Hue Must Be Joking

By Nadya Labi/South Gate

Hermila Sanchez wanted a house that she could find in the dark. Muted pastels were the predominant colors in her hometown of South Gate, 10 miles south of Los Angeles, where the dusty heat further blanches the stucco residences to uniformity. But Home Depot's Navajo White and Swiss Coffee were not for Sanchez. And so, for her very first home, the accountant chose blue. Not a dainty cornflower or staid navy but the kind of blue that makes your eyes sting on a bright day.

It was bolder than even she had intended, but a good fit--nearly the shade of her husband Miguel's Ford Thunderbird. And it certainly caught the attention of the Joneses. "The neighbors didn't like it. They took out chairs, put them in the driveway and just looked," says Sanchez. "The expression on their faces wasn't nice." It was gilt by association. The neighbors tried to be fair (it was Sanchez's home, after all) but felt as if their own homes had been redecorated. "Oooh," says neighbor Olivia Sandoval. "It's no good for the block. All the houses look the same, and this is different."

South Gate's mayor, Henry Gonzalez, did more than a double take. Shortly after the Sanchezes painted their home last September, he dispatched members of his staff to take a census of the city's palette. They discovered not only a discordant aesthetic but a creeping challenge to the ruling monotony: one home is a bright wad of bubble gum; another, a lime daiquiri; and a third can't quite make up its mind (the siding is pumpkin orange, the trim is bright fuchsia, and the door is turquoise). And then there are the shops. A red-and-tangerine party-supply store looks like a circus tent, and an auto-parts dealer is full-body lavender.

Now the mayor has resolved to ban what he calls the "Day-Glo colors--the wild reds, oranges and purples." If he is successful, the mainly Latino city of 93,000 will be joining a nationwide movement, in which exclusive residential communities from Denver to Fort Worth, Texas, increasingly mandate color, fencing and even what you can park in your driveway. That freedom from choice shows up in commerce. Benjamin Moore paints reports from its New Jersey headquarters that neutrals are in and sales of Briarwood (taupe) and Richmond Bisque (beige) are up across the country.

Still, a color code might be expected in a subdivision but would be unusual for a whole city, especially one in which the median household income is fairly low, around $27,000. The mayor's plans already have emotions running high. The owner of a yellow house hired a lawyer after the city came knocking. A resident with a soft spot for hot pink (her lipstick and house matched perfectly) threatened a reporter with bodily harm when the topic of her color preferences was broached.

A few decades ago, Anglos were the majority in South Gate; now Mexican Americans account for more than 60% of residents. Most of the newly colorized houses are inhabited by Mexican Americans accustomed to the intense colors across the border. "It's an ethnic thing," says Patricia Lazalde, an artist at the Aztlan Cultural Arts Foundation near downtown Los Angeles. "Color is passion, emotion. Hey, if you paint your house a beautiful color, what's the crime?" But color is now a statement, about class and roots in South Gate, and it has highlighted some class divisions within the Mexican-American community. Some homeowners among the new majority clearly associate the bold colors with poverty; one man insisted that only the "ranch" Mexicans like such provocative shades. Says Gonzalez, the town's first Mexican-American mayor: "This is a changing community. As people climb up the ladder of success, their thinking changes. They start thinking about property values." He adds that the most vocal supporters of a color ordinance are second- and third-generation Latinos.

And so, will the melting pot end up with a can of commercial beige paint? Intentionally or not, the mayor has played into issues that have little to do with artistic freedom. "It's not only about the colors of homes," sniffs Dorothy Smith, an African American who lives in the neighboring community of Lynwood and who wants her town to impose color restrictions too. "Some people have bought chickens. Others want a shed in the backyard. We have laws here. Why is it that they want to come here and take over?"

Sanchez isn't interested in a revolution. She just wants dominion over her modest plot of land. For those who would challenge that right, she offers this advice: "If you don't like it, don't look."