America... It's very hard for me to swallow a pride for a stolen land that is built on the blood of millions of innocent human beings. The rivers of America flow with the blood of massacred people of all races and creeds. My hatred for whites and blacks creeps up on me since my struggle for survival in L.A. (818 Valle) has led me to circumstances in some instances involving life or death. I myslelf will admit with no shame that I have been struggling to overcome my racist thoughts and feelings for many years now. I am progressing but is one of the bloodieststruggles of my life. I am a chicano and that is not all I am but it is one of the major elements that describes my existence in this country.

I remember when I was a child during the first ten years of my life about 1979 I was at a park in my barrio-ghetto and it was the middle of the summer. Right about sundown the soldiers of my hood about thirty-five of them gathered like always to do pull ups, push ups, slap box and hit the park punching bag. The tall muscular creased khaki soldier-like images of these guys and girls were my idol and the chemical smell of PCP lingered in the air. The bronze tattooed skin of these people looked so threatening to me but since they were my family by blood and barrio, I was accepted.

The funk and soul music made a mood of a native-like warparty who were waiting to go and kill. How deceived I was by their inspirations to be like them but it was all that we knew and all that this fascist eurocentric system and society had given us. These soldiers were my examples and they taught me to be a racist and how to survive on days like this. My mother told me to stay away but it was my school, home, friends, etc... Since my father was struggling with the chained sickness of the Vietnam ar, it was hard for him to discipline me. My environment taught me to kill and survive at any cost... no matter what.

On this summer I was to change in a direction that would impact me the rest of my life. On this same night homeboys from another hood-barrio were killed hours before and the CRASH officers thinking that we had done it, raided us. Being that I was only seven years or eight it was even more intense and scary to me only being a child. Sirens on lights flashing in blue and red. Screeching tires. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" Bodies running. Chain fences shaking. Cars stop. Shotguns being cocked and drawn. "Get the fuck on the wall you wetbacks. Hurry now you fucking beaners. Hands up motherfuckers or I'll kill your fucking asses Up Up"
Not too many cooperated and "Fuck you white motherfucking pigs" was yelled back. Billy clubs and the brutality was on! Brown fist to white face. Black Billy club to khaki pants and shaved heads. Blood on the concrete. Six or seven or even eight on two or three, some stopped and blood was shed on both sides. I was so scared shivering that I could only think of my mom.

Eight of us got caught mostly all under the ages of 20. All in line and our knees leglocked. Sounds of walkie talkies and stomping boots filled the air. "You fucking bastards don't learn, do you? Seperate these mexican bitches from these fuckers now!" A couple of girls were with us and they were treated no different than the guys were. Five boys left. The longest 30 minutes or so of my life was about to begin. The first cop. "Who killed sos and so?" he asked. "I don't know a fucking thing and if I did I wouldn't tell you white motherfucker." The police officer put his hand on the head of this kid and kicked him in the back. I remember flinching at the sound of his yell. I looked towards the officer and my homeboy was being beaten when a female cop kicked my ribs so hard I started crying. "Don't look you fucking punk. I said don't look you fucking wetback."

On down the line they went. I was the second to the last "What's your name fucker?" he said with his thick blondish red mustache. The lights of a helicopter made the scenery a bluish daylight and more scary and intense. "This little pussy motherfucker is crying." the officer said. "Don't cry." said Tony "These white motherfuckers like that." he added. "You motherfucker shut up." "Fuck you hnkie." "Kick that wetback's ass." And they did. Blow for blow. STOP! Almost all of us said. One of the girls was so fucked up on PCP that she got up and started fighting with the cops that were beating Tony. The cops laid them both face down on the ground. Boot to the back of the head. Flesh of face to glass and concrete. You could hear their muffled voices cursing the officers. Back to me they went. My knees hurt so much. Kneeling for about 15 minutes in rigid concrete and glass. My knees started to bleed through my beige khakis.

"See what you wetbacks started" he yelled. "Now who are you motherfucker? What's your name asshole? What do they call you? Answer me." they screamed in my face. I started to cry so much that I think they actually started to feel sorry for me. "What the fuck are you crying for punk?" Looking at everyone else the cop said "Look at your homie here, he's crying like a little bitch!" Then and there I stopped crying. One of my homegirls said "he's just a fucking kid, man." "Don't be such a fucking puto, you white motherfucker." "How old are you fucker?" he said. I replied stiffer and colder my age. Lifting me off my knees he put his head next to my ear and whispered "Tell me who killed so and so. Tell me or I'm gonna beat you fucking Mexican ass fucker." "I don't know" I said. He replied by saying "feel this stick in your ribs you little fucker? I have beaten plenty of wetback ass and I'll do it again. Tell me. Tell me." I grew colder and the tears started to run bitter hatred. He frisked me and his hand patted all over my baggy white -t-shirt and khaki baige pants. Looking at my black and white Converse shoes he sneered "All you dirty fuckers look the same to me. If I'll catch yor fucking wetback ass [...] you up fucker! Hear me? Hear me?" "Yes" I said.

Turning my body towards the street he pushed me jerking my head back. I looked bakc and he said "What the fuck are you looking at fucker?" Then his final shove sent me flying palms first to the ground. On my way back from that fall I was never to be the same. A thousand thoughts of murder were going through my head and on my way home I started to cry so bad. Pulling the pieces of glass out of my hands I could only think of what I was going to tell my mom. I have been through similar things in my life but that one time stays in my memory because it was my first time being caught in a CRASH raid.

This was my America. School was just as bad. Being bussed to white schools under some kind of integration program was just as bad. Being called a dirty wetback by teachers can make you resent school and it's whole system. Fighting with white and black kids in the fourth grade everyday can make you distracted from school's true purpose.

This is my America. Heroin addict, vietnam veterans, fucked schools, welfare system, gang violence, police brutality, drugs, hate this was my America. Will the spectrum of diversity here in America be our downfall? Chicano, back, white, asian, homosexual, heterosexual, rich, poor, christian, mulsim, aryan nation, 5% nation, native american, democrat, republican, etc... How long will these racial, economic and philosophically different beings be able to live with each other before we destroy each other?

And our history is just as dark with assisinations of leaders who tried to change things for the better. It's such a hurt in my heart to think that we have not learned after all this murder. I don't know where you are, but it's getting worse where I'm at. Is this what I should be proud of - a life of blood and chemically tanned agent orange [...] who thought he was fighting for freedom for the same America that discriminated against him and his children. We have two choices: to live with each other with respect in community, or to kill each other in cohabitation. It's up to us. Completely up to us... The flag is drenched with hyocracy, blood, lies, hate, fear, etc... and not one patriotic blind man can deny it. It's true and no-one can deny it.

America the hateful. And one day it will answer to Jah for it. America the hateful. Awake or fall. Love or hate. Red, white and blue.

Rey downset. 1994

Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: "Too late"... We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation. This may well be mankind's last chance to choose between chaos and community.

Marten Luther King, Jr.

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