A Salute to Chiapas
   ©1994 by Phil/Felipe Durán

   hay una sangre 
   que pinta la piel canela 
   y ablanda el corazón 
   de raza mestiza olvidadiza
   que traiciona al Indio en su ser
   y oprime al Indio vecino

   hay un río carmesí 
   más antiguo
   que la patria
   que los abandona
   fluyendo en venas puras
   del Chole, el Tzeltal, el Zoque, el Tojolabal, 
   el Chamula, el Tzotzil, el Lacandón, ...

   hay un río colorado 
   que sostiene
   al espíritu del pobre
   y da fuerza 
   al brazo de esclavitud

   hay un Méjico 
   de Emiliano Zapata, de Benito Juárez,
   de Marcos y los Zapatistas,
   de revolucionarios 
   que resisten el menosprecio 
   de sangre indígena

   hay un piso de polvo en las chozas
   donde corren lágrimas y luego sangre
   esperando auxilio que nunca llega
   anhelando la tierra natal

   the red nations of a mestizo state
   are rising up again
   as in many revolutions past
   after 500 years of tortuous existence
   inside the womb
   of a political mother
   who has abandoned them,
   they have no flag
   they yearn to be free
           to cultivate again
                   to live again

   oh, Méjico 
   the most ancient river
   still flows in your mestizo veins,
   giving you your beautiful bronze skin,
   the color of Mother Earth

   your Indio mother's wailing sounds
   are heard around the world
   like la llorona in your folklore 
   looking for her orphaned and hungry children 

   we hear the Chiapaneca sounds
   but there's no more dancing in the streets,
   only fear and war and torture,
   and a longing for
   the justified sounds of revolution
   to finally bring peace with justice
   and a new day of liberation

   but the five-century-old pet of first-world greed
   the hungry beast with new NAFTA fangs
   is still devouring the poor to feed the rich

   and the campesinos know the name of the beast:
   it is DEATH, DESPAIR, and DISPOSSESSION
   only a few cents each day
   to fill the bones with a little flesh
   just enough to live tomorrow
   or wish to die today,
   a few cents they never see,
   because the strong arm of the Indio 
           only buys credit from the PRI,
   while the women are kicked and raped 
   with impunity
   and the poor must work for free

   babies utter the name of the beast with their cries,
   mimicking the gurgling sounds of the river of cholera,
   they drink contaminated water but cannot understand 
   why a mother's love does not end the pain of hunger 

   fun-seeking Americanos
   look for the red lights of a false México
   and bring back stories of conquered women,
   they ignore the festering pockets of third-world reality
   where teenage women lose a sense of right and wrong 
   in business houses of despair 

   the campesinos dig premature graves
   for fifteen thousand who will die this year 
   from curable diseases,
   the way it has been for ten years
   because the doctor never came

   they send outcries northward:
   "tell the Chicanos about our struggle!"
   "tell the Mexicans, workers, peasants, students, honest professionals,

   and progressives from other countries...
   tell them, tell them, tell them... about our struggle"

   but here en El Norte the press is silent,
   the sounds of revolution are hard to hear
   above the singing & dancing of Chicanos 
   trying to keep their own culture alive

   as Chicano power often gets lost
   in the mild American hispanic soup
   and the hand-clapping political rhetoric 
   of indigenous pride with no compassion,
   not like the old days of El Movimiento
   when trucha/caring raza 
   carried the heavy banner 
   of freedom and democracy
   across an unwelcome landscape

   México lindo, México indígena,
   chiapanecas y chiapanecos,
   we salute you from El Norte,
   but where is the flag that truly represents us?
   which flag will not take away our power?
   which flag will not deny our existence?
   which one will heal the Red nations 
           of Turtle Island?
   which flag, México querido, can we trust?
   which flag?    

   March 2, 1994