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Let the revolution continue…

And on that day without plans

We all had agreed that a revolution was the goal

Angela said that a revolution lies in the principles and the goals that you’re striving for, not in the way you reach them. And Malcom agreed with her—by all means the revolution would take place with or without us. But Marcos had the last words, stating that we would always be able to question the means but never the revolution itself. That is when the words of Marx resonated in our heads. I remember him telling us that a revolution cannot be judged by its consciousness, but by its contradictions.

                           

It all made sense now.

 

So when did the revolution contradict itself?

We got too caught up on the revolution’s definitive statement

We forgot we were the catalysts

We forgot we were the tools

 

We didn’t want nothing short of a revolution

But we stopped growing

As soon as we stopped caring

We lost balance

And we stopped healing

We forgot about the process

Unwilling to seek truth  

We chose to not deal with our pain

…no more

And with that we lost sight of the revolution

 

We perpetuated the antithesis that has now become part of our process

To unlearn the tools of the oppressor 

Realizing we were hurting ourselves all along

 

All we have left now is to hold one another accountable

Acknowledge how we perpetuate and contradict ourselves

Admit that the revolution contradicted itself

As soon as we began contradicting ourselves

 

Altogether we lost sight of the revolution because

We forgot about us

We forgot about we

We forgot about you and me

 

It makes sense now

The revolution contradicted itself

As soon as we thought a revolution only took place on the outside

All this time we forgot about the revolution within us

 

Let the revolution continue

Lets remember about us

Lets talk about we

And lets us take care of you and me

Audrey told me that’s a part of self-preservation

 

Lets help one another move beyond survival

To heal

And relearn to love

To be brave

And to see beauty in our existence

 

 

Let the revolution continue

At least within us

Between you and me

With us

together we heal 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted by on October 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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baby daddy blues

woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy didn’t have a father
folks split up when he was young
papa said he had a new family
that relationship was worth his time
mama probably had the blues herself
left mexico behind and found a new man
the womyn/child beater kind
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy hated school
hated men that didn’t care for baby mama’s
used his rage and trained
EZLN/AIM militant security
talkin’ bout taking back our lands
tearing down borders
bullets to the system
learning our native tongue
living revolutionary lives
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy spread his seed
a new generation of decolonized bodies
warrior names
freedom running through their veins
placental offerings
hair that flows like rivers
ceremonial rites of passage
tobacco ties, family ties
after life ties
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy baby daddy why are you so blue?
when did you quit fighting
traded in your red for who?
prayers left abandoned
politics that contradict your worth
9-5 for uncle sam
attorneys to protect your wealth
body suits that assert your cis manhood
and baby bois back home
torn and confused
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy is getting married
a new family of his own
got no time for lovin baby mamas
not sleeping in his bed
proud to be a new Americano
with holidaze and honeymoons
english only attitude
talking bout how schooling paves the way
 
baby bois back home
torn and confused
baby bois back home
torn and confused
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
baby daddy blues
 
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Posted by on October 17, 2013 in Her stories, Tucson movement

 

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Soundless Song of the Corn Maiden

She stood there
at the top of the mountain overlooking the valley
The city and all its people inside.
A skin tight black dress flowing
flowing,
breathing,
as she stares up to the cosmos and brings down her
clenched fists- and soon the sky burst forth and you heard
that first damning sound of thunder while the acidic scent
of moisture in contact with earth entered your nostrils,
as she cries out in pain,
“Bring on the storm!
I, simply known as Malinche, who rides the winds as swift
as justice, am opening up these vaults
of pure and utter chaos!”
Forever ripped apart to the seams by the fires of judgment,
silence and betrayal- she held up her staff and the
darkness roared as the murderous heavy clouds
made their way towards each and every individual
down below the valley.
Swiftly.
Hearts panicked, breathing stopped, thoughts reconsidered-
Those who heard in the distance that tell-tale sign
of the coming storm.
She alone-
this lonely, lost, little girl-
all by herself
Caused this anxiety in men among men
For the truth.
Her truth-
would eat everyone alive with her.
But silently- like an echo,
like a kiss
She sees the valley below and sees the deep shadows surrounding it,
deeper than her own.
Perversely anticipating that first rip.
Sticky, oozing, iron and uranium shadows.
Parasitic shadows
that would strive off the chaos of the storm-
ride these winds untouched to later feast upon
the rotting carcass of this once vibrant community down
below the valley.
She stops,
she breaths,
she lets go.
She flies. Away, away, away and beyond.
Her fabrics turn amber and her smile is that
of the sunset now- the most beautiful time of light
before it disappears to the night.
The mysterious, shifting, reinventing and forgiving night.
She is at peace with her mountain, with her valley
with her storm.
As the clouds slowly disperse
to welcome in a cleansing rain that soaked
into the minds of those with parched souls. 
 
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Posted by on March 27, 2013 in Her stories

 

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Love without walls…

I never understood the concept of love how my friends and family defined it or maybe I just had a different conceptualization of what this meant.
 
Because growing up I felt unloved by my own mother, the person who gave birth to me yet who also wished for my vanishment was hard. I grew up thinking that love did not exist, at least not for me. That love was only meant for others, but not for me. From an early age I decided to redefine the concept of love. 
 
Redefine the concept of love not as forever, but temporary. Not as with one person, but with many. Not as possession, but an experience. Not as anything someone said to me or I said to them, but as something I felt and something I acted on. Not as something that someone gave me, but I gave myself and shared with others. Not as something I thought, but lived. Not coming only from within myself, but learning and appreciating that love goes beyond person to person, it is an act that we need to learn to acknowledge because it surrounds us. 
 
The hardest part for me is being able to accept love. Because if my own mother couldn’t love me why would you? So I put up walls taller and thicker than anyone was ever willing to take down. Walls I protected and reconstructed throughout the years because I wanted to make sure that love would not go through those walls, at least not for me. 
 
As the years went by I decided to take them apart brick by brick. It has taken way too long to deconstruct them and I got tired. I forgot about them because I got so used to living within those walls–a prison that became a home. I was safe; safe from the world, but not safe from myself. 
I became my worst enemy, while thinking I was only protecting myself but unknowingly perpetuating my own unlovableness because I thought I didn’t deserve it, at least not from anyone but myself. 
 
Your love came to me like a bomb. A bomb that exploded all those walls and I was inside, scared, naked, and vulnerable.
But my pride and prison state of mind kept me within the walls you tore down because I still imagined them. I kept you away. I was too proud to say that I loved you too. I was too afraid to accept that someone could love me the way you did. I kept your love away. I kept my love for you within me, hardly ever sharing a drop of it. 
 
I was too proud to let go of everything I had worked so hard for…too much pride to just let you in like that.
I am once again redefining the concept of love, but this time without walls. 
I am tired of breaking my own heart…
 
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Posted by on March 25, 2013 in Her stories

 

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Reflection… Correction… Direction…

Here’s the thing — a little more clarification is necessary since it seems that the confusion continues.

First of all — this is not a competition for fans or views or reads. When we set out to launch malintZine on December 21, 2012 we had a vision of offering an anonymous space for women to speak their truths. Truths that had been silenced for too long. MalintZine has been and will continue to be a radically safe space that will ferociously protect the anonymity of our authors. But malintZine and her authors are not just the women who you’ve seen in photographs — we’re everywhere!! Indeed this space has been used to call men on the mat for their straight up bullshit and specific instances of fucked-upedness, but it has also been a safe space for sharing experiences than span the spectrum from fear to rape. We were not under the impression that the presence of our truths would come easily for anyone involved including ourselves. The truth tears down barriers, destroy relationships and bring others together. While we might have hoped otherwise, personal attacks were expected.

Since December 21, 2012 malintZine has grown into a larger community than we could have imagined that stretches from LA to Colorado, New York and Baltimore with a strong core of amazing mujeres in Tucson.

We were honored and blessed to have participated in and hosted events in the last week in Los Angeles and in Tucson. We were invited to speak in Maylei Blackwell’s class and sit on a panel with Maylei and Anna Nieto Gomez. In 1971 M.E.Ch.A held a mock funeral procession that was a ritualized attempt to kill Las Hijas de Cuactemoc. They carried caskets and walked with candles to a makeshift graveyard with gravestones for Hijas leaders and a lynched effigy of Anna Nieto Gomez (with her name inscribed). It was an honor to meet Anna, who stood up to the misogynistic Chicano leaders of her time, and a humbling privilege to sit beside her on the panel.

On Friday March 8th we had the pleasure of hosting Andrea Smith for a powerful discussion about accountability with well over 150 people in attendance followed by a launch party that brought together the community of malintZine readers, authors and editors. The ability to have the physical manifestation of the safe space that had been created online at malintzine.com was quite the event. There were poetry readings, zines, and plenty of music. Yes, there was a piñata and yes it was male bodied and yes we beat it with a stick until tamarindo, chamoy, lube and condoms gushed out. Yes, a drag king who resembled Three Sonorans attended the party and photos that have since been made public were taken. Three Sonorans has become the living embodiment of contemporary chingon politics. By his own doing, DA Morales has turned himself into a caricature of a 50-year history of misogynistic one-sided Chicano Movement narrative that holds its male leaders in blameless esteem.  Herein lies the point — maltinZine was created to counter the continuation of that narrative and on Friday night we celebrated.

And finally, we expect that you will continue your personal attacks on our motherhood, on our loyalty, on our motives, on our writing skills, on our education or lack of education, on our age, on our perceived sexuality, on our children and on our character — but your attacks don’t blight the truth. You may know who we are but you should also know that we are not going away. If there is a month where you cease to spew your false problematic narratives — we will be happy to keep your name of our blog (maybe!).

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For more photos of March 8th’s International Womyn’s Day events hosted by malintZINE click HERE!

 
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Posted by on March 12, 2013 in Chicano Movement, Tucson movement

 

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Calling upon the Chicano Pope to Reflect

How was the Chicano Pope chosen? Did I miss the anointment ceremony? The Chicano Pope proudly grinds the biggest axe to attack those who do not heed his mandates and demand for complicity. This is a call for the Chicano Pope to thoughtfully engage in the issue of accountability.  After all, it was the Chicano Pope who wrote, “What is so frustrating about politics is that there is so little accountability. We can continually screw up as my students would say and are not accountable. Because we as a society are ahistorical, we are unable to sort out the lies that our leaders tell us or correct our own errors…The biggest obstacle to furthering a Chicano, Latino, or anything you want to call it agenda is a lack of accountability.” Wise words but is the Pope exempt from heeding them?

The Chicano Pope feigns objectivity and freely admits that “In times like these I have found myself trying too hard, and becoming a motivational speaker instead of a teacher, relying on what some may call hyperboles to make my point.” He also proclaims that he is “protective of the legacy of the sixties.” Is the Chicano Pope trying to suppress intellectual inquiry that does not fit into his hero making narratives?  Are the accusations that Reies López Tijerina molested one of his children off limits? Or does this history not matter?  A few months ago the Chicano Pope openly encouraged us to embrace another “martyr” by boasting, “Based on my reading of history the stock of Sean Arce will reach epic levels. If he were living in California or Texas there would have been at least a half dozen corridos (ballads) written about him.”  The Chicano Pope has been silent on this issue, why?

Maybe the Pope “dreads” going to NACCS in San Antonio because for the last two years he has used the organization to peddle charlatan leaders who silenced and threatened those who disagreed in Tucson. Or does this history not matter?  People donated to ethnic studies and defense funds because the Chicano Pope had blessed these fundraising efforts.  Are these organizations going to offer yearly reports that detail where all the funds were spent?  The Chicano Pope asked us to donate to these causes and held the collection basket in his hands as he blessed those who reached into their pockets. Where is the accountability?

The Chicano Pope has made it clear that, “If people would be held accountable, this would put people on notice.”  Chicano Pope, this is your notice.  You have sold Chican@s short and out.  The paper trail you leave in this lifetime grows each time you lead the Chicano choir in nationalist hymns and engage in perverted reasoning aimed at silencing dissent in order to achieve a “Wonderful Life.”  What you offer is delusion.

Stop using smoke and mirrors to encourage ignorance and to discourage deeper examinations into shameful, antifeminists and homophobic histories. Stop casting stones against your CSU Northridge colleagues, NACCS and anyone who disagrees with you. And, realize that you do not have the power to dictate where outrage should be directed. This message is also a call for the Chicano Pope to examine his conscience. Stop seeking conformity.  Embrace new ways of thinking and listen to youth instead of preaching to them. This is hard to hear because your narcissism gets in the way, but Chican@ Studies will not crumble if you retire. New forms and people will step in and build on what it is and once was.  And, yes, it might even be better. Don’t be a Chicano Pope who presses for the conservative and traditional.

Step aside.

It is time.

 
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Posted by on February 13, 2013 in Chicano Movement

 

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Mack Daddy Lopez, Tucson

(To those brothers all along the spectrum of time
who stood alongside us
and if even they fell got back up and joined to our sides,
who know the depth of a woman,
and who we find even in this age, beside us:
A Million Million Gratitudes…….
 
The next poem is not for you.)
 
I twice slept with a man named Macky Lopez
I think a lot of women did
He’s a mack daddy penis-driven cunning man,
Revolution somewhere hiding beneath the piles he left of shit
 
He’s a predatory feel-sorry-for-me type
A misogynist tries-to-break-women man
He should have a sign around his neck like “Beware. Beware. Beware.”
 
He once told me he had the power to “really mess with people’s minds.”
He meant Power in the Indigenous sense. (..You hear me?)
He messed with mine. For damn sure.
He once said “straight is boring”
and by this he meant: a woman here, a woman there, let the chaos rule the hour.
 
He said he wouldn’t be with a white woman –
his particular quota of pain and fuckedupshit
is saved for the brown wombynsisters.
He showed me glimpses of love, care, and depth,
but they vanished so quickly I found myself chasing mists.
He made me crazy, and I hate the rage I spent on him.
I hate too its erasure, its silence –
used and abused.
( ! …Oh hell na. Hell no.)
 
Some people say that womanizers don’t love women
trying to I’s/(mine) her whiles they eyes her,
faking love for lust.
Some people say that a man trying should be given a chance
but sometimes you can tell they just ain’t trying hard at all
and their chance won’t be written on my back,
or on other sisters’ backs.
If a man ain’t trying let him be alone, and not be messing with us women.
 
Sometimes a man uses his Leader-ship like a Throne from which to get Access
Leader-ship getting him into schools, youth and health centers
Throne keeping him from accountability
Access leaving things ever open for him
I saw how easily he hid me, saw how he tried to isolate me from another woman victim.
What at first felt like energy was unmasked to be crazy manipulation
And it leaves me with so many concerns…
He says he’s a community worker but I guess I wonder
in what sense he’s working the community.
 
Once upon a time I thought I was falling in love with this misogynist – Me! ?? !!!?
What was the reason for my blindness? What blinded me from my Spirit?
This ? is full like this women’s movement is full, and getting deeper
!Praise be though! – my Spirit be strong and It called me back from the Grave! !
And I walked away.
Gave Thanks.
 
What I want to say: is you didn’t have the right to pursue me.
You didn’t have the right with her either.
Or her (or her, or her, or her….)
You don’t have the right to lie to women, fuck with lives and deny deny deny.
 
I wish I wrote your name out that’s how much I wanna protect
my future sister from the shit you put us through
But it’s not just you…
It’s not just your name.
And I hope you heal – find the courage to transform
And I want Revolution.
 
Revolution doesn’t just mean guns and takeovers. It means you stopping your bullshit.
It means all of us stopping our bullshit. Fighting our own demons.
What a battle! And a way to honor this life and our place within it.
I want Revolution.
And I want my Sisters to be safe.
 
I want my Sisters to be safe
I want my Sisters to be loved
I want my Sisters to have authentic care, respect, honor, trust, and love.
 
Everyone needs love, Everybody deserves it.
It seems the thing we miss the most sometimes these days.
I lived for many years with a great man and we loved from an infinite place
to an infinite place.
I know love, a blessing, and I sat under its tree so many days.
Deeply grateful, I want this for us all
Want Revolution
 
I write this for the Young Men:
May you turn from this man’s example.
Walk the Path, Bring the Health, Show the Respect
Be the Revolution in your Spirits
 
I write this for the Women:
May you Heal, Trust Yourselves, DeepStrongProud Sacred Spirits.
Walk the Path, Bring the Health, Show the Respect
Revolution in your Spirits
 
…Anyway, I count myself unlucky in many more ways than one
for having sex with that man cause it wasn’t even fun. (not at all)
It was a bit unnerving
You know what I mean?
 
Mack Daddy Lopez on the make, on the scene.
 
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Posted by on February 11, 2013 in Her stories, Tucson movement

 

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