The march comes straight toward us
down 4th Avenue - a living creature
of many bodies - a beast of inspiring,
thrilling energy - a monster the host
longs to embrace - a movement whose
purpose he endorses - pro-affirmative
action, pro-immigrant, pro-laborer.
They are about to unlock the devil
that hides within his darkest heart.
Waving signs of Governor Wilson's
long, long nose - "Read Between The
Lies" - demanding justice for all
peoples, all colors, all languages.
But that is not the devil.
They come forward, brown, black,
white, a crowd truly mestizo,
mixed colors, men and women,
young, old, middle-aged, they
come forward into the free speech
camp, into the site surrounded by
fences, into the protest zone across
the tracks from Republican Convention.
But the crowd is not the devil.
The traffic cops, and mediators,
have shepherded the march so well
that the 600 come in perfectly
on cue for the green light.
I'M REALLY PROUD OF THIS TURNOUT TODAY....
Some of the leaders marched 800 miles
from state capital, a living, walking
demonstration of their struggle for
farmworkers' rights, for the rights of
their people, for the rights of all
people everywhere, a living testimony
that the American revolution must not
stop, cannot stop, until the evils of
racism, class hatred, exploitation and
immigrant bashing will have vanished.
How long, oh Lord, until freedom
comes to all women and men?
In response to my prayer, grandfather
spirit will expose a demon eating
at my own heart, my own family....
A very bourgeois devil, who listens
to the words of liberation, and snarls....
WE CLOSE THIS 800 MILE JOURNEY FROM
SACRAMENTO TO THE SAN DIEGO REPUBLICAN
CONVENTION.... EVERYTHING WE HAVE HAS
BEEN A STRUGGLE - THIS MARCH IS A
TESTAMENT TO OUR STRUGGLE - AGAINST
GENOCIDE, SLAVERY, AND DISCRIMINATION....
His voice is tired. He has given many
speeches on the road from Sacramento.
He speaks. Danial listens. But host
is the wrong person to write these things.
Danial hears the words, but knows nothing
until his personal devil lifts his head....
Fucking bleeding heart liberal who
the hell I think I am anyhow?
Just another self-indulgent white mongrel
scribbling pages' ego-driven doggerel.
Shee-it! Pinche cabron gabacho!
It does not matter that I speak Spanish.
No vale nada que me encanta Mexico. It
is not even nothing that I did not buy
grapes. Why? Because white male raised
in middle class home can never understand
or know what this struggle really was & is.
I listen; and remember my father
telling me get education, work hard,
or end up digging ditches and picking
lettuce for my cousins' salads.
In my ignorant shame I confess
how this people was used as a
personal boogeyman to make me
behave like good white boy should.
Ya basta de mentiras, exploitacion y opresion!
Viva la revolucion! Viva el pueblo unido!
How pitiful I sound when you
know who I really am.
Bienvenidos Senor Diablo....
Let the sergeant know you are taking a break. Walk out the gates of Concentration Camp Free Speech. Hike past the scattered crowds on the corner outside looking in at a people celebrating their struggle. Hike past the restaurants with elephant-welcoming banners and happy hour flyers. Hike all the way up to Broadway, seven blocks north.
Calm down. Buy a soda. Guzzle it down. Come back toward the zone. Stop at a cheap deli to buy a sandwich and chips. Just outside the door, paper bag under your arm, you spot three ladies at a sidewalk cafe. They look like delegates. You ask them if they are, and will they let you take their picture.
"Yes, we're delegates... from Florida."
Next week someone will tell you that white hats meant they are Buchanan supporters.
When you return to the zone, you will have missed the one fight of the day.
Buchananoids came into the zone while you were gone. Taunting. Heckling. Until one of them spat on the people who heckled them back. Police action. Buchananoid arrested for assault.
"Damn," you will say to the cop who tells you what happened, "I go out for a coke and a sandwich and all hell breaks loose back here!"
But it will happen once more tomorrow - you will miss another piece of hell in the zone. Your devil will curse you once again. Wolf down your sandwich. God, but you were hungry!
For now, the red light is on. One large rally is ended, and as the crowd moves out, you realize, again to your shame, that you did not take a single picture. What did you get instead? Three white ladies from Florida.
Damn. Where is your mind at, boy?!
Our fate, dear Cassius, is not written in the stars, but in ourselves. Read that and weep, Danial.
Don't cry too long. Another big rally is coming in. LGBT Voices '96. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender. This time, you swear to go beyond personal angst, to remember to take a photograph, or two.