Rodolfo Gonzales (1928-2005) With his poem, Gonzales shared his new cosmological vision of the “Chicano”, who was neither Indian nor European, neither Mexican nor American, but a combination of all the conflicting identities. The poem describes the dilemma of Chicanos in the 1960s trying to assimilate with American culture while trying to keep some semblance of their culture intact for future generations, then proceeds to outline 2000 years of Mexican and Mexican-American history, highlighting the different, often opposing strains that make up the Chicano heritage, and realizing his status as an oppressed minority in the United States. The poem was written in 1967 in Colorado. Scholars consider Gonzales to be one of the founders of the Chicano Movement. I Am Joaquin 6 6 by Rodolfo Gonzales 2 of 2 1 of 1 Yo soy Joaquín, who have come this way, perdido en un mundo de confusión: I placed on that fortress wall Section I am Joaquín, lost in a world of confusion, Section to wait for independence. Morelos! Matamoros! Guerrero! caught up in the whirl of a gringo society, all companeros in the act, confused by the rules, scorned by attitudes, STOOD AGAINST THAT WALL OF INFAMY suppressed by manipulation, and destroyed by modern society. to feel the hot gouge of lead which my hands made. My fathers have lost the economic battle I died with them ... I lived with them .... and won the struggle of cultural survival. I lived to see our country free. And now! I must choose between the paradox of Free from Spanish rule in eighteen-hundred-twenty-one. victory of the spirit, despite physical hunger, Mexico was free?? or to exist in the grasp of American social neurosis, The crown was gone but all its parasites remained, sterilization of the soul and a full stomach. and ruled, and taught, with gun and flame and mystic power. Yes, I have come a long way to nowhere, I worked, I sweated, I bled, I prayed, unwillingly dragged by that monstrous, technical, and waited silently for life to begin again. industrial giant called Progress and Anglo success.... I fought and died for Don Benito Juarez, guardian of the I look at myself. Constitution. I watch my brothers. I was he on dusty roads on barren land as he protected his archives I shed tears of sorrow. I sow seeds of hate. as Moses did his sacraments. I withdraw to the safety within the circle of life -- He held his Mexico in his hand on MY OWN PEOPLE the most desolate and remote ground which was his country. I am Cuauhtémoc, proud and noble, And this giant little Zapotec gave not one palm's breadth leader of men, king of an empire civilized of his country's land to kings or monarchs or presidents of foreign beyond the dreams of the gachupín Cortés, powers. who also is the blood, the image of myself. I am Joaquin. I am the Maya prince. I rode with Pancho Villa, I am Nezahualcóyotl, great leader of the Chichimecas. crude and warm, a tornado at full strength, I am the sword and flame of Cortes the despot nourished and inspired by the passion and the fire of all his earthy And I am the eagle and serpent of the Aztec civilization. people. I owned the land as far as the eye I am Emiliano Zapata. could see under the Crown of Spain, "This land, this earth is OURS." and I toiled on my Earth and gave my Indian sweat and blood The villages, the mountains, the streams for the Spanish master who ruled with tyranny over man and belong to Zapatistas. beast and all that he could trample Our life or yours is the only trade for soft brown earth and maize. But...THE GROUND WAS MINE. All of which is our reward, I was both tyrant and slave. a creed that formed a constitution As the Christian church took its place in God's name, for all who dare live free! to take and use my virgin strength and trusting faith, "This land is ours . the priests, both good and bad, took-- Father, I give it back to you. but gave a lasting truth that Spaniard Indian Mestizo Mexico must be free. ." were all God's children. I ride with revolutionists And from these words grew men who prayed and fought against myself. for their own worth as human beings, for that I am the Rurales, GOLDEN MOMENT of FREEDOM. coarse and brutal, I was part in blood and spirit of that courageous village priest I am the mountain Indian, Hidalgo who in the year eighteen hundred and ten superior over all. rang the bell of independence and gave out that lasting cry – The thundering hoof beats are my horses. El Grito de Dolores The chattering machine guns "Que mueran los gachupines y que viva la Virgen de Guadalupe...." are death to all of me: I sentenced him who was me I excommunicated him, my blood. Yaqui I drove him from the pulpit to lead a bloody revolution for him and Tarahumara me.... Chamala I killed him. Zapotec His head, which is mine and of all those Mestizo Español. 6 6 I have been the bloody revolution, I sometimes The victor, Sell my brother out 4 of 4 3 of 3 The vanquished. And reclaim him I have killed For my own when society gives me And been killed. Token leadership Section I am the despots Díaz Section In society's own name. And Huerta I am Joaquín, And the apostle of democracy, Who bleeds in many ways. Francisco Madero. The altars of Moctezuma I am I stained a bloody red. The black-shawled My back of Indian slavery Faithful women Was stripped crimson Who die with me From the whips of masters Or live Who would lose their blood so pure Depending on the time and place. When revolution made them pay, I am faithful, humble Juan Diego, Standing against the walls of retribution. The Virgin of Guadalupe, Blood has flowed from me on every battlefield between Tonantzín, Aztec goddess, too. campesino, hacendado, I rode the mountains of San Joaquín. slave and master and revolution. I rode east and north I jumped from the tower of Chapultepec As far as the Rocky Mountains, into the sea of fame– And my country's flag All men feared the guns of my burial shroud– Joaquín Murrieta. with Los Niños, I killed those men who dared whose pride and courage To steal my mine, could not surrender Who raped and killed my love with indignity My wife. their country's flag Then I killed to stay alive. to strangers . in their land. I was Elfego Baca, Now I bleed in some smelly cell from club or gun or tyranny. living my nine lives fully. I bleed as the vicious gloves of hunger I was the Espinoza brothers Cut my face and eyes, of the Valle de San Luis. As I fight my way from stinking barrios All were added to the number of heads that in the name of To the glamour of the ring civilization And lights of fame were placed on the wall of independence, heads of brave men Or mutilated sorrow. who died for cause or principle, good or bad. My blood runs pure on the ice-caked Hidalgo! Zapata! Hills of the Alaskan isles, Murrieta! Espinozas! On the corpse-strewn beach of Normandy, Are but a few. The foreign land of Korea They dared to face And now Vietnam. The force of tyranny Here I stand Of men who rule by deception and hypocrisy. Before the court of justice, I stand here looking back, Guilty And now I see the present, For all the glory of my Raza And still I am a campesino, To be sentenced to despair. I am the fat political coyote– Here I stand, I, Poor in money, Of the same name, Arrogant with pride, Joaquín, Bold with machismo, In a country that has wiped out Rich in courage All my history, And Stifled all my pride, Wealthy in spirit and faith. In a country that has placed a My knees are caked with mud. Different weight of indignity upon my age-old burdened back. My hands calloused from the hoe. I have made the Anglo rich, Inferiority is the new load . Yet The Indian has endured and still Equality is but a word– Emerged the winner, The Treaty of Hidalgo has been broken The Mestizo must yet overcome, And is but another treacherous promise. And the gachupín will just ignore. My land is lost I look at myself And stolen, And see part of me My culture has been raped. Who rejects my father and my mother I lengthen the line at the welfare door And dissolves into the melting pot And fill the jails with crime. To disappear in shame. These then are the rewards 6 6 This society has must know from me For sons of chiefs who I am. 6 of 6 5 of 5 And kings Part of the blood that runs deep in me And bloody revolutionists, could not be vanquished by the Moors. Who gave a foreign people I defeated them after five hundred years, Section All their skills and ingenuity Section and I have endured. To pave the way with brains and blood Part of the blood that is mine For those hordes of gold-starved strangers, has labored endlessly four hundred Who years under the heel of lustful Changed our language Europeans. And plagiarized our deeds I am still here! As feats of valor I have endured in the rugged mountains Of their own.