and 1950s, many of them veterans of World War II and the Korean War, in response to an acute shortage of workers in the Utah mines, primarily at Kennecott. They also worked at Union Pacific, the Ogden Depot and the Tooele Army Depot.
"We like to say the Rio Grande crossed us, we didn't cross the Rio Grande," said Romero, whose family hails from northern New Mexico.
Like subsequent immigrants, they came fully intending to stay. They bought homes through the GI Bill, they raised families and many sent their kids to college, the first generation of Hispanic Utahns to filter into higher education. This generation, albeit small in number, became active in the civil rights and Chicano movements of the 1960s and 1970s.
Their children now are also active in improving conditions for Hispanic populations. "Our parents were social activists," said Suazo, whose family hails from New Mexico. "Our children are now business activists.
The second wave of Hispanic immigrants, most of them from Central and South America, came in the late 1960s and 1970s as refugees from political persecution, as well as newly converted Mormons in pursuit of the American dream. There were Chileans fleeing the Pinochet dictatorship, Nicaraguans fleeing first Samoza and then the Sandanistas who overthrew him.
Many of the immigrants were professionals in their homelands but found themselves estranged in American society.
In the 1980s and into the 1990s, economic collapse in Mexico brought wave upon wave of immigrants from central and northern Mexico. Most were young, male and uneducated farm workers, campesinos from the Mexican "frontera," who brought with them strong backs and a willingness to do anything.
They lived in virtual poverty in order to send their paychecks — meager by American standards but bounteous by the pay scale of their homelands — back to their families living in Mexico. More and more, these laborers have brought their families, immediate and extended, from Latin America to start a new life in Utah.
According to one Catholic priest, the latest migrations tend to follow a predictable pattern: A father or brother will come to Utah to work and save the money necessary to bring the entire family, often including grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, here from their Latin American homelands.
"They are coming to stay permanently," he said. "A handful are coming in temporarily and then going back, but the majority are here to make Utah their home."
Just like Gabriel Martinez. He plans to marry his longtime girlfriend later this month and raise a family here.
"I'm a Utahn now," he said.