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Dreams from Many Rivers

Page 3

by Margarita Engle

to escape a revolution, but now a civil war

  rages all around me

  as I walk into the White House

  at President Lincoln’s request.

  He wants me to play a concert for his family

  because he heard that I am called the Piano Girl.

  I’m only ten years old, but performing

  for Abraham Lincoln

  helps me feel

  winged.

  SHOUTING!

  RAMÓN EMETERIO BETANCES

  New York, 1869

  As a doctor, I’m dedicated to the battle

  against cholera on my home island

  of Puerto Rico, but I’m also determined

  to end Spain’s cruel colonial rule,

  which still

  allows slavery.

  So I’m exiled, forced to flee, and now I live here

  in New York City, where the success of the abolitionist cause

  in this country gives me renewed strength to shout, protesting

  injustice on the islands, keeping the plight

  of enslaved people

  in my heart.

  EXCLUDED

  PABLO DE LA GUERRA

  California, 1870

  Even though I’ve held many public offices,

  now I’m eliminated from elections on the basis

  of race.

  So I hire a lawyer who proves my US citizenship,

  but he can’t convince the courts that I look

  “white enough” to vote, run for office, or even

  own land.

  My proud brown skin color from indios

  in my Mexican ancestry

  will determine my future—a voiceless life

  in this atmosphere of governmental

  arrogance, unless the laws

  are changed, and then

  enforced.

  LANGUAGE

  LUISA

  Colorado, 1870

  I was born here, as were my parents,

  and their parents, on and on for centuries.

  Some of my ancestors were mexicanos,

  others Cheyenne and Ute.

  Now, suddenly, a man named Fred Walsen moves

  into our little town, builds a brick house, and starts

  to complain, saying no one in the town of Los Leones

  should think of this place as anything other

  than Walsenburg.

  So we call him el Fred.

  Doesn’t he realize that English

  is the newcomer

  in our Spanish-speaking

  tierra/land?

  A LEADER

  FERNANDITO

  New York, 1880

  Our grown-up neighbor is José Martí,

  a man Papi admires for writing poetry.

  He’s a teacher, too, and a friend,

  when he walks with us in Central Park,

  teaching us the names of trees and flowers.

  The poet tells us tales of elephants

  and other wondrous creatures!

  He encourages us to write our own stories

  and verses, about anything that strikes us

  as marvelous.

  Someday, he promises, we’ll all go back

  to the island where we were born—someday,

  when Cuba finally gains independence from Spain,

  and los esclavos are set free—just like enslaved people

  here in the US.

  •

  Someday, our island’s future

  will be as powerful

  as an elephant,

  because souls, the poet

  assures us, have no color,

  and shared hopes can rise up

  to soar across any ocean

  or border.

  RANGE WARS

  FÉLIX

  New Mexico, 1890

  We wear white hats, white capes, white masks,

  as we ride through the night, cutting

  barbed-wire fences.

  We’re careful never to hurt anyone.

  All we want is open pasture for our livestock,

  because we were here long before these new

  fence-loving ranchers arrived.

  Maybe we’ll switch to elections as a path

  toward preserving our traditional way of life.

  How many local voters would support us

  if we ran for seats in the Territorial Legislature?

  Nearly all! We win!

  Now we can show our faces in daylight,

  unmasked!

  CHANGING THE WORLD WITH WORDS

  FERNANDITO

  New York, 1898

  Three years ago,

  the sad news arrived

  about José Martí’s death

  on a jungle battlefield in Cuba,

  fighting for independence

  from Spain.

  So now, when I learn that the island’s war

  has ended with a horrifying betrayal

  by the US—seizure not only of Cuba,

  but of Puerto Rico, too—I remember

  everything the brave poet taught me

  about liberty, and I start to write

  poetry of my own,

  verses that protest

  my adopted country’s

  policy of expansion—always

  grabbing land, and more land—as if all the many

  nations of North, Central, and South America

  as well as the Caribbean islands

  are meant to be possessions

  of the US, instead of independent

  countries.

  In the shadow

  of the Statue of Liberty,

  I write about freedom

  for everyone,

  not just

  us.

  SO CLOSE

  CATALINA

  Puerto Rico, 1898

  Spain had just granted

  our independence

  when the US

  claimed our island

  as their territory.

  We were almost free!

  Now what will happen

  to our children,

  our future?

  PART FIVE

  ¡SÍ SE PUEDE!

  YES, WE CAN!

  FIGHTING FOR JUSTICE AND INCLUSION

  The twentieth century brought complex problems that were faced with ingenuity.

  Education, work, economic mobility, legal rights, identity, and discrimination—there were many challenges and questions to be answered.

  Empathy and compassion fueled powerful social justice movements.

  DANGEROUS WORK

  SANTIAGO

  Montana, 1900

  When I visit my family in Mexico,

  neighbors hear that I earn three dollars each day

  in dark mines, instead of a few cents in sunny fields.

  After I return to my job in the north, a cousin

  tries to follow, but he walks across the border

  at the wrong time of year, reaching this frozen land

  in winter, his feet forever damaged.

  Soon, my children back home will be educated,

  all because of my sacrifice in this deep,

  crumbling tunnel

  filled

  with

  poisonous

  fumes.

  SO MANY STRANGE FORMS OF DISCRIMINATION

  EUGENIO

  Arizona, 1904

  The courts won’t let me serve on a jury,

  just because my surname is Spanish—

  but I have my own ideas

  about justice.

  When a mob raided the orphanage in Clifton,

  they attacked nuns and kidnapped children.

  The judge ruled that those rioters were just good

  citizens, trying to rescue little ones

  from the influence of Mexicans.

  I don’t see any other way to combat hatred,

  so I plan to enroll in law school, even if it means

  moving far away a
nd coming back later

  with my own powerful form

  of influence.

  REJECTED

  ISABEL GONZÁLEZ

  New York, 1904

  Detained at Ellis Island. Questioned

  in full view of the Statue of Liberty.

  Classified as unacceptable! Denied entry.

  When the United States seized Puerto Rico

  and changed our island’s name to Porto Rico,

  we became dependents, but now I’m not allowed

  on the mainland, even though my fiancé works here,

  and we will soon be married, with a baby.

  My court case is the first to ask: Are puertorriqueños

  true Americans, or complete foreigners?

  Will my child be a US citizen, or an outcast?

  The legal decision is confusing. A new name for us

  is invented. We are “noncitizen nationals” now,

  neither equals

  nor free.

  ACTIVISM

  JOVITA IDÁR

  Texas, 1913

  Born in Laredo, I witnessed

  two lynchings.

  Nothing else is the same after you’ve seen

  people hanged for no other reason

  than Mexican ancestry.

  I became a teacher and a journalist,

  writing about the brutality

  of Texas Rangers who call themselves

  law enforcement, while behaving

  like criminals.

  Women—educate yourselves!

  Men—unite with us to demand justice!

  As the first president of the League

  of Mexican Women,

  I concentrate on trying to provide

  the treasure of education for poor children …

  •

  but my articles about US policies

  toward Mexico

  infuriate certain Texas Rangers.

  When they come to my house

  to destroy my printing press,

  I stand in the doorway,

  refusing

  to move.

  I already have a new plan—free

  kindergarten

  for the children

  of poor families.

  MIS PALABRAS/MY WORDS

  LAURA

  Puerto Rico, 1909

  I’m a teacher who has suddenly been informed

  that it’s unacceptable to speak Spanish in our schools

  on our own ancestral

  isla.

  I have no choice but to tell the children about this new

  regla.

  US rules can change anything they want,

  even the island’s official language, but laws

  and hearts

  are two different things.

  At home, everyone continues to speak

  and write with

  independencia.

  THE TRIUMPH OF CHILDREN!

  LAURA

  Puerto Rico, 1915

  ¡Los niños son heroes! Children are heroes!

  They grew so angry about receiving

  poor report cards that instead of switching

  to English, they refused to attend school at all,

  and now the rule has been changed, with classes

  once again conducted in our own español.

  Los niños chiquitos, only six or seven years old,

  succeeded where teachers and parents failed!

  Today, I feel like a student

  who has finally

  learned

  a lesson.

  DREAMS OF EQUALITY ON THE BALL FIELD

  JOSÉ MÉNDEZ

  Missouri, 1916

  In Cuba, I was called el diamante negro,

  the black diamond—but here, my skin color

  prevents me from playing in any major league,

  so I pitch for the Kansas City All Nations,

  a racially mixed team of blacks, whites,

  American Indians, Hawaiians, Japanese,

  and Cubans

  like me.

  Everyone says I’m one of this country’s

  best pitchers, and that if things were fair,

  I’d make a lot of money, but instead

  I’m trapped

  in a system

  that doesn’t

  make sense,

  so I pitch

  wherever I can,

  letting the strength

  of my arm

  prove my worth.

  TWO HOMELANDS

  RAFAEL HERNÁNDEZ

  New York, 1917

  The law about Puerto Rican citizenship

  finally changes, but only because

  we are needed

  as soldiers.

  A strange new status

  for puertorriqueños

  won’t let me vote

  but causes me to be drafted

  into the Harlem Hellfighters regiment

  as a musician, playing to motivate troops

  during a horror that so many people call

  the Great War

  only because it’s huge,

  certainly not because it’s worthy

  of so many deaths.

  “Lamento borincano,” my most famous song,

  begins to write itself inside my heart

  long before I endure the snowy northern winters

  of my peaceful life

  here at home

  in New York,

  so far

  from my warm

  tropical first home.

  Tan lejos.

  So distant.

  THE GREAT MIGRATION

  IGNACIO

  Texas, 1918

  Terrorized by the wild violence

  of a long, desperate revolution in Mexico,

  we flee our little village in Jalisco,

  leaving all dreams of a normal life

  far behind as we cross the vast desert,

  perched on top of a dusty train

  that overflows with refugees.

  When we walk across the bridge

  between Ciudad Juárez and El Paso,

  we are just one small family

  lost in a river of hunger

  and wishes.

  I never thought my proud mother

  would beg, but what choice does she have?

  Seeing her dirty, starving, and tearful,

  I promise myself that never again

  will anyone in my family

  starve.

  •

  We are hard workers!

  I’m only twelve, but that is old enough

  to follow the harvest, plucking red tomatoes

  from twining green vines

  that smell

  like hope-filled

  growth.

  FAMILY BRANCHES

  PATRICIA

  California, 1925

  In the Central Valley, we all intermarry,

  every farm laborer bringing originality

  to his growing family tree—mexicanos,

  filipinos, chinos, Bengalis …

  With my Sikh father and half-Japanese, half-

  Mexican mother, I’m just as American

  as this farm’s owner, because he’s

  half Swedish Armenian and half

  German Russian.

  Every year at the Fresno County Fair,

  people dance in such varied styles

  that the swirls of music

  sound like a breeze

  in a huge forest

  with many leaves.

  OUT OF THE SPOTLIGHT

  ALFREDO CARLOS BIRABÉN

  California, 1931

  When I fell in love with the movies,

  I left my home in Argentina and arrived

  here in Hollywood, eager to play

  any challenging role,

  but the film studio

  changed my name

  to Barry Norton,

  urging me to pretend

  that I am not

&n
bsp; myself.

  While movies were silent,

  I felt successful, but now

  that sound has been added,

  my accent prevents me

  from being offered

  good roles.

  So while someone else plays Dracula by day

  in a famous English-language version

  of the film, I have to wait for night,

  the only time when Spanish-speaking

  movie crews are allowed to use

  the studio.

  Any role I play will be powerful,

  because

  of my authentic

  anger.

  THE GREAT DEPRESSION

  EMILIA CASTAÑEDA

  California, 1933

  Papi has worked in Los Angeles

  for so many years that you would think

  he’d be appreciated for his experience

  and skill, but instead, just as soon as the economy

  weakens and millions of people need work,

  my father is suddenly thought of as a thief

  who steals some other American’s job.

  Will we really be deported?

  My brother Francisco and I were born here,

  and at school we speak English …

  but now we are informed that if we want to stay

  in the United States, we must declare ourselves

  to be orphans with no living parents, so that we

  can be placed in an orphanage, given away

  to strangers. When we refuse to deny

  that our father is alive,

  we’re shoved into a noisy crowd

  of other helpless children

  at the train station,

  all of us forced to travel south

  with our parents, going “back”

  to Mexico, a country we’ve

  never

  even

  seen.

  Why are we being punished?

  Our families have never committed

  any crime!

  WORDS OF PROTEST

 

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