Who was Reverend Roberto L. Gómez?
Navigating Identity in a White world: The Journey of Southwestern's sole Mexican American Graduate in 1969
Roberto L. Gómez, Southwestern University's only Mexican American graduate of 1969, embodied resilience and determination during a transformative era for minority students in higher education and at Southwestern. His story highlights the challenges of navigating cultural identity and systemic biases while laying the foundation for greater inclusivity on campus.
In 1991, SU Latina student Rebecca L. Borjas began her research about early Latino/a/x and Hispanic students at the Univesity, and during her research, she received a letter from Dr. Roberto L. Gómez about his experience at Southwestern in the late 1960s as a Hispanic student.
Roberto L. Gómez graduated fromSouthwestern University in 1969 with a Bachelor of Arts in Humanities and Religion. As the only Mexican American graduate in his class, Gómez’s story is emblematic of the challenges and complexities faced by minority students during a pivotal era in American history and Southwestern history. His experiences offer a first-hand lens through which to examine Southwestern’s cultural and social landscape in the late 1960s, a time of significant societal change and growing awareness of the way that racial and ethnic identities shaped experiences at Southwestern.
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When Gómez arrived on campus in 1967, he carried the weight of being a minority in a Predominantly White Institution (PWI). Like many Mexican Americans and other racial and ethinc minorities of his generation faced with the prospect of either joining or changing the predominantly White American culture at the time, he grappled with the tension between acculturation and cultural preservation. His own journey at Southwestern reflects this: when he started college, he asked people to call him “Bobby,” but by the time he graduated, everyone called him “Roberto.”
Reflecting on this period in his letter to Borjas in 1991, Gómez noted, “In the 1960s, some Mexican Americans believed that one would get ahead by becoming educated and acculturated. Learning English and forgetting Spanish were emphasized.” His determination to succeed led him to adopt the social norms of the majority culture, but this came at a personal cost. Friends from his hometown accused him of being “too agringado,” a sentiment that showed the difficulty of balancing academic ambitions with cultural authenticity.
Gómez’s time at Southwestern was marked by a search for connection within a much smaller Hispanic student population than we have at SU today. Of the eight Hispanic students on campus at the time, only a few actively identified with their heritage. Gómez’s friendship with Martin Aleman, another Mexican-American student interested in the humanities, became a cornerstone of his social life. Their shared academic pursuits and cultural understanding provided much-needed solidarity in an environment that often felt isolating.
Despite the lack of formal organizations for Hispanic students, Gómez found ways to contribute to campus life. He participated in Student Union committees such as the Film Committee and Hospitality Committee and was elected Senator of Ruter Dorm during his senior year. These roles not only allowed him to engage with the broader campus community but also helped to challenge stereotypes about Mexican Americans’ capabilities and leadership potential.
Gómez’s determination to assert his rights as a student was tested during a confrontation at a local barbershop. Several of his Anglo friends went to get a haircut and Gómez said “When my turn came, I sat in the barber’s chair. I immediately sensed trouble. Out of nowhere a deputy sheriff appeared. He came towards me and said he did not want trouble from students. He looked right at me and I looked right back at him.” When the deputy sheriff attempted to intimidate him, Gómez stood his ground, later returning to the barbershop out of principle.
This was the same barber shop on the Square that discriminated against Black Southwestern students in the 1960s and 1970s as well. Gómez’s act of quiet defiance illustrates his resilience and commitment to challenging the subtle and overt forms of racism he encountered.
On campus, Gómez’s experiences with discrimination were more nuanced. While he did not recall overt racism from faculty or staff, he did acknowledge moments of disappointment, such as being overlooked for a dorm supervisor position. “Was racism involved in my not getting the position I applied for? Or was someone else better qualified?” he pondered, highlighting the lingering uncertainties that often accompanyminorities experiencing systemic bias.
Gómez’s reflections reveal the personal sacrifices he made in pursuit of higher education. Southwestern’s curriculum in the 1960s focused exclusively on the majority Anglo culture, leaving little room for minority perspectives. “The university did not address Black culture or history and Mexican-American culture or history,” he observed. This lack of representation left Gómez disconnected from his heritage, a realization that became more pronounced as he engaged with the burgeoning Chicano movement through newspaper articles he read in Cody Memorial Library.
The Cody Library was a special place for Gómez. There, he read the newspapers in Cody Library with stories of “militant Mexican American students in South Texas colleges calling themselves Chicanos and organizing Chicano groups. These Chicano groups were demanding certain rights in the educational process and curriculum. The Chicano students demanded Chicano professors and Chicano history and literature courses.” Gómez then expressed, “My Mexican American conscientization started.”
Years later, Gómez’s wife expressed surprise at his limited knowledge of Mexican music, sayings, and folk traditions—a saddening reminder of the cultural trade-offs he had made in his college years. “What I did not realize then was the cultural and ethnic sacrifice I was making,” he admitted, shedding light on the long-term impact of assimilation and acculturation.
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After college, Gómez went on to lead a successful career as a Methodist minister in nearby San Antonio, bringing his experiences as a bicultural Chicano to his work and making him an especially successful advocate for Mexican Americans who were both acculturated to the dominant Anglo culture and resistant to it.
Looking back on his experiences from the perspective of the 1990s, Gómez expressed gratitude for his time at Southwestern while acknowledging its shortcomings. His bittersweet relationship with the institution highlights the duality of his experience: the pride of academic achievement and the loneliness of being racially and culturally minoritized. “I believe life would have been better for me if there had been more Mexican American students, a Mexican American social group, Mexican American women to be friends with, Mexican American staff, and Mexican American faculty and courses,” he reflected.
Gómez’s legacy is a testament to his perseverance and the strides made by minority students who followed in his footsteps. Today, Southwestern’s diverse student body and organizations like the Latinos Unidos student organization and Southwestern’s recent designation as a Hispanic-Serving Institution (HSI) are evidence of progress, inspired by Hispanic alums like Gómez. His story reminds us of the importance of creating inclusive spaces where all students can thrive—academically, socially, and culturally.
Note: This entry is indebted to research originally conducted in 1991 by Rebecca L. Borjas, an intern at the Mood Heritage Museum, as part of a project documenting the history of Hispanic students at Southwestern University.
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