Category: migration
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Paradise under construction | A note on “Building Socialism” RPB poetry anthology
All poets, good or bad, with or without anti-capitalist politics, weak or strong anti-racist and anti-war practices, believe in and want paradise on earth. Paradise has different names according to the language your heart speaks. Paradise is where the beloved and I pour our souls into each other. Paradise is where I harmonize with the…
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Poetic justice: A world of human rights
We want human rights because… No human being is illegal, No human being is a minority, No human being is undocumented Everyone has a story to tell, a history to be made, a dream to fulfill, a life to live to the fullest, to the deepest end of time Everyone has the right to grow…
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Unrest: the revolution is a migrant girl
Jakelin Caal Maquin I. Unrest Every day I die a little bit in east Oakland Every day A little bit in a prison cell Every day A little more on the border Every day I go farther and father away Dying here and there In the valley in the fields In the warehouse packing vegetables,…
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International human rights day |Día internacional de los derechos humanos
Welcome to international human rights day: Human rights day is the day when you can be fully human, imperfect, immigrant, imbecilic, important, impotent to stop the U.S. disaster, immune to the past, immured with the possibilities of liberation, human liberation, in the new day. When indigenous indios are The People of the Earth The original human…
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Toppenish, rolling hills | story on Yakama lands
In 1948, maybe 1953, certain earlier, my brother Gilberto, when he was a 11 or 12 year old member of our migrant farmworker family that had travelled north and landed in Yakama lands to work in the fields, met White Swan. White Swan was then old, very old, deep in the winter season of his…
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White Swan | poems & story on Yakama lands
I I know this man, White Swan. As a child he would visit me, talk stories, bemoan the losses and the winterless years, and smoke sweet grass in an aged pipe. He would rub down the old horse that lived in the field next door to our migrant camp. The horse loved the handfuls of…
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The Edward Said Song
After the last sky, the birds will fly in the sky of my lungs, against the horizon of my heart, crushing the barbed-wire of my veins, entering into the great migration of my bones, the human revolution, the human revelation, the human rebellion, the last sky, the only sky The Palestinian sky the human sky…
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Azlant: Migrants in the kingdom of the real estate
Knowledge, transformation, affiliation… Migrants don’t travel. Migrants are at home on the road. There is no point of departure and return — return is the dream of all migrants. The seasons –winter, spring, summer, autumn, winter– are our places, our suns, our times and spaces for momentary rest, momentary placement. Displacement, movement, roots as sails,…
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The human story | We are all migrants, really …
The human story that turns against herself: forced migrations. Humanity became humanity when she rose up and started walking, following the rhythms and flows of the natural world. The first migrations were forced by the changes that occurred in the relationship between humans and the natural world. These changes in turn affected and transformed the…
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