Down These Mean Streets (Sotomayor - the Aftermath)
I am thinking of Piri Thomas' famous book "Down These Mean Streets." It is "the" story for people of Puerto-Rican descent like Sonia Sotomayor. She traveled down those mean streets as a child in the Bronx, and now again, as she has risen to the top of the world.
Poet Elizabeth Alexander called her "fierce." She is. She is fearless. Did anyone think that a bunch of rich, country club Republicans could knock her off her game? Judge Sotomayor was, and is, simply too tough, and too polished to be denied. History is behind Door #1. Walk through it.
GOP senator, Richard Lugar is already on record as saying that he is going to vote for her. That clears the way for a bunch of other moderate Republicans. Only the conservatives will seek the lonely island of ill-will now. Not because it is justified but because history tells them they must keep the madness going.
Michael Bloomberg, the distinguished mayor of New York City supports Sotomayor. Of course, Linda Chavez is against her, but what did we expect? The Red Sea has parted already.
To those who still refuse to accept this wonderful moment in history, I leave you with a poem by Willie Perdomo, a poet, who was born in that same barrio like Sotomayor, and who lived it and survived like her and became a writer. Forgive the "N-word" at the beginning, and at the end but this is a great poem. But this was the hearings, and what she overcame all her life, and now, the moment is here, for her to shine.
N**ger-Reecan Blues
Willie Perdomo (for Piri Thomas)
Hey, Willie. What are you, man?
No, silly. You know what I mean: What are you?
I am you. You are me. We the same. Can't you feel our veins drinking the
same blood?
-But who said you was a Porta Reecan?
-Tu eres Puerto Riqueno, brother.
-Maybe Indian like Gandhi Indian.
-I thought you was a Black man.
-Is one of your parents white?
-You sure you ain't a mix of something like
-Portuguese and Chinese?
-Naaaahhh. . .You ain't no Porta Reecan.
-I keep telling you: The boy is a Black man with an accent.
If you look closely you will see that your spirits are standing right next to
our songs. You soy Boricua! You soy Africano! I ain't lyin'. Pero mi pelo es
kinky y kurly y mi skin no es negra pero it can pass. ..
-Hey, yo. I don't care what you say - you Black.
I ain't Black! Everytime I go downtown la madam blankeeta de madesson
avenue sees that I'm standing right next to her and she holds her purse just
a bit tighter. I can't even catch a taxi late at night and the newspapers say
that if I'm not in front of a gun, chances are that I'll be behind one. I wonder
why. . .
-Cuz you Black, n**ger.
I ain't Black, man. I had a conversation with my professor. Went like this:
-Where are you from, Willie?
-I'm from Harlem.
-Ohh! Are you Black?
-No, but-
-Do you play much basketball?
Te lo estoy diciendo, brother. Ese hombre es un moreno!
Miralo!
Mira yo no soy moreno! I just come out of Jerry's Den and the
coconut
spray off my new shape-up sails around the corner, up to the Harlem
River and off to New Jersey. I'm lookin' slim and I'm lookin' trim
and when my homeboy Davi saw me, he said: "Como, Papo. Te
parece como
un moreno, brother. Word up, bro. You look like a stone black
kid."
-I told you - you was Black.
Damn! I ain't even Black and here I am sufferin' from the young
Black man's plight/the old whtie man's burden/and I ain't even
Black, man/a Black man/I am not/Boricua I am/ain't never really
was/Black/like me. . .
-Leave that boy alone. He got the N**ger-Reecan Blues
I'm a Spic!
I'm a N**ger!
Spic! Spic! No different than a N**ger!
Neglected, rejected, oppressed and depressed
From banana boats to tenements
Street gangs to regiments. . .
Spic! Spic! I ain't nooooo different than a N**ger.
