Illegal Protest

Illegal Protest
American Citizens who are tired of the illegal alien invasion

The Chicano Thought Process - from a 60’s poem

May 19th, 2007

So I found this poem called “I am Joaquin” by Rodolfo Gonzales published in 1967. It was in my AMERICAN Reader strangely enough. Here are some excerpts:

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

*snip*

I shed tears of anguish as I see my children disappear behind the shroud of mediocrity never to look back to remember me. I am Joaquin.

I must fight And win this struggle for my sons, and they must know from me Who I am. Part of the blood that runs deep in me Could not be vanquished by the Moors I defeated them after five hundred years, and I endured. The part of blood that is mine has labored endlessly five-hundred years under the heel of lustful Europeans

I am still here!

I have endured in the rugged mountains
of our country
I have survived the toils and slavery,
of the fields.
I have existed
in the barrios of the city,
in the suburbs of bigotry,
in the mines of social snobbery,
in the prisons of dejection,
in the muck of exploitation
and
in the fierce heat of racial hatred.

And now the trumpet sounds,
The music of the people stirs the
Revolution,
Like a sleeping giant it slowly rears its head
to the sound of
Tramping feet
Clamouring voices
Marlachi strains
Fiery tequila explosions
The smell of chile verde and
Soft brown eyes of expectation for a
better life

And in all the fertile farm lands,
the barren plains,
the mountain villages,
smoke smeared cities

We start to MOVE.
La Raza! Mejicano!

Español!

Latino!

Hispano!

Chicano!

or whatever I call myself,
I look the same
I feel the same
I cry

and
Sing the same

I am the masses of my people and I refuse to be absorbed.

I am Joaquin

The odds are great but my spirit is strong

My faith unbreakable
My blood is pure

I am Aztec Prince and Christian Christ

I SHALL ENDURE!
I WILL ENDURE!