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| CHICANO/NATIVE AMERICAN PRIDE MI RAZA PRIMERO |
| Yo Soy Chicano Yo Soy Chicano. I am a Chicano, I was not born a Chicano, I chose to be a Chicano, when being a Chicano was not the in thing. I have been told I was born a Spaniard. I have been told I was born one of the indigenous people, a Native American. Some time around the second or third grade I discovered that my world as I knew it was not all Spanish or Spanish American. My best friend Bobby was something called English and my other friend Katherine was Irish, and I knew a little about Irish. I like Irish; they wore green and sang neat song on Saint Patrick’s Day. I wondered if I might be this Irish thing. I was told however I was Spanish, but I did not feel Spanish. Incidentally I stayed Spanish or Spanish American until I met Sandy in the 6th grade and knew I was not Spanish, so I dropped Spanish and became an American. Sandy shared her glasses with me and said she was Mexican, I felt guilty saying I was Mexican because all my gente said they were Spanish. From the day I dropped being Spanish and accepted being an American I stayed an American until the position I was hired for was give to two Anglos fresh out of high school from Montana. I was at this time a Vietnam Vet with my first year of college behind me. I questioned why, and in a discreet way was informed it was difficult for Mexicans to learn the tasks the job required and would have to take instead an entry-level position. I was no longer an American, I was now a minority, and I was different. Deep down under I felt American but my personnel records listed me as a Mexican. Less then a year later I sat in on what was called a fisherman’s meeting at a place called The Crusade for Justice. The voice of the speaker a man named Rudolpho “Corky” Gonzalez and he pointed to a picture of a three-face person. The profile on one side was that of an Indian, the profile of the other side was that of a Spaniard and the face looking forward was that of a Mestizo, that was me. The Mestizo, El Chicano and that was me. I was not born into it, it was not given me it by societies definitions, I chose to be a Chicano. I must stop here for a moment and tell the world that first and foremost I am a Christian. I was adopted into the Royal Family, chosen by the Father and purchased with the life of his Son on the cross. This is what makes me not only a Chicano but also a better Chicano. You will see what I mean as I will explain later. It is difficult to describe what it is like being a Chicano. We were the front-runners in the movement, el movimiento. Walking down the streets of Denver on September 16th, 1969 you cannot imagine the pride running through my veins. Dressed in my chaleco, blue jeans, and my sombrero and across my chest were bandoleras. In my hand I carried a lever action 30-30, ya basta, the revolucion had arrive. The spirit of Emilano Zapata floated above our heads and shouts of Viva La Raza and Chicano Power, Viva Mexico and Viva Atzlan echoed down the streets of Denver, Colorado. The American dream, a three-bedroom house in the burbs, a white picket fence, and two kids. A combination in the likes of the Cleavers on Leave it to Beaver, or may the Stone family on the Donna Reed Show was now faded by the reality I was a brown man in a white world. My service to the country meant nothing. My Associates in Electronics was nothing more then another piece of paper to stick in a binder and be forgotten. The only reality that mattered was to crawl on my knees and look up to my Anglo patron and laugh at his jokes about lazy Mexicans. Play my good Mexican role and eventually become the token Mexican in a White world, a concept that stuck in my throat, and a concept that stopped my breathing. My Native American heritage called out to me but my so-called Spanish root shamed me with the crimes the Spaniards had heaped up my Indian people. I would then recoil at the sight of pictures of the Indian people’s savage attack on the poor defenseless Spaniards trying to civilize my people. I was no one, a ghost of the person; I was neither Spanish, Native American nor just a plain American. However sometime in the spring or summer of 1968 my identity was restored and the brown skin young man of 23 could identify with his true heritage, the mestizo. The proud Indian, the remorseful Spaniard, the educated American, the Mexican American, no, the Chicano. I could walk and hold my head high on the job sight where I took on the corporate powers for equality for La Raza. In the community where the politico had taken our vote for granted, asking for it but never giving anything in return. The educational system that taught us the three R’s but omitted the contributions my people had made to make this country great. Becoming a Chicano meant a massive transition for myself. My focus became the concerns of my people, the Mexican American and in particular the children of my people. I purged myself of the chains that had kept La Raza bound. The political party that took the vote of my people and gave them crumbs in payment addicted them to welfare and kept them sedated with food stamps and a monthly check. Later the same party, the Democrats would take my people to court as the attempted to stop the party I choose to support, La Raza Unida under the leadership of Jose Angel Gutierrez in Texas and Corky Gonzales in Colorado. The declaration of the day by Gonzales, “the two party system is the one animal with two heads eating out of the same trough”. I would later run as a candidate for the La Raza Unida for a Colorado State Office, needless to say I did not get elected. I purged my self of the religion I was raised in by my parents. The religion that would refuse to abide by their doctrine in the concern for my child because I would not sanction my marriage in their church, a marriage that has now lasted 50 years. In the thinking of their doctrine my dying baby would wonder for all eternity in the unknown, rather then to be in his rightful place, that being in the arms of Christ Jesus. I would never again participate in their rituals again; they were not the church of my Chicano identity. This however did not equate to walking away from my belief in the Almighty, I just knew I did not have to find Him in an Organize Religion. Click To Continue To Next Page |
| Once again I must impose this disclaimer. If you are offended by Chicano (Mexican American) humor then I advise you do not click on Don Speedy Gonzales above. If you desire to laugh with me (not at me) then join me by clicking on Speedy. |
| Click on the link below to read a history of El Movimiento |