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416 pages, Hardcover
First published June 8, 2021
The moment the battle ended, the Alamo became a story, and a story told in times of war can be a powerful thing. It becomes propaganda, and in this way it can be viewed almost as a weaponized virus, something that can be contained or spread, something that can trigger panic or destroy an enemy’s morale, even prompt defections.
The Alamo narrative would never be as important as it was in those first weeks after the battle. From the outset, Santa Anna and Sam Houston understood its potential impact and strove to mold it for their own uses. Santa Anna hoped the tale of a crushing loss would sap the will of Houston’s fighters. Houston would shape it into a rallying cry.
For generations Mexican Texans simmered mostly in silence, suffering the indignity of an Anglocentric narrative that implied they were the murderers of Travis, Bowie, and Crockett. Even today, many Tejanos describe the history class Texas children take in middle school as a humiliating experience.In a state where Hispanics will soon become the largest ethnic group, the version of events that state law insists should be taught is unconscionable. One woman remembered her experience being taught about the Alamo in school. “We felt like crawling under the desks. We didn’t know we were different until they told us we killed Crockett.” As appalling as this practice is, it’s even worse when you realize that politicians are still using this false version of events to further their political careers and agendas.
The Alamo is a story we’ve learned to tell ourselves to justify violence, both real and threatened, first against Mexicans, then Tejanos, then Mexican-Americans, and eventually the Vietcong and al-Qaeda. “Remember the Alamo” was a battle cry that we recycle long past the fight’s utility.