¿Soy Yo La Malinche?
a group poem by Las Man@s
Concept and anchor poem by Marisa Castuera
SCENE OPENS WITH ALL THREE ON STAGE CLOAKED LIKE WITCHES IN SOFT LIGHT
Girl#1: La Malinche walks between worlds.
Girl #2: “The indígena woman given to Cortes by her own people. He took her as a translator and concubine.”
Girl #3: She means something different to everybody:
G3: mother of México
G2: the mix of Indian and Spanish…
G1: She’s got her own story to tell…
G3: about what it was to carve out a space for herself between all the names that other people call her.
G2: This was centuries ago, but….
LIGHTS UP BEHIND SCREEN WHERE BUS SCENE IS BEING SILENTLY ACTED OUT IN SHADOWS)
G1: Yesterday on the city bus, a man looked at me
like I was his to keep. And I can see being taken and
forced and never feeling whole again. How can I
explain why except to say that this has happened to
me, in this lifetime? That someone huge and
silent felt entitled to me, that my people folded the
loss of me into their daily rhythm and never came for
me? I am
still waiting for someone to sound out that cry of
injustice, of a people pushed too far, and lead the
rally to come back for me.
The small country of my body has its own borders, its
own terrain, its own beauty and natural disasters.
Mapmakers have come and gone, named and claimed my
shores and plains and valleys. I’m reclaiming,
rebuilding, from the invaders, the bearers of flags
who “discovered” me. Well, they can all fuck off
because I wasn’t theirs to discover. I already
inhabited these lands.
What is it about men—ignoring
what’s already living and thriving in a place and
deciding they’re the first to set foot there. The ones
entitled to draw up the codices, treaties and
constitutions. Don’t screw me and call it a democracy,
don’t rob me and say you’re doing me a favor, don’t
mine me until I’m a wasteland and say I caused my own
poverty with my backwardsness, and don’t be angry when
I don’t smile and invite you back with open arms and a
banda of mariachis. The conquest of one body, the
conquest of 12, of 40, of 40,000. what is it about
But that’s just sometimes, in the quiet dark of my
galaxy of anger, that’s not the infinite joy of being
held and holding on with real love entre los brazos.
¿Soy yo La Malinche?
All three voices: Am I La Malinche?
MIDDLE PIECE-TO BE DONE ROUGHLY MID-WAY THROUGH SHOW TO BREAK UP MOOD-ALSO PERFORMED WITH SHADOW SCENE BEHIND WHITE SCRIM
G3: My sister asked me today if I was a lesbian.
It wasn’t an
out of the blue,
by the way,
Hey, are you gay?
They’ve definitely talked about it before.
Monique, mom, and Renee
The woman of my family
hypothesizing on my sexuality
and makin’ her-story.
Are you a lesbian, Geneviève?
Or was that subscription to Out magazine that I
received at our old address, with your name on the label, enough said?
My sister’s questions and comments catch me off guard.
Have I been giving off loud beeps on people’s gay-dars?
Pretty crazy to think about and even crazier to live
in a world full of labels and boxes and lids
Trapping you into a certain definition
not allowing you to move amongst communities and
So to fight this wrap-you-up, string tight, labels
licked, and placed on right, crazy boxed-up, boxed-in way of life,
Meet in the streets, join hands, and shout loud,
If you love rainbows it can mean that you’re gay and you’re proud.
And it can also mean that you love rainbows.
Am I la Malinche?
All: Am I la Malinche?
CLOSING SCENE TO BE DONE BEFORE FINALE DANCE PIECE HOPEFULLY BY WARRIOR WOMEN AND MAYBE THIS COMES ON RIGHT AFTER B-GIRLS! WANT SOME SORT of VIDEO EFFECTS LOOKING LIKE SPRAY PAINT COMING OUT AND THEN LIGHTS UP ON A DOPE BURNER OR WILD STYLE PIECE READING OUT “LUCHA ONE”
G2: Tomorrow I know we will find a way through this haze
This hungry maze of white walls
That’s grown to reach every coast,
Greedy, eating at our seams
Filling with the ghosts of displaced dreams
My work is not sacrifice (she motions to the wildstyle burner on the wall behind her spelling out Lucha One)
Es mi ofrenda
This emerald jewel of my mind
I let shine like a mountain lake in the moonlight
I cannot dwell on the strife of life.
My truth is a star-filled sky drowned out by artificial lights
So, I organize labor strikes and
Fights for land rights
I riot in the streets
When the cloak of false reality is removed from
This so-called democracy
And the people see this system is not really designed
for us to be free
But laws designed to keep colonizing our minds
Like history on rewind
Keep us blind
And trapped in prime time
To serve time or die of disease
Paying for their crimes
With our broken lives
And cracked memories
But I struggle to become me
Piece by piece we set ourselves free
Paint dreams on walls and
Refuse to walk like sheep
Through their dark halls
They can’t make me forget who I am
And what I can become
Yo soy LuchaOne
Am I la Malinche?
All: Am I la Malinche?
G1: Now THAT I WALK THIS WORLD WITH FIERCE CERTAINTY I SAY
all 3: bring it on.
G3: Not in a White-boy-George-Bush kind of way, but in the way that I can play with the best of you and my power and what I have between my two hands and inside my heart
and in the highways of blood
and spasms of memory that are held under my skin,
I can tell you that what scares me most is YOU not being able to
survive the ferocity and certainty of me.
G1: I can eclipse you I can stun you.
I can hold you back from realizing yourself,
just like I let you do to me.
And now I am back home.
I have never been this much larger
G2: Bring it on.
Bring it in.
You cannot erase me.
But you are right to be afraid
for all these centuries that I can erase you.
All: Am I La Malinche?
G1: I gave birth to an entire people, Don’t you worry about me, Mijo. Dime. Soy yo la Malinche?
All three: I am La Malinche!