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[FONT=arial,helvetica]¡STATUS NOSTRI... MULTUM NOSTRA TERRA!
I AM JOAQUIN
By Rodolfo Corky González
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6M6qOG2O-o&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sCae3qYm9Y&feature=related
I am Joaquin,
Lost in a world of confusion,
Caught up in a whirl of a
gringo society,
Confused by the rules,
Scorned by attitudes,
Suppressed by manipulations,
And destroyed by modern society.
My fathers
have lost the economic battle
and won
the struggle of cultural survival.
And now!
I must choose
Between
the paradox of
Victory of the spirit,
despite physical hunger
Or
to exist in the grasp
of American social neurosis,
sterilization of the soul
and a full stomach.
Yes,
I have come a long way to nowhere,
Unwillingly dragged by that
monstrous, technical
industrial giant called
Progress
and Anglo success
I look at myself.
I watch my brothers.
I shed tears of sorrow.
I sow seeds of hate.
I withdraw to the safety within the
Circle of life . . .
MY OWN PEOPLE
I am Cuauhtemoc,
Proud and Noble
Leader of men,
King of an empire,
civilized beyond the dreams
of the Gachupin Cortez,
Who also is the blood,
the image of myself.
I am the Maya Prince.
I am Netzahualcoyotl,
Great leader of the Chichimecas.
I am the sword and flame of Cortez
the despot.
And
I am the Eagle and Serpent of
the Aztec civilization.
I owned the land as far as the eye
could see under the crown of Spain,
and I toiled on my earth and gave my Indian sweat and blood
for the Spanish master,
Who ruled with tyranny over man and
beast and all that he could trample
But . . .
THE GROUND WAS MINE.
I was both tyrant and slave.
As Christian church took its place
in God's good name,
to take and use my Virgin strength and
Trusting faith,
The priests
both good and bad,
took
But
gave a lasting truth that
Spaniard,
Indian,
Mestizo
Were all God's children
And
from these words grew men
who prayed and fought
for
their own worth as human beings,
for
that
GOLDEN MOMENT
Of
FREEDOM.
I was part in blood and spirit
of that
courageous village priest
Hidalgo
in the year eighteen hundred and ten
who rang the bell of independence
and gave out that lasting cry:
"El Grito de Dolores, Que mueran
los Gachupines y que viva
la Virgin de Guadalupe"
I sentenced him who was me.
I excommunicated him my blood.
I drove him from the Pulpit to lead a bloody revolution for him and me I killed him.
His head, which is mine and all of those who have conic this way,
I placed on that fortress wall to wall for Independence.
Morelos! Matamoros! Guerrero!
All Compañeros in the act,
STOOD AGAINST THAT WALL OF INFAMY
to feel the hot gouge of lead which my hands made.
I died with them . . .
I lived with them
I lived to see our country free.
Free from Spanish rule in eighteen -hundred- twenty-one.
Mexico was Free
The crown was gone but
all his parasites remained
and ruled and taught
with gun and flame and mystic power.
I worked,
I sweated,
I bled,
I prayed
and
waited silently for life to again commence.
I fought and died for
Don Benito Juarez
Guardian of the Constitution.
I was him on clusty roads on barren land
as he protected his archives as Moses did his sacraments.
He held his Mexico
in his hand
on
the most desolate
and remote ground
which was his country
And this Giant
Little Zapotec
gave
not one palm's breadth
of his country's land to
Kings or Monarchs or Presidents
of foreign powers.
I am Joaquin. I rode with Pancho Villa, crude and warm. A tornado at full strength, nourished and inspired
by the passion and the fire of all his earth, people. I am Emillano Zapata.
"This Land
This Earth
Is
OURS"
The Villages
The Mountains
The Streams
belong to Zapatistas.
Our life
Or yours
is the only trade for soft brown earth
and maiz.
All of which is our reward,
A creed that formed a constitution for all who dare live free!
"This land is ours . . . Father, I give it back to you.
Mexico must be free . . .'
I ride with Revolutionists
against myself.
I am Rural
Course and brutal,
I am the mountain Indian, superior over all.
The thundering hoof beats are my horses.
The chattering of machine guns'
are death to all of me:
Yaqui
Tarahumara
Chamula
Zapotec
Mestizo
Español
I have been the Bloody Revolution,
The Victor,
The Vanquished,
I have killed
and been killed.
I am despots Diaz
and Huerta
and the apostle of democracy
Francisco Madero.
I am the black shawled
faithful women
who die with me
or live depending on the time and place.
I am
faithful,
humble,
Juan Diego,
the Virgen de Guadalupe,
Tonatzin, Aztec Goddess too.
I rode the mountains of San Joaquin. I rode as far East and North as the Rocky Mountains
and
all men feared the guns of
Joaquin Murrietta.
I killed those men who dared
to steal my mine,
who raped and Killed
my Love
my Wife
Then
I Killed to stay alive.
I was Alfego. Baca,
living my nine lives fully.
I was the Espinoza brothers
of the Valle de San Luis.
All,
were added to the number of heads
that
in the name of civilization
were placed on the wall of independence.
Heads of brave men
who died for cause or principle.
Good or Bad.
Hidalgo! Zapata!
Murrieta! Espinoza!
are but a few. They dared to face The force of
tyranny of men who rule
By farce and hypocrisy
I stand here looking back, and now I see the present
and still
I arn the campesino
I am the fat political coyote
I, of the same name,
Joaquin.
In a country that has wiped out AI my history, stiffled all my pride.
In a country that has placed a different weight of indignity upon my age old
burdened back.
Inferiority
is the new load . . .
The Indian has endured and still
I AM JOAQUIN
By Rodolfo Corky González
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6M6qOG2O-o&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sCae3qYm9Y&feature=related
I am Joaquin,
Lost in a world of confusion,
Caught up in a whirl of a
gringo society,
Confused by the rules,
Scorned by attitudes,
Suppressed by manipulations,
And destroyed by modern society.
My fathers
have lost the economic battle
and won
the struggle of cultural survival.
And now!
I must choose
Between
the paradox of
Victory of the spirit,
despite physical hunger
Or
to exist in the grasp
of American social neurosis,
sterilization of the soul
and a full stomach.
Yes,
I have come a long way to nowhere,
Unwillingly dragged by that
monstrous, technical
industrial giant called
Progress
and Anglo success
I look at myself.
I watch my brothers.
I shed tears of sorrow.
I sow seeds of hate.
I withdraw to the safety within the
Circle of life . . .
MY OWN PEOPLE
I am Cuauhtemoc,
Proud and Noble
Leader of men,
King of an empire,
civilized beyond the dreams
of the Gachupin Cortez,
Who also is the blood,
the image of myself.
I am the Maya Prince.
I am Netzahualcoyotl,
Great leader of the Chichimecas.
I am the sword and flame of Cortez
the despot.
And
I am the Eagle and Serpent of
the Aztec civilization.
I owned the land as far as the eye
could see under the crown of Spain,
and I toiled on my earth and gave my Indian sweat and blood
for the Spanish master,
Who ruled with tyranny over man and
beast and all that he could trample
But . . .
THE GROUND WAS MINE.
I was both tyrant and slave.
As Christian church took its place
in God's good name,
to take and use my Virgin strength and
Trusting faith,
The priests
both good and bad,
took
But
gave a lasting truth that
Spaniard,
Indian,
Mestizo
Were all God's children
And
from these words grew men
who prayed and fought
for
their own worth as human beings,
for
that
GOLDEN MOMENT
Of
FREEDOM.
I was part in blood and spirit
of that
courageous village priest
Hidalgo
in the year eighteen hundred and ten
who rang the bell of independence
and gave out that lasting cry:
"El Grito de Dolores, Que mueran
los Gachupines y que viva
la Virgin de Guadalupe"
I sentenced him who was me.
I excommunicated him my blood.
I drove him from the Pulpit to lead a bloody revolution for him and me I killed him.
His head, which is mine and all of those who have conic this way,
I placed on that fortress wall to wall for Independence.
Morelos! Matamoros! Guerrero!
All Compañeros in the act,
STOOD AGAINST THAT WALL OF INFAMY
to feel the hot gouge of lead which my hands made.
I died with them . . .
I lived with them
I lived to see our country free.
Free from Spanish rule in eighteen -hundred- twenty-one.
Mexico was Free
The crown was gone but
all his parasites remained
and ruled and taught
with gun and flame and mystic power.
I worked,
I sweated,
I bled,
I prayed
and
waited silently for life to again commence.
I fought and died for
Don Benito Juarez
Guardian of the Constitution.
I was him on clusty roads on barren land
as he protected his archives as Moses did his sacraments.
He held his Mexico
in his hand
on
the most desolate
and remote ground
which was his country
And this Giant
Little Zapotec
gave
not one palm's breadth
of his country's land to
Kings or Monarchs or Presidents
of foreign powers.
I am Joaquin. I rode with Pancho Villa, crude and warm. A tornado at full strength, nourished and inspired
by the passion and the fire of all his earth, people. I am Emillano Zapata.
"This Land
This Earth
Is
OURS"
The Villages
The Mountains
The Streams
belong to Zapatistas.
Our life
Or yours
is the only trade for soft brown earth
and maiz.
All of which is our reward,
A creed that formed a constitution for all who dare live free!
"This land is ours . . . Father, I give it back to you.
Mexico must be free . . .'
I ride with Revolutionists
against myself.
I am Rural
Course and brutal,
I am the mountain Indian, superior over all.
The thundering hoof beats are my horses.
The chattering of machine guns'
are death to all of me:
Yaqui
Tarahumara
Chamula
Zapotec
Mestizo
Español
I have been the Bloody Revolution,
The Victor,
The Vanquished,
I have killed
and been killed.
I am despots Diaz
and Huerta
and the apostle of democracy
Francisco Madero.
I am the black shawled
faithful women
who die with me
or live depending on the time and place.
I am
faithful,
humble,
Juan Diego,
the Virgen de Guadalupe,
Tonatzin, Aztec Goddess too.
I rode the mountains of San Joaquin. I rode as far East and North as the Rocky Mountains
and
all men feared the guns of
Joaquin Murrietta.
I killed those men who dared
to steal my mine,
who raped and Killed
my Love
my Wife
Then
I Killed to stay alive.
I was Alfego. Baca,
living my nine lives fully.
I was the Espinoza brothers
of the Valle de San Luis.
All,
were added to the number of heads
that
in the name of civilization
were placed on the wall of independence.
Heads of brave men
who died for cause or principle.
Good or Bad.
Hidalgo! Zapata!
Murrieta! Espinoza!
are but a few. They dared to face The force of
tyranny of men who rule
By farce and hypocrisy
I stand here looking back, and now I see the present
and still
I arn the campesino
I am the fat political coyote
I, of the same name,
Joaquin.
In a country that has wiped out AI my history, stiffled all my pride.
In a country that has placed a different weight of indignity upon my age old
burdened back.
Inferiority
is the new load . . .
The Indian has endured and still