Has arisen as Mexican Americans now have to face being lumped with other brown people even though we all know that we are a different culture and even from different lands which makes us foreigners untill each other.
Every time a US born Mexican American is lumped into the Latino or Hispanic category this results in a new benign kinder gentler form of racism. Very simple, to be merged with people from another citizen amounts to racism within the US because a US citizen by birth is placed with people from foreign countries simply based on a perceived resemblance. Hence we have racism and ignorance as one.
Would an Argentinean who moved to Chile be merged with a Chilean by birth because they have the same last name? No.
So why does it happen to me? Because it's easy to label me off with other countries that have no place of my existence there. Even The United Mexican States has no record of me so even by Mexican standards I am not one of them even if I look like them and talk like them. I was not born in their domain called Mexico. I am a foreigner so the same exist with those born in Mexico who move north. Because we are of two different citizenships we are not fellow anything. So, neither those born south of the border should be lumped with those born north. They have a different legal and cultural definition. If this exists, then to be lumped with Centro or Caribbean People is the ultimate form of disrespect and racism because I'm being eliminated from my place of birth. If that is not racism then what would it be.
I understand the Che Guevara feel but he died so this no borders view is not real because nobody else is going to write up legal documents where I will be given citizenship. Truth of the matter, people from the border of Mexico/US to Tierra del Fuego are not the same. They are not the same land, nor the same people, cultures or continents. The Chicano Generation was full of acid to make this illogical conception logical. There is no fact to this illusion. I have traveled throughout all of Central America, Bolivia, Peru and Argentina and saw how all these countries would not allow their neighbors in without a visa or a passport.
I do not need to be lumped with foreigners nor do I want to coexist with cultures I do not know. I remember as a child thinking how different all these people were and I have always been correct. But US keeps insisting in labeling me as an outsider and not from here when this is were I am from and by generations.
I do not accept being called a foreigner when I am not even when labeled with those born in Mexico. We are different even if you believe we are not, we are, I am of a different nationality.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
New Month
A new month has arrived. Just waiting for time to end. Today is Dia de los Muertos and it is not an arts festival as many like to believe. It is a time to visit the loved ones in the cemetaries and as I can recall visiting my father's tomb is not about painting my face or acting out a play.
If your father has died like mine did in Inglewood on May 4th, 1980 on my mother's birthday, I just cry. That day has not died for me for it forever lives on and the anger at fate and life gives you a pain of eternity. My eternity.
Since my father died, my maternal grandparents have now given way to the earth, three tombs over from where he is at. Before they died and he died, my mother's brother died who sits next to my father. And 8 years later my father's good friend and uncle, father of my cousin died, so he's right next to him too. So no, we don't paint our face like some costume festival. Death is real.
My cousin, another one has also died who rest on the otherside of my grandparents. He too died young for carelessness.
And just this past August, my father's older sister and younger brother too succumbed to cancer. They died a week apart. My father's mother has now buried four of her children and she is still alive to tell it. I can quite say I mourned for them though, our relationship died in 1980 when their brother died and our reason for linkage died so they were not all that close either. I am not really mourning here in a strange way.
And lastly, my grandfather Gus is my reason to mourn. After my father died, we were bounded by the departure of our intermediary. My father was my father and a son to my grandfather who spent their Saturdays at the horseraces or eating breakfast with us. When my father died, my grandfather-Nino too died because the death was too painful. He would not come to our home though he always wanted us to visit him. I was lucky to have him until age 37 until he asked to die and I had to respect his wish by not mourning for him. His death was beautiful in a way. He made it happen to be reunited with my Nina Kika and his son.
Hence el dia de los muertos is not an art project from school rather a place of great pain. I await my arrival too!
If your father has died like mine did in Inglewood on May 4th, 1980 on my mother's birthday, I just cry. That day has not died for me for it forever lives on and the anger at fate and life gives you a pain of eternity. My eternity.
Since my father died, my maternal grandparents have now given way to the earth, three tombs over from where he is at. Before they died and he died, my mother's brother died who sits next to my father. And 8 years later my father's good friend and uncle, father of my cousin died, so he's right next to him too. So no, we don't paint our face like some costume festival. Death is real.
My cousin, another one has also died who rest on the otherside of my grandparents. He too died young for carelessness.
And just this past August, my father's older sister and younger brother too succumbed to cancer. They died a week apart. My father's mother has now buried four of her children and she is still alive to tell it. I can quite say I mourned for them though, our relationship died in 1980 when their brother died and our reason for linkage died so they were not all that close either. I am not really mourning here in a strange way.
And lastly, my grandfather Gus is my reason to mourn. After my father died, we were bounded by the departure of our intermediary. My father was my father and a son to my grandfather who spent their Saturdays at the horseraces or eating breakfast with us. When my father died, my grandfather-Nino too died because the death was too painful. He would not come to our home though he always wanted us to visit him. I was lucky to have him until age 37 until he asked to die and I had to respect his wish by not mourning for him. His death was beautiful in a way. He made it happen to be reunited with my Nina Kika and his son.
Hence el dia de los muertos is not an art project from school rather a place of great pain. I await my arrival too!
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