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Books by Louis Reyes Rivera
Sanchocho: A Book of Nuyorican Poetry /
Scattered
Scripture /
Bum Rush the Page
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Notes for (jorge’s journey)
By Louis Reyes Rivera
Jorge (pronounced HOR-heh, i.e. George)
represents the dilemma of colonial transplants, in this case,
Puerto Rican exiles who’ve been economically cajoled into New
York, with no substantive place for them in the throb of urban
capitalism.
Capitalism, of course, is an economic system. The
word defines the reason we do business—to make money. Democracy,
however, is a political term that defines how we
legislate the conduct of business. It means to say a
government that allows everyone equitable access.
Consequently, democracy is in conflict with capitalism,
as under the latter only capital (i.e., assets, credit, cash)
matters.
Its basic dictate requires a segment of the population to be
unskilled. The unemployed/unemployable become a cheaply
exploited commodity—a non-laboring lumpen caste upon which
inestimable numbers of jobs are created, particularly in social
services and the judicial system. In order to stay in business,
each sector must make more money each year. In social services
and in public schools, more unprepared people are created
through miseducation, even as the general economy moves into
high-tech skills.
Similarly, in order for courts, prisons and
police to justify expanding their tax-based budgets they must
arrest more people. This form of economics has its historic
parallels in chattel slavery. Where yesterday’s form for fast
money involved breeding, buying, transporting and selling
slaves, today’s form involves growing, buying, transporting
and selling drugs; where yesterday’s form for steady money
involved slave labor on plantations and inside mines, today’s
form involves an underclass in prison cells and welfare
dependency.
The juridical arena is now the nation’s
third largest industry, and building new prisons is the busiest
area for the construction trades. Former Detective Mark Fuhrman’s
nationally aired on-tape remarks (Aug., 1995) at the O. J.
Simpson trial corroborated the practice of planting evidence
against socalled "non-whites," which is as old as the
first prisons in the Americas. Standard statistics hold that
over 80% of the imprisoned are African Americans, Chicanos and
Puerto Ricans, yet their composite proportion to the population
has yet to exceed 28%. Thus an undercaste.
While it appears socially uprooted, an inner
consciousness drives many of its members to search out their
humanity (see F. Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth
and The Autobiography of Malcolm X). In the poem,
Jorge the Younger begins his journey from a state prison.
(a) the bus at green haven
refers to the Green Haven maximum security prison in
Stormville, New York, one of two state prisons with death
houses.
(b) old san juan, the
first Spanish capital of Puerto Rico, is part of Greater
San Juan (a series of small towns which grew to overlap
one another, including Old San Juan, Santurce, Isla Verde,
Rio Piedras, etc.).
(c) ha ti fue quien mandaron
means So, you’re the one they sent!
(d) heh/heh, mira, que con el
no se hace na’/ni pa’ la leche del nene se hace na! means, heh/heh, look, man, with that guy you won’t make a
thing/not even enough to buy milk for the baby.
(e) esta bien, muchas
gracias, pero. . .means it’s all right; thanks, but.
. .
(f) botado en la calle pero
ando, compai/ botado en la calle pero sigo, comai/ siempre
estoy mirando buscando my pai/ siempre encontrando mas de
lo que hai/ botado en la calle pero. . . . roughly
translates as "ejected into the streets/ and yet,
my man, I’m still walking/ ejected into the streets/ and
yet, dear heart, I keep on/ I’m always looking/
searching for my father/ always finding more than what I
sought/ ejected into the streets/ and yet. . ." The
terms compai and comai are short for compadre
and comadre (masculine/feminine for intimate
friend), often chosen as godparents to one's children
(as parents-in-reserve). the term pai, like
mai,
is an impolite way to say padre/madre (i.e., father/mother
versus pop or old lady).
(g) born from the seed of Caguas
heads for that highland town alludes to Caguas, Puerto
Rico, which mountain town was also the name of a village
elder (a cacique, i.e., chief) at the time
of the Spanish invasion. The cacique (pronounced KA-see-keh)
Caguas is said to have capitulated to Spanish domination.
Jorge is given here as a descendant of Caguas, earching
for his roots (his father’s crime).
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