“Beside the rivers of Miami, we sat and wept at the memory of our people. There by the palm trees we hung our conga drums, for there Christian nationalists asked us for songs, white supremacists demanded songs of joy; they said ‘Sing us one of your Mambo.’ How can we sing our rumba in a pagan land? If I forget you, mi gente, may my right hand wither. May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you” (Ps. 137).
Latines don’t–and never will–belong, even when we attempt assimilation. We are a people in exile, even those born within U.S. borders. Some are here by conquest (Mexico and Puerto Rico), others as consequences of gunboat diplomacy (Central America and the Caribbean), following what has been stolen from us.
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