“I’m gonna put on a iron shirt, and chase the devil out of earth
I’m gonna send him to outta space, to find another race”–Peter Tosh
My body and mind have survived colonization, educational systems, prejudice and gun violence. I am a Chichimeca kid that is a baby red coyote crying in the desert but that stood against conquistadores and catholic saints. I am the red stone boy made up of the blood of my elders who refused to assimilate to the expectations of good behaviour of the mainstream. I wear my body and ornaments not as an extension, but as part of my journey of resiliency, resistance, stubbornness, revelry and love.
I wear ear expansions that reflect my evolving learning and invite me to continue to grow: Necklaces that acknowledge deeds and protection medicine received. I carry Sundance scars that attest to the connection to my loved ones and higher power. I have tattoos that reflect introspective processes of becoming and label me as a tender sprout that can be deeply rooted as a corn plant and as a strong as a ceiba tree.
I wear two headdresses. One reminds me that I had elders who used to get the best out of me, and now that they are gone, I have to get it out of myself in order to share with others. The second one is the extension of my skin, inviting me to do physical and spiritual battle for the dignity of Indigenous people and the earth.
My torso shows bullet scars that took away organs, blood, relationships and years, but also exorcised my deepest feelings of inadequacy and shame. My neck proudly displays the scar left by the tracheotomy that pushed me to regain my voice and sing again, this time with sharper purpose and aim.
I wear bright embroidered colours that connect me to many weaving traditions and remind me that like any perennial plant, I am always set to bloom. Make no mistake, my attire makes me the obvious usual suspect because it states that I refuse to be part of the mainstream, and because it is a reminder of colonization’s failures.
When I focus, my armour allows me to transition between time and space, between what is inside me and out in the world—it is an expansion of my heart, it allows me to feel strength, pain and the medicine that is alive in my community and culture.
I move around proud and Indigenous with my loved ones walking behind me, as a role model to the people I mentor in the streets and the classroom, showing that you do not have to apologize or ask permission to be brown, queer, black, or simply yourself. My being is indeed an extension of territories occupied but not lost.
As I walk with my peers on a path for healing and justice, I tell them that embracing fragility and vulnerability are our biggest weapons as we stand against oppression in conventional society, for the hegemonic destroyers do not know what to do in the face of immovable dignity that comes from embracing ourselves.
I have to share a secret now, you see. Wearing my regalia is both a custom and a spiritual practice that have to be fed for my armour to be effective
By the tears of corporate executives rejected by their kids who befriend us
By the depression of ICE agents who cannot find love, a date or a welcoming grocery store
By the frustration of law-enforcing agents and soldiers who cannot caress their wives
By the fear of white male fragility from not being able to hoop or dance
By the admiration and desperate self-immolation of homophobic protestant pastors
By the desire of jealous gentrifiers who can’t get down
By the memory of the Eurocentric academic unaware that our people won’t be contained and will always remain
By the envy of puritan barbecue grill masters who refuse to openly enjoy the tacos and Mama Dee’s soul food because they’d lose credibility and can’t take the heat…
Every day my armour is shined and strengthened by engaging in community, traditional foods, boldly performing traditional dances and songs, community gardens thriving, happy children playing, and communal meals served…
When I look at myself in the mirror
I find myself beautiful
with voice and agency
with roots that withstand all societal hate and storms—
indeed, a threat to the narrative of power and control
I am an extension of everyone that wears armours like mine as well
I am Waksinsapa suta
the one that dies and comes back stronger
over and over again…
