Transcription
[Music] [Music] [Music] I am working, lost in a world of confusion, caught up in a world of an angle society, confused by the rule, scorned by attitudes, suppressed by manipulations, and destroyed by modern society.
[Music] My fathers have lost the economic battle and won the struggle of cultural survival, and now I must choose between the paradox of victory of the Spirit despite physical hunger, or to exist in the grasp of American social neurosis, sterilization of the soul.
Yes, I have come a long way to nowhere, unwillingly dragged by that monstrous technical industrial giant called progress and Anglo success. I look at myself, I watch my brothers, I shed tears of sorrow, I sow seeds of hate. I would draw safety within the circle of life, my own people.
Proud and noble leader of men, king of an empire, civilized beyond the dreams that I got to be me. Cortez, who is also the blood, the image of myself. I am the Maya Prince. I am not so. I go, oh great leader of the GG Mecca. I am the sword and flame for death to death, but I am the Eagle and serpent of the aspect civilization. I own the land as far as the eye could see under the crowd of Spain, and I toiled on my earth and gave my Indian sweat and blood for the Spanish master, tyranny of a man and beast, and all that he could grab. Though but the ground was mine, I was both tyrant and slave.
[Music] As Christian Church took its place in God's good name to take and use my virgin strength and trusting faith. The priest, both good and bad, took but gave the lasting truth that Spaniard, Indian, mestizo were all God's children, and from these words grew men who prayed and fought for their own worth, that's human beings. For that moment of freedom, I was part in blood and spirit of that courageous village pretty. I'll go in the year 1810, who rang the bell of Independence. Thinking about that laughing cries out to be, I sentenced him, he was me. I excommunicated in my blood. I drove him from the pulpit to lead a bloody revolution for him, and I killed him. His head, which is mine, and all of those who have come this way, I placed on that fortress wall to wait for independence. Morelos, Matamoros, Guerin, or compañeros, door against that wall of you feel the hot rouser blended my handmade. I died with them, I live with them. I live to see your country free, free from Spanish rule. In 1821, Mexico is free. The crown was gone, but all his parasites remained and ruled and taught with Gandhi and flame and mystic power. I wore, I sweated my blood, I prayed, and we decided to light again. I fought and died for Don Benito Juarez, guardian of the Constitution. I was him on dust roads, unbarring plains, as he protected his archives, as Moses did his sacraments. He held his Mexico in his hands, and the most desolate and remote ground, which was his country, and this giant little supportive get not one palms breath of his country's land to kings or monarchs or presidents of foreign power.
[Music] I rode with Pancho Villa, crude and warm, a tornado at full strength, nourished and inspired by the passion, the fire of all I am. Amelia no Zapata. This land, this bird is our. I ride with revolutionist against myself. I am not horseman, I am the mountain Indian, superior overall. Thundering hoofbeats are my horses, the chattering machine guns are deaf to all. Oh yeah, man, Tamura, mestizo, espanol. I have been the bloody revolution, the victor, the vanquished. I have killed and been killed. I am the despots pious and wealthy, and the apostle of democracy, Francisco Madero. I am the black child, faithful women who die with me or live depending on the time and place. I wrote the mountains of San Joaquin. I wrote as far east and north as the Rocky Mountains, and our men is the guns of Rakhi Murrieta. I killed those men who dared to steal my mind, who raped and killed my love, my wife.
[Music] [Applause] I stand here looking back, but now I see the present, and still I am the compass eat. I am the black political 40. I have the same name, working in a country that has wiped out all my history, stifled all my pride, in a country that has placed a different way to be dignity upon my age back.
[Music] Ah. [Music] Imperio given load. The Indian has endured and still emerged the winner. The mestizo must yet overcome, and I got to pee. We'll just ignore.
[Music] I look at myself and see part of me who rejects my father and my mother and dissolves into the melting pot to disappear in shame. I sometimes sell my brother's out and reclaim them for my own when society gives me token leadership in society's own name. I bleed in some smelly cell from club or gun or tyranny. I bleed as officious clubs of hunger cut my face and eyes as I fight my way from stinking Valley Oak to the Kula ring, and I complain for mutilated sorrow. My blood runs pure on the ice cake hills of the Alaskan tile, on the cob strewn beach of Normandy, the foreign land of Korea, and now Vietnam. He write them before the court of justice, guilty for all the glory of my raza, to be sentenced to despair. Here I stand, poor and money, arrogant and pride, bold with machismo, rich and courage, wealthy in spirit and faith. My knees are caked with mud.
[Music] [Music] My hands callus from the hole I have made. The angle rich, yet equality is but a word. The Treaty of is a legal has been broken and is but another treacherous problem. My lands are lost and stolen, my culture had been raped. I lengthen the line at the welfare door and fill the jails with crime. These then are the rewards that society has for sons of chief and kings and bloody revolutionists who gave foreign people all the skills and ingenuity to pave the way with brains and blood for those hordes of gold stars, strangers who changed our language and plagiarized our deeds. As pizza valor of the road, they frowned upon our way of life and took what they could use. Our art, our literature, our music, they ignored. So they let the real thing is a value and grab the throne. Destruction by the greed and avarice, they overlooked that cleansing function of nature and brotherhood, which is walking.
I must fight and win this struggle for my son, and they must know from me, by him, I have ensured in the rugged mountains of our country. I have survived the toils and slavery of the thieves. I have existed in the battles of the city, in the suburbs of bigotry, in the minds of social snobbery, in the prisons of detection, in the muck of exploitation, in the fierce heat, the racial hatred. And now the trumpet sounds, the music of the people stirs the revolution.
[Music] [Applause] Like a sleeping giant, it slowly rears its head to the sound of tramping feet, clamoring voices, mariachi, strange, fiery tequila explode.
[Music] Vacation. [Music] The Baron Blaine. [Applause] [Music] Whatever I call myself, I look the same. I feel the same. I cry and I sing the same. I am the masses of my people, and I refuse to be absorbed.
The odds are great, but my spirit is strong, my faith unbreakable. Yo, I am a spectrum and Christian Christ. I shall in view. I will end you. You. You.