Now don’t get all flustered about my use of the word “Indians.” I got it on very strong, heard it from a white guy who heard it from a white guy who heard it from a white guy who wrote it in a book before the age of fact-checking hearsay that what Columbus really meant was “una gente in Dios,” or the people in God and that “in Dios” eventually became “Indians.” So that it is actually a really beautiful name for a people. Oh wait, I just googled that urban legend and it turns out to be bullshit. So much for beauty. Surrounded by white colonialists and historical revisionists, we pressed on.
And so here is where we got. All that talk of Dios pushed us from coast to coast, leaving fields of bloody self-entitlement in our wake and a deep lineage of coverups and self-denying bypass that leave everyone at least a little fucked up in the head and more than a few of us shit out of luck when it comes to knowing where we come from.
Myself, I was born in a stolen land, by the side of a beautiful river where it becomes one with another river and they carry on like they were never two. Well, I would say it is beautiful, inspiring a way forward even, and that it gives me a sense of belonging to somewhere, but we already established that beauty only comes from lies and that belonging is not something we are entitled to since our forefathers took it from everyone else. Surrounded by rapists, we pressed on.
So this is what we get. A mess of a situation filled with resentment and pain. I got more than enough good intention to convince myself I am one of the good guys, but when you pull the curtains of social order aside I am just another low ranking white devil, trying to make my way through this hell realm we call capitalism and only having a decent life because of the privilege my skin, my balls, and my location give me. It certainly isn’t of my own doing that anything good is coming of it.
But it could be. Surrounded by honesty, maturity, and possibility, we press the fuck on.