rasquachification: a vibrant aesthetic of resourcefulness and cultural assertion
In the early 20th century, the Albuquerque Rail Yards were the city’s largest employer—by 1919, they provided jobs to nearly one-quarter of the city’s workforce, many of whom were Latinx and Chicano residents of the Barelas neighborhood . That meant nearly 25% of these workers shaped engines, steel and the economic lifeblood of urban industrial life. This deep historical connection shows that Chicano communities were vital—to Albuquerque’s growth and identity.
Beyond steel and sweat, later generations of Chicano residents leaned into rasquachification, a vibrant aesthetic of resourcefulness and cultural assertion. Think brightly painted homes adorned with papel picado, handcrafted art, improvisation, and identity. This was a bold act of presence.
As cultural activist Roberto Bedoya explains, rasquachification says: “I’m here…and I belong.” It resists gentrification, erasure, and the silencing white gaze by making visible the vibrancy of Chicano life.
Through rasquachification, Chicano communities become stewards of place—not passive observers. In Barelas, the colorful rind and resilience of homes and public art stand in defiance of strategies aimed at homogenizing neighborhoods. This is placekeeping—a refusal to let market forces or cultural erasure write over community narratives. It insists that neighborhoods are not just spaces to build on, but places to belong to.
What connects the Chicano rail workers of the past and the artists of today is a common thread: both anchored their community in place—through labor and through culture. From repairing locomotives to painting front doors, each act is part of a continuum of resilience. These actions craft a living archive that asserts a right to the city—regardless of shifting investment or redevelopment pressures.
As Albuquerque and neighborhoods like Barelas face waves of redevelopment, acknowledging Chicano roots becomes essential. Too often, growth erases history—washed over by sanitized façades and vacant artifacts. But when communities are empowered to drive their own narratives—through labor heritage, color, art, and collective memory—they model a vision of urban change that’s not extractive, but generative.
Rasquachification is a method of resistance. It invites planners, developers, and community advocates to ask: Whose history do we erase? Whose identity do we center? And perhaps most importantly: How do we elevate community-driven cultural expression as a foundation for justice?
In Barelas, the memory of Chicano rail workers echoes through steel beams—and the vibrant colors of rasquachification remind us that place is never neutral. It is a canvas of belonging, protest, and reclamation.
