Saturday, May 30, 2009

how I miss to breathe...

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Just for la Raza

My cultura's not for sale gringa
when you grab a silver ring from
an Indio's stand and ask
"Koo-an-doh Koo-eh-stah"
in your sorry ass Spanish

I've seen tourists in Mexican bordertowns
Winter Texans in Tamaulipas
Wild college kids on Spring Break
Buying anything under ten dollars
Smiling at impoverished children
Returning to a privileged America

It's not for sale
though the sign says
You get more for your dollar
Less for your peso
My culture wasn't devalued.

I've seen gringos come for miles
to hear a "real" Mariachi
enjoy a few bailables
watch some surviving Indian dances

But you can't capture us on a cd,
photograph us and
make us part of your collective memory

We have our own
and in them
You are still the gringo invaders of Texas
the treacherous robbers of Aztlan
the "big brother" of the north

In my memory
you are a foreigner to me
I will not give you our precious things

My people are not for sale
I am not a happy jarabe
a rhythmic son
a colorful Jalisco dress
a Chiapas Zapatista

I am not the most vivid and publicized
I am not a woman being beaten by police
I am not a drug lord or president
I am not a technocrat
That is not my cultura
That's the media

Precious things are sacred and
your dollar will never buy you
My memories
My history
My place in a community

My cultura's not for sale gringa
and neither are my men
"Dark, indigenous looking Mexicans"
are for Anthro books and theses papers
Not for the real world
Not for your photo album

You cannot have my songs
or dances
or looks

You cannot buy the sacred stories
the history of a revolution
the pride of my cultura

These are priceless things
which have been bought with blood of Mexicans

Mexicans alone
Not for you gringa
Not for the tourist
Not for the journalist

Just for the Raza

Those of us who know we own it
without having to buy it.

La Paz

The peace in which you exist is a virtuality. You think that you live in peace tranquility and comfort. But this peace is a lie, because there can be no peace without dignity, justice, and liberty for everyone everywhere. In fact, the more that you believe in this false peace, you justify, validate, and legitimize its means: Terror. Your peace is our terror. A fair trade organic latte mochachino isn't and never will be enough for there to be a true peace; nor an energy efficient car, nor a solar panel, nor a compost bucket, nor your local sub-urban "community's" recycling program are peace in our world. These, perhaps might be good little steps, but by no means are they ends. To commercialize sustainability for a pseudo-leftist, bourgeois political class, who seeks only to feel guilt free for its peaceful, tranquil, and comfortable life, is in fact commercializing our survival. In your world, if we can afford it, we are allowed to survive in peace.


Ahorita yo me pregunto lo que paso por aquí
Por estas tierras tan ricas cuál será su porvenir
De los hombres ya no hay duda, nuestra vida ya cambio
Nos hicimos tan modernos, que hasta el monte se seco
Ahora si somos modernos, nuestros tiempos han cambiado
Ahora hay grandes producciones de maíz, pina, y de ganado
Con las grandes maquinarias, todo se ha simplificado
Solo que muchos estamos peor que tiempos pasados
Hasta los


vinieron, a conquistar nuestra tierra
Ahora yo me voy pal’ norte, pa’ ver como siquiera te mandare cuando pueda
La plata para la casita, pero me la hace moderna pa’ que se vea mas bonita
Y que viva el desarrollo, pero que se ha sostenido
Y sobre todo señores, que sean muy bien compartidos
Si hablan de globalizar, pasemos del dicho al hecho

Globalicen el derecho, de vivir de trabajar
De tener comida y techo, de tener comida y techo