domingo, 22 de enero de 2017

Black Majesty



 
Sandra Rodríguez Cotto, Mayra Santos Febres and Hilda Bultrón


Para Mayra Santos Febres e Hilda Bultrón:

 
We are angry and we are black.

We are single handedly, the Angry Black Woman.

The Black Magic Woman.

We’re angry and it is only angry that we can make magic.

And we have to save our strength to get power.

Power has to be claimed. Challenged. Demanded. Taken.
One has to be incendiary enough, sassy and ‘sandunguera’ enough, to assert it.

Show that inner power that eludes most, and is only granted to those who have imprinted in the skin the result of a long, perennial fight, and the test of times.

A single story of collective suffering and survival.

Like all Black Women.



It is us, Black women,  who represent “the powerful forces of change that are determined to prevent the dying cultures of racism, hetero-patriarchy from raising again”, as eloquently said Angela Davis at the Women’s March in Washington this weekend.

And it is true that history cannot be deleted like web pages,

But it seems like at most utter times, we have relinquished our power.

Forgot our struggles we have, and we gave in to whatever they – meaning men – wanted us to do.


We, Negras, Mulatto Women have the curves,the wit and all the edges that make up this nation.

But where are we now?

Are we angry enough?

Is it enough to settle for less?

No. 
We have to get angry, and beyond. 
We have to pursue joy. 
Be proud of our bodies.

Happy with our lives.

Happy in our own skins.

But first, we have to truly unravel in all the little details that insist in framing us, in putting us on boxes.



We have to be the Angry Black Women and more.

Be the stereotype and break it.

Be happy. And full. Plena.



Because it is on shoulders that the nation is built upon.

It is in our wide hips that we carry the boys and girls who will make better and construct and deconstruct this world in the near future.

It is our milk that nourishes that race that is being a Puerto Rican.

For it is with our hands that we caress and build the world.
We are resistance, but we are hope. We are faith.


We carry the weight of the world, of country, of race.

And it is out of the trials and tribulations that we make up humanity.

We give birth to hope and struggle.

‘Cause we are hope, and struggle and resistance.

And we are resilient.

We are women who love and therefore, we cannot let others, let them, let men, define us.

Because we define ourselves.



We don't settle for labels.

Those ridiculous labels that are often a throwback that challenge our values and our core.
We love men.

Love their bodies. Their shinny bodies.

Their power. Their minds. We kiss, we hate, we love and we swallow men, 
But we cannot continue to suffer for them.

We have to walk by their side. Not behind, nor in front.

Walk hand in hand.

Walk with respect and looking at the sun.



We sweat our souls in every caress, every tear, every drop that is relentlessly produced by our work.

Our hands are strength.
We’re nagging beasts, assertive bitches.  

And our frequently emasculation of  insignificant men, scares them all away.

The good and the bad, equally.

Black men don't like us. White men fear us. White women loathe us.

They all hope we just stop being so loud. 
But we are powerful. We simply can't.

Being angry can be both unhealthy enough to keep us from moving forward, but also the force that can push forward.

But being angry doesn't necessarily mean that we hate everything.

Only mediocrity.
We’re mad about the perpetuation of racism and stereotypes.

Angry at our marginalized power and the fact that it has been taken from us,

and we sometimes, allow it.



We, as seductive goddesses with immense hips and each with a colossal booty,

Collied with mere mortars,

Making rhythms as we walk,

We’re cougars and virgins.

We are Black Panthers.

We are the black sheeps of a nation that kneels like the lamb of its national shield.



Even Maya said it.

We are phenomenal woman.

Phenomenally.



With kinky, coiled, curls

Striding steps

Moving hips.

Lips.

Genes.

Sweat.



But we are also hope.

We are powerful.

We are beauty.

We’re teaches, and doctors. Housewives. Writers. Lovers. Mothers. Whores. Nuns. Dejected and rebellious. We are women.

Black Puerto Rican Women.

We are powerful.

We’re all courage, we’re all heart.


We liberate minds and societies
We purge
We don't settle for average,
We dare
We push forward.
We overcome the barriers.
We share selfies on social media to challenge the under-representation and plain racism on mainstream media.


We Black Women have a fellowship, a magic sisterhood.

A warm and welcoming and supporting groups.

We're fierce. We’re wild.
We’re royalty. Somos Majestad Negra, y calabó y bambú.

Rumba.

We’re full. Plena.

We’re bombshells. Bombas.
We’re Isabel la Negra and Lucy Fabery. We’re Ruth Fernández and we are Julia de Burgos.

We are Hildra Bultrón.

And Mayra Santos Febres

And Sandra Rodríguez Cotto.
We are all queens

1 comentario:

Mara Clemente dijo...

Hermana. Ubuntu. Gracias por poner darle alas a mis demonios
las abrazo
absolutamente colosal
gran credo.
Comparto por deber y por honor
abrazos y las espero en nuestra casa

Black Majesty

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