May 2020
I write to the only people who can commit genocide and get away with not writing it in their own history books.
To the "winners".
To you, Anglo that support military intervention that destabilize entire countries just so you can keep a cheap labor force to come clean your **** every two weeks or whenever Ms. Smith thinks is adequate.
To you that split my continent in two.
To you that still assassinate our leaders.
To you that incite violence in foreign lands.
To you that have been breaking in and looting our homes for centuries and then complain when we move in next door.
To you that blindly follow uncle Sam.
To you that rise walls instead of bridges
To you who close your doors to the land of our cousins Navajo.
To you, who sit in every corner to stuff your faces with food made by the hands you hate.
To you, who sit in the sun for hours to have our skin color, but without the prejudice.
To you, who still gets offended because we're not separated anymore.
To you, who still seek to divide us.
This is for the cowboys that tip their hats to tell you good morning and when twilight falls they put their hoods on and kneel on a black brother's neck.
And that's another thing.
You turned your back on half of your people.
People who have been forgotten for decades living in projects.
People who are rotting in jail for committing a crime that could've gone unpunished if only they didn't have so much pigmentation in their skin.
Did you forget already that it was them who looked after your home?
Did you forget that it was them who sowed your cotton fields?
Or that they built all your monuments?
Did you forget that they fought beside you to stop a genocide in Europe all while still silently crying theirs?
Did you forget that it was them who raised your ancestors? And if it wasn't for the lumberjack they would've raised you too.
But I do not speak to all anglos.
There's some I want to thank.
Those who have helped me more than my own brothers.
Those who welcomed me with open arms
Those who without letting out a laughter, tried to decipher what I was trying to tell them.
Those who wants us here because they get it.
Those who use their privilege so injustices reach the ears of the ignoramus who sits on the left wing of the house that was once the home of the lumberjack.
Those are the real sons of Washington.
You are just a bunch of sons of *******.
To the "winners".
To you, Anglo that support military intervention that destabilize entire countries just so you can keep a cheap labor force to come clean your **** every two weeks or whenever Ms. Smith thinks is adequate.
To you that split my continent in two.
To you that still assassinate our leaders.
To you that incite violence in foreign lands.
To you that have been breaking in and looting our homes for centuries and then complain when we move in next door.
To you that blindly follow uncle Sam.
To you that rise walls instead of bridges
To you who close your doors to the land of our cousins Navajo.
To you, who sit in every corner to stuff your faces with food made by the hands you hate.
To you, who sit in the sun for hours to have our skin color, but without the prejudice.
To you, who still gets offended because we're not separated anymore.
To you, who still seek to divide us.
This is for the cowboys that tip their hats to tell you good morning and when twilight falls they put their hoods on and kneel on a black brother's neck.
And that's another thing.
You turned your back on half of your people.
People who have been forgotten for decades living in projects.
People who are rotting in jail for committing a crime that could've gone unpunished if only they didn't have so much pigmentation in their skin.
Did you forget already that it was them who looked after your home?
Did you forget that it was them who sowed your cotton fields?
Or that they built all your monuments?
Did you forget that they fought beside you to stop a genocide in Europe all while still silently crying theirs?
Did you forget that it was them who raised your ancestors? And if it wasn't for the lumberjack they would've raised you too.
But I do not speak to all anglos.
There's some I want to thank.
Those who have helped me more than my own brothers.
Those who welcomed me with open arms
Those who without letting out a laughter, tried to decipher what I was trying to tell them.
Those who wants us here because they get it.
Those who use their privilege so injustices reach the ears of the ignoramus who sits on the left wing of the house that was once the home of the lumberjack.
Those are the real sons of Washington.
You are just a bunch of sons of *******.
