Story Archives 2013

Django Decolonized- PNN ReViewsFortheReVoluTion

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
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The current wite-man production Django Unchained opens with the camera’s "gaze" focused on the scarred backs of our Afrikan ancestors walking, shirtless, in a moonlit night. The scars are a cheap cinematic device meant as a visual reference to the violence of chattel slavery. This was a mere Tarantino footnote barely intended for a fleeting glance by the distracted movie goer. But these kinds of images cut my heart in half with a sharp edge razor. With each scar moving in the filmic moonlight I heard the songs, tears, cries, screams, flesh and blood of so many unseen, always remembered, victims, survivors and spirits of the horror story known as chattel slavery in Amerikkka. Which is why Tarantino had no business making this movie.


The horrible image of their scarred flesh had another unintended impact, as a metaphor for the media and media-makers who exploit the descendents of slavery in movies like Django. Considering Tarantino was assuming a stance of hipster alternative meets spaghetti western Tarantino style - where almost anything is supposedly possible the truly “alternative” opening shot would have been with a camera gaze resting on the backs of a shirt-less, whip-scarred witeman- the backs upon whom the legacy of torture and the profit of chattel  slavery and its sickness should be held-with reparations, anger and action- but this was a rich wite man produced movie and so the Afrikan man held the burden once again.


 After  the opening credits, we see these are enslaved ancestors in leg irons walking shoeless through a desert. Within minutes, an eccentric wite-man, Christopher Waltz shows up to "save" the day, calling upon the embodiment of centuries of settlement workers/social workers/non-profiteer saviors who arrive in an empire/capitalist created setting of oppression and profit to "save" the very people they have been complicit in the destruction of.


Through the agenda of the eccentric, German settler/colonizer played by Christopher Waltz, one of our tortured and brutally enslaved ancestors played by Jamie Foxx, is "freed" by agreeing to a  “deal” which is to murder people for hire. Without so much as a moment, the desperation of his and his families’ enslavement as a backdrop for the values he holds that might not jibe with murdering people, the Jamie Foxx character agrees, kill or be killed, seems to be the “deal”. Bringing up years of the prison industrial complex “deals” where a plea bargain is “offered” to a wite-supremacy defined “criminal” for their freedom. This saving also emulates the many social workers and agents  of the non-profit industrial complex who provide service to peoples they profit from.

In a few more scenes we meet the cartoon character of “Stephan” Samuel l jackson. Played to comic perfection, complete with black-face make-up, Uncle Ben side-hair, and code-switching brilliance, his character is the personification of Amerikkkan hegemony. The genocidal power of hegemonies destruction of human compassion and agency is alive in Stephan, the father of the security guard industrial complex, the doorman, the probation officer, the warden, and the cop, he the recipient of so much genocidal hegemony as to make him the powerful defender of the system to which he is “owned”. Being called a wite-man’s property while he is actually runs the entire plantation and protects the brutality perpetrated on him and his brothers and sisters.


His character was played without nuance, one dimensionally horrible, reminding me of the security guard of color who might earn a whopping $8.00 per hour and yet believes that it is his proud duty to arrest and incarcerate one of his brothers or sisters if he is caught stealing a loaf of bread or the police officer of color who participates in the slaughter of young men and women if they happen to be walking, running, standing or living while black or brown in Amerikkka.


I believe in some ways his character was the most fleshed out because that kind of two-faced, duplicit evil is the backbone of the Hollywood plantation system. Rife with wite-supremacy, overt racism, rape, molestation, pedophilia, substance use, patriarchy and fetishization for hire. This is the world that killed Whitney, Marilyn and Corey Feldman, witened Michael Jackson and Jennifer Lopez and endlessly uses and throws away thousands of children and adults who you never see and never will hear from.  It is the world you must live in and pretend to love, if you are Quentin Tarantino, Samuel  Jackson and Jamie Foxx. I was born and raised there, was houseless and po’ there, mama was racialized and hated there and thank Creator, we barely got out, alive.


It must be said, that all the critiques about this movie are right- from an Afroc-centric perspective this movie is so wrong for so many reasons, but from a Hollywood, wite-supremacist entrenched and informed perspective, making any movie about slavery in Hollywood is not easy.


Quentin Tarantino is an artist, in that wite-man, shock for shock sake, nothing is sacred way that many of his ilk come from.. Believing his own hipster-mythos that he is “conscious” just because he hires people of color, and makes movies on subjects like Django, without even so much as a hint of reparations discussed. If he was truly “conscious” as he believes himself to be, he would have done all the phone calling, booshie lunch-having, pitch-making, and thought pimping necessary to do a movie centered on the issue of slavery in a wite-supremacist plantation system like Hollywood and then given it to a black film producer and director to make the movie. But he is not. And so we have, to paraphrase the writer Ishmael Reed, a film about wite-people who run the system reflected off of Afrikan people’s suffering.

Finally, in my humble opinion, beyond all else, what is wrong about this movie is the desecration of the spirit. The spirit of our sacred stories, our pain, our suffering and our resistance. When Spike Lee said it was disrespectful of our ancestors, he is right, these stories are our stories, this pain and this herstory is our pain,  they do not belong to some spaghetti Western hipster interpretation, and to truly free our broken, exploited backs we must continue to resist the re-telling, re-writing, hipster conscious revisioning of our herstories,


After witnessing and living through as much pain as this mixed race daughter of a strong black Indian mama has, I have come to understand the depth of colonization and its disrespect of not only our collective backs, our hands, our stories and our lands, but most of all our spirits. That these colonizers whether they be the banksters, sheriffs, po’lice, the politricksters, the media-makers or the saviours, they ultimately use us and confuse us so that we don’t’ understand the crucial aspect of our own sacred. And that in that holding and protecting of our sacred is our healing and our teaching and our liberation. That our ancestors stories and lives and resistance efforts cannot be bought and sold and traded and lost through the endless exploitation they receive, that we must hold these stories to our chests, we must write these books and film these movies ourselves, and no arty, self-absorbed hipster wite-man can take them away from us. And the media colonization will continue only as long as we allow it.


Police Abuse in Berkeley: One Indigenous Man's Experience with Police Abuse of Authority

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

“I’m innocent,” said Tekpatl (aka Albert Haedinger). As poverty scholar at Poor
Magazine, I met Tekpatl on October 2nd 2012 in Poor Magazine’s Community Newsroom. I was shocked to hear about his violent experience with UC Berkeley Police. Therefore, after I was assigned the story I began to research the case. Albert Haedinger alleges that he was legitimately on campus when he was beaten by two police officers. According to Mr. Haedinger, the officers violated his civil rights, and violently attacked him.

At the Newsroom, Mr. Haedinger handed me a flyer that reads "UC Berkeley Police Abuse of Authority" on one side. In that flyer I could see a lot of blood on his legs and on his T-shirt. Also, it appears that Mr. Haedinger was handcuffed. The other side was titled "Brutalized Twice: Police Beat Native Man and Now Want to Give Him Three Strikes!"

Mr. Haedinger told me that everything happened in the Spring Semester of year 2012, on March 3rd to be exact, between 3:30-4:00am, when UC Berkeley Campus Police brutalized him. According to Haedinger he was volunteering his time to teach Berkeley students about their culture and traditions. Haedinger told me that he got up to gargle his mouth in the communal bathroom because of a throat infection, and someone had probably called police because the person(s) thought he was a homeless person trespassing the premises. The UCPD officers targeted him while he was in a bathroom stall; when they requested his ID, he returned to the room he'd been staying in, and attempted to communicate this to the officers. The officers ran after him, and as he entered the room, one officer held him down while the other beat his shins with a baton multiple times inside the dorm room. I was skeptical of the police story.

I contacted the University of California Berkeley for verification. I received contradictory statements. One, from UCB's Office of Public Affairs, said, “Mr. Haedinger was not a guest on campus…” Another, the UC Police Department's Community Relations, stated “...received a call from a staff regarding suspicious person on site. Two officers responded… the suspect was uncooperative and started punching at the officers. The suspect did not identify himself as being a guest on campus.” Furthermore, UC Campus Police alleged “the officers did not target the suspect in a random search, the officers were called to the scene by a campus staff. The suspect was arrested. UC Campus Police say that the suspect may had been a guest on campus, but he did not let the officers know about it.” Community Relations of UCPD told me that a Police Review Board concluded there was no misconduct based on their own internal investigation.

I requested to see a copy of the police report and the UC police refused. My understanding is that Haedinger is currently being charged with resisting arrest, serious bodily injury to an officer, disturbing the peace, and obstruction of justice. Recently, the accusation of serious bodily injury was added, in exchange for battery of a police officer.

I wonder, if Mr. Haedinger was handcuffed, and if there are no witnesses to Haedinger laying a hand on anyone, how can the police report be consistent? Did the police who alleged being seriously injured walk around like nothing happened to him? Because the prosecution is also bringing up an 18 year old case from North Carolina, can it reinforce readers' understanding that the whole story is not credible? Mr. Haedinger told me that he was wrongfully convicted in North Carolina, and the District Attorney is trying to use it to prosecute him under the "famous three strikes" law, thus threatening him with life in prison.

In California's 2012 election, Proposition 36 was approved by the voters and made a change in the "Three Strikes Law." It revises the three strikes law to impose life sentence only when the new felony conviction is "serious or violent..." (

I received several letters in support of Albert Haedinger during the course of writing this article.

The Sacramento Native American Health Center writes that Mr. Haedinger has been “extremely active in his community.” This letter reads that Mr. Haedinger has been a mentor to many men and women in the Warrior Down reentry support program. Warrior Down is a peer-to-peer support group that helps secure employment, provides educational opportunities, and helps people connect with emotional, mental, physical, cultural and spiritual resources. Mr. Haedinger has been a model for other members in our community. Mr. Haedinger is an outstanding father to his daughter and son to his parents.

Mr. Haedinger’s daughter wrote another letter: “…He showed them (the police) his ID, but they beat him anyway. It was painful for my dad to walk. He didn't deserve it. My dad also told me if he got locked up he would lose his job. I would never want my father to loose his job, or anybody else. My father also participates in my one sport - soccer. My dad also takes part in my schoolwork, too. He comes to the parent conferences, and if I need help with any homework he takes his time to help me. He also takes me to my dentist appointments, which is very caring. My dad pays for my phone….I love my dad and I would never want anything bad to happen to him. I really care about my dad.”

A third letter of four pages is from Albert Haedinger' parents. They write that Mr. Haedinger is a very caring and devoted son who helps them immensely considering his dad is 97 years old and his mom is 83 years old. They said they depend on Mr. Haedinger for a lot of assistance. They also said they know that Mr. Haedinger helps out in the Native community.

Mr. Haedinger informed me that he has carried a 4.0 grade average since 1999 till the present. He has received honors certificates over the years, and his most prestigious certificate was awarded in 2010, in Business Law. Mr. Haedinger said he has been employed by the State of California for 5 years now, with excellent progress reports from his supervisor.

Mr. Haedinger also said he has not had any police contact since he was released from probation.

If you would like to help Mr. Haedinger, please join him at his upcoming court date:
January 28th, 2013. Time: 8:45a.m. Location: Alameda County Courthouse, Wiley W. Manuel, 661 Washington Street, Oakland, CA 94607. To express your opinions on this case, call Alameda County Deputy District Attorney John Creighton, direct line 510-268-7500, reception 510-272-6222. Tell him to drop all charges against Albert Haedinger.


Journalism Can’t Teach Friendships (Thank you for all the interviews throughout the years.)

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
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Original Body

Journalism Can’t Teach Friendships (Thank you for all the interviews throughout the years.)

This is not a Q&A
More like conversation
Building relations
Having fun in the creation

No unequal balance of power
Respecting each other
Throw out objectivity out of the water
Intelligent questions brings us closer

You guide me
And vice versa
I listen you speak
And vice versa
Give & take

Going there not pushing u over
Revealing things that's been hush hush
We both feel comfortable there's no rush rush
Exchange numbers when it comes out I'll call u up

In your own words no journalistic filters

Deep conversations
Should be the basis of journalism
Can't teach that in classroom academic education
It must be already in you as a person

Sometimes we must unlearn what we learned
To have conversations beyond I
That turns an interview
Into see the person eye to eye

This poem is for all
The interviewees that enriched me
With their conversations
That led to deeper friendships

Leroy Moore Jr.


Tricia and Raul: Forever Seeking Justice*

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
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Eldership and Home
I was born and raised in Bernal Heights in a nice, big family house. I’m the youngest of six siblings. When we grew up, all of my siblings got married and moved on. I stayed at the house with my husband, Raul, and our three children. For 25 years, I paid rent, maintained the house, paid the bills. I helped take care of my elderly Mother and the children. I used to work for the airlines, and the federal government. I supported the whole house because I could. I didn’t even blink. I supported my Mother and my brother (when he lived there) because I could, paying rent and bills for over 25 years.
Pushed Out
After my brother moved back in, a different brother started getting jealous thinking that if my Mom died I would inherit the house. The housing market had boomed and the house was starting to be very valuable. He started telling the other family members that I wanted to steal the house from their Mom. My siblings made a plan to get me out. 
First, they wanted me to sign a month to month rental agreement. That was insulting. I had a verbal agreement with my Mom, and had paid rent every month for 25 years. I was deeply hurt and offended they wanted me to sign this. I just wanted the respect and acknowledgement that I could be trusted to continue paying rent like I had every month for the past 25 years. I told my siblings ‘I’m not gonna sign that’ and I never did.
At the time, my rent was $600. In February, I wrote a check for $450. My Mother, who was also the landlord, cashed the check on February 5th. I was going to pay the rest of the $150 as soon as I could. 
Under rent control in California, if you make a payment of any amount- partial rent- you can’t get sued that month. I was protected under Rent Control. My family sued me for non-payment of February rent. They gave me a 3 day notice for $600. I only owed $150 on February rent and I had the cancelled check to prove it.
They took me to court. I knew that I had the cancelled check to prove that I had made a partial payment on February rent and that I didn’t owe $600.  I had a clear cut case, so I decided to represent myself. I asked for a dismissal. I didn’t want to waste the court’s time. The law was on my side.
They hired a lawyer. Judge Suzanne Bolanos presided over the case. She was the head appellate Judge. 
I said, “Your Honor, I don’t want to waste your time or the jury’s time. I have proof that there is no basis for their case.” She ignored what I was saying. She never mentioned the cancelled check. She denied my motion to dismiss. 
The jury deliberates based on a verdict form. All the questions for the verdict form were based on the rental agreement, and I didn’t even sign it.
I said, “Excuse me, You Honor, I object to that, I didn’t even sign that.”
She ignored me.
It’s amazing how I lost. The case was based on slander. No due process. No fair trial at all. I was sued for non payment of rent and I had proof of rent.
I was evicted from my house of 30 years.
Appealing for Justice
I got a lawyer to appeal the case. When I went in to tell him about the case, I said don’t judge me, it’s a case with my family. He said “I’m not judging you, I’d sue my father if I had to.” He was one of those die hard lawyers. 
He took the case pro bono. Now, 90% of appeals are settled out of court. They never go to trial. He took the case because he saw ‘ca-ching ca-ching’ - because I had the law on my side. If I got a settlement, he would be paid out of that money. But I wasn’t in it for the money. I wanted respect. I wanted justice. I wanted the case to be dismissed.
The Judge didn’t believe we were that kind of people, not in it for the money. She said you gotta ask for money, you gotta do this out of court.
The case wasn’t dismissed. 3 judges affirmed the first decision.
When I got the verdict I was crying. I said “How could this happen? Are these judges just protecting each other?” The lawyer said “Sure they are, they aren’t gonna go against each other.”
Why didn’t somebody tell me? Why did I have to learn that the hard way?
My lawyer was pissed off because we hadn’t tried to get settlement money. I guess because of lawyers ethics he couldn’t tell me beforehand that, even though the law was on our side, the Judges were protecting each other and they wouldn’t go against the first ruling.
My rights were violated. I was kicked out of my home. My lawyer just said, “Yeah, well look at all the work i did for you and I didn’t get anything.”
The same lawyer represented us for the second appeal, pro bono. He and his partner filed a brief that just stated the law. They made the point really delicately - not blaming the judges.  They said that the judge had made an error.
Everyone’s scared of fucking judges. This was not error. The judge maliciously over and over broke the law. there is nothing about how she treated me in the whole case that was an error. I said, “Excuse me, You Honor, this evidence is pertinent to the case. And she said (paraphrasing) “well, you asked for a jury and they voted.” 
The second appeal took one month. The decision was affirmed again. 
Bolanos is the head judge for the appellate court. The other judges work under her - they are not going to rule against her.
The 4 judges that upheld her decision are just as guilty as her for breaking the law and covering it up. For violating my rights.
Because of these decisions, my life was destroyed. I was living on the street in a uhaul truck with my 3 kids. I was treated like an animal in San Francisco. 6 months in the shelter in a little tiny room with the kids, treated like animals. 
My family stole everything out of my pockets. My credit got ruined. I lost my car and i’m still making payments even though it got booted for tickets.
Still Seeking Justice
My life has been violated, my kids rights have been violated. This corruption has to stop. This is not just for me personally - this is not only about us this is about other people’s rights too.
It was my son’s birthday four days after we got thrown on the street. I have pictures: we’re unloading a truck after being evicted from the home we lived in our entire lives. My childrens lives have been destroyed too. Money can not pay for the time and hurt we’ve suffered. My whole life has been swept into a tornado and the tornado hasn’t ended yet, its still spinning.
We will never give up. We are on a mission because we need to expose the corruption in the government, not only for us, but for other people. other peoples rights are being violated. We’ll never stop looking for justice.
*all quotations in this piece are paraphrased

Peligros en la Frontera / Dangers On the Border

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
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Original Body

Espanol sigue/ Scroll down for English

Por lo Amarillo del cielo, pienso que eran las seis de la tarde cuando nos reunimos en una casa hermosa. Aproximadamente eramos 50 personas mujeres hombres y niños , No podíamos dormir porque  los coyotess  nos dijeron que velaremos pues nuestra vida corría peligro, en cualquier momento se aparecen los narcos  y si  se duerme lo matan nos dijeron los coyotes.

Todos le pedimos a Dios  que  nos cuidara de los hombres  malos  y de los animales que nos quisieran hacer daño.

Aunque de todos modos  el ingambre de zancudos , Nos tenían en alerta por  los sumbidos en nuestros oídoss.

A las  cuatro de la mañana emprendimos el viaje caminamos entre milpas  y pastos.  El rosillo de  la mañana  nos mojo la ropa cuando la oscuridad desapareció nosotros estábamos  en la orilla de un rio el coyote nos dio una bolsa plástica a cada uno para que metieramos nuestra ropa, Todos en coro le dijimos "que dices nos vamos a quitar toda la ropa? Porque y para que ?"

El dijo, "es una orden quieren vivir o morir que no saben que la ropa mojada pesa y es fácil que el río los arrastre o se hundan en el"  dijo el coyote

Yo no me la quería quitar por vergüenza de que toda esa gente  viera mi cuerpo. Pero desde Guatemala yo traía un justan o fondo como le llaman otros  como pude me lo puse mientras me quitaba el pantalón cuando el coyote me vio  me gritóo yee guerra quitate eso o no pasas dijo y como yo muchas mujeres llorando se quitaban la ropa , El volteo sin medir consecuencias, pero el agua me cubrió asta el cuello y en ese momento me asuste cuando el coyote y la gente gritaron "porque lo hiciste estupida que no ves que tengo que medir el agua primero con esta vara para ver su profundidad" dijo el coyote pero yo ya no podía salir entonces todos como rebaño de vacas cruzamos el rio bravo.

Al estar en el otro lado dijo el coyote "ya estamos en Estados Unidos, Pero tu guerra tienes que esperar mis órdenes no hagas estupideces si quieres llegar a San Francisco  mira lo que acabas de hacer fue un milagro que no te hundiste te hubieses matado sola ,por algo soy el guia" dijo el muy enojado.

Yo aprendi la leccion cuando el dio la orden que corrieramos entre los espinales estaban los carros esperándonos.

Ami me metieron en una cajuela con cuatro hombres más yo sentía como si todo mi cuerpo estaba amarrada con lazos por lo apretados que íbamos pero en mi mente estaban mis hijitos pues no quería que se quedaran sin mamá o sea sin mi.

Después de un largo rato nos metieron en la una ventana  de una casa rodante donde había como 80 a 100 personas el vano parecía un chiquero  estaba sucio como un drenaje  pues había de todo desde pipi asta vómitos.

Y se imaginan el olor que se sentía parecíamos pollos en granja.

Gracias a Dios y a mi hermano Edgar que mandó el dinero y esa misma noche salimos de alli lo malo es que  uno de ellos dijo alguien viene y nos escondimos por unos 15 minutos masomenos.

Y la luna se perdió entre las nubes negras.

Todos afligidos caminamos porque la luna era la unica guia que traiamos pues el coyote dijo nosotros vamos al lado contrario de la luna y no se veía nada caminamos sin dirección  toda la noche y el día siguiente y otra vez la noche yo sentía que mis piernas estaban dormidas por tanta fuerza en el pantano y el dia siguiente mis fuerzas se fueron deteriorando porque no había comido dos noches y un dia todo ese tiempo sin comer porque como dije antes  un hombre de Veracruz me ofreció su ayuda pero a cambio de sexo pero como yo no quise le puso sudor saliva y moco alas tortillas y me las dio  por eso yo no comí  se las regrese por la cara.

Cuando la noche llegó nos reunimos con  el otro grupo  que salió la noche siguiente pues ellos no se perdieron como nosotros , Ellos llegaron antes y estaban sentados y con sonrisas , Yo quize hacer lo mismo pero ese momento todos empezaron a caminar me sentí quebrada porque no pude pense descansar.

Seguí  caminando y llorando mi cuerpo se estaba deshidratando mas y mas  pero  me corazon sonrio cuando a lo lejos vimos una luz tan pequeña como la de una luciérnaga pensabanos que estábamos cerca de la ciudad

pero el coyote dijo si no se apuran no llegaremos antes de las 5 de la mañana  dijo y apenas eran como las ocho de la noche pero esa luz nos motivo a seguir pues entre mas avanzamos mas grande se veía  la luz sabemos que nos estábamos acercando pero como a la una de la mañana mis piernas ya no me respondieron empeze  a pedir ayuda como cuando un niño empieza a caminar y nadie me ayudo no pude levantar los pies sentía como si hubiese pegamento en la tierra mis pies se sentían  tan pesadas como un quintal de papas en cada pie cada vez más pesado hasta que caí como un árbol por la tormenta allí tirada segui pidiendo ayuda y nadie me ayudaba eran como 60 personas y de todas ellas nadi Ni si quiera el coyote que estaba ganando como cuatro mil dolares me ayudo el dijo lo siento pero por ti no voy a perder todo que te coman los animales hasta aqui llegastes dijo y se dio la vuelta y se fue.

Ese momento mis ojos se bañaron en un mar de lágrimas saben lo que llego a mi mente mis hijos  mi mamá llore si claro que llore mas cuando escuche los lobos a lo lejos. Intenté levantarmee pero no podía pues la gente ya había caminado sobre mi como si hubiese sido un objeto o un papel que no sirve pero en ese momento llego a mi mente el nombre del ser más poderoso del mundo Dios llorando le dije padre perdoname se que te e fallado pero te amo y te necesito , Levante la mirada al cielo y en la luna llena vi una cara y escuché una voz que me dijo levántate seguí llorando y le pedi perdon por confiar en los hombres y no en El y le dije si tu me ayudes a llegar a aquel lugar  yo te prometo servirte hablar de lo que tu hiciste en mi vida y de nuevo escuche la voz diciendo levántate y van hacia la derecha sentí una mano sobando la cabeza  me levante  y no me dolía a nada corri  y los alcance cuando estaba enfrente del coyote el me grito que haces aqui tu estas muerta dijo  yo le dije fijate que no porque Dios mi padre me ayudó después de eso  llegue Huston  pero aun allíi estaba en peligro estuvimos encerrados en una casa por una semana parecíamos puercos de engorda porque nos daban comida por montones para engordarlos luego las que venimos para california nos separaron y nos llevaron a otra casa allí nos estaban obligando a tener sexo con unos hombres que les decían los gordos y el flaco fue traumante todo esto  pero aun no se compara con lo difícil que es hablar con Obama y convencerlo que de una amnistía para todos parece que el es mas dificil que todas estas cosas que tuve que pasar al cruzar el Rio Bravo.


Ingles Sigue/English Follows

The  sky was yellow and it was six in the evening when we met in a house about 50 people, men, women and children, could not sleep because we were told by the coyotes our life was in danger  meaning in whatever moment if a drug trafficker showed up we could be killed.

We all asked  God to take care of us from bad guys and the animals that to wanted to hurt us.

At four o'clock we started our journey we walked through the fields and pastures in the morning we wet our clothes when we were on a river shore the coyote gave us a plastic bag  and told everyone to take off our clothes, or if we wanted to die he said didn’t we know that wet clothes weighed and we could easily be arrested since it could slow us down. 

I did not want to expose my body and have everyone see it. But from Guatemala I brought a joust or background as they call it and as I could while I took off my pants. many women were crying at they took off their clothing.

We crossed the Rio Grande and upon arriving on the other side the coyote said we were in the U.S. The Coyote told me to not do any stupidities if I wanted to get to San Francisco.

I was put in a trunk with four men but I felt like my whole body was tied with rope so tight.

After a while we got went through  a window of a mobile home we were about 80 to 100 people and the place was a  pigsty it smelled of urine and vomit. I felt like I was in a chicken coop.

Thank God my brother Edgar actually deposited money that  night which allowed us to leave that horrid place. 

All walked afflicted because the moon was the our only guide and it had disappeared in the grey clouds. We walked all night and the next day I felt that my legs were asleep due to the fact that for the past two days I had not eaten. A man from Veracruz offered me food but for sex in return, but i put sweat, saliva, and mucus on the tortillas he handed me which he just ended up giving me but I did not and threw them at his face. 

I felt broken because I thought I could not rest I kept walking and my body was crying and become weaker more and more but my heart also smiled when we saw a light far but small and

thought we were close to the city. The coyote said we would not  arrive before 5 in morning and it was just eight in the evening but that light motivated us.  At about one o'clock in the morning my legs felt like they were stuck, like glue was stuck. And I kept asking for help but no one would help me. The coyote came to me and said he was sorry but he was not going to rin all of this for me. He told me the animals were going to eat me, and with that he left. That’s when my eyes were bathed in a sea of tears I started crying and crying and in my mind came my children my mother . I called on the name of the most powerful in the world, God. Weeping I asked the father to forgive me and I love you and missed you I apologized for trusting men and not him and said if you allow me to reach my goal place and I promise to serve you in my life and the I heard  a voice say you get up and go as I felt a hand rubbing my head. Sudenly I was able to get up and run. I ran and caught up with the group and the coyote told me I should've been dead and I told him that God thad helped me. 

We came to Houston but still there was in danger being locked in a house for a week like pigs being fattened. We then came to California separated us and took us to another house. There we were forced to have sex with men they called the fatty and skinny. But all this was traumatizing but does not compare to what it it to talk with Obama and convince him of an amnesty and it seems very difficult harder than anything i have gone through and i have crossed the Rio Bravo. 


Missed my Meeting with JC

09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body
Missed My Meeting With JC
On my "To Do" list for
Years, my "Bucket List"
Of late, as the sun sets
Ever so much,much more:
I'd long, long dreamed of 
Meeting The Jayne of Cortez,
Opening for Gil Scott-Heron,
Sharing with Sekou Sundiata,
Breaking bread with Baraka and
Ginsberg---after opening for Baldwin,
All seemed seemed...
Met Ms Brooks by schlepping
Her awards and flowers to
Her hotel room in 'Frisco;
Met that Knight brother by
Buying books,and choppin'
Up a beat, or two,with him;
Met OBJ the great and he 
Gifted me encouragement;
Hung out with Hendricks by
Being his gopher for five nights;
Met and shared the stage with
That fiery,super baaad Sanchez 
Sista, and Ms Lincoln,Queen
Mother,mentored me,sharing 
Her sacred,gilded-edged stories... 
But there will be no meeting
The Jayne Of Cortez---
Jayne The Truly Baaad--
Fort Huachuca baby,  L.A.
Survivor,Black Arts Movement
Mama, Firespittin' Mississippi 
Soldier with music-laced licks...
Raymond Nat Turner (c) 2013 All Rights Reserved
(Photo from the Panoptican Review)