Amix, I’m Sorry

The latinx collective R.I.C.O. R.O.B.O. narrates a story based on WhatsApp messeges to reflect on the concept of Latin and the politics of resistance through memory.

Amix,^[1] I’m sorry. We live in the 21st century. There is no other kind of life but this one, but this is a lie. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know who I am. But let’s start.

They ask me if I am Latina.

I look like her friend Jenny. I don’t know her either.

And then I bite into the chili.

Grandma, it’s your grandson, and I’m here!
So says the song. But I say:
Grandpa, it’s your granddaughter. And I’m here!

But my grandmother has already died. My grandfather is still online.

We write to each other through whats. WhatsApp. The wassap. That’s a word that Google tells me is an unrecognized word. Google, you who know everything: how come you don’t recognize me? WHAT, I mean WHAT? Que lo que, qué coño, qué carajo, qué vaina, qué mierda [What the fuck!]

they opened our mouths and we are left with this voice.

My grandfather went north again. He was very thirsty. He had nine children. He saw two of them die. He almost killed another one, he had too much to drink. He went to the barbeque. That time he came back saying fuck you bitch motherfucker.

He came back and my mom went north, and took my grandma too. But she asked us for two things: to take her away from him and to return her to the—sometimes—serene air between the valleys where her brown complexion came from.

And so, it was.

One day she sends me this:

THOSE who leave
THOSE who return
THOSE who become Latin
THOSE who are born Latin
THOSE who want to give up being Latin
THOSE who regret never having left
THOSE regret having left
THOSE who deny but still want
THOSE who by luck or intervention of the divine child go away
THOSE who live in fantastic bubbles where neither economic misery nor corruption touches them
THOSE who work hard to help their families get ahead
THOSE who escaped from their homes for fear of their families
THOSE who found a family in his friends
THOSE who support
THOSE who fuck up (in the sense of “you spend your time fucking up everyone’s life with your shitty attitude”)
THOSE who benefit from corruption
THOSE who talk about community, social justice, hihi haha
THOSE who talk for the sake of talking
THOSE who keep quiet
THERE is the tension
THOSE who survived to tell the tale
THOSE who dream of having a roof over his head
THOSE who speculate with those roofs
THOSE who have nowhere to fall to their deaths
THOSE who believe that poverty is an esthetics
THOSE who has saved for months to buy a pair of jordans and
ITS okay
THOSE who have seen a family member die for lack of medical supplies
THOSE who learn to speak with a neutral accent to go unnoticed
THOSE who learn to disappear
THOSE who were forced to disappear
THOSE who have seen their life savings turn into water between devaluations and 00000000000 subtracted from bills that are worth more for their paper than for their transactional value.
THOSE who think they are better or more aunténtique latins
THOSE who become xenophobic during the world cup
THOSE who are xenophobic 365 days a year—seriously darling
THOSE who deny reggaeton and God… they call themselves agnostics
THOSE who never miss a reggaeton concert
THOSE who do not know how to dance salsa
THOSE who became a Christian and left the bad way but now is homophobic and sexist
THOSE who carry their own religion without fucking anyone up
THOSE who feel universal, who go beyond the limits of Latinity
THOSE who hate the simple idea of Latinity
THOSE who feel excluded by Latinity
THOSE who are aware of whitewashing
THOSE who say that we are all equal
THOSE who value capital more than the social good
THOSE who read Marx and believe he is Fidel
THOSE who believe that the system in Cuba is cool
THOSE who have been to Cuba and do not believe that the system is cool.
THOSE who do not criticize the left for fear of being labeled a fache.
THOSE who criticize the left and are fascist.
THOSE who want to be calm
THOSE who have to help their families
THOSE who took a Forex course and believe that we can all be happy under capitalism
THOSE who support certain rights but with some rights turn to the very far right, to the point that they are validly labeled a fanatic
THOSE who have been lied to
THOSE who believe in social struggles
THOSE who fight for what they believe in
THOSE who take advantage of those who fight for what they believe in
THOSE who can no longer believe in anyone because “everyone steals”.
THOSE who prefer that things do not change so that the dollars will pay off for them
THOSE who dream of dollars (I’m not going to lie to you, sometimes it’s me)
THOSE who design campaigns
THOSE who lie
THOSE who discriminate
THOSE who are discriminated against
THOSE who do not know how to educate the one who discriminates
THOSE who take the risk of teaching
THOSE who teach to hate
THOSE who teach to love
THOSE teach to forgive
THOSE who teach to bear grudges
THOSE who learn
THOSE who indoctrinate
THOSE who unlearn
THOSE who have become accustomed
THOSE who walk full of hope
THOSE who have no choice

SHARE WITH AN AMIX TO BUILD A NEW WORLD TOGETHER,

OTHERWISE, THERE IS NO FUTURE. SHARE BECAUSE LIFE IS A CARNIVAL.

***

Look, look, look how things are, said Willie

Colón. I love Celia Cruz the most. I designated her

as my honorary abuelita.

She’s the same, though she does not look like my grandmother at all.

She died first, we took her to our town.

But Celia remained. How she sang, how she

moved, how she smiled with her soul. I guess that’s why

we are the way we are, if you believe in heaven and

hell, you want borders.

My grandfather calls me from time to time. I remember the summers at his house when all you could hear was La Chona. It was everywhere. I still didn’t like chili. I still have no idea who La Chona is.

Sometimes La Chona is me.

***

The miners didn’t die, so let’s get back to work!

They take our oil, they urinate in our rivers, they manipulate our economies.

We abandon our homes for a better future. Like in the movies, the world is better over there.

We stop talking to our childhood friends and we see them in WhatsApp groups. We leave them.

We fight against oblivion, sharing files with our relatives, friends, players, and lovers.

Amix, I’m sorry. I don’t have credit left on my phone so I couldn’t answer you.

I no longer want to be in the house anymore, but yesterday there was a self-coup and everything looks the same.

Today the government sprays ammunition from helicopters. They are killing us and I want to leave.

Do you think I can stay with you in Miami?

But strangely, and I feel strange. How do I explain to you five presidents in three years? They are bobolutionaries.

I remember.

I forget.

It’s over, I’m not interested, but I remember self-coups, tear gas bombs and blackouts.

I wake up; everything is very expensive, isn’t it, Antonio?

I just wanted to find a cheap ticket home.

I’m from: yes, I know. You are the latinaxaeiou, like your friend, Jenny.

***

The suitcase is full. We hope to arrive and be able to live, dance, sometimes perrear, to have something to dream about. Bark, shout with me. Life is a carnival, I’m tired of fighting but there’s no other way, and R.I.C.O. RO.B.O. invites you and promises to remember.