Global Poverty and Resistance
“This is like the Santa Rita Bus,” I whispered as I looked over at my comrade revolutionary Aunti Frances Moore’s terrified eyes. We’ve both ridden the bus that carries homeless and other “criminal” people to Santa Rita County Jail. I could barely utter a whisper, lost in my own fear of incarceration and endless criminalization as an unhoused poor person in stolen Turtle Island.
Every year there are hundreds to thousands of suicides that happen across the United States. Some happen on Indian lands that people know as “reservations.” They often go left unreported for traditional reasons. Native Americans struggle daily just for being Native in a white America.
Image Caption: The writer's cousin
I am proud to be Filipino, Filipino-American. I am proud of our legacy in America. I love the laughter and resilience of my people. I love the sound of their laughter, their thick voices of different tongues. I love my people 365 days a year. I love the Filipino youth who stand up for their community. I love our generosity. I love how gracious we are while at the same time possess the fiercest fire when defending our community. The sun rises