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December 2020 ESCRIBA! 1 I iESCRIBA!l\'t'J;JOM

A JOURNAL OF STUDENT ART AND WRITING

VOLUME 18, DECEMBER 2020

EUGENIO MARIA DE HOSTOS COMMUNITY COLLEGE THE CITY UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 2 COPYRIGHT © 2020 BY THE AUTHORS

EDITED BY:

Miriam Laskin

PUBLISHED BY:

Library Department Hostos Community College The City University of New York 475 Grand Concourse Bronx, NY 10451

A CAT'S MEOW PRODUCTION

COVER: Lee Jacob Hilado "Never Give Up"

BACK COVER: Lee Jacob Hilado "Black Lives Matter"

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 3 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Miriam Laskin Introduction 6

ESSAYS Amani Cottoy Girl Bewildered 7 Anthony Booth, Jr. Freedom Isn’t Free 9 Assetou Doucoure Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) 13 Speech Christopher Sanchez A Comfort in Silence 14 Daniela Mendoza A Mesmerizing Encounter 15 Gheslaine Gonzalez Why I Grew Up Pro-Feminism 17 J.J. Grindley Freedom of Speech: An Analysis 21 Jonathan Colon Paradise Lost 24 Lorna M. Duran The Statue of Liberty, 25 Immigration & Inequality Nathaly Cedano Monologue: Flatline 28 Sukhmani Jordan Dear Friend 29 Montesino Malik Modern Othello 31 Pellington Othello for Today 36

ARTWORK Front Cover: “Never Give Up” - Lee Jacob Hilado Back Cover: “Black Lives Matter – Lee Jacob Hilado

1. Lee Jacob Hilado “Street Scene Social Distancing” 41 2. Lee Jacob Hilado “Waiting for Hungry People.” 42 3. Lee Jacob Hilado “Skyland” 43 4. Evan J. “Laughing Through My Depression.” 44 5. Ebony “Faerie” 45 6. Lee Jacob Hilado “Fairy Universe” 46 7. Lee Jacob Hilado “Woman on Windowsill" 47 8. Lee Jacob Hilado “Moonlight Ladies” 48 9. Elisa Tang “Model and Muddle” 49 10. Osaratin Charles “WhiteOut” 50 11. Lee Jacob Hilado “Surrealism” 51 12. Tavana Sibgatullah “Live Gently on Earth” 52

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 4 13. Tavana Sibgatullah “Flowers” 53 14. Brian “Cockatoo” 54 15. Lee Jacob Hilado “Star Gazing in NYC” 55 16. Lee Jacob Hilado “Smappy” 56

POEMS Brittany Lanzano For Kings and Queens 57 Camille Rivera The Absence of Foreplay 58 Caroline Nyamu Sankofa 59 Charlotte Copeland Bronx Cycles 60 Darien Rodriguez Dancing with Mami 61 David Reyes There Came a Time 62 Denisse Feliz A Lunatic 63 Gheslaine Gonzalez Loud Love 64 Julissa Campos Dia De Los Muertos 65 Mariam Cisse My Neighborhood 66 Shanalee Rodriguez I’m Finally Free 67 Veronica Alcantara Night In las Flores 68 Evelina Nova Where I'm From 70 Maimuna Jawo A Gothic Poem 71

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 5 MIRIAM LASKIN INTRODUCTION

We can finally say “Welcome, dear readers,” to issue 18 of ¡Escriba!/Write!, Hostos Library’s annual student literary and art journal. As we do every year, we remind ALL Hostos students that you can submit your work (in any language) and showcase your creativity in writing, photography and any other kind of art. Writing can include essays you’ve done for a class assignment (and poetry, drama monologues, research); the same goes for your art work done for classes or on your own initiative. This year we are unable to have this issue printed because of the extraordinary times we’ve been living through. But we will publish it on our ¡Escriba!/Write! website: https://commons.hostos.cuny.edu/escriba/. Submit work at any time that you’d like to see published to me, [email protected] . What a year+ this has been! It has presented more challenges than we thought we could possibly experience and handle simultaneously, but we support each other at Hostos, in our communities and in our homes. The work we present in this 18th issue of ¡Escriba!/Write! reflects the positives and the negatives of our lives. We have poems and prose about our neighborhoods, our happy trips to enjoy new experiences, our concerns about social and legal justice, and constitutional rights like freedom of speech. All of this as our country has been engulfed in a pandemic such as we’ve never experienced before, except in 1919 and 1920 when the “Spanish flu” overran the world. The art and photographs presented by our talented students captures the extraordinary year, with photos of what it’s like to travel the city during the pandemic, as well as the Black Lives Matter movement, and artistic works of love, depression, hope and nature. The art in our journal always brings its own perspective of life and ¡Escriba! wouldn’t be the same immersive experience without our students’ art. Without the help of our faculty members who nudge (and sometimes shove) their students to send us their writing and their art, ¡Escriba!/Write! would hardly exist! So, heartfelt thanks to Professors Bernardini, Connelly, Fisher, Hutchins, Kleeman, Lara Bonilla, Scott, Turner, Widney and Yannacañeda. My sincere apologies if I didn’t get the names of everyone who sent their students’ work our way. I want to give special thanks to Jason Sandoval, the library’s Information Systems aide and IT person. And special thanks to our Chief, Madeline Ford for her constant support of our journal.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 6 AMANI COTTOY GIRL BEWILDERED

I woke up in a hospital bed. The loss of memory on how I ended up here scared me. The room felt weird. The walls were a bright white color, and there were run down chairs everywhere. The machines and medical supplies helped calm me down but it still didn’t feel right. The hospital rooms in Cross County Hospital surely didn’t look like this. Due to the fact that I’m the world’s clumsiest teenager,I would remember most of the rooms. But it’s not like I’ve been in every last one of them, and this is one big hospital. Was I super, white girl wasted, or was I in a horrible accident. I couldn’t tell because my body felt sore, so I’m guessing it was an accident again. One strong enough to keep me unconscious for a while. The bright lights and needles weren’t helping either. I would feel so much better if a doctor or nurse would just show up, maybe I'd feel so much safer. As soon as Dr. Smith came into the room my heart literally jumped. He was truly the best doctor in the whole of Texas, and I'm not just saying that because he was my doctor. He was also the sexiest man too. He made me feel safe again even though I felt like a potato next to him. My brown legs were barely visible due to the large amounts of ash covering them. I knew that my lips were chapped, and my long brown curly hair was drenched in sweat. Heck my eyes probably lost it’s greenish touch, based on how dry they felt. But he didn’t seem to mind, he just smiled. His long blonde hair and icy blue eyes were in perfect condition, as if he wasn’t running a hospital all day. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here?” No really,I thought to myself . “So, I will go ahead and tell you.” I took my sarcastic thoughts back, how could I think about being sarcastic to that. “Please do, because I don’t remember anything that went down, or how I could’ve ended up here.” I said honestly.“Well Max you were found outside of a club unconscious and bloodied.” What, how could this be? The last thing I remember was eating Frosted Flakes, the crappy customers from work (it’s not my fault that Chad burnt their burgers,I‘m just a cashier), and then walking home from my crappy job on Friday. “I don’t remember going to a club.” I said. “Well that’s what your friend Emily said. Oh, and she was the one that brought you. here.” Well that was weird. When did Emily and I start talking again? Last time I checked we haven't spoken to each other in a year. Yeah she was my best friend but things happened, and people then transform into their fake alter ego’s. So why would I be going with or speaking to her at the club? That seemed weird. Very impossible too knowing how stubborn I am. “What day is it?” I asked. I needed to call my boss and let him know my situation. It’s not like I could call my family, especially when you don’t have any. “It’s Friday.” I better have been in a magical coma, or something that made me unconscious for one day. There was no way that I was unconscious for a whole week. I felt like running out of the room and catching some fresh air, but my dumb body told me no. He saw the look of worry on my face and tried to reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 7 “Don’t worry Max, everything is going to be okay. You and the baby are going to be just fine.” Baby, what baby? “Baby, what do you mean, I’m so confused, was there a child with me?” I didn’t understand what he meant by the baby’s going to be fine. “I’m so sorry that you had to find out this way but Max you’re pregnant. For about a week. You’ve been here for two weeks now. When we found out that you were pregnant we did everything to make sure that you and the baby are okay.” He said concerned. As soon as Dr. Smith told me that, my heart started racing. I was only 18 and last time I checked, purer than the Virgin Mary herself. How could I be pregnant? My stomach started twisting so I ripped the needles out of me and I ran to the bathroom. I didn’t want him to hear or see my cry and throw up so I locked the door. I opened the blurry, rusty, window in the bathroom to get some fresh air. I needed that fresh air to hit my face. It was pretty awkward to have a window in a hospital bathroom, but whatever. The window was tiny and my curvy body stood no chance. It was hard to open but I finally opened it and what I saw after scared me. There was forest everywhere. Huge, dark, scary trees everywhere. When I looked down I noticed that I wasn’t too far from the ground. The outside of the building didn’t look like any hospital. It was like the size of a big, southern, family house. Nothing that of an asylum or prison either, and that scared me. That’s when it finally hit me. I wasn’t in a hospital.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 8 ANTHONY BOOTH, JR. FREEDOM ISN’T FREE: AN ANALYSIS OF AFRICAN AMERICAN FREEDOMS DURING RECONSTRUCTION 865-1877

Freedom isn’t free. Following Emancipation, African Americans discovered that without sovereign representation and power, what was given could easily be taken away. Former slaves looked to enjoy freedom in the same ways their former masters did. African Americans wanted to own land and sought gainful employment. They looked to set up independent institutions like schools and churches. They also wanted to take part in the political system by voting and running for office. With the help of allies, all of these things were achieved during Reconstruction. However, the political power in the United States is ever changing by design. Although political allies and sympathizers worked to cement protections for African Americans, the promises of those allies could only be kept while they remained in power. African Americans discovered their freedoms relied largely on the goodwill of powerful white politicians and only to the extent these politicians were willing to exercise that power. In 1877, Reconstruction came to an end as a result of a political compromise that President Rutherford B. Hayes made with Southern Democrats—the effect of which opened the door to stripping African Americans of many of the freedoms they obtained since Emancipation. After the American Civil War, African Americans’ vision of freedom included the ability to own their own land. Former slaves had no money and few, if any, possessions. Therefore, the prospect of purchasing land was financially unfeasible for many. However, after a discussion with Black community leaders, General William T. Sherman issued Special Field Order 15 in January of 1865. Special Field Order 15 set aside government land for the purpose of African American resettlement.1 The land, broken into 40-acre plots, was promised along with mules no longer fit for military service. Sherman’s order sought to make the prospect of land ownership obtainable. Tens of thousands of African Americans settled on that land within a few months of the order. However, General Sherman alone did not have the power to enforce his promise. That summer, successor to Abraham Lincoln, President Andrew Johnson restored ownership of confiscated lands to their original owners.2 As a result, all of the newly-settled African Americans were evicted. No such future promises were made and obtaining land as an African American proved to be an increasingly difficult task during Reconstruction. During this time, African Americans looked to take advantage of the freedoms that were previously withheld from them. The establishment of African American institutions was one of the ways they exercised these freedoms. Prior to the Civil War, many African Americans worshipped in integrated churches although in a segregated fashion. During Reconstruction, however, they began to establish independent churches across the South.3 These churches served as places of worship, schools, and as centers of social and political influence. Historian Eric Foner explains that, as a result of this phenomenon, “Black ministers came to play a major role in politics.”4 Despite the social and political progress created by these institutions, the growing importance and influence of Black churches and their pastors made them targets for white Southerners pushing back against the notion of racial equality and its byproducts. An immediate need for African Americans during the Reconstruction period was gainful employment. To assist African Americans in finding employment, Republicans in Congress helped to establish the Freedmen’s Bureau in March of 1865.5 The Freedmen’s Bureau was tasked with addressing African American unemployment. Other duties of the Bureau included

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 9 assisting with education and mediating disputes between African Americans and white Southerners.6 Unfortunately, even with the aid of the federal government, many former slaves found themselves returning to plantations for employment. At the time, the South was ill-suited to provide employment that produced an opportunity to escape poverty. Although some returned to work on the very plantations from which they were emancipated, plantation owners lacked the means to pay freedmen for their labor. As a result, the practice of sharecropping became popular in parts of the South. Sharecroppers entered into agreements with white landowners and were bestowed parcels of land to work and on which to live. In return, sharecroppers provided a share of the crop to the landowner to repay them for rented land and supplies.7 In many ways, the language of these contracts mimicked the conditions of slavery. One 1866 sharecropping contract between plantation owner Thomas J. Ross and several African American sharecroppers reads: “We furthermore bind ourselves to and with said Ross that we will do good work and labor ten hours a day on average.”8 African Americans entering into these contracts were often illiterate. As a result, white landowners took full advantage of the vulnerability of former slaves and African American sharecroppers soon found themselves in an inescapable cycle of debt. Immediately following Emancipation, former slaves had no rights, U.S. citizenship status, or protections under the Constitution. As a result, government legislation, policies, and orders both worked to provide and strip away key freedoms and rights for African Americans throughout Reconstruction. One of the primary gatekeepers of African American freedoms was President Andrew Johnson. In 1865, Johnson’s view of Reconstruction did not include protections for the freedmen; in fact, his policy decisions empowered white politicians across the South to reestablish a racial order that would closely resemble slavery.9 Thus, Southern governments drew up laws known as Black Codes.10 Black Codes heavily restricted the freedoms of African Americans and were tailored to ensure a continued legacy of white supremacy in the South. They often restricted land ownership, travel, trade, and established curfews. In 1865, in the town of Opelousas, Louisiana, section one of their local ordinance stated: “Be it therefore ordained by the board of police of the town of Opelousas, That no negro or freedman shall be allowed to come within the limits of the town of Opelousas without special permission…”11 Johnson’s permissive attitude toward southern municipalities made political adversaries of Republicans in Congress—who saw the needs and vulnerabilities of former slaves, and sought to address them. Republicans who fought fervently to ensure that former slaves had an opportunity to fully participate in American society as citizens were referred to as Radical Republicans.12 Radical Republicans—unhappy with President Johnson’s narrow vision of Reconstruction—used legislation to combat his policies. In a departure from norms, the Civil Rights Act of 1866 passed in Congress over a presidential veto.13 Commenting on this historic bill, Foner asserts that “the Civil Rights Bill represented the first attempt to give concrete meaning to the Thirteenth Amendment…to define the essence of freedom.”14 This bill strategically dismantled Black Codes in the South. Then, in 1868, a Republican majority in Congress ratified the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. The Fourteenth Amendment ensured equal protection under the law for African Americans. Moderate Congressional Republicans were not yet on board with giving former slaves the right to vote and, as a result, Black suffrage would have to wait. President Johnson’s view of Reconstruction quickly lost momentum. His open opposition to Radical Republicans resulted in his impeachment. Although narrowly acquitted by the Senate in the fall of 1868, Republican candidate and war hero Ulysses S. Grant was elected as the country’s next president.15 Grant’s victory ensured Republicans would no longer have to

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 10 contend with presidential antagonism. Shortly after Grant took office, Congress ratified the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution. This Amendment granted African American men, specifically, the constitutional right to vote and prohibited any federal or state governments from infringing upon that right. As a result, Black men immediately became involved in politics. Foner estimates that nearly 2,000 African Americans held political office during Reconstruction.16 The Black vote temporarily ensured Republican control over Southern states. However, the laws protecting and ensuring the rights of Black citizens would prove to be limited. Prior to the ratification of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments, and shortly after the Civil War, the Klu Klux Klan (KKK) was founded. It was established in 1866 as a pseudo-religious terrorist organization whose goal was to reestablish and maintain white supremacy throughout the United States but especially in the South. The KKK acted as the “military arm of the Democratic Party.”17 The KKK coordinated a violent terrorist campaign across the South with the goal of intimidating White and Black Republicans, and their supporters. In 1871, Reverend Elias Hill recounted in his testimony to Congress a night visit by the KKK in which he was dragged from his home, beaten, and threatened. The terrorists released him on the condition that he renounce the Republican Party and discourage other African Americans from voting.18 Republican-controlled state governments across the South sought federal intervention to combat the KKK. With a combination of congressional legislation and presidential orders, by 1872 the KKK had been weakened—with many former leaders fleeing to the North to avoid prosecution. Heading up to the election of 1872, opposition to Reconstruction was growing within the Republican Party. White Northerners were less and less interested in intervening in the South on behalf of former slaves. A group of Republicans referring to themselves as Liberal Republicans believed that the federal government had grown too powerful as a result of the Civil War and its aftermath. Their sentiments about restoring states’ rights and coded messaging supporting white supremacy allied them with Democrats.19 Democrats responded by nominating Liberal Republican Horace Greeley as their presidential candidate, hoping to split the Republican vote. In 1872, incumbent President Ulysses S. Grant won his second presidential election but the damage done to the Republican Party and its vision for Reconstruction was irreparable. White Northerners and politicians—no longer committed to Reconstruction—grew weary of continued federal intervention in the South. As federal intervention slowed, the KKK resurged. Once again across the South, the KKK perpetrated acts of violence and intimidation against African Americans and White Republicans with impunity. This resurgent campaign of terror was extremely effective in curbing the Black vote. In 1876, Republicans nominated Rutherford B. Hayes as their candidate to run against Democrat Samuel J. Tilden for president. The election was very close, with results from Southern states still within Republican control being contested. A commission was created to decide on final election results and ultimately Rutherford B. Hayes was declared the winner. President Hayes looked to ease tensions from the contested election and made a deal with Democrats to accept Democratic control of the South. In turn, Democrats accepted the decision of the commission, making Hayes the next president of the United States. This not-so-quiet turn of events ended Reconstruction and African Americans across the South soon lost many of the freedoms they obtained during Reconstruction. The Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments passed during this period would act as mere placeholders for a civil rights movement that would take decades to reassert itself.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 11 End Notes 1. Foner, Eric. Give Me Liberty! An American History, Seagull 5th Edition, Vol. 2. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2017, 564. 2. Ibid, 566. 3. Ibid, 568. 4. Ibid., 568 5. Ibid., 571. 6. Ibid., 572. 7. Ibid., 572. 8. “Sharecropping Contract (1866)” in Give Me Liberty! An American History, Seagull 5th Edition, Vol. 2. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2017, 577.

9. Foner, Eric. Give Me Liberty! An American History, Seagull 5th Edition, Vol. 2 New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2017, 579. 10. Ibid., 580. 11 “Louisiana Black Codes Reinstate Provisions of the Slave Era, 1865” in Major Problems in American History: Volume 1 to 1877, eds. Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman and Jon Gjerde. New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2002), 8.

12. Foner, Eric. Give Me Liberty! An American History, Seagull 5th Edition, Vol. 2 New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2017, 581.

13. Ibid., 582. 14. Ibid., 582. 15. Ibid., 585. 16. Ibid., 591. 17. Ibid., 595. 18. Rev. Elias Hill, “Report to the Joint Select Committee to Inquire into the Condition of Affairs in the Late Insurrectionary States,” in Major Problems in American History: Volume 1 to 1877, eds. Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman and Jon Gjerde. New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2002, 13-15. 19. Foner, Eric. Give Me Liberty! An American History, Seagull 5th Edition, Vol. 2. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2017, 596-597.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 12 ASSETOU DOUCOUR FEMALE GENITAL MUTILATION (FGM) SPEECH

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” A famous quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. This simply means that injustice on anyone affects all of us, therefore it becomes our problem. This makes Female Genital Mutilation everyone’s problem. When a child’s human rights and dignity is snatched away through custom design to tame women's sexual desires and as a consequence, serious complications ranging from infections and bleeding all the way to death is an injustice perpetrated to women and it became a cause to stand for and defend. I was afraid to share this information for several reasons, firstly in my culture, it is forbidden for women to speak about their suffering, particularly women's issues in public. As we believe women are supposed to be the backbone of problems meaning we are able to carry and uplift problems and to bear struggle as that is what a strong woman is defined by. Secondly, it is also seen as a taboo to discuss “private part” matters especially that of a female. The third reason for my doubts, was that I was not sure if I am ready to publicly share deep private information about myself. Well, I have long internalized this fact and decided that the objective of this research is to present information about struggles and activism that can motivate us to cease to be walking dead corpses and contribute towards defending our rights and to give voice to where we stand in the society.

So today I want to share with you what I have been through when I was probably one or two. Which in my country is called “female circumcision”. I did not know the impact of this until my late years. When I learned that the procedure I went through as a child was actually called FGM. Female genital mutilation, as it is considered the removal of a part of the human body. To imagine a female child, cut in the most crucial and private area in a very painful manner without anesthetic use, against their will is just terrifying. And as a consequence, serious complications ranging from infections and bleeding all the way to death. FGM is practiced in Africa, the Middle East and parts of Asia. Its practice is not related to religion especially that of Islam as many of us thought. It is purely something the society has found necessary to tame girls, from outside marriage sex, they believe It to make girls fertile and an uncut girl is dirty and unfit for marriage. There are four types of FGM, from the removal of the clitoris labia all the way to sealing the entire virginal by only allowing a hole for urination and menstruation. According to the statistics 200 million, girls and women have undergone this and another 3 million girls per year in African only is estimated to suffer this practice in the future.

This is when this topic becomes relevant to me as a victim of FGM. I'm not sharing this information to be pitied because it does not define me. But rather I wanted to raise awareness of the existence of this practice and to join the fight in educating people around the world to help and become an ally since this problem does not only affect the African in Africa but it affects us as African diaspora, as black people my struggle is your struggle I am because you are. So, let us join hands and try to convince those who care for this practice, let's try to educate them to consider the harmful medical effect and the psychological trauma this practice causes their daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers. Although, we must also remember those who practice FGM are our family members' parents and grandparents who practice FGM out of ignorance not necessarily for our harm. They are also just victims of societal norms and they're just being supportive of their culture and traditions.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 13 CHRISTOPHER SANCHEZ A COMFORT IN SILENCE

The sun is down, the warmth is gone. The sky is black with glimmering specs of light in the heavens. A lunar surface makes their presence known in the sky, to illuminate the darkness casted onto the Earth. A gusting wind blows right by, while the sycamore tree’s leaves rattle in response. From afar was the old farm I was living in, just there sitting in silence as the last glimmer of its light fades away. I rest upon a stone wall broken in half with a candle to provide light and warmth as I have not taken off my middle school clothing. My right shoe is missing and all I can feel is the dew of discomfort penetrating through my sock! But I could care less. “I’m tired”, I hear. And I look next to see my humanoid frog friend, Sprig, yawning and passing out on the very book he is reading. “It’s a nice night”, I thought to myself. The candle of life blows out slowly as I pull out my guitar for my hands to make love to its strings. To birth a tune so peaceful.

“A comfort in silence… I’ll see you soon”. I continued to strum as the night guided me away.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 14 DANIELA MENDOZA A MESMERIZING ENCOUNTER

Last summer I had a well-deserved vacation on the most beautiful beach in Mexico. Standing at the edge of the water, I could feel the cold water and moist sand with my feet. The bright, sunny day made me frown as I looked in the horizon searching for my husband in the calm turquoise waters of this solitary beach. I saw him in the distance as comfortable as a fish in the water. I started looking for a path between the rocks to get in the sea. Ugh! This was the only thing I did not like about this beach. It was complicated to get in and out of the water, because of having to pass so many rocks. Standing on the rocks would not have been a problem, if they were not home to many little sea creatures. Lucky me, I found the perfect strip of sand just in time, as my shoulders needed a break from the unforgiving sun. The water splashed my legs and I noticed its perfect temperature. The sea reached my knees so it was time to dive in. I rinsed the snorkel and made sure the goggles were clean as a whistle. Once they were over my head, I felt the rubber straps pulling my hair, and quickly adjusted them. I did not want to deal with misfitting goggles once in the water. Finally, I surrendered to the big blue sea. I felt the freshness of the water running over my back. As my body got used to the water swaying back and forth, and my first breath confirmed the tube was perfectly positioned, I felt my natural breathing adjusting to being underwater. I was now able to focus on what is important, the little magical marine creatures. The first one I spotted was a tiny bright, black and blue fish. I stood still for a couple of minutes, captivated, just admiring it swimming effortlessly. I could not resist the temptation to touch it and started moving my hand slowly towards it. Of course, it did not work. The fish was aware of my presence and made a quick move to get away from me. I stopped annoying it and let it enjoy the rest of its day. I started searching for more marine life and swam a little deeper into the ocean. I perceived different hot and cold currents going in different directions. How incredible it was to feel them separately. When observing them intently, I could see the swirls that formed when different currents mixed. I lifted my head out of the water to see if I was heading in the right direction. At this point I knew I could not reach the seafloor. This moment always took me out of my comfort zone since I was not an experienced swimmer. But there I was controlling my fears and enjoying the experience. I avoided looking around, the immensity of the sea was very intimidating at some points. I kept looking straight down, like a horse with blinders. That gave me a deceptive sense of control. There were colorful corals all over the place, living one next to the other in a diversity of color and shape. They created the perfect place for animals to find food and shelter from predators. I was able to notice how some species swam calmly and others seemed to be in a constant hurry. Admiring their “mini city” was a magnificent opportunity. Suddenly, I saw with my peripheral vision something move right beside me. Whatever it was, it was big. Oh my gosh! What was that? I thought. I wanted to scream, but it would have been impossible, having the snorkel’s mouthpiece in my mouth. It’s not a shark, it’s not a shark, I kept repeating to myself. I looked around, hoping that it was far away from me by now. Thank goodness! Whatever it was, it had disappeared in the vast ocean by now.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 15 What am I doing by myself out here? Where is my husband? I wondered. I pulled my head out of the water once more, and there he was, not far away from me. I made a quick move to remove my tube mouthpiece. “Hey! wait for me!” I called. He lifted his head, made eyecontact and waved at me, asking me to swim towards him. Ugh! Ok, I really just wanted to get out of the water at this point. He waved again with a sense of urgency. I knew he had found something interesting and really wanted me to see it. I swam against the current and finally got to where he was. He was looking at something in the water, but I was not sure in what direction he was looking. I pulled his hand, he looked at me and pointed in the direction he was staring. Wow! What are those? I thought. It was a wonderful squad of six squid. They were dark gray, elongated, and around nine inches long. They looked like extraterrestrials I had seen in movies many times. They had bright spots that changed colors all over their bodies! They behaved in a way I had never seen before. They were analyzing us carefully, maybe trying to assess if we were a threat. All six of them were effortlessly swimming in a perfectly straight formation. I was mesmerized by these evidently highly intelligent creatures. As we swam around them I appreciated them from other angles; they kept turning their bodies to be facing us at all times without ever breaking the formation. They were only ten feet away from us. Somehow the current kept moving us away from them. It was time to say goodbye, but it had been an incredible experience. As we reached the shore, I wanted to know how he felt about the squid. “They were so amazing! You were so lucky to find them!” I said. “I know! I couldn’t believe it either! Did you see how they glowed?” He asked. “Oh my God yes! At first I thought it was a reflection of the sun, but they actually lit up like a Christmas tree!” “I wish we could had admired them longer” That night at the restaurant looking at the menu, the first thing that popped out was a fillet of squid in a creamy sauce. I looked at my husband with a sad expression. He had seen the same dish and knew what my reaction meant. He mentioned that the chef needed to have the same magical experience we had in order to understand our heavy-hearted reaction. That was so true. Before that day I had never thought about the squid being living creatures. After that mesmerizing encounter, squid could not have been an option for me for dinner and have never been since.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 16 GHESLAINE GONZALEZ WHY I GREW UP PRO-FEMINISM

Yes, as a child, my mother and father, especially my mother treated me as if I always belonged in the house, learning how to cook, clean and be a lady. Significantly, I wasn’t conformed to this idea. I felt that if my mother wanted my brother to grow old as the type of man she would be proud of raising and that I would find a future husband who was well raised, she thought she was doing a great job in the sense of letting him be out in the street, “being a man.” She did not want to come to my realization that maybe if she gave him that freedom, he would become the man who grows up learning things from the streets that she wouldn’t want her son doing as he grows older. I always had this frustration in the challenges I had to face when dealing with the situation(s) or circumstance(s) of not being allowed outside for as long as my brother was allowed to be outside or, at all. The least she would compromise with me in my ideal perspective(s) about my brother being a boy and me being a girl was that we both had to take turns washing the dishes. Even so, there were times when it was his turn to wash them, I would end up having to wash them after all. I did not feel significant in this family relationship understanding. I felt that my voice could not be heard, simply because I was a girl and my brother was “the man of the house” since my mother was a single mother by the time I had turned five years old. I felt like I was not supported in trying to be who I wanted to be, like playing basketball with my brother and his friends and the rest of the few girls that were outside in front of her beauty parlor. I wanted to be more active physically, but I was limited to those choices because I was a girl and my brother was a boy. I honestly felt that from boredom, I would eat away at my frustration of the situation, which is when I realized now looking back, this was when I began having weight issues. I was always embarrassed in school to even share my weight with other classmates. When the nurse would come in with a scale to weigh each student each year for our medical records. All the students would share their weight, and as I overheard their numbers when a fellow classmate would ask me about my weight, I would lie about my numbers. It was frustrating to know that my mother did not think I would enjoy playing the same games my brother liked playing to let time pass us while we stayed at her beauty parlor every single day after school. By a certain age, when she placed us in Catholic school, I tried out for the varsity basketball team. They said that the only reason I did not make it was because I would get distracted talking too much; however, I was good at basketball. This alone made me feel empowered to know that someone else who was not my relation believed in me, with the exception of my self-distraction(s). I was usually lonely inside the beauty parlor, so I didn’t have people to speak with who were my age. Hence why I was easily distracted at basketball tryouts for talking too much. Connectedness balanced by separation. As I grew and puberty hit, I became quite uncomfortable with wearing tight shirts that exposed my female chest curves. I was embarrassed to be able to see these new curves exposing themselves through my clothing. Therefore, I began to wear my brothers’ clothing. I became a total tomboy. My mother wasn’t happy about it. She would try and convince me on how the beauty of women was to expose our curves, in the most respectful ways of course. She never understood why I felt that way about it. I remember feeling that I was exposing something beyond private about me.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 17 Before this level of puberty hit, I was in my childhood comfort zone of being flat-chested. I felt that everyone would be staring at my new curves, and that thought alone made me feel ultimately exposed. My mother has always been quite fashionable, I guess she expected that from me to continue even when this level of puberty entered my life. Although she was not happy about it, she allowed me to wear what made me most comfortable. As I grew older I became more comfortable with my physical sexuality in having these female physical attributes. I guess that going to school and seeing how other girls would wear their regular-sized tops and they were fine, they felt confident, I adapted to that environment because I enjoyed being a girl. I just needed to embrace the physical qualities that it came with. Reality: as a young pre-teen, I was taught that, because I am a woman, and because I am old enough to learn and do so, I had to now be responsible for cleaning the home once a week. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it. My brother was responsible for his side of the bedroom (bed only and dresser) putting away his laundry that our mother had just washed and dried for him. Following that he would play video games as I continued to clean the entire apartment, including the bathroom, which my brother also used. Once again, the reality was that this is what I had to learn to adjust to because it was a “woman’s job”. Although I did not agree, my mother would get the belt or a discipline spanking if I disobeyed her orders. As we grew older, instead of my brother playing video games, he would go outside and hang out on the block with his friends and even go to the park, while I stayed home doing house chores. One thing I always refused was to fix his bed or put his clothes away because I told her that he was capable of doing that small job himself. Even then, when he would not do it, he would not get punished for it; she would do it for him. Yet, “the man of the house” was almost never home and if he was, it was to play video games. This apparently was her way of my brother learning how to be the man of the house. So when he reached the age to marry, he would be the greatest example of what a man of the house should do for his family. Nonetheless, he grew to learn things from the streets, once he hit a certain age, there were nights he wouldn’t even get home until 3 to 7 in the morning. Guess who was worried? My mother who wanted her son to grow up to be the best example for his future wife and his sister, in the sense that I would see how my future husband should be treated and the things he would be allowed to do. She always said to me, “men belong in the streets and women belong in the house.” That would always enrage me, I would open up to my journals and diaries and lock them with a tiny key. I even felt that I was adopted, because I had female friends who had more freedom than I did. At age 13, I still cleaned the house. However, I grew the courage to be daring enough and get a grip on my freedom. I wanted to enjoy my teen years just as all of my other female friends were doing. Furthermore, I would clean my house and as I was cleaning, I would ask her for permission to go to a party. Of course, she would say, “no.” I did still do my due diligence to clean the house. I would then shower and begin to get dressed. When my mother saw me getting dressed, she would ask me, “where are you going?” I would reply, “nowhere.” She would follow by asking why am I getting dressed then, and I would reply, “Because I want to get dressed.” Once I was ready, I would go and give her a kiss and say, “bye, see you later.” She would ask me, “where are you going? I thought you said you weren’t going anywhere.” I would respond with, “to my friend’s party.” She would respond with, “I told you

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 18 no.” And so I would reply “I cleaned the house, and your “no” is now a yes to me.” This continued until,, after a certain age, she gave up. I understood that she wanted me to follow the ethics and values I was raised to know. However, I did not want to live my teen years stuck at home while all of my closest friends were enjoying their teen phase(s) and I was not, all because I had to stay home for simply being a girl. I love dancing. This is all I wanted to do. Dancing and going to these parties was my way of blowing off this steam and energy and keeping active since she never placed me in ballet. My brother was always playing basketball or baseball. I joined cheerleading in the 7th grade, but it was because I believed in myself. My mother actually laughed at me when I told her I was going to try out for cheerleading. The first try out, I did not make it in the 6th grade because I wasn’t loud enough. However, in the 7th grade, I made sure to be as loud as I could be, because after going to our school’s basketball games I observed how loud I needed to be during the halftime when cheerleaders would cheer and perform. By the way, I was only allowed to attend these basketball games in support of my brother, who was on the varsity basketball team. I made it into the cheerleading squad, in the 7th grade. As of today, although I went against my mother's designation of ethics and values as to staying home and being the woman of the house, I understood she did not want me to end up pregnant. Although I tried making her understand that if I get pregnant, it’s because I chose to have sex and I am far from feeling ready to even think about having sex. I never became pregnant while in middle school or high school and until this very day, I have chosen not to have children because it was my decision. Not because I do not love kids, I love babies and motherhood, but I know that financially, I am not ready and to be mentally stable to have a child. I know, I have to have financial freedom. I say this because it has always been one of my standards and values in life. I don’t ever want to have a baby with someone and not be financially stable. This is because if it does not work out between us, I don’t want to have to depend on him to feed my child, clothe my child etc.. I want to know that I make more than enough to support my child and myself. Still being 100% sure that I make enough to give my child everything he or she deserves, whether it’s for Christmas, or vacations and birthdays, etc.. On the other hand, my brother ended up becoming a father at a young age. My mother was quite disappointed, but I always told her, “what did you expect letting him run around in the streets was going to do?” I have held most of the ethics and values as a woman throughout my life even with the choice(s) I made upon grasping my teenage freedom from my mother. Because I am human, I know right from wrong and I choose if I want to have sex or not. The friends I had were like family. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Until this very day, we are all in contact and we manage to reunite every now and then or even bump into each other once in a while. I trusted the people I was surrounded by, because I knew the environment I wanted to be around and that was people with similar views as me. I felt empowered, and I still do today. To know that I never ended up where my mother thought I would, from the very day I began to hold onto my freedom as a teenager. This all started at age 13. I do not regret my decision(s), because I lived what I would say was one of the best phases of my entire life. Until this very day, my best friend from those times and I are still in contact. We become nostalgic about those days in middle school and high school. We talk about how much we enjoyed those years and how glad we were able to ever live those moments. My mother applauded me a while ago When I received my Associates Degree in Liberal Arts she wanted my brother to follow the same footsteps, but he dropped out of high

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 19 school at an early age. I think he only attended until Freshman or Sophomore year of High School, but I kept going. He got a job at the cherry valley as the butcher and sandwich guy. He later learned the ins and outs of becoming a barber and has been a barber ever since. He chose a different path, but he still makes good money as a barber. We are two different people who enjoy similar things but identify ourselves as the gender in which we were both birthed with, biologically. We both have made mistakes, one more than the other, but we both have come far in life. At least I’d like to think so.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 20 J.J. GRINDLEY FREEDOM OF SPEECH: AN ANALYSIS OF OUR GREATEST SOCIAL-ENGINEERING TOOL

You do not need to be well educated or possess worldly knowledge to have a strong and well thought out position on the free speech debate; it consists of two very tangible and easily articulated sides, and is a debate that is satisfying to the moral philosopher in all of us— as it has absolutely no end to it, and it encompass all other subtopics of individuality and expression. In this “Land of the Free” it is no surprise that free speech (one of America’s proudest national principles is the hot topic that it is. What is surprising, however, is that the debate over the right to offend versus the right to feel safe from discrimination has devolved to apply exclusively to how we converse and share ideas with one another, and not to a broader scrutiny of the ideas themselves. In other words, we are spending a lot of time discussing how to discuss, while gaining farther and farther distance away from the central topics most worthy of discussion. How can we have a real and useful conversation if we can’t agree on how to have it? In Thane Rosenbaum’s 2014 article “Should Neo-Nazis be Allowed Free Speech?,” he introduces the topic of free speech by citing examples of other nations who place more limitations on expression than America does, specifically in regards to anti-Semitism. He writes that “In France, Dieudonne M’Bala M’Bala, an anti-Semitic stand-up comic [...] was banned for performing in two cities”, while Israel’s parliament “is soon to pass a bill outlawing the word Nazi for non-educational purposes”. While free speech is a concept we are very proud of as Americans, Rosenbaum implores us to explore the cost of our first amendment when taken too literally. It’s true that we cannot always lawfully exercise our “fighting words,” especially for the sake of public safety. But this kind of restriction, according to Rosenbaum, is a rule that has been put in place by the arguably false notion that physical injury is more harmful than emotional injury. He observes that in 1977 “a federal court upheld the right of neo-Nazis to goose-step right through the town of Skokie,” an allowance that would appall countries like France and Israel in light of their most recent legal maneuvers to combat anti-Semitism. Rosenbaum argues that this neo-Nazi demonstration was as equally harmful as wrongly yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theatre or threatening violence, if not more harmful. His position that our “fixation” on free speech has overstayed it’s welcome becomes only more valid when regarding his second example of pain wrought by words: the grotesque true story of homophobic banners decorating the funeral of a dead marine. In simple terms, Rossenbaum argues that these affronts to common decency should never have happened, with or without lawful engagement. But since they have happened and similar occurrences continue to happen, he claims that we should take legal measures as a nation to prevent further injustices being enabled under the umbrella of free speech. It is not difficult to get behind his argument on the matter since most of us really do want to be part of communities that are respectful and encouraging of other cultures, religions, races, sexual orientations and other personal identities. However, the greater issue arises from the question as to where do you stop when you start censoring words and communication? That is the other side of the debate. We must explore our current state of social affairs, the usage of language as a tool, along with personal and overarching motivators, in order to start answering that question.dead marine. In simple terms, Rossenbaum argues that these affronts to common decency should never have happened, with or without lawful engagement. But since they have happened and similar occurrences continue to happen, he claims that we should take legal measures as a nation to prevent further injustices being enabled under the umbrella of free speech. It is not difficult to get behind his argument on the matter since most of us really do want to be part of communities that are respectful and encouraging of other cultures, religions, races, sexual orientations and other personal identities. However, the greater issue arises from the question as to where do you stop when you start censoring words and communication? That is the other side of the debate. We must explore our current state of social affairs, the usage of language as a tool, along with personal and overarching motivators, in order to start answering that question.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 21 Thane Rossenbaum presents an excellent argument for the tightening of our free speech on a harm-reduction basis. The issue one may find with his article, however, is that he is tackling the debate on a legalistic level, banking on our sympathies and our knowledge that pain and vulnerability do not only come from the presence of violence, while effectively ignoring the arguments for and against complete freedom of speech that do not necessarily pertain to harm. One may argue that this debate continues to travel in an endless circle because of the fact that Rossenbaum, and other spokespeople on either side of the topic, are not exploring speech through a wider lens. In the simplest of terms, speech is the vessel of language, and language is a tool. We use tools to get what we want. So what is it we want to achieve by the usage of speech?Looking at where we stand in our modern age, as well as observing history, one may argue that the achievement gained by verbal and written communication is the coming together of minds. We talk to one another to build relationships, develop communities, allow for progress in industry, trade goods, and so on and so forth. Talking to one another can be practiced in a functional sense, as well as expanding to the the more complex and higher communication between minds offered through literature, art, entertainment and education. So, if speech is the tool to create and expand on all these areas, it may seem like a bad idea to dull it too much in the name of an unfortunate side effect. We may also ask ourselves if there is another purpose to the dampening of free speech. While violence and poisoned morality are what reaches headlines, the real effects of the free speech debate are more often found in our communications amongst each other, during our usual daily routines. We are beginning to question one another. To have a strong united front of people in any major nation, you must rely on the settling of differences, of which there are many in the USA. A part of growing up is certainly the painful realization that you do not and cannot know everything. Also, you become aware that you cannot account for or control the actions of others. As a result of these lessons, you are made to realize that you cannot go through any day without some kind of conflict, whether minor and internal or encompassing and external. Through such mature knowledge, you build the foundation of your social persona and eventually your center of empathy and understanding. While comedians, such as the one previously mentioned, are often crass and morally flawed on some level, it is in fact these qualities that shed light on the absurdities of human nature and guide in approaching such follies from a more positive mindset. This is also true for other forms of media and entertainment. If an idea is poor, or at least poor in it’s execution, it is up to our own free will in determining our reactions. Again, such critical awareness is ripened through the coming-of-age years of our lives, and we need it in order to transition into the real world. Now, however, it seems as though we are entering into a much more socially careful and exclusionary age. Many of the most potent social movements in American history relied on a multitude of vastly contrasting methodologies. This is evidenced by the wider protests that developed inspiration and courage from the civil rights movement during the 1960s. It was not only the peaceful protest that Martin Luther King, Jr. encouraged by his anti-violence redderict and marching that propelled the change. It was also the sensational aggression of Malcolm X, The Black Panthers, the beat poets, the inspired folk artists, the anti-war advocates and the countless youth who were confused yet inspired to help lay the groundwork of the coming ages for the sake of their future children’s children. It seems as though this sinew that connects the sacred common goals between people has begun to frey in our current era. Perhaps it is the over-stimulation that technology has brought us, as we are pummeled daily by such an infinite supply of information that we have lost a piece of our ability for critical thought. When I think of this fraying, I find myself entrenched in a series of memories in which my intentions, or the intentions of others, have been publicly overshadowed by minute aesthetic details of personality and methods of expression. One example arises from a time in

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 22 which I presented a youth group proposal to a circle of volunteers in my hometown’s radical bookshop, and was questioned on my Jim Morrison shirt during the discussion that was intended to be about building community between marginalized teens (“you realize that guy hated women right? Why are you ok with wearing his face?”). Another example comes from observing a conversation during a break at a concert being cut off by an unknown passerby. He “could not help but hear” their conversation on Guatemala, and decided that since they were not from there, they had “no right to have opinions on it.” These incidents may seem like an abstract side note in regards to the topic of free speech. But when you find yourself being aggressively “called out” by people you love or feel like you share a kinship with, or even by people you have not actually met yet, for saying something you did not recognize as scandalous or politically incorrect, you begin to wonder if you should not speak at all. You might even begin to wonder if you are too dumb or uneducated to form your own opinions, especially when you do not understand the quasi-erudite style of dialogue that opposing views present to you. It is one thing for your idea to go against the grain of a government agenda. If anything this can feed the fire to developing true social change and connection with others, just as it did during the civil rights movement. But change is very unlikely to occur if you find yourself afraid to speak up to potential comrades. This is not meant to be an argument against political correctness, but rather a reaction to some of the methods at play for instilling core concepts of cultural awareness and sensitivity. Looking past how we use our words, it is also true that the words we have access to are deployed by a larger agenda, such as the new additions of children's Webster dictionaries replacing words pertaining to nature with words pertaining to technology. In an even greater observation, you may also wonder why the English language has only one word for “love.” Why is it that it is normal to use that same word of affection for a burger that you use for somebody you feel cosmically intertwined with? There is only that one word, and it is in our ability for critical thought that brings forth its true meaning in a given situation. This is a small detail, or maybe a large detail, that we must think about in all situations of communication. We cannot put so much stress on the words themselves. Rather, we must see the motivation behind them because that is where truth lies. If language is a tool, then changes made through the utilization of language specifics could be labeled as a form of social engineering. It is the smartest and most potent attack on people, if you really think about it—we are doing the government’s dirty work for them. We are turning against each other so that we have no ability to unite against the injustices of those larger powers. If we continue this way, pedantically sifting through the implementation of thought in a way that overrides message, it is evident that no social changes are likely to occur moving forward. Rossenbaum is correct in that there are major atrocities being played out, which are protected under the shield of our right to free speech. It is a shameful fact that there are modern youth that aspire to live up to the ideals of past fascist dictators, and it is a shameful fact that homophobia has a place at a funeral. But is the way to retaliate against these events really to censor expression? We’ve seen censorship in its most heightened form throughout history. We’ve seen it in the movements of those same dictators that continue, in death, to seduce children and adults (who should know better by now) into bigotted behaviours and ideologies. We do not want censorship to evolve to such totalitarian levels. Can we at least agree on that? So, it seems as though the free speech debate has reached its peak, which is a flimsy and narrow one at best. We agree, we disagree. We don’t want the suffering that morally flawed ideas bring, but we also do not want legal limitations to go “too far.” Fine, end of conversation, have it again next week. It may be more worthwhile to think about free speech in our individual daily participations. We can particularly look at this by monitoring our own motives and by building common ground with others, despite differences in life experiences and values. We should be focusing on combating atrocities and promoting the beautiful ideas that are placed into view by language, and less on the solely on the impact of words themselves. When we come across a moral outrage, it may be more useful to focus our strengths on solving the evil from the ground up, not the surface down. The simplest way to expand on this concept is by striving to improve, not disguise, the weaknesses of our nation.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 23 JONATHAN COLON PARADISE LOST

New York City, the concrete jungle, bright lights, sirens blaring and people honking their horns obnoxiously. This is what I learned to call my home. I was born here, the Bronx to be exact. I grew up in a small two-story corner house in at the edge of Soundview, by the water. This cozy corner house was all I knew for the majority of my life; I lived with my immediate family on the first story, and directly above us lived my grandparents, at the top of a set of gorgeous concrete stairs. Our apartment was small, just two bedrooms. From the front door, immediately to the right was the kitchen; to the left was the living room. In the back corner of the living room was the room I shared with my brother. This is where I spent a majority of my time. Straight down the hall to the left was my parents’ room, directly across from the bathroom. Tight living, but my home was filled with family and love so it always felt like a kind of paradise. It felt like home. Surrounding the house was a lush garden; during the spring and summer months this garden came to life and added so much love to the home. Between the house and the surrounding white metal fence were small fenced off sections of fruit and vegetable plants. Within those sections, my grandfather grew lettuce, beans, eggplant, pumpkin, cherry tomatoes and strawberries. My grandfather planted herbs such as, cilantro, mint and basil alongside the house. Our backyard was full of corn plants. During the summer nights, my grandfather and I would tend to the garden. After a long day’s work I would retire with him, then head downstairs to my little sanctuary – my bedroom. Splattered across the walls were newspaper art from the New York Post and Daily News, clippings from our favorite baseball teams. Half the room was covered in Yankees clippings and the other half with Mets. A small 24 inch tube T.V. was on top of the dresser. Our beds were directly across from the dresser. The window was in the back corner, and if you were to look through it, you would be greeted with a pleasant sight of the herbs in the garden. I used to open the window, to let the aroma from the fresh mint and cilantro fill the room. Paradise. This is what I wanted my home to be like when I eventually moved out. But, life took a few sudden, unexpected turns and the home as I knew it changed completely. I joined the Army, and a few years later, my grandmother passed away and my grandfather was diagnosed with dementia. The beautiful brick faced home with the white metal gates no longer exists. The gates are now all covered in rust. The concrete that was once the gorgeous stairs to the second floor withered over time; some stairs are very damaged and missing sections. The beautiful sectioned garden of fruits and vegetables was non-existent. Now, it’s just a front yard with tall, untamed grass and weeds. The aroma of herbs that once filled the air was replace by the foul decay of Soundview. Home as we know it may change with the blink of an eye. Home for me was once-cozy corner house on Obrien Avenue, covered in brick with a bountiful garden, where I could just run upstairs and see my grandparents – a place where I had everything that was most important to me within arm’s reach. As my grandparents aged, it appeared that the house did as well. The home I knew was gone. Now, it is just an abandoned-looking corner house by the water, in an aging New York City neighborhood.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 24 LORNA M. DURAN THE STATUE OF LIBERTY, IMMIGRATION AND INEQUALITY

The Statue of Liberty is among the best-known monuments in the world. It's a symbol of America, and more specifically, New York City. About 4 million people visit the statue every year, and millions more see its image in pictures of New York harbor or in advertisements. The Statue represents different things for different people, although its meaning has morphed throughout time, not only depending on the period of history, but also on the group or individuals asked. More than a representation of freedom or liberty in America, it represents America’s never-ending struggle with immigration, inequality, its defenders, and its despisers. The reasons for the Statue’s inception had little to do with America’s status as a “promiseD land” for immigrants (Glassberg). As the American Civil War came close to its end in1865, a French historian suggested that France create a statue to gift to the United States. The statue would be a celebration of the nation’s achievement of establishing a viable democracy. France's goal was to finish the sculpture before the 100th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. A French sculptor, Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, was commissioned to design the sculpture. The statue depicts a woman holding a tablet in her left hand, with “July 4, 1776,” engraved on it. In her raised right arm, she holds a torch. When the Statue of Liberty was dedicated on October 28, 1886, the speeches given had nothing to do with immigrants arriving in America. Furthermore, Fredric-Auguste Bartholdi never meant for his statue to evoke the idea of immigration. In a way, he saw his creation as something almost opposite: a symbol of liberty spreading outward from America. Although you can’t see it from below, if you looked down from above you would see that the Statue of Liberty is stepping away from broken chains lying on the ground. She steps away from all that had kept her prisoner. An especially potent symbol since she was given to the United States to mark the end of slavery and the American Revolution. Even though the statue was a gift, the United States needed to pay to have its pedestal made. Before the Statue of Liberty was shipped to the United States for assembly, a campaign was arranged by newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer to raise the money to build the pedestal on Bedloe’s Island. There were very few donations made. In the early 1880s, it appeared that the statue might never be assembled in New York. There were even rumors that the statue would end up in another city, perhaps Boston. But Joseph Pulitzer did not rest. He continued to fundraise for the pedestal. Fundraiser events were organized, one of which was an art show. The writer Constance Cary Harrison asked Emma Lazarus to write a poem to help raise money for the Statue of Liberty pedestal fund. Lazarus was not interested. She didn’t know what she would write about. The writer Constance Cary Harrison used Lazarus’s concern over the plight of Jews being persecuted in Russia to convince her. Jewish refugees from Russia were being housed on Ward’s island, in New York City's East River. Lazarus had been visiting them and had gotten involved with philanthropic organizations helping the impoverished immigrants get a start in their new home. Harrison said to Lazarus, “Think of that goddess standing on her pedestal down yonder in the bay, and holding her torch out to those Russian refugees of yours that you are so fond of visiting at Ward’s Island” (McNamara). Lazarus finally accepted and began to write a sonnet. The poem, named The New Colossus, says:

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 25 Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

This sonnet would later become an iconic addition to the Statue of Liberty. It is engraved on a bronze plaque installed on an interior wall of the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. This poem is one of the reasons we see the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of how America welcomes immigrants. Emma Lazarus’s poem created a connection never thought of before. As countless immigrants traveled to New York by ship, they were tired and anxious from the long trip at sea. They worried that they would not make it in America. They were tired, they were poor. They were yearning to breathe free. For most people, the 93-meter statue on Liberty Island was the first impression they received of the United States. The Statue of Liberty gains a new meaning when seen through the eyes of yearning immigrants. It is the Mother of Exiles, greeting millions of immigrants and epitomizing faith and opportunity for those who seek a better life in America. It stirs the desire for freedom in people all over the world. But bigotry against immigrants, even European-American ones, was prevalent at the time Lazarus wrote her poem (McNamara). Immigration quotas based on racial hierarchies were passed in 1924 and would remain in effect until 1965. Her poem represented an ideal that was not true in America— and, sadly, still isn't. As the statue became a hopeful symbol for immigrants, it simultaneously became a contentious symbol for nativist and xenophobic groups who were opposed to immigration. The Statue of Liberty represented two very different sides of American nationalism, one attached to immigration and opportunity and one tied to nativism and exclusion (Head). The Statue of Liberty represented widely different ideals. For immigrants, it was a sign of hope. But for existing Americans, the statue represented a perceived danger of opening national borders. In an early model of the statue, Lady Liberty carries broken shackles in her left hand, a symbol of the freed slave. In the final version, the left hand holds a stone inscribed with the Roman numerals for July 4, 1776. July 4th is the day that represents the Declaration of Independence and the beginning of the United States as a nation. The independence of White America had been raised and the independence of black America had been pushed under. A conscious choice was made to foreground the White victory and background the Black victory. They placed the broken shackles at the bottom of the statues. It appears by her foot, creeping out from beneath her robe, barely visible. It’s plain and simple: the statue was not conceived as a beacon of liberty or immigration. It would be too hopeful to believe that such a monument in America could be a pure and clean representation of equality, hope and opportunity. A statue that was conceived to celebrate the emancipation of African Americans, ended up celebrating the liberty of white America. A statue that greeted immigrants and signified hope and opportunity to them, represented the dangers of open borders and greeting foreign individuals into America. The Statue of Liberty is more than an American icon in the New York Harbor, it’s a clear representation of the conflicting and opposing views found in our country.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 26 Works Cited

“Statue of Liberty” HISTORY, A&E Television Networks, December 2, 2009. Retrieved from https://www.history.com/topics/landmarks/statue-of-liberty

Glassberg, David. “Rethinking the Statue of Liberty: Old Meanings, New Contexts.” Department of History, U. Mass., Amherst. December 2003. Retrieved from https:// archives.iupui.edu/bitstream/handle/2450/678/RethinkingTheStatue-Glassberg.pdf

Head, Tom. "Xenophobia in the United States." ThoughtCo, Oct. 16, 2018, Retrieved from https://thoughtco.com/xenophobia-in-the-united-states-721483

McNamara, Robert. “A Poem by Emma Lazarus Changed the Meaning of Lady Liberty.” ThoughtCo, Aug. 14, 2019. Retrieved from https://www.thoughtco.com/statue-of-liberty-symbolize-immigration-1774050

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 27 NATHALY CEDANO MONOLOGUE: FLATLINE

Melissa is speaking to a friend about an unforgettable and emotion packed moment that she hasn’t been able to talk about.

Melissa: This time was different. I didn’t have control over the situation. I couldn’t. It was like my heart was shattering into a million pieces. There was no time to cry. No time to panic. Only time to act fast. He couldn’t calm down. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was beating out of his chest and it was hurting him. This was bound to happen one day, being born without half of your heart is dangerous as is. He lay there in the ambulance, begging for the EMTs to save his life He looked me in the eyes and told me that he loved me. My little cousin fighting for his life as I stood there helplessly. Do you know what it is like to watch life drain out of someone you love? Hearing the words “I can’t be strong anymore” and the beeping of the machines as he flatlined. As my heart flatlined. Doctors swarming around him, the screams of my aunt and uncle replay like a broken record. I can’t get the flatline sound out of my head. I-it broke me. I’m broken.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 28 SUKHMANI DEAR FRIEND

During these unpredictable and extraordinary times I thought about you and wondered how were you coping with social distancing and self-isolation, especially because you live all by yourself and during stressful times your anxieties tend to take a toll on you, which I am well aware about. And therefore, I wanted to introduce you to a few poems which I read and found really helpful and inspirational, considering the ways we have adapted to live currently. The poems are, Walt Whitman's “Crossing 'Brooklyn Ferry” and Emily Dickinson's '”he Brain-is wider than the sky-“. I am really hoping that it will help you get your sanity back and give a different sense of perspective to look at the situation and deal with it, just like it did to me. Whitman's “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” written in the1850's is a very interesting metaphorical depiction once you switch your way of looking and connect the dots of then and now. The poem talks about how everything Whitman experiences then is what people will experience in the years to come, 50, 100 and 1000's of years to come; and that's what will connect them. And I think of our situation. I am here in New York and you are in India and even though we reside not years apart (technically you are 10 and half hours ahead of me) but thousands of miles away, yet we both are going through the same turmoil and that is the connection between us. He talks about the sea-gulls flying in the clear skies with their motionless wings, and I think how we both are connected by this same sky we look at in spite of being so far from each other. He mentions, "Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my head in the sunlit water" and I think that all the rich and privileged are just like the masses for they can't buy their way out of this pandemic with their money and power; and the dark shadow of the round face in the sunlit water will be the same regardless of one's possessions, caste and color. And this dark shadow of the water indeed connects us all. Whitman also mentions how distance and time does not matter when it comes to connection, and I truly believe that there will be consequences of this pandemic that will change everything about the world and we will bear them, the future generations will bear them and that is why we are already connected to tomorrow that has not even happened yet. While, Whitman gives us a sense of connection, Emily Dickinson helps us to see the light at the end of a tunnel if you look at it through my eyes. She talks about the brain and compares it to a wide sky. She says the brain has the capacity to contain it in spite of its endless and massive size. She compares the brain to a sea, for the brain has the capacity to absorb it, regardless of its depth, "as sponges-buckets-do." She mentions, "The Brain is just the weight of God- For- Heft them- pound for pound" and for me this just means that the weight of God is just as much as we allow our brain to carry because it all lies inside our brain. Dickinson beautifully explains that the only difference between the brain and God, if any, is of a syllable from the sound. I feel we can either love God and trust in his course of timing or just feel weighed and pressured by God and his wonders, for whoever or whatever, he, they, it, them may be for you. I specifically chose these poems because I didn't want you to feel alone, I wanted you to know that we are connected through current situations, through this sky, through those birds who fly from place to place, through our favorite songs we dance to and thanks to all the evolution through technology. And at the same time, I wanted you to understand that a situation or a person or anything in the world can only affect you as much as you let it affect you. The brain indeed is a powerful tool a human being receives, yet it is up to us how we choose to

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 29 make it work, and what direction we make it focus towards. Meditate on it, try to look at the brighter side of the picture- no pollution, trees breathing, clear skies, the fishes coming back in the rivers and animals back to their homes where they belong and not hiding somewhere and looking out for their lives, the dirty rivers cleaning themselves, the earth healing itself, many families getting to spend more time together tha in years, and many people finding their calm back and connecting to their spiritual sides which kind of got lost amidst the race everyone is trying to run only to end up nowhere. Even though the times are difficult, I hope you do not forget that everything is temporary and this too shall pass and I also hope that you overcome your anxieties and fears and enter into a new zone and trust 'his timing', see the silver linings of those dark clouds and just be the happy and cheerful woman that you are and know that there is a rainbow waiting at the end of every rain. Lastly, read both the poems and tell me how much you loved them!

Lots of Love

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 30 JORDAN MONTESINO MODERN OTHELLO

(Prologue) “Soft you, a word or two before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know’t. No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, when you shall these unlucky deeds relate, speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak of one that loved not wisely, but too well; of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand, like the base Indian, threw a pearl away richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes, albeit unused to the melting mood, drops tears as fast as the Arabian trees their med’cinable gum. Set you down this. And say besides that in Aleppo once, where a malignant and a turbaned Turk beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by th’ throat the circumcised dog and smote him–thus…” BOOM.

My eyes could not handle what they have witnessed. Good guys are always supposed to come out on top. At least that is what I thought. “I was too late.”

(Main Story) It was a quiet night in Venice. I overheard two men who appeared to be arguing. One of the men raised his voice and yelled “What have I been paying you for Iago? What the fuck is Othello doing marrying my Desdemona?” The other man retorted, however he seemed uneasy. “You couldn’t text me this or something, geez, I am unsure myself. It really happened out of nowhere.” Iago started thinking to himself.

“You know Roderigo, you seem quite angry at the moment.” Roderigo quickly replied, “Where are you going with this?”

“You see Roderigo, I have a proposition that can help the both of us.” Roderigo was taken aback by what he just heard.

“Oh, out with it already, any more of your little teasers and my balls are going to turn blue.” “Fine. I will enlighten you with my plans. Now listen clos-,”

BRIIIIIIIIING.

“Ah shit.” My pocket began to vibrate and flooded the street with sound. I quickly silenced it and made a run for it. It was not until I had ran about two miles away that I realized that those men did not even bother chasing me. Once I settled down, I sat on a nearby bench. What are those two men up to? And what do they want with Desdemona? Ah, that is right. I have not properly introduced myself yet. My name is Lucy Romano. I am thirty-seven years young. I have been a maid for Brabantio since I was a teenager. It started off as a part-time job, but with the money he’s paying me, it instantaneously became a career for

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 31 me. I do simple things such as cleaning, cooking and really just attending to the family’s every need. I even have my own room to stay in.

Desdemona and I have somewhat of a sibling relationship. She refers to me as ‘Big Sis’ and tells me about everything. I of course knew very well about her relationship with Othello. She frequently sends me pictures and messages through Snapchat, updating me as she goes. However, she has sworn me to secrecy. Knowing how her father is, I cannot say I do not understand the intent. “I should really go back home, Brabantio might question me,” I said softly to myself. I took out my phone and ordered an Uber to bring me home.

The very next morning, I was awakened by the sound of yelling.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE IS MARRIED? TO OTHELLO? I NEVER EVEN CONSIDERED HIM AN OPTION! DESDEMONA! YOU COME OUT OF YOUR ROOM RIGHT THIS INSTANT”

I tip-toed out of my room, hiding myself behind a pillar in his home. “We swear it sir. “Wait, haven’t you noticed that she has been missing this whole time?” Brabantio paused for what seemed like an entire minute. “SHE IS WHAT? LUCY, WAKE UP, IT IS AN EMERGENCY” I crawled back to my room and came back again, pretending as if I was just waking up.

“What is it Brabantio s-” He cut me off. “I NEED YOU TO GET IN TOUCH WITH DESDEMONA RIGHT THIS INSTANT. CALL HER PHONE!” I did what I was told, however, I made sure to use the house phone knowing very well it was likely that Desdemona would pick up if it were me calling. “There is no answer si-”

“I NEED YOU TO GET THE POLICE ON THE PHONE THEN!” I nodded and did what I was told.

Iago then spoke. “Well Mister Brabantio, I know I was the one who informed you of this, but remember, I work under Othello. Because of this, I wish to be uninvolved in the matter. You understand right?”

“YEAH, YEAH WHATEVER. She’s gonna get the scolding of a lifetime when she gets back.” With that, Iago hurried out of the house. The police came into the home and shortly after, they all walked out the house together.

“OH, AND LUCY!” I flinched from the sound of his voice.

“Ye- what is it sir?” He quickly responded.

““STAY HERE, THERE IS A CHANCE DESDEMONA WILL RETURN. IF SHE DOES, PLEASE INFORM ME IMMEDIATELY!”.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 32 I stood up straight and replied, “Aye aye captain, as you wish.”

With that, they went searching. As they left, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Desdemona. “Be careful, your father is searching for you.”

Hours pass and I look for something to do. “Isn’t there anything else I can watch on Netflix?” I thought to myself. Just as I went to select a title, I heard my phone buzz. It was a text from Desdemona.

“Father is accusing Othello of blasphemy!”

Confused by her wording, I asked, “What do you mean by blasphemy?” I saw three dots appear right away.

“He’s claiming that Othello used evil magic to charm me.”

Evil magic? That is the best Brabantio can come up with? She sends another message. “I’m going to intervene, wish me luck!” And with that I told her good luck and that was it. A feeling of uneasiness fell upon me. “I need to distract myself,” I thought. I then texted my best friends and asked if they wanted to make plans. They told me they were going to a bar later. I told them I would be there. Later that night, I made my way to Antonio’s Pub. I was meeting my two best friends, Giorno and Stella. “Hey Lucy! Over here!” I followed their voice and made my way over. They were sitting on a table near the back of the bar. Giorno was wearing a bright yellow blazer and Stella was in a neon pink dress. I guess you can say there is a common theme amongst my friend group. As I made my way to the table, Giorno was the first to open his mouth. “Lucy! I am loving the green. You look stunning.” I could feel my cheeks get red as he said that. “Oh you flatter me too much.” As soon as I finished speaking I noticed a familiar looking man walking towards the bathroom. My uneasiness has returned. “Hey guys,” I interrupted their conversation. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, don’t order anything without me!” With that I made my way to the bathroom area. The walls in this pub are thin. Knowing this, I pressed my head against the wall and listened in. The man seemed to be on the phone with somebody.

“The plan is going well. I convinced Cassio to drink twelve shots of Vodka. TWELVE.” I heard maniacal laughing until the man continued.

“I will be bringing him to you soon, Roderigo. You’d better not mess this up.”

It can’t be the same one, right? I realized that the talking ceased and made my way back to the table before I was found out. This time it was Stella who spoke first. “That was fast, are you okay? You look a little rough?”

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 33 After assuring them that I was fine, we hung out like normal. We spent an hour and a half there and then decided to go back home. I had a fun day, however the uneasiness continued to haunt me.

The very next morning, I woke up and followed my normal routine. After that, I cleaned up around the house and prepared breakfast. Several hours passed by and nothing of interest really happened. It is getting late. The uneasy feeling is still upon me. I decided to call Desdemona. One ring… two rings… three rings… four rings. The phone continued ringing until her voicemail played. I sent her a text telling her to call me as soon as she had the chance. I suddenly feel panicked. Thoughts formed in my head. “I have to go see her.”

With that I got dressed. I have her location on my phone. She entrusted me with it as a safety precaution. “Now let’s see, where are you? CYPRUS?” That’s really far. However, as Brabantio’s maid, I get access to his facilities. I use this to my advantage and convince Brabantio’s private pilot to fly me to Cyprus at once. I told him it was an emergency. He didn’t even argue. He just did as he was told. We boarded the private jet and made our way.

It was dark when we arrived. He landed the jet near a fortress where Desdemona’s location was. I made my way over there at once. I had to see her. There were surprisingly no guards around. I didn’t have a plan if there were any, so this works out to my advantage. However, there must be a reason for it. I shake those thoughts out of my head and try my hardest to pinpoint Desdemona’s location. After searching, I find an area with bedrooms. I look through each room one by one. They all looked relatively the same. There was one room which was different from the others. The door was wide open. As soon as I noticed, my uneasy feeling became fear. I walked slowly towards that door. And I could not believe what my eyes were showing me.

“DESDEMONA!” I couldn’t help but scream. Her body lay in a pool of blood. I went to go grab her hand. I could feel the warmth leaving her corpse. I had to find Othello. Surely he would not leave his wife like this. I ran around the fortress. Searching and searching until I finally heard a voice. I entered the area where my ears led me and stumbled into a speech.

“Soft you, a word or two before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know’t. No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, when you shall these unlucky deeds relate, speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak of one that loved not wisely, but too well; of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand, like the base Indian, threw a pearl away richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes, albeit unused to the melting mood, drops tears as fast as the Arabian trees their med’cinable gum. Set you down this. And say besides that in Aleppo once, where a malignant and a turbaned Turk beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by th’ throat the circumcised dog and smote him–thus…”

BOOM!

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 34 Othello’s body tumbled onto the ground. I could not believe anything I was watching. I wish it was a dream. That was the last thought that crossed my mind before my body collapsed from seeing what it had saw.

(Authors Note)

I know, I know, ‘Modern’ Othello is a little cliche. It was just the first idea that came to mind and the only idea I felt like writing about. I really wanted to expand on Lucy’s character. She is so much more than just a maid. This would have been irrelevant to the topic and play itself, so I restrained myself because of it. I believe I could have done more, however, I wasted a bunch of time and because of it, I am now suffering the consequences. I hope anybody that reads this enjoys it, I had some fun writing it, but I do know I could have done better.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 35 MALIK PELLINGTON OTHELLO FOR TODAY

Mind clouded in grief over the loss of his niece and the tragedy that took root, Gratiano in a drunken state from the funeral proceedings has unknowingly wandered in the quarters of a soothsayer. Flask in hand, he tips over in the building falling flat at the feet of the oracle said to be proclaimed by the Sun god, Apollo himself, Kalhas. At first the seer sighs thinking he is just some ordinary drunk but she catches an earful of his mutters. “Oh Desdemona, if only we had known sooner, I curseth thyself and thy ignorance.”

The seer’s eyes widen. “Desdemona?” she rubs her temples. “Ill-fated?”

For the past few sleepless nights, Kalhas has been having the same recurring vision of an ill-fated woman in the purest of whites reaching out for help. Each night the vision occurs, the seer attempts to aid the woman but whenever she gets close, black hands seize the maiden’s neck and plunge her into darkness, thrusting Kalhas awake and washed in cold-sweat. “Come drink this.” Kalhas offers Gratiano an elixir of some sort in a gourd.

“Why? Will it drown my sorrows once and for all?” Gratiano retorts.

“No but it will stop you from drooling all over yourself like a mongrel” said Kalhas.

The nobleman struggles to gather himself and hesitantly chugs the contents of the gourd down. “What the hell did you giv-” Reech!

Kalhas steps back in disgust as Gratiano pukes in one of her scrying bowls.

“Good! at least it’s working, now get up. We have work to do.” she says.

Feeling much better despite having just turned his stomach inside out, Gratiano follows the seer to a table, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings and what exactly he has stumbled into. “What’re you going to do?” he smirks. “Tell me that tomorrow it’s going to rain?” he bursts out in a laugh met only by Kalhas’ cold stare.

The candles in the lodgings flicker casting dancing shadows on the old wooden walls adorned with intricate masks and dried herbs. Kalhas explains to him of the visions she has been having and Gratiano tells her how his niece, Desdemona was strangled by her husband Othello after Iago meddled with their marriage.

“I think the fates have led you to stumble into my shop,” Kalhas says with her back turned to him and focused on the wall of masks.

“Do you wish to speak with your niece?” the seer says.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 36 Gratiano’s demeanor changes and he gets up ready to leave, seeing that nightfall has begun. “I have no business tampering with the dead, especially at this hour.” Kalhas still searching on the wall retorts, “I can only promise you closure.Or would you rather perish at the hands of grief much like Brabantio.”

The mention of his brother has Grationo firmly planted and he sits. “All right witch, let’s see what you got.”

Kalhas turns around with a mask in hand. Grationo shifts nervously, the mask is split in two half cast in shadow and the other in light, adorned with horns and two eye holes. Kalhas places the mask on and sits directly in front of Grationo. The shop is dead silent except for the whistle of the night wind that threatens to out the candles. Gratiano’s smirk returns.

“You look awfully silly in that thing.” Kalhas ignores his comment and places her hands on the table, palms to the ceiling. “Shall we begin, nobleman?”

Grationo hesitantly places his arms in her palms and lets out a surprised squeal as Kalhas’ hands tighten in a grip and she begins to chant.

“Haran Naructa.”

The door of the shop slams shut and the flames of the candles instantly go out. The only source of light is the energy radiating from the eye holes of the mask. Gratiano begins to yell as Kalhas’ grip threatens to break his bones.

“Who do you wish to speak to, vermin” Kalhas says in a voice not of her own but deeper, commanding and bellowing.

“My niece, Desdemona please!” Gratiano retorts.

“It is done.” Kalhas says before passing out. Her grip loosens and Gratiano holds his hands in fear looking around as the candle light returns one by one. He opens his mouth to query but is dead silent when he sees a familiar woman before him. Only it is not a woman. She speaks but she has no lips or throat. She is in front of him but her body is intangible and flickers like the lights of the candles. He hears her in his mind. A horrifying squall of words.

“I have long wandered the lands of Cyprus restlessly. I emerged from the grave clothed in a blood-stained white frock. Blood not from thine own corpse. I see my reflection when the moon is nigh, in the mirrors of closed shops. A wailing woman with her trachea void and lips sewn shut with sutures. A walking or rather floating paradox if you ask me. Let me tell you, my dear uncle, what a fool I was to dare to be bold and reject societal norms and above all, I dared to be in love.”

“I’m so sorry Desdemona” Grationo says in horror.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 37 “Your words cannot change the past but the powers of this body I possess can.” Desdemona breaks the light side of the mask and grabs Grationo while fleeing through the door. All the blood has drained from his face as he looks at her flickering skeletal hand and begins to beg. “Please have mercy-” he is cut off as he realizes it is day time. “Where are we?”

“You mean when are we.” the aspect of Desdemona wails inside his mouth.

The realization hits him as he sees the past version of himself and Lodovico pass by. “By the gods, what do you mean to do? My spirit cannot pass on with this festering knowledge that Iago and men like him sleep happily, while women are cut down, silenced and strangled.”

Desdemona’s spirit wanders to Emilia’s lodgings with Gratiano. “You must convince her to tell the truth without revealing too much.” She says before fading away.

Gratiano obeyed, still frightened from this encounter. He makes his way toward Emilia and taps her shoulder.

“Eek!” she squeals. “How did thou get in here”

“Emilia, listen to me, I don’t have much time” Gratiano begins to explain. “Your husband is a wretched villain behind all these lies, that has sent Othello into a fit, he constantly poisons his ear and this may very well lead to a great tragedy.”

“What do you know?” Emilia scoffs. “Even if I were to believe you, what proof do you have of this?”

Gratiano shifts nervously while thinking of a way to convince Emilia.

“Did he not tell you to steal your mistress’ handkerchief?”

“My husband…” Emilia says. “My husband...” she repeats for a second time as she comes to realization. “But gentle Gratiano, how did you know about the handkerchief?”

“That doesn’t matter, what matters now is that you must be an agent of truth, go to Othello.” said Gratiano.

“He won’t believe me, no one will, I am a woman.” She retorts. “My voice is worth nothing, my own husband believes me to be and likens me to a whore.”

Gratiano is silent. This is the first time he considers the inequality against women in society. He is a man and he knows there is nothing he can say to convince her otherwise.

“Emilia please” a voice echoes from the walls.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 38 “Who said that?” Emilia retorts, turning around to see her mistress floating In horror Emilia begins crying. “Who did this to you?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you now know the truth yet you’re choosing to remain silent. Dear Emilia I know it is a lot to ask but you have to be the voice of the women in this country, less we fall.”

Emilia wipes her tears, while Gratiano wanders around the room in circles. “I beg you.” Desdemona says.

“Who would’ve thought I was preparing your death bed moments ago.

Emilia, seemingly unafraid, takes the ghost’s hands in her own and nods with newfound aspiration. She slips a knife in her boot. She doesn’t know what has happened or what is going on but she knows what needs to be done. Emilia leaves Gratiano and the spirit behind and quickly makes her way to the castle. … Emilia bangs the door to her mistress’ room only to hear,

“Who is it?” from Othello.

“It is I, Emilia, my lord, I have some urgent news!”

“I am in the middle of something, go away!” Othello retorts.

Emilia starts screaming for help, threatening to awaken the entire castle and alert the guards.

Othello flings open the door and grabs her by the throat and thrusts her in the air. He is seething with rage. Emilia struggles to breathe, fighting to tell the truth.

“Sir pl-”

“Thy wife is innoc-”

Fearing for her life, she reaches for the knife and stabs him in the throat and in the process collects herself and runs to the Desdemona’s bed chamber. Othello tries to prevent the loss of blood but falls to a woman.

She throws her arms around her mistress and attempts to take her from the room but Iago, Montano and present day Gratiano enter the room.

“What happened here?” Montano posits.

“Othello strangled his wife and tried to kill me!” Emilia responds.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 39 with his knife and stabs Emilia and attempts to stab Desdemona as well but Montano disarms him and pins him down.

“Emilia!” Desdemona shouts. “Mistress, I have done right by your side and have given us all a chance to speak our truth.” Emilia says her final words and is silenced. Desdemona weeps at the loss of her husband and friend. … In Emilia’s room future Gratiano and the spirit pace about. However, Desdemona’s spirit begins to fade, her mouth becomes un-sutured and her larynx reappears.

“Thank you, uncle.” She utters with her actual lips and hands him the mask as she fades into nothingness.

Gratiano places the piece of the mask on his face and is sucked into a vortex. He finds himself on the floor of the soothsayer’s shop. Kalhas standing above him grabs the piece of mask left and burns it. She informs him that magic has a price and that he and Desdemona will suffer a great loss. He smiles as he hears Desdemona’s voice rushing towards the shop and takes a final swig of rum before dying on the floor.

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Othello : 1622. Oxford :Clarendon Press, 1975.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 40 Lee Jacob Hilado - Street Scene Social Distancing

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 41 Lee Jacob Hilado - Waiting for Hungry People

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 42 Lee Jacob Hilado - Skyland

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 43 Evan J. - Laughing Through My Depression

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 44 Ebony - Faerie

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 45 Lee Jacob Hilado - Fairy Universe

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 46 Lee Jacob Hilado - Woman on Windowsill

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 47 Lee Jacob Hilado - Moonlight Ladies

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 48 Elisa Tang - Model and Muddle

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 49 Osaratin Charles - WhiteOut

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 50 Lee Jacob Hilado - Surrealism

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 51 Tavana Sibgatullah - Live Gently on Earth

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 52 Tavana Sibgatullah - Flowers

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 53 Brian - Cockatoo

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 54 Lee Jacob Hilado - Star Gazing in NYC

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 55 ,..,.., . .. .· '&·..,,,. . -· -

No Entry Authorized Personnel

Lee Jacob Hilado - Smappy

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 56 BRITTANY LANZANO FOR KINGS AND QUEENS

For Kings and Queens reign true before the norm Offspring live on with strength from lives before.

From love and lust a child from them will form Minds mixing matter, patterns from the core.

A son or daughter will live on with faith Every empire must someday fall they say.

You know for sure that it will fall with hate I raise my son to rule in my place one day.

Someday I’ll see and put him to the test To reach for gifts the divine spirit gave.

Foreshadow greatness, put for by your best Why frown upon the one who’s born a slave?

We’re born into royalty every day As long as you take your place, let love stay.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 57 CAMILLE RIVERA THE ABSENCE OF FOREPLAY

The absence of foreplay is lost in a generation of minute men and quickies Caressing each other Exploring the maps to each other's hidden treasures.

The endless noises in the jungle of moans and groans That are passed over because it is too much work Yet we are expected to land on our knees and swallow All of your insecurities to make you feel Like the king of the jungle.

While you haven’t even touched The river with your fingertips, or Explored the trees with your palms, Or tasted forbidden fruits.

Explore the jungle of moans and groans! Lose yourself in it and you will reach Her Waterfall!

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 58 CAROLINE NYAMU, CAROLINE SANKOFA

I want to take you back to when we knew who we were, loved ourselves and had a sense of community. A place where authority never made you fearful or made you feel like you’re going to be identified by some collective number. Or you’re the next headline story on the news.

I want to take you back to a place when we were royalty and we owned it with every fiber of our being. I want to take you back to a place where we went to see Sankofa on a regular basis be it bad or good, It wasn't deemed and stigmatized as voodoo or dark magic.

I want to take you back to a place when we shared, cared, and were tortured for each other. And we left the war and the nonsense troubles on the battlefield. I want to take you back to a place where his-story was ours - truly ours - not theirs to showcase in a museum. A history where we can trace back to our royal lineage.

I want to take you back to a time where your neighbor was your aunt, even though you didn’t share not a drop of DNA besides being Black. I want to take you back to a time when the Black father walked in his home with pride, But we traded up for food stamps, fast money and now the government is your father I want to take you back to a time when the family unit was a complete unit no matter what troubles and problems were presented, they stayed a unit. Shout out to Good times.

Now the woman had to be the mother, father, sister, auntie and still stay sane within herself. I want to take you back to a place where we walked tall. I want to take you back to a time where all we worried about was hunting, gathering. And which kingdoms were we going to build an alliance with.

Now it's divide and conquer, the Willie lynch edition I want to take you back to a time when we truly loved ourselves. We lost it but reclaimed it back for awhile in the 70’s With men and women like Huey P. Newton and Kathleen Cleaver who showed some of us what we needed to see.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 59 CHARLOTTE COPELAND BRONX CYCLES

Sitting here looking out the window in wonderment

Looking at the rain falling, The wind blowing the leaves, flags flapping in the wind.

People rushing, running to catch the bus/train To their appointments, opportunities, goals, deadlines.

The Bronx is filled with wonderful people with great and powerful minds.

The spirit of resilience fills the air; Yet the streets are filled with violence and fear. Minds trapped in fear and uncertainty, Dismay and disfunction and anger that spills out into the streets

Yet the wind continues to blow the leaves, The rain continues to fall, and the flags continue to flap in the wind.

Cycles.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 60 DARIEN RODRIGUEZ DANCING WITH MAMI

Dancing with Mami while we Cook – pernil, gandules, pasteles Dominos slam on tables Men slam on drums Parkchester, Castle Hill Nostalgic, loving Green like Mama’s leather sofa Green like Sofrito – fresh, herby foundation Pearl Street – Lower East Side Chinatown dumplings for a dollar, Greasy and vinegary Gentrification Blue pigs and green Sirens wave across the street Toxic, uncomfortable, overwhelming The spirits talk to me here Gunshots in the stairwell The smell of stale weed drifts through the window Crackhead selling stolen goods screams outside Take me away The Ocean—where She dwells Soothing, Salty, Cool Reminding me

I am divinely favored. I am divinely favored. I am divinely favored.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 61 DAVID REYES THERE CAME A TIME

There came a time I rid myself of love Through thoughts I yearn, though I put up a front Though sighs appeared, I still gave it a shove Yet I admit my fears, for I am blunt. At first, she came to me as I wandered I brought myself to her; a bond was made With time and talk my heart just grew fonder I showed myself; something I once forbade. First time was fun, though came to a quick end Returned she did, and we commenced the ride To then, again, become less than a friend. We tried for three, what sparks remained had died. Returned again. No need for such alarm. We now conclude with love, fourth time’s the charm.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 62 DENISSE FELIZ A LUNATIC

I have a stalker on my hands, and I’m tired. I want to run away... Africa, Australia or someplace far.

I feel sick! I used to love him, believe me... I did. I never knew someone like him.

But now, I want to be alone. Get to know me, just me, myself... and love what is love.

I thought I loved him, but I was fooled. Now, I feel like hiding under a rock.

All-day long he calls waits for me to get out of school and camp by my building. Leave me the fuck alone! I need my life back!

I can’t do my homework; you make me miss school. Just because you didn’t finish, it doesn’t mean I won’t. You are a crazy mother fucker, and I wish I never met you.

I mean, I did want you... but not anymore. It was good at the beginning but now I’m growing up. I feel like growing up.

I don’t hate you; I just dislike you. It’s not you; it’s your lifestyle. You can’t do anything for me. You see... I want someone who I can take to my mom and dad.

I want someone with a job, not baggage. As a matter of fact... I don’t want anyone.

I just want to be like Mya... Single, Sexy and Free.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 63 GHESLAINE GONZALEZ LOUD LOVE

Our love is like a river that flows through our veins. It falls into one another's heart without any pain. It flows onto the edge where the rocks and dirt reside and soaks up into mud. Never drying love.

At times becomes just moist, but never dries out. And when stepped on we are left with a foot imprint that clearly washes out It's like the beach, the sand lives within deep. Not even sharks or whales may kill its beat. It's bigger than the amount of dry land on earth. Massive - as much as our hearts can hold

Like when you take a shell and listen to the sounds of a sea. But louder than a bomb you would hear in the streets. Which shivers up your spine afraid that you might never hear one another's heartbeat But hearing it so loud that causes goosebumps from your head to your feet. Because you can still hear us breathe. And even our sudden silent thoughts can reach our senses Greatly knowing they aren't even twin relatives.

Acts and emotions which only pure love can create Scenes that only those two linked can relate And the ones who hate them, they never even forbade them. Their love is too loud to even forsake them. So they become relentless. Their heartbeats are so deep Not even the deepest ocean Can refrain from the deepest living sea creatures

From hearing both heart rates. A feeling so good, sometimes makes your mind and emotions go insane Thanking God that this type of love was presented And counting on their pure love for a different and happy ending.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 64 JULISSA CAMPOS DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

Dia de los muertos is a Mexican tradition, a tradition that will live forever. The day of the dead, for the non-spanish speaking…

Is a day where we celebrate . Our dead ancestors, loved ones, young ones… The ones that ... That would love to play soccer, On a hot summer day.

BUT

Mexico is where I am from, Where the weather can get super- Hot. Como los tamales That your mom makes every time there is something to celebrate. Green/white/red are the color of our flags, that correspond to the

Decorations for the parties we throw. For our dead ones and the ones… We still share El Dia de los Muertos with..

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 65 MARIAM CISSE MY NEIGHBORHOOD

A place where it's loud and noisy The sounds of cars continuously honking at each other To pass the red light People in running shoes dash to catch the train A man building his home out of a cardboard box Near church to attend morning prayers My Neighborhood Is where you see men with striped boxers As if it’s cute to grab girls’ attention But when it comes to education they stay mute My Neighborhood A place where you see a lot of cops Where you hear gangsters saying “Yo! the ops is on the block” It’s where you see two females with vicious nails Trying to pull each others’ skulls out The crowd recording and shouting “World Star!!” My Neighborhood It's not pitch perfect Where we see potholes, dog poop and trash all over the sidewalk When visiting the wealthy areas I feel jealous There are lavish stores and skyscrapers like the Empire State Building Clean sidewalks with trash cans on each block and with various restaurants Where tourists cannot stop talking about “The Big Apple”

How can a place so close have two different environments?

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 66 SHANALEE RODRIGUEZ I’M FINALLY FREE

Low self esteem Ugly Alone I felt Unimportant, depressed All eyes on me. My Monster said hello. I smiled I fell Victim to abuse Being used & bruised I never knew My Monster would be Charming It’s Alarming. I’m running Walls after walls. Long halls. Nothing to see - Darkness. Silence. No guidance. Lost for a while. Roaming around. I see Light. Can it Be? I’m finally Free

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 67 VERONICA ALCANTARA NIGHT IN LAS FLORES

It’s finally dark out This is when it begins The white plastic chairs new ones and the old ones Are out in front of the houses The beer crates Blending in with the chairs Both on the streets In a circle In front of the colmado Los chamaquitos y las muchachas All of us young people Joined together In one circle Exclusive for young people only Talking about important things Things that matter dique Los mayores en otro Them oldies Saying that we talking nonsense That us young people don't know What we talking about But to be honest they are stuck In the past moments Never ever do both circles Meet But if we do Es para discutir The laughter and the towns Gossip begins In both circles The chips and the refresco bought and passed around “You got who pregnant”?Ohhhhh!!! You said someone is pregnant Who, the girl next door? Who dropped out of school? I heard they are not together anymore!!MUJER DAME 15 PARA EL CIGARRO!! Go get that woman

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 68 She left the house Don’t give her no money She is not supposed to be smoking BRING HER BACK NOW! LOCK THE FRONT DOOR!AND DON'T LET HER LEAVE!It’s finally dark out It has begun!

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 69 EVALINA NOVA WHERE I’M FROM.

Santo Domingo, Azua, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. We travel together, We celebrate birthdays together, We meet every year for a family reunion, no matter how far we are from each other, We always end up together.

After eating lunch we lie on the floor and take naps with la Brisa de la Tarde.

I love the blue from our beautiful beaches, I love the yellow from our sunny days. Santo Domingo, Azua, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. I am from the beach, from the river, from el campo, from the city.

I am from Calle 4 Numero 12, Los mina. I am from El puro Barrio, where everybody knows each other. I am from Dominican Rap and Dembow. I am from where people have to run out to their houses because some gang wanted to start a fight. I am from where people sell drugs in front of the kids. I am from gangs, drugs, violence. Santo Domingo, Azua, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. I am from the beach, from the river, from el campo, from the city.

In 2008 I moved to Yonkers, My house, a small house but beautiful space. Calm, quiet, and safe. My neighbors, the one on top of me, very loud but I understand. They have kids. On our day off we watch TV the entire day, and sometimes we order food.

In nature, the sunset is beautiful. It gives me peace, It makes me think about my grandma’. I will always love you, mama. Santo Domingo, Azua, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. I am from the beach, from the river, from el campo, from the city.

December 2020 ESCRIBA! 70 MAIMUNA JAWO GOTHIC POEM

It is happening, i t’s happening,

All that I was warned about is happening How can something this sweet turn sour All of a sudden?

How can something which brightens my spark Suddenly drain me of life? How could this happen? Not that I wasn’t warned I was, but, alas, love is blind I was warned that women from that tribe are instantly Cursed when joined to mine. Cases of barrenness, miscarriages and work failure, Sudden ailments and inexplainable losses Taboos! Taboos! Taboos! With times changing One would think such archaic rituals would hold no water. I was mistaken, I made a mistake, I should have let her be. This feeling called love, It makes you blind and strong-headed. First mama fell ill Luckily she survived I guess that was a warning. Sister followed and didn’t make it Her son followed but Still I was blinded with love for Zaria Zaria! Zaria! Zaria! Our forbidden love has now cost us our lives! Now the child we died conceiving Will not know her parents. She will be an outcast in her own father’s land Maybe, just maybe, If he hadn’t crossed paths Our lives would have been different. But as they say, had I known is always at last.

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