Writing about chromatics means engaging with history from a perspective shaped by my identity and context. At first, I was hesitant to center my thesis on Mexico 68, a topic that has been revisited countless times. Yet, by approaching it through a different lens, I could narrate new stories that facilitated covering and delving into more complex themes not typically associated with the event. This research has allowed me to explore two intersecting forces—European colonialism as a framework for understanding Mexicanidad and the Cold War era’s relationship with abstraction. These forces, combined with local ingenuity and material conditions, shaped how color was implemented as a medium of identity during Mexico 68. The protagonists in these stories differ from the dominant narrative that credits designer Lance Wyman with executing the Olympic identity—a foreign designer unfamiliar with the culture, who, despite this, has been celebrated and granted authorship by certain institutions. By virtue of their resources and power, these institutions continue to shape dominant historical narratives—narratives that are then absorbed by global audiences, including local ones, as uncontested truth. This raises important questions about how institutional backing—not just talent—shapes cultural memory and how archives must be preserved and made accessible to ensure stories can continue to travel through time. Mexico’s geographic position—shaped in dialogue with Latin America and the United States—is not a new observation but remains critical when revisiting events from the past century. The country’s evolution has been influenced by cultural nuances and tensions that often go unrecognized in global discourse, partly because language remains one of the most persistent barriers to international exchange. 

Reflecting on the legacy of Mexico 68, it becomes clear that while the country has undergone significant transformation over the past sixty years, the effects of deliberate cultural strategies remain. The Games are not just a historical chapter but a provocation—a prompt to reconsider how we might reclaim the clarity and ambition that once informed Mexico’s cultural and architectural imagination. These stories of color open up essential questions about where we stand today and how we might apply the same critical acuity to inform future directions. This research suggests that when cultural intentions are shaped deliberately, they become political acts capable of echoing across generations. Reclaiming these events is not simply an academic exercise; it’s part of rethinking the narratives that continue to shape contemporary Mexican identity.

Studying Mexico from Columbia University has been deeply humbling, particularly during political volatility and economic uncertainty. It has made me more conscious of my own privileges—privileges that, once recognized, carry a responsibility. Engaging with the legacies of key figures and the influence of platforms—especially from a place like New York City—makes the need for action clear. We must raise awareness, amplify historically marginalized voices, and bridge the gap between those who have long occupied the spotlight and those who remain unseen due to the absence of local platforms with global reach.

Through this chromatic reading of Mexican history, I’ve understood that the past is not static—it continues to inform how we talk about national pride, political power, and cultural expression. This work has not only deepened my understanding of Mexico’s cultural and political realities but has also pushed me to reflect critically on my role as a researcher—and how I might contribute to shaping a more expansive, inclusive, and globally connected Mexican cultural discourse.