Learning to live together

Green Bay, long a bastion of the white working class, has experienced tension as its population has diversified

By GEORGIA PABST
gpabst@journalsentinel.com

Posted: Jan. 1, 2008

Green Bay - Five years ago Maria Sandoval followed her family to Green Bay from the Chicago area, searching for the peace and quiet of a small town.

Green Bay

Isabella Bravo (left), 4, and her sister Mariah, 3, chase one another around at the party supply store that their mother, Maria Garcia, recently opened in Green Bay. The store caters to a mostly Hispanic crowd, selling pi�atas, balloons, candy and other party needs.

Celestine Jeffreys talks with Mayor James Schmitt at the grand opening of The House of Tawet and Healing Grounds, a new business in Green Bay. Jeffreys is the city's first black alderman and the council's only woman.

West High School students Meng Yang (left), 21, and Mailia Lor, 17, work with Visions of Success tutors, including Lisa Sigl (right), at the school.

Photos/ Kristyna Wentz-Graff Samantha Reinholdson (left), 16, and Torvette Hood, 17, goof around during lunch hour with Shaunte Needham, 15, at West High School in Green Bay. Forty percent of the school's 1,200 students are students of color.

Shifting Population

Green Bay's Latino population had jumped from 1,000 in 1990 to 7,294 in 2000. Today an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 Latinos live in the city of 102,000. Green Bay's schools were 81% white in 1996, and are 63% white today. In 1996, Asians were the largest minority at 9%. Today it's Latinos, at 17%, with Asians at 7.8%, African-Americans 6.7% and American Indians 5%. Poverty also has grown, with 48% of students getting free or reduced lunch; 10 years ago, it was 22%. Sources: U.S. Census Bureau; Green Bay Area Public School District

"One time I looked on the Internet and Green Bay was listed as one of the best places to raise a family," said Sandoval, now the mother of two.

Born in Mexico, she's lived in the United States since she was 5. Here she became a home health care aide while her husband worked in construction. But she dreamed of owning a restaurant and, in 2004, opened Carnitas Guanajuato on University Ave., cooking up family favorites for the city's rapidly changing population.

Long considered a homogeneous, blue collar, meat-and-potatoes town, Green Bay had one Mexican restaurant in 1990. Today Carnitas Guanajuato is one of more than a dozen Mexican and other ethnic restaurants that serve the community's changing palate.

Proud of its reputation as the smallest American town with a big-time NFL franchise, Green Bay, like the rest of America, is becoming more diverse. Many say that 15 or so years ago if you saw an African-American in town, he probably wore green and gold on Sundays. That's changed as more African-Americans have settled in Green Bay.

In the 1980s, Hmong refugees arrived. In recent years, thousands of Latinos have come for the jobs in meatpacking and paper production that keep this industrial town humming.

The 2000 U.S. census showed that Green Bay's Latino population had jumped from 1,000 in 1990 to 7,294. Today an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 Latinos live in this city of 102,000.

For many, the changing demographics have been sudden and unsettling, and to some, unwelcome. Last summer, the city became the first in the state to pass an ordinance that would punish businesses that are found to have hired illegal immigrants, a move that sparked a divisive public debate that still echoes.

At the same time, the city's public officials and minority communities are working to build bridges and improve race relations, and the first African-American has been elected to the Common Council.

More diversity in schools

The most visible population shift has occurred in Green Bay's schools, which were 81% white in 1996, and are 63% white today. In 1996 Asians were the largest minority at 9%. Today it's Latinos, at 17%, with Asians at 7.8%, African-Americans 6.7% and American Indians 5%.

"If you want to see how the Green Bay community will evolve, you need to step into the schools," said Superintendent Dan Nerad. "The changes have come very quickly and rapidly over the last decade."

Today the system wrestles with students who speak among them 35 languages, an achievement gap between minority and white students, he said, and a disproportionate number of minority students on suspension or in special education. Poverty also has grown, with 48% of students getting free or reduced lunch; 10 years ago, it was 22%. From 1990 to 2000, Green Bay's population grew slightly, from 96,000 to 102,000, said Marcelo Cruz, an associate professor of urban and regional studies at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, but it became much more diverse through immigration. Whiter communities around the city, such as Bellevue, Howard and De Pere, saw faster growth, he said.

"For minorities to come here and live has created culture shock in Green Bay," said the Rev. L.C. Green, pastor of Divine Temple Church of God in Christ and the head of the local NAACP. For example, there are no African-American police or firefighters in Green Bay.

Amparo Baudhuin, a retired immigration counselor with Catholic Social Services, moved to Green Bay from Spain 41 years ago. When the 2000 census figures came out, she said, there were two reactions. "About 50 percent said: 'This is great because the diversity will enrich us.' But another 50 percent said: 'Oh, my God, now what are we going to do?' "

A divisive ordinance

The first government reaction came from the Brown County Board of Supervisors, which in 2002 passed an ordinance declaring English the official government language. The measure met with heated debate and by all accounts hasn't really been enforced.

Then last summer the Common Council passed an ordinance that would revoke the license of any business found to employ illegal immigrants, though it's already against federal law to hire them. Local officials say they reacted out of a growing frustration with Washington's failure to address the issue.

The stated purpose of the ordinance as first proposed said: "Unauthorized aliens cause dramatic adverse economic efforts for our hospitals and schools thereby relegating legal residents to substandard quality of care and education, depressed wages, burdening of other public services, increasing costs while decreasing availability to legal residents and diminishing overall quality of life."

The statement drew so much heat it was withdrawn at the first hearing.

Still, the ordinance itself generated divisive debate. Latino organizations, along with the bishop of the Catholic Diocese, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Mexican American Legal Defense Fund, voiced strong opposition.

Council President Chad Fradette, author of the ordinance, said the purpose was clear.

"It's a message to the illegal alien community that says you are not welcome. Don't come here. We will make it difficult for you to find a job. That's the main focus," he said.

Mayor James Schmitt called the ordinance, which so far hasn't been enforced, the most controversial measure since the decision to use tax dollars to renovate Lambeau Field. In the end, he supported the illegal immigrant measure, calling it "the right thing to do for our city." The measure passed by a vote of 9-2 with Aldermen Celestine Jeffreys and Jerry Wiezbiskie voting against. One alderman who had indicated he would vote against it was absent.

In reaction, the Mayor's Hispanic Advisory Council accelerated its planned split from the city and changed its name to the Hispanic Community Council of Northeastern Wisconsin.

Tom Baye, 72, a retired high school teacher born and raised in Green Bay, said he had a lot of Hmong students at West High. "That wasn't a dramatic thing because they were legal immigrants. . . . They eased themselves into the community and seemed to fit in quite well," he said.

"The Hispanic influence has been more pronounced. It came on so suddenly and it's affected our school system a great deal. There's been a heavy cost factor," he said.

He supported the ordinance. "I feel the law is the law and it should be enforced."

For Luis Sanchez, who came as an illegal immigrant to work at Packerland meatpacking in 1979, the ordinance sends a message. "They don't want Hispanics," he said. "People are hurt and afraid. They feel that if you're Hispanic and speak Spanish, you're illegal. That's not giving us a good reputation."

Many came in the late 1980s when meatpacking companies recruited workers from Mexico, said Sanchez, who became a legal resident in 1986. "There were opportunities, so people were encouraged to bring a cousin or a friend."

Today, pews at St. Willebrord's Parish are packed on weekends for the four Spanish language Masses. Sanchez, a deacon at the church, said he knows some have left the area since summer, but can't say how many.

Maria Sandoval, the Mexican restaurant owner, got mad about the ordinance.

"I said I didn't agree with it and would rather turn over my liquor license than go along with that," she said.

Most of her employees are relatives here legally, she said. But she felt the ordinance unfairly targeted hardworking Latinos.

Council President Fradette later called her before a council committee to discuss her license. She appeared with an attorney who suggested the action was retaliation for her comments, and the matter was dropped.

But Sandoval said many were not happy with her vocal opposition. "I got a lot of letters saying 'If you don't like it here there's the highway out of Green Bay.' There was some nasty stuff."

Some customers expressed disappointment and said they wouldn't be back, she said. And indeed, since summer, business has fallen, she said.

While the English language and illegal immigrant laws drew attention, behind the scenes, police, fire, school and city officials have been meeting for two years with representatives from various minority communities in talks led by the U.S. Department of Justice community relations office in Chicago.

A mediated agreement

In October, they signed the first citywide mediation agreement in Wisconsin designed to improve race relations. It calls for increased recruitment of minority police officers, firefighters, teachers and other city and school staff; better communications; improved cultural awareness; and efforts to close achievement gaps in schools.

"I never thought we would get to this point, truthfully," said Green. He said no single incident led him to call the Justice Department to convene the meetings, but a variety of issues, including his own children's interaction with police when they first arrived, the lack of minority teachers, and the large percentage of minorities in jails.

He said a former alderman once told him, "If you want diversity, go to 27th Street and Wisconsin Avenue in Milwaukee."

Chico Ramirez, director of the Multicultural Center, grew up in Lockhart, Texas, and sees similarities. "Green Bay is at the point my hometown was in the 1960s when Hispanics were moving in," he said. His parents spoke only Spanish and, as a child, he served as the family translator. "Now Hispanics are schoolteachers, on the city council and they've had a Hispanic mayor. My cousin is the principal of an elementary school."

The seeds of change

There are signs of change in the official ranks. In 2006 Green Bay voters elected their first African-American city council member. Celestine Jeffreys, a former teacher, arrived in 2000 from California when her husband, Derek, was named chair of the philosophy department at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay.

She was elected not because of racial politics, she said, but because of her activism in starting a neighborhood association.

A graduate of the University of Chicago, she's lived overseas, in Chicago and California. "It was fine coming here," she said.

When she took her twin boys to school, she asked the teacher what was planned for Black History Month and Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday.

"She said, 'Whatever you want,' " because apparently nothing had been planned.

Charlotte Moton moved to Green Bay from Albany, Ga., five years ago when she was promoted by Procter & Gamble. She senses a lack of diversity. "As an African-American, it's hard to get personal needs met, like finding a hair salon," she said.

About a year ago she started the African American Professional Network to give visibility to professionals in the community, she said. "Overall, the community is changing, and it will have to continue to change to be more competitive to meet the business needs," she said.

A business imperative

Paul Jadin, the city's former mayor, who created the Hmong and Hispanic advisory councils, now serves as president of the Green Bay Chamber of Commerce. He sees diversity as a business imperative in a city with big employers such as Georgia Pacific, Procter & Gamble, Shopko and Packerland. They need professionals as well as skilled and unskilled workers, he said.

"It's critical for Green Bay to be regarded as a welcoming community, and the sooner we make that connection . . . the better off we will be," he said. "We have to sell it."

Jadin said he and the chamber worry that national publicity about Green Bay's illegal immigration ordinance will hurt the city's image with business.

But Fradette said the publicity has been positive because it shows the city standing up to the issue.

Sandoval and others acknowledge that "change can be pretty scary." And even though she considered leaving for a time because of the new laws, she said she's decided to stay.

So has Green. After living in Mississippi and Milwaukee, he came here 10 years ago to start a church.

"I'm not running," he said. "I'm here and I'm going to be here to try to help work it out."