|
| |
Who Are You Calling an Immigrant, Pilgrim?
WHO ARE YOU CALLING AN IMMIGRANT, PILGRIM?
The Mexican Embassy, in Los Angeles, is located across the street from MacCarther Park. It lies on the historic hilltops in the westside of the city; overlooking a surreal lake. Lines begin to form before daybreak. Optimistic souls of people stand in their places, taking steps closer to legitimizing their existance in this free land. The appropriate documentation during a confrontation with police could be the difference between a regular work day, and a final trip to the dungeons. And with the mayor building his little army, and all, it's obvious those confrontations are going to become more frequent. No wonder the rush of persons trying to establish their identities, when ironically, the grounds they stand on are indigenous to their people.
"But California was sold by Mexico."
"No, amigo, our beloved Califaztlan was never purchased. Nor was it ever lost on the bloody battlefield. It was connived in a courtroom by greedy, american lawyers!"
Speaking of which, a new generation of vipers happen to be scrambling about the courtyard of the Consulado Mexicano preparing a mockery of a ceremony. Hosted by the Bank of America, the party consists of a gruesome mix of bankers, rich cowboys and crooked politicians... practicing capitalistic diplomacy. It works everytime. "Give us your tired, your poor, tempest-tossed huddled masses yearning to be free. Who come to this country in search of a better life; in hot purtsuit of happiness. Give us all your money and the dollars you worked hard and sweated for. All the slave jobs are reserved for you, and you don't even complain. You deserve an account with us. That way we can tax you and use your money to fund a war. Arizona is already fortifying her border. Lil' Bushy's sending 6,000 National Guards to shoot you sneaky bastards as soon as you cross the line." Meanwhile, with morning borne, the sun shines upon the faces of hopeful applicants as they are let in through the gates.
The hypocracy becomes almost unbearable when a school bus pulls up from a Huntington Park middle school and the kids file out of the bus wearing sombreros that say "yo amo mexico". They even have a miss mexican beauty pageant winner, with a painted smile, thinking about how her feminism is really going to pay off. Young cadets blow their trumpets with an inconfident sound as they prepare to play the nacional anthem. The whole assembly inside the gates is decorated in green, white and red; clothed in a false sense of patriotism. They say to one another, "let's do all the shitty jobs for them, and maybe one day, they'll consider us their equals. Then we'll have a chance to live their good life: plastic money, starbucks, Cable TV, video games, mickey deez and colon cancer." The whole time Uncle Sam leans back with a big smile, calculating profit margins. Their sheer numbers are amazing!
But wait! One of the campesinos stops the fiasco by lifting his voice, "Senoras y senores, por favor, prestenme su atencion," he's on the outside of the courtyard yelling in through the bars, "Permit me this opportunity to denounce your charade and tell you I think it's a disgrace to the symbology of our flag!"(translation provided for the benefit of our nonspanish-speaking readers')
A female executive rushes to silence the man, "Be quiet. You are making the children uneasy. Don't you have any respect?" But her attempt to hush him is futile. It only encourages the man to speak louder.
"Lady, it is for these very children that I am intervening. You should be showing them that the banner they are waving represents the historic struggle of a people, and an ancestral prophecy that is coming true today!"
She gives him an incomprensive look and blurts out, "We are showing them to have pride in their culture."
"So what do direct deposit and ATM cards have to do with our culture? You are trying to dissimilate our traditional heritage with the whiteman's lifestyle. Teach them to take care of the Earth and she will yield fruit. Remind them that these lands were forced under Spanish rule before English. And before that, we never killed for gold... much less oil."
Uncle Sam leaps to his feet and demands his mexican counterparts control the situation. A business suit with a mustache and white collar nervously approaches the protestor, "Amigo, why are you here and what are you trying to do?
"I'm standing here because this is still considered mexican soil- y yo soy mexicano! I'm here to demand justicia for the numerous murdered women along your texas/mexican border. They had body parts surgically removed from them and they were shot in the head. Their carcasses were left to rot in the desert. Their blood cries out from the dry desertfloor and the authorities of the region turn a deaf ear. Families of the victims demanded the killers be arrested and shown no mercy, but the police did nothing. When one of their brethren would not let the matter rest, he was arrested- and made the suspect.
I demand the release of my comrade, so he can expose the corruption in polictics. All evidence supports his innocence and convicts the local government agencies of covering up cold-blooded murders."
"Then why don't you fill out a memo form, and submit it..."
"I've filled out plenty of paperwork, and have spoken to the officials here. They know who I am," responded the indian, refusing to be shrugged off. "We need action! That's why we're here. WE NEED EVERYONE TO TAKE ACTION! Take it up with the El Paso/ciudad de Juarez area and put an end to the corruption on both sides of the border. Ours isn't a struggle between the U.S.A and Mexico, nor is it a racial fight between brown and white. It's an even deeper conflict between good and evil. We are the spirit of unity, they are the spirit of NAFTA. God says, 'And if a stranger sojorn with you, or whosoever be among you in your generations, and will offer an offering made by fire, of a sweet savor unto the Lord; as ye do, so he shall do.
One ordinance shall be both for you of the congregation, and also for the stranger who sojourneth with you, an ordinance forever in your generations: as ye are, so shall the sojourner be before the Lord.
One law and one ordinance shall be for you, and for the stranger who sojourneth with you.(Numbers 15:14-16)'
This is what we learn from home; from our families. This is how our forefathers accepted their forefathers. So, when americans call us immigrants, how did we become the tresspassers?"
Uncle Sam, heated under the collar, adjusts his tie and screams quietly into a cellphone, "There's a potential for a big problem here. Send in the choppers and squad units."
authors note: At the time of this writing, news was released of a deal being sealed between the executive branch of the U.S. government and a Haliburton subsiduary. The infamous no-bid contract officially allocates funds to a private construction company for the sole purpose of building huge detention centers across the country. In simple terms- it is the equivalent of
vice president Dick Cheney's business partners getting a blank check to construct prisons, strategically placed, throughout the nation. Now, who do you think they are going to fill these cells with? Don't close your eyes to what's happening. They're building the concentration camps.
Raza stand up!
This piece was submitted anonymously
|
|
|
|
