Cinco de Mayo: A Reminder to the Underdog

By Malena Aponte

The Battle of Puebla in 1862, the moment in history in which a small Mexican army defeated the much larger and better-equipped French forces, was a huge underdog win that became a symbol of Mexican resistance and pride. Leading up to May 5th, emperor Napoleon III had sent French forces thundering to establish their dominance over the former Spanish colony. In resistance, Gen. Ignacio Zaragoza countered ferociously and led his militia to victory, retaining Puebla’s independence. Despite many efforts, however, Mexico did not win the war against France, and remained under its colonial thumb for three years. Although the battle was relatively minor in the broader scope of the war, it resonated deeply, especially among Mexicans living in the United States. These Mexican-Americans, particularly in California, began celebrating Cinco de Mayo in the 1960s as a way to honor their heritage and express solidarity with the resistance against European colonialism. Over time, it evolved into a cultural celebration of Mexican identity, perseverance, and pride, all aspects that continue to grow far beyond their historical roots.

Cinco de Mayo, though, isn't just a remembrance of the past. It reflects an ongoing struggle, a continuous cycle where Mexican-American people are still cast as underdogs. They were underestimated in 1862, and in many ways, they still are today. Not on battlefields with guns-a-blazing, but in classrooms, in pop culture, and in a society that too often scapegoats them. In fact, in the US, the high school dropout rate for Latino youths is 17.2%, nearly double that of Black youths (9.3%) and more than triple that of White youths (5.7%) (Pew Research Study, 2009). Those numbers stem from a reasonable context, though. One in four Hispanic students report being discriminated against in their academic environments (Lumina Foundation, 2022), and currently 60% of Latino primary school students are behind in basic reading skills (Stamford Advocate, 2025). These gaps aren’t about ability or culture, they’re about access and restricted opportunities.

In a world where generations of Mexican-Americans went from being cast out from society in the mid twentieth century to being called “bad hombres” and “rapists” by President Trump around 60 years later, the community is bound to be victimized. This ongoing stigmatization doesn’t just come from irrelevant voices, it has echoed from some of the most powerful platforms in American politics, reinforcing harmful narratives and marginalizing millions of Americans. In response to these injustices in their people’s name, some fight back with art, provoking controversial conversation. The Mexican rock band Molotov, in their hit song "Frijolero," confronts the racism and stereotypes Mexican people face, especially along the U.S.-Mexico border. They write: “Now why don't you look down to where your feet is planted,That U.S. Soil that makes you take shit for granted,If not for Santa Ana, just to let you know,That where your feet are planted would be México!”(Molotov, 2003). By reclaiming a slur and flipping it into lyrical protest, the song Frijolero expands on the claim that Mexicans are being constantly pushed down: politically, socially, and culturally and highlights the double standards that come with living as a Mexican in the United States. This openness in art is necessary in order to pass on Mexican stories. According to journalist Kirby Farah from WFTV, only 10 percent of Americans know Cinco de Mayo’s true background or purpose. So, why is Cinco de Mayo celebrated so vigorously, especially by Mexican-Americans, if not to reflect on the deeper realities that come with their identity? The answer to that question is blurry, and not just because of the margaritas. It's because, despite the ongoing struggle for equality and respect, Cinco de Mayo stands as both a reminder of the community’s suffering and a celebration of its resistance. While the holiday is often commercialized and flattened into stereotypes under the American guise of what it means to be “Mexican,” for many, it is a chance to reclaim that narrative. The day allows for a powerful liberty of cultural expression through music, food, dance, art, and community. It becomes a vibrant declaration that Mexican identity isn’t defined by what others say about it, but by what it survives despite challenges and criticism. Mexicans may not have won the war yet, but they have won countless battles, and they will definitely celebrate how far they have come.