Get Over It

Often times when speaking about issues around Race, particularly slavery, colonialism, and imperialism, the conversation gets to the point where I am told, “get over it”

To those people,


I’ll try and get over the genocide of my ancestors in Indigenous America,
the burning of our history and memory,
the systematic rape of countless women, children, and men,
the mutilation and murder of those who resisted,
the forced acceptance of a foreign god through violence and fear,
the enslavement of my ancestors,
the transatlantic slave trade,
the colonization of the Americas, Africa, and the entire Global South,
the legal, social, and economic repression of my people,
the socialization of the world where beautiful was white and ugly was everything else,
the brutal conquest of lands not yours,
the hijacking of our revolutions for independence,
the military interventions disguised as campaigns for freedom and democracy,


I’ll try and get over the lack of recognition of the millions of nameless that built the USA and the entire developed world,
the laws called Jim Crow,
the apathy of the North,
the lynchings,
the death squads,
the torture, both at home and abroad,
the criminalization of my skin color,
the legalized segregation of every institution,
the continued mass murder of indigenous people,
the neoliberal imperialism and continued economic exploitation of the Global South,
the violence against the Civil Rights Movement,
the war on drugs,
the military interventions in Latin America, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia,
the criminalization of my name,
the term “illegal alien”,
the murders of those seeking a better life across the borders,
the mass incarceration of black and latino youth, men, and women,
the death of those who looked liked thugs because they wore a hoodie,
the terrorism committed by the US state against those deemed “other”,


And I’ll try and get over all the things that have happened directly to me,
the 10,000 times I was called spic, wetback, and other racial slurs,
the four times I was stopped and frisked, once while wearing a suit,
the time I was almost shot and interrogated by police as if I were part of the shooting,
the violent struggles of my parents and family in El Salvador and Argentina,
the hatred endured, for the language I spoke, the color of my skin, the ancestry of my parents, and assumption that I was illegal,
the times I was told I “won” because of affirmative action,
the fear of walking down the street,
the fear of speaking my mind,
the fear of being arrested for walking in my own skin,
the fear of the NYPD and police across the country,
the fear for my family, friends, and strangers,
the fear of deportation even though I was born in the US,
and the fear that this will never be over.
Trust me, I’m trying to “get over it”. But its a long list.

And this is the short version.

With love, even if you won’t accept it,

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