1. It is a deep thing that people still celebrate the survival of the early colonists at Plymouth—by giving thanks to the Christian God who supposedly protected and championed the European invasion. The real meaning of all that, then and now, needs to be continually excavated. The myths and lies that surround the past are constantly draped over the horrors and tortures of our present.

    Every schoolchild in the U.S. has been taught that the Pilgrims of the Plymouth Colony invited the local Indians to a major harvest feast after surviving their first bitter year in New England. But the real history of Thanksgiving is a story of the murder of indigenous people and the theft of their land by European colonialists—and of the ruthless ways of capitalism.


  2. "Somos esclavos de esclavos, nuestro amo tiene amo; a mí me duele más esta esclavitud."

    Alí Primera - Esclavos de esclavos - Canción para los valientes - 1976 - Venezuela

    "We are slaves of slaves, our master has a master; this kind of slavery hurts worse."



    "But this sun is done for, it’s burning out
    The gringo oppressor is trembling now
    The poor people of the world are marching
    Let’s sing, brothers and sisters, to the new sun”

    Here’s a cool song from the Chicano movement in the United States, basically calling for a third world revolution against U.S. imperialism to give birth to the “new sun,” representing a new era for humanity rising from the ashes of colonialism and oppression.

    Los Peludos recount the history of Mexico’s and Latin America’s victimization at the hands of Spain and the U.S. and insist that, for Chicanos, liberation will be the result of “searching inside yourselves for the Indian of yesterday,” whose “nobleness and humanity will give you the forces of liberty.” The song uses a framework based on mestizaje—the process by which a ‘new people’ was created through the violent intermixing of Spanish and indigenous peoples—that has somewhat fallen out of favor in Chicano circles (criticism focuses on how centering mestizaje ignores that indigenous people still exist), but let’s appreciate the song for what it is and its overall revolutionary character.


    Ésta es la era del sol, del quinto sol

    Trajo gachupines con todo y frailes
    Trajo a Jesucristo y a Richard Nixon
    Trajo la viruela y hasta la sífilis
    Y ahora en vez de náhuatl, hablo español

    También trajo un vato, llamado Cortez
    que con La Malinche, metieron las tres
    Y de la conquista, y la destrucción
    nacieron mestizos, hijos del sol

    Pero este sol ya se acabó, se está apagando
    El gringo opresor ya está temblando
    Todo el mundo pobre ya va marchando
    Cantemos hermanos, al nuevo sol

    Por trescientos años colonizaron
    y al indio noble aniquilaron
    y la independencia, nos dió las tierras
    pero los controles venían de afuera.
    Sudamericano, tú lo sabes bien,
    Tú sufres las hambres y otros comen bien.
    Muera el monopolio y su religión,
    mueran las alianzas con el opresor.

    Pero este sol……

    President Monroe te lo prometía
    que las tierras libres, el respetaría
    Y así prometiendo no colonizar
    Tomó Puerto Rico, Hawaii y Aztlán

    Hermano Chicano, no hay que decaer
    Busca en tus entrañas al indio de ayer
    Sólo su nobleza y su humanidad
    te darán las fuerzas de la libertad

    Pero este sol….


  4. "Hoy, en pleno siglo veinte, nos siguen llegando rubios y les abrimos la casa y les llamamos amigos. Pero si llega cansado un indio de andar la sierra, lo humillamos y lo vemos como extraño por su tierra."

    Gabino Palomares, Maldición de Malinche

    "Today, in the 20th century, blondes continue to come to our shores, and we open our homes and call them our friends. But if an Indian shows up, exhausted from walking in the mountains, we humiliate him and see him as a stranger in his own land."


  5. Let’s examine today’s sequence of events

    1. bad-dominicana calls all white women “bratty bitches” regardless of ethnic background.
    2. scrumbybumble sends her a message like "uh, wtf, that’s a fucked up generalization." bad-dominicana accuses scrumbybumble of being a “cunty racist white girl with privilege.”
    3. scrumbybumble is called “ableist” for suggesting that anti-racism IRL is more valuable than anti-racism on the internet.
    4. I (selucha) send bad-dominicana a message saying that scrumbybumble (who I know personally) is legit and hella anti-racist, and I say that bad-dominicana shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions.
    5. I’m called a "colonial-minded dumbfuck" and then later, a "white supremacist."


  6. Otra rola para mis chican@s, uploaded yesterday. This is El Quinto Sol by chicano band Los Peludos from 1984. This song is hella militant and also a lot of fun to listen to, definitely worth checking out.

    "Pero este sol ya se acabó, se está apagando. El gringo opresor ya está temblando. Todo el mundo pobre ya va marchando. Cantemos, hermanos, al nuevo sol!"



    "Te vistes de benevolencia pero no eres de dar, eres de acaparar."

    Sorry I haven’t given you guys any new stuff lately! I thought I’d come back with a bang and share this amazing song by Puerto Rican reggae band Cultura Profética (Prophetic Culture), called No Me Interesa (It Doesn’t Interest Me). The lyrics are an explicit rejection of North American colonialism and the destruction of Puerto Rican culture. Lead singer Willy Rodriguez denounces the luxury cars, big-screen TVs, and processed foods in juxtaposition to a different model of development based on respect and dignity. Below are the lyrics with the English translation afterward. Tumblr recently changed something and if I try to paste the lyrics directly it spaces them far too much, and I don’t want to take over your dash if I can avoid it.


  8. "Pero este sol ya se acabó, se esta apagando. El gringo opresor ya está temblando. Todo el mundo pobre ya va marchando. Cantemos hermanos, al nuevo sol."

    Los Peludos, El Quinto Sol (1984)

    "But this sun is ending, it is burning out. The gringo oppressor is already trembling. The whole poor world is on the march. Let’s sing, brothers, to the new sun."

    Chicano band Los Peludos compare the destruction of racist white colonialism with the birth of the 5th Sun of Aztec prophecy. I propose that this song become the new anthem for Maoist-Third-Worldists everywhere. Me not being among them. I’ll post it for y’all soon.


    Maldición de Malinche, enfermedad del presente
    Cuando dejarás mi tierra? Cuando harás libre a mi gente?

    I’ve posted this before, but I don’t give a fuck, this is the BEST SONG EVER.

    Translated as The Curse of Malinche, the song talks about the history of colonization in the Americas and the subjugation of its native people. La Malinche is the nickname for an indigenous woman that collaborated with the Spaniards and helped them to conquer the Aztecs, earning a notorious historical reputation as a traitor to her people. The curse of Malinche, then, is the legacy of oppression that resulted from her betrayal.

    Mexican trovadores Gabino Palomares and Amparo Ochoa, who both have their own renditions of this song on separate albums, perform it together here at the Abril en Managua Central American peace concert in 1983.

    Click here for the lyrics/translation (opens in new tab).


  10. "Yo no le digo Tío, Don Samuel, porque hermano de mi Patria usted no es. Y cuando en la mesa del pueblo falta el pan, recuerdo que en la historia claro está que usted lleva gorilas al poder."

    -Ali Primera, Don Samuel. From Primera’s 1981 album, Al Pueblo lo que es de Cesar.

    "I won’t call you Uncle, Mr. Sam, because a brother to my homeland you are not. And when the people’s table lacks bread, I remember that throughout history it is clear that you’ve brought monsters to power."


  11. "Carrying revolvers, grenades, hundreds of false identity cards or bombs, the unveiled Algerian woman moves like a fish in western waters. The soldiers, the French patrols, smile to her as she passes, compliments on her looks are heard here and there, but no one suspects that her suitcases contain the automatic pistol which will presently mow down four or five members of one of the patrols."

    Frantz Fanon, Algeria Unveiled

    Picture is from the movie The Battle of Algiers.



    "Allí crece el dolor de los que esperan y se desangra un río de lamentos
    Es una pobre isla encarcelada, van y vienen los días cenicientos.”

    Today I’m continuing my Illapu obsession from a few days ago, and we’re going to listen to a lovely song off the band’s 1984 album from exile, De Libertad y Amor (Of Freedom and Love).

    As you might have noticed from the title, this song is about Puerto Rico, the small besieged island dominated by U.S. imperialism. My boricua brothers and sisters, I haven’t forgotten about you! The name of the song, if you don’t speak Spanish, is a play on words; Puerto Rico means “Rich Port” and Puerto Pobre would mean “Poor Port,” contrasting the reality of its colonial status with a name that implies something else. Illapu here refers to Puerto Rico as an “imprisoned island surrounded by suffering,” something which strikes a chord as students at the University of Puerto Rico continue to fight back against severe austerity measures and police repression.

    This is one of the better Ilapu albums, featuring some really awesome tracks like Pampa Lirima and another favorite of mine, No Pronuncies Mi Nombre. Illapu started as a very straightforward Andean music ensemble but by the 90s transitioned into a group with more complexity and a very unique sound. This album seems to bridge that divide very well, demonstrating their roots but also showing signs of what was to come.


    Es tarde en esta edad para un principio
    Y sin embargo este es mi sentimiento
    Aquí una vez, como otras veces salgo
    A cantar o a morir aquí comienzo.
    Y no hay fuerzas que puedan silenciarme
    Salvo la triste magnitud del tiempo
    Hizo aliada la muerte con su arado
    Para la agricultura de los huesos

    Puerto Rico, Puerto Pobre

    Tengo elegido un tema caluroso
    Con sangre, con palmeras, con silencio
    Se trata de una isla rodeada
    Por muchas aguas e infinitos muertos
    Allí crece el dolor de los que esperan
    Y se desangra un río de lamentos
    Es una pobre isla encarcelada
    Van y vienen los días cenicientos

    Puerto Rico, Puerto Pobre

    Vuela la luz y vuelve a las palmeras
    La noche viaja en su navío negro
    Y allí sigue allí está la encarcelada
    Isla rodeada por el sufrimiento


    It is late in this age to have a principle
    and yet this is how I feel
    Here once, like other times I go
    to sing or to die, here I begin.
    And there are no forces which can silence me
    Except the sad stretch of time
    time which brought together death with its plow
    for the cultivation of bones.

    Puerto Rico, poor Puerto Rico…

    I have chosen a heated topic
    with blood, with palm trees, with silence
    It deals with an island surrounded
    by a lot of water and infinite deaths
    There grows the pain of those who hope
    and a river of sadness bleeds
    It is a poor, imprisoned island
    the days come and go like ash.

    Puerto Rico, poor Puerto Rico…

    The light flies and returns to the palm trees
    The night travels in its black ship
    And there, there remains the imprisoned one,
    the island surrounded by suffering.


  13. Sometimes I just want to…