“Necesitamos tiempo con nosotros las mujeres para refrescarnos el alma.” -Consuelo Aguilar

Dedico este trabajo a las mujeres Chicanas
Esta dedicado a las Locas/ a las reinas de la Raza Cosmica
For as different as we all may seem,
When intricacies are compared
We are all one,
And the same.
Soy la Mujer Chicana, una maravilla
Soy tan simple como la capirotada
And at the same time I am as complicated to understand as the Aztec Pyramids.
Soy la Reina de la Raza Cosmica (al estilo Califas)…
Soy señorita
Soy ruca loca
Soy mujerona
Soy Santa
Soy madre
Soy Ms.
Soy la India Maria
Soy la Adelita
Soy Radical
Soy la Revolucionaria
Soy la Chicana en los picket lines
Soy la Chicana en los conferences
Soy la Chicana en los teatros
Soy la que hecha chingazos por su Raza
Soy el grito: “Chicano Power!”
Soy United Farmworker Buttons
Soy la Mexican flag
Soy la madre (El esclavo) de mi padre,
De mi hermano, de mi esposo
Soy la comida en la mesa cuando llegan
Del jale
Soy la que calienta los TV dinners
Soy tamales at Christmas time
Soy love-maker to my main man
Soy dreamer
Soy streetwalker
Soy la good woman
Soy la quien “mi carnal” hace rape
Soy shacking up
Soy staying at home until I’m married
Or dead
Soy dumping my old man, even though I’m  pregnant with his child
Soy getting married in Reno with kids at home
Soy mother of 12, married at 14
Soy staying together for the kids’ sakes
Soy la que se chinga pa’mantener a su familia
Soy marianismo, living to love and support
my husband and to nurture and teach
my children
Soy la battered wife
Soy la drop-out
Soy the first in my family to graduate from high school
Soy la directora
Soy la poverty pimp
Soy “tank you” en vez de thank you
Soy “chooz” en vez de shoes
Soy refinada-educated in assimilated/Anglicized/private institutions
Soy la caneria
Soy “silicon valley”
Soy los fields
Soy el unemployment
Soy el welfare
Soy la Avon lady
Soy la que va a visitor al Pinto
Soy la piensa que un Pinto, es a bean
Soy la political prisoner
Soy Saturday nights en el Drunk Tank
Soy Juvenile Hall
Soy week-ender at Elmwood
Soy la que Mandan a Frontera, the California Women’s Institute
Soy la que tiene Probation Officer
Soy the A.A.
Soy the methadone clinic
Soy beign under psychiatiric care
Soy finding strength from within
My Chicana Soul
Soy someone who understands
Soy dope-pusher
Soy straight
Soy preaching … and not listening to
What I say
Soy el catechism
Soy la Holy-roller
Soy la que nunca se puede levanter for Church on Sundays
Soy wondering if there is a God
Soy la Virgen de Guadalupe
Soy la low-rider
Soy la cruzer en su Monte-Carlo
Soy un ten-speed or walking
Soy el Joseph Magnin’s
Soy la K-Mart
Soy el Goodwill
Soy styling
Soy wearing tire sandals con sarape
Soy concerts cuando ando bien loca
Soy el Disco, el Starlight, y el Palomar
Soy el Hilton
Soy the Texas Inn
Soy the Knights of Columbus
Soy bragging about a good bato
Soy echándole a el y su mendiga madre
Soy stepping out on my old man
Soy being true
Soy going out with my brother as chaperone
Soy la que vive con double standards:
My old man has a lover, but I’d be out on the streets if I had one
Soy la community organizer
Soy not being able to get involved
Because my husband, or father
Won’t let me out at night
Soy la madre que le hecha madres al principal
Soy thinking my children’s teachers are his second parents
Soy alcohólica,
Soy social dringker
Soy marijuana
Soy junky
Soy straight
Soy la natural high- Y que?
Soy blue sniffer
Soy white, red or yellow pills,
Soy crystal
Soy el grito del Mariachi
Soy salsa
Soy Oldies but goodies
Soy Freddie Fender
Soy Little Joe
Soy Vicente Fernandez
Soy la Vicky Carr
Soy versos de la Santa Biblia
Soy True Confessions, Playgirl, or Viva
Soy Novelas de Amor
Soy Literatura Revolucionaria
Soy never reading at all
Soy spray painting on the wall
Soy ojos negros y piel canela
Soy dying my hair a flaming red or yellow
Soy mexicana
Soy Mexican-American
Soy American of Spanish Surname (A.S.S.)
Soy Latina
Soy Puerto Riqueza
Soy Cocoanut
Soy Chicana
Soy achieving a higher status en la causa, De la mujer
U del hombre Chicano
Con mucho carino dedico esto a las locas de la Raza Cosmica,
Y si no te puedes ver aquí hermana, solo te puedo decir
La Loca de la Raza Cosmica  La Chrisx

David Abie Morales:

Your announcement that your last post for Three Sonorans was in the works arrived in only the grand fashion that you are known for – that overly dramatized self-important manner usually followed by chisme and posts that polarize rather than bring us together. You know, some of us actually don’t believe this is going to be your last post. We’re taking bets on your return. Let us know if you want to get in on it. You can’t stay away from the attention and the glory, real or imagined. No, David, MAS isn’t dead, and we suspect, unfortunately, neither is Three Sonorans.

It’s interesting what you chose to deliver as your last post. For days, many waited for you to write about Sean’s arrest. SILENCE. Instead, you spent your time having side conversations trying to understand why so many women feel that you don’t have to get beat up black and blue to experience domestic violence. Looking back, there are so many ways you could have figured out how to break the silence rather then run around in panic. How sad for us that we expected more from you. Even more pathetic is how you and other writers only prospered from propping you up as some type of organizing messiah and Sean, as the man meant to bring MAS back. Right now, some articles on your blog, Huffington Post and Salon are starting to look like some sick joke. Oh, wait, maybe this is why MAS is dead – because you realized we all finally got a good look behind your green curtain? If only Yoda could sit down and talk with you. “The narcissism is strong with this one.”

How interesting that in your last post, not only did you decide to continue to debate what is and what isn’t domestic violence, but you also chose to attempt to take down the only other person in Tucson who has steadfastly stood up for MAS in the local media. You say you dearly love her, but how much were you drinking when you wrote this post? Seriously, how much whiskey does it take to try to beat down another Chicana in another post? Someone who once championed your work and stood up for you when you were fired by the Tucson Citizen? But I know women are such a pain. Boy, what are we going to do with all those troublesome vaginas?

Well, maybe if we bully them enough like you’ve done with other people through your blog, we could scare them into silence and remind them they are all malinches to begin with. It’s sad really the legacy you leave us – you could have helped a movement form relationships to create allies in this struggle – but no. It took some time for observers to realize you were a mouthpiece for those who’ve pretended to be the leaders of this “movement,” but have only worked behind the scenes to destroy it. If MAS is dead, as you say… then look at the two men you protect and blame them (and yourself).

There were times when we were proud of you. When you called out the racism we all recognized that propelled the fight against our classes from the right, as well as the racism and its denial from those on the left. There are wonderful moments. Your video magic. Perhaps, if there’s any benefit to your last post, is that we are at a point now that, not only have we seen what’s really behind your green curtain, your credibility, which was always questioned, may now be gone.

It’s gone because we realized you were just a mouthpiece. It’s gone because we realized you’ll never get it and as women, it get’s tiring. It’s gone because you don’t seem to understand what real friendships are about. It’s gone because we are tired of you representing us nationally and locally for some time now – but we were too scared to come forward – too scared you’d bully us down as you had anyone else who dared question you or correct you.

Want one more example? You dared to call out those who wrote about Sean’s arrest or broke the “silence,” on your Facebook post, reminding us of Sean’s children. You wrote that as you status update and you tagged Sean’s daughter. Not only did you allow your followers who come from many many political spectrum’s to see her on Facebook, but she got to read your post and realize that hundreds of others may have seen it too. How dare you? It was disgusting and our stomachs still wretch thinking about it.

How sad that at one time you attempted to call yourself a journalist, and others called you the same. You tried to call yourself an organizer, or someone wrote you were – but you showed you don’t really have the stomach for that. Maybe, rather than call yourself any of these things, you could just call yourself retired. We need new voices to come forward. We need new voices to bring us together. We need new voices that remember what this was all about to begin with – Mexican American studies. You and those who’ve taken the lead have made a mess of things. It’s sad. It’s heartbreaking what you’ve done and how you’ve lowered yourself – especially in your last post.

It just begs the question? Can’t you just really, for once, think about MAS. Can’t you just really mean it when you say, this is your last post?

La Malinche

Yo soy la Malinche.

My people called me Malintzín Tenepal
the Spaniards called me Doña Marina

I came to be known as Malinche
and Malinche came to mean traitor.

they called me—chingada
(Ha— ¡Chingada! ¡Screwed!)

Of noble ancestry, for whatever that means,
I was sold into slavery by MY ROYAL FAMILY—so
that my brother could get my inheritance.

… And then the omens began—a god, a new civilization,
the downfall of our empire.
And you came.
My dear Hernán Cortés, to share your “civilization”
—to play a god, … and I began to dream …
I saw
and I acted.

I saw our world
And I saw yours
And I saw—

And yes—I helped you—against Emperor Moctezuma
Xocoyotzín himself.
I became Interpreter, Advisor, and lover.
They could not imagine me dealing on a level
with you—so they said I was raped, used,

But I saw our world
and your world
and another.

No one else could see
Beyond one world, none existed.
And you yourself cried the night
the city burned
and burned at your orders.
The most beautiful city on earth
in flames.
You cried broken tears the night you saw
your destruction.

My homeland ached within me
(but I saw another).

Mother world
a world yet to be born.
And our child was born …
and I was immortalized Chingada!

Years later, you took away my child (my sweet
mestizo new world child)
to raise him in your world
You still didn’t see.
You still didn’t see.
And history would call me

But Chingada I was not.
Not tricked, not screwed, not traitor.
For I was not traitor to myself—
I saw a dream
and I reached it.
Another world………
la raza.
La raaaaa-zaaaaa …

Carmen Tafolla Infinite Divisions: An Anthology of Chicana Literature