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Advocacy Project: Immigration - Dyanara Daproza

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Advocacy Project: Immigration - Dyanara Daproza

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My Lola came to america with a backpack filled with hope.

And man, was that thing heavy.

Enough hope to surmise a beautiful life,

And a beautiful life she had, but by her own doing.

When she first arrived,

you shattered the light in her eyes,

kept your deceit under disguise.

Come to find out that “Land of the Free”

was really “Land of the False Advertise.”

You see, I searched in her eyes,

the windows to her tattered soul,

the anger, the exhaustion, the why did it have to be this hard?

Yet my findings were emptier than the promises of this promised land.

Her broken english and second tongue were enough to slam doors in her face,

piercing stares that practically told her she had no business taking up space.

The success of your citizens, was too difficult to trace

because of the laws you put in place.

Yet you still attempt to disgrace

and mark her misplaced

when it is your system that tried to keep her under.

You talk of freedom then deny

the proper sources to survive

but still expect them to prove that they are worthy of their stay.

Extreme measures for minor crimes,

even if they’ve served their time.

Kept in detention, with vile conditions, so they pray.

Pray for families to reunite,

further protection for their rights,

and to find an easier way.

For you preach about the “right way”

but make it nearly impossible to do so.

You wave in their face, your power to displace

as if the ridicule of your citizens who follow suit to your rotten tactics isn’t bad enough.

Your baseless arrests and suspicions paint them dangerous in the public eye.

Approved cruel and unusual punishment. Healthcare and employment denied. Now, riddle me that?

When will you compensate for your failure to uphold the American dream?

Seems more like American nightmare to me.

Your laws installed to offset the security of their natural rights and the safety of their being,
fools that see the color of their skin, assume them weak, to lower the level of their chin.

Your attempts to sugarcoat your intentions

when we’ve endured the sting of salt on our wounds

is both grim and shameful.

As it is clear from your hostility that you simply don't want us here.

Or rather, you wanted to collect only those that seemed worthy,

that could get their hands dirty,

as if wanting to see one’s family,

the only pieces left of their home,

wasn’t a valid reason to come knocking on your door.

Do you fear we take your jobs, or do you fear we do it better?

Simply intimidated by the exteriors of our character

that you lock all doors to the inside?

What about our culture and art

cuisine and customs?

America without its immigrants looks quite unfamiliar.

But that is a discussion for another day.

You know, your reputation seems to be absent in these conversations.

You speak so poorly of immigration.

yet speak nothing of your initial migration.

Although this hypocrisy comes to no surprise,

for “what to the slave is the fourth of july?”

as Federick Douglas seeks to criticize

America rejoicing in the same freedom, they deprived slaves of.

Their hearts so pure and eyes open wide just to come face to face with closed doors and eyes shut, as if you both did not have hearts that beat just the same.

When will you realize that the villain of this story is you?

Although, Your antagonism is no match for our resilience

Your humanity may be lost, but mine is still kickin’.

I know and you know that it shouldn’t be this hard.

P.S. Lola, despite being spared so little, you created your life,

provided food and shelter, love and laughter.

You blindly attempted to redefine home in a foreign place

so that my dreams could range farther than yours ever could.

This is why I promise you that your sacrifices will not be in vain.

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Hi, my name is Adrianna. This is my spoken word poem about how women should be free to express issues in the workplace without being invalidated or branded as hyper-emotional.

Wrote My Way Out

By: Adrianna Morton

[Hook]

I wrote my way out,

When the world turned its back on me,

In all my femininity,

No one to tell me I'm fine,

Confined, running out of time

I picked up my purse, designed this verse,

And wrote my way out (And she wrote her way out)

[Me]

I picked up my purse, this how man wish I would:

behind propped in air with a full Monroe effect.

How I do is with all political power, yet no political power,

Workin' tireless hours, for sadity cowards,

Ain't no minimum in this wage, but that's what I'm paid,

I ask man about it, he laughs about it,

He asks if I'm menstruating, I ask of him the same,

He looks at me in confusion, I respond in the same gesture,

After all, what is the man if not deluded by his own actions,

He knows not where I come from, so I speak in conundrums

After all, what is my voice if not repulsive to the man,

Why not relish in that repulsion

When I speak to the crowd like you, parent; and he, child,

Just as he speaks to me like I, girl; and he, master

Like he ruler of all things flowing from women's lips.

He micromanages- helicopter moms his way around my work,

Co-workers call it a power trip; I can't wait to see power fall.

I'm driven in male dominant positions,

I'm persistent even when my hands hurt,

And this is far from man's work.

[Hook]

I wrote my way out,

When the world turned its back on me,

In all my femininity,

No one to tell me I'm fine,

Confined, running out of time

I picked up my purse, designed this verse,

And wrote my way out (And she wrote her way out)

[Me (Voice 2)]:

I wrote my way up out of these microaggressions,

He calls me too emotional, I call an objection,

I'm not his boss, but he shares his confessions,

Spare me; I care little of your past transgressions,

I'm no emotional sponge. I tell him I keep my pores clogged at work,

He says, "But you are a woman,"

Even more, a reason to not express myself,

I must be robot; calculated to think before I do;

programmed to do without thought,

I claim this as my personality,

This is my newfound reality;

I can't afford a demotion,

This here problem has a livable quotient.

No more four to one room,

My new home has sunrooms,

No more worrying about meals,

This here life is unreal,

This here life is unreal,

So I will write my way out until I can’t feel,

Trouble knockin, “fight back,” I know will,

How ironically poetic is she-

a woman combative of a standstill.

(Hook]

I wrote my way out,

When the world turned its back on me

In all my femininity,

No one to tell me I'm fine.

Confined, running out of time

I picked up my purse, designed this verse,

And wrote my way out (And she wrote her way out)

[Me (Voice 3)]:

Swiftly, making these rhymes from my home office,

Man thinks I owe him something, how horrendously pompous,

My mind is where the food is,

In withdrawal, I want it all, please give me my plate back,

‘Cause only the nourished survive,

Only those who eat and I can’t resist my urges to take,

As otherwise, I’d be vulnerable and defenseless against the man,

Let me tell you ‘bout the man, how he has watched me bleed.

See these scars, on my belly, on my chest, on my legs,

Man denies them all.

I told him they were his doing as if he is oblivious to his acts,

Yet still, he resists the truth,

But man knows not that I’m aware of his ruse,

He bleeds black and blue, unlike I, who bleeds red,

I know two words that will make him move,

Me Too.

[Closing]

(I wrote my way out)

Really, I saw a hole in the system, so I put my two cents in,

This is a different perspective.

(I wrote my way out)

I thought that I would represent my hood, Womanhood, be our own voices in the way that everyone has done,

Except, I tell the real story.

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Three words can determine the aftermath of hurt
They ask “what was worn”
Instead of “what was torn” and ripped into shreds until only dirt remained
But why judge him?
She was the flirt.

Three inches above the knee
No more or you will be
A temptress to adults
Seductive to boys
A toy to be enjoyed by this humanoid
of a esteemed individual
Implicating that I hold more respect
in the tip of my finger
than a boy admits for my skirt
that lingers just above it?

Pathetic.

Three more inches
And you inch toward
the Rule of Thumb
Where women were forced to succumb
to the beatings, despite pleading
against “punishments” for incomplete preparations
to feed nothing but the inflation of his ever growing ego
that’s stroked by legislation.

Three hundred centuries and you reach
when woman was made for man
Not as an equal but as an “evil”
To show him the worlds of the forbidden
Hidden within the depths of her stomach
“Made” to shelter his brood
Alluding to the object in which she was always viewed as

Three phrases that explain it all
“Boys will be boys”
To palliate the execrable traits
That they haughtily display
“Drama Queen”
To say that women will be the problem forevermore
To deplore any magnification of her “easy” life
When it is Kings who gloat of their riches and rings
while queens have dutifully proved they can do what men could by all means
And finally, “Man-up”
Because men are strong and capable,
while women are breakable, replaceable, and oh-so-easily abatable

Three billion women provoked
by the aforementioned threes,
constantly feeling they need
to prove themselves to a certain degree
All with this being
an unshakable and grooved task…
Dire as it may be,
The removal of this unbreakable barrier is all that I could ever ask....

For and from and from and to
Waiting for society’s miscues
to no longer ensue
Painstakingly just hoping that
a three-worded, magical saying
would eventually shine through

One that would finally manifest itself as, women,
“We respect you”
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I have gathered components of this piece throughout the year. I did not recently "learn" of the ways women are blindly detested in this 'man's world.' It was something that I've realized, I was always aware of. That last line--"we respect you"--carries my poem. In seeking equality in the various struggles of life, what women truly show themselves desiring, is respect.

I want to close with a poem that is not my own, but it speaks to me, just as much as the hatred in the world does. But, this poem brings that hatred into better light. This is "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

And I know all of you, through my words, Angelou's, or through the burdens society has constantly placed on you, one day will rise higher than any part of this world that only wants to hold you down.

Thank you.

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For America to be the land of the free, and to be the land that anybody can come to and make a difference. It tilts its hand to many people of Caucasian descent. About 76% of the millionaires in this country are Caucasian, could that point to 57% of the country being white. Which it could but, I believe it points to the systemic racism in the country but not just to African-Americans.  From the last two years we have seen many movements that have started, but there are two that stick out the most. Specifically the Black Lives Matter movement and the Stop Asian Hate movement. Both of these movements went along with a multitude of protests with largely no result. So now I ask why? What was the point of these movements if in the end no president is going to do anything. From the outside looking in, watching the news you couldn’t really tell what happened during the Stop Asian Hate movement or if it had subsided even. With that information I ask why?  Also police brutality has been at an all time high recently and you would believe it would be the biggest problem to the overwhelming majority of the country, which would be white Americans, which makes up 57% of the country. You would be mistaken, as African Americans, Native Americans, and people of Latino descent pass away more often at the hands of police than Caucasian people. With that information I ask why? With African Americans only making up 12.1% of the country, Hispanics or Latinos making up 18.7% of the country , and Native  Americans making up 0.7% of the country according to the U.S census, how can it be possible that these races are killed by police more than other ethnic groups.  I ask why? Why is this the land of the free if most of the freedom is tailored towards Caucasian. When you dive into the statistics on every negative standpoint Caucasian Americans fall behind in almost everything. I ask why because they make up the overwhelming majority of the country. Finally I ask, why is there so much systematic racism?

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Sabrina Williams - Freedom of Expression Poem

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Sabrina Williams - Freedom of Expression Poem

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Expression is freely creating,

Expression is freely shaping

The minds of others who are believing

That we need a change to stop the bleeding.

Expression is freely healing yesterday’s wounds,

Lest we continue to send thousands to their tombs

To die a preventable death - caused by a boom

A decision that was made by ten people in a room.

Expression is freely calling to arms,

To let the church bells ring and to call off the sirens’ alarms.

That to cease the fighting and to disarm

Those who’ve come to cause physical and mental harm.

Expression is freely speaking out

When others are too scared to shout.

When others words are silenced into a mere pout,

When others are threatened and coerced into selling out.

Expression is dying,

Getting weaker by the minute.

The sounds of children mothers and fathers crying

Increases by the second, you understand it—

Will be gone in a flash!

If we continue to do nothing and let time pass

We’ll watch as our democracy turn into a fa-

scist government so how don’t you see

The damage that’ll bring - just look at Germany.

Expression is freely standing for what’s right,

When it’s time’s for a fight

To live to see another night.

To give understanding to your plight.

Expression is freely preaching.

Without the fear of a jail cell,

Without the fear of entering your own personal hell-

O can you hear the words I am speaking?

Or would a picture put it into a frame?

Without expression our lives’ drastically wouldn’t be the same,

Yet our politicians YOU put in charge are fiending!

Expression is freely changing the rhymes.

To switch up the perception,

Caused by a lack of direction,

Caused by a misdirection,

Forged from deception.

You WILL hear me this time.

Expression is slowly fading,

And there’s no evading the inevitable truth

Unless someone, let’s say you

Were to raise a brush, a pen, a phone, your voice,

And make the fully conscious choice,

To fight to protect our right to freely express

Before it’s all gone and put to rest.

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They call her a liar.

Distrusting and assuming that they would react terrible,

but how could she know that they would respond —

when the country they're from kills with fire and stones

for loving another—

They call him selfish.

Keeping a secret so big and feeling no remorse,

"what else could you be hiding, do i even know you"

as if the homeless rate wasn't up to 40 in the united states—

But being honest was what was important,

now thinking of your safety—

They found her beaten.

by her own father,

a man in her life meant to protect her will every fiber of his being—

and yet just 3 words.

and all the love could be lost.

all the moments and memories,

all the laughs,

all the joy—

lost in a snap.

she hadn't realized just expressing her true self would her result in this.

abused, battered and kicked out the house—

Judged for keeping it hidden,

yet ignoring the consequences when realized.

"Be honest with the people around you—"

How.

as if slurs don't need to be ignored

or as if she doesn't see how her dad grips the couch seat whenever the words

LGBT come from the TV—

Honesty.

what a funny word it seem.

as if there should even be a choice between safety and "integrity.".

Between seeing a child alive and well.

and seeing them abused—

mistreated

killed just for—

Honesty.

because then at least a mother would be able to hold her child one last time

suicide rates grow higher—

life expectancy get lower—

and all they do is watch

saying nothing and doing nothing

rest in the comfy that it isn't something they have to deal with

that is isn't their child or it isn't their friend—

but they could have been.

they could have had something more than a number—

another statistics.

another death toll

another hashtag

another new article

another—

forgotten.

their name whispered for the last time

their memory comes and quickly passed and then—

nothing.

They asked me

I wasn't sure who told her—

a panic arise of who else knew

that i hadn't told.

but at least then I could be "honest".

rushed in and unprepared—

forced out with a secret that i couldn't take back—

but at least I had "integrity".

frightened on who knew—

a insane amount of pressure—

but at least I was "open".

God, how I wished this wasn't honest.

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Topic: Discrimination inside and outside of the lgbt community

Claim: With all of the discrimination and hatred queer people face from the outside world, the amount of it within the community needs to be stopped.

One thing that anybody who's a part of the lgbt community could tell you how hard it is just simply living differently than everyone else would expect us to. However, it’s not just hard because of the outside world, but other people in the community make it hard too. One of the main discriminatory issues in the community is faced by less masculine, or femminine men. Being femminine in the gay community is probably just as equally hard as it is to be in the outside world. Although I’m not the most masculine guy, nor the most femminine either, these hardships are very much clear to see, whether it’s being done face to face, or online through social media outlets. People in the community are bullied into thinking that they’re not attractive, or even downright disgusting, just because they don't fit someone’s elses view of what you should be; what a gay man should be. Experiencing hate from both sides of the stick can be very mentally and physically draining to the people who are affected by it. Having that crushing weight on people’s shoulders can sometimes cause them to become depressed; they can even become so wrapped up in their heads to the point where they change their whole personalities, demeanor, clothing style… their entire way of life just in order to satisfy someone else or someone else's perception of what or how they should be. Aside from just gay people, all parts of the lgbt community are divided in a sense. It’s so bad to the point where all different kinds of slurs are thrown at everyone from different sides of the community. You have gay or bisexual men and women calling trans people the t slur as if they aren’t the ones who held entire community on their backs back in the day as being the leaders of all of the gay rights movements. Although problems within the community are bad, outside of the community are quite literally worse. It may not be as bad as it used to be years ago to the point where we would literally get beat just for walking down the street, but slurs are still thrown at us, and hate crimes do still happen. All and all, with that being said the constant bashing and discrimination in our community needs to be stopped; how can we expect the outside world to respect us, to stop treating us differently, etc when we don’t even do that to one another. At the end of the day, it all needs to end because we’re all the same, facing the same problems.

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Part 1.

Freedom calls for a fight. A struggle before you can ever truly be free.

Our predecessors had been struggling for hundreds of years.

Since we step foot on American soil.

Chains that divided us from the white men. And therefore we suffered. Suffered greatly.

400 years later in a so called different society, and we still aren’t free

The same way a person can be lonely in a crowded room. We are still not free in the country that’s called “land of the free, and the home of the brave”.

Part 2.

George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Emmet Till

Emmet Till was my Geroge Floyd said by Congressman John Lewis

Well, George Floyd was my Emmet Till I say.

Racial injustice has divided this country into war. A race war, where more often than not, the white men win.

The race war has caused destruction, violence, and inequality.

From the Red Summer of 1919 to all of the riots across the country after the spark of the Black Lives Matter Movement.

Is this how God would want us to act? To be like this? I say to those so-called Christians that shaped our “god-given” country.

One black man messes up and ruins it for us all. This statement causes tension and division in the black community proving Willie Lynch’s theory.

The same thing happened after 9/11. Discrimination towards Muslims because of one person of the same religion so-called, terrorizing major cities in America.

This has caused the non-black Muslim community to feel the racial injustice that black people feel on a daily basis.

Not saying this is right for them to suffer, but it does give them another view on life in America.

The same thing should be done to white people because that is the only way they’ll truly use their power to help us.

Part 3.

Women. Women have been oppressed for so long and still are fighting for their rights as we speak on decisions men should have no say in.

Black Women. Black women are at the bottom of America’s social hierarchy.

It goes White men, white women, people of color excluding blacks. Black men, and lastly black women.

We are the most oppressed group of individuals in the world.

20% of all black women in America have said they have been raped at least once in their lifetime.

Black women were two and a half times more likely to be murdered by men, than their White counterparts.

We are seen as loud, uneducated, and grotesque looking by today’s standards.

These generalizations of black women lead to more psychological issues than any other group in America.

I find myself trying to break those stereotypes, where it is the way I talk, the way I dress or etc.

All to fit the white man's image.

And that is something that we just have to deal with because that is the consequence of being black in America.

Freedom calls for a fight. A struggle before you can ever truly be free.

But when will our struggle be over?

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My topic is about depression and how many people don’t really know the true meaning of it or the extent of it.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was always seen smiling. But one day, she wasn’t. Because she wasn’t smiling for one day, people assumed she was depressed. When in reality, her goldfish, who she won at a carnival, had died. When the girl told people why she wasn’t smiling, everyone laughed it off… This is how most of society portrays what depression is. When in reality it is much more serious then a goldfish dying.

Depression is the constant lack of interest in life or constant feeling of sadness. Key word: constant. Something had to happen to cause this. Some of the major causes of depression are family history, medications, drugs, alcohol, and previous illnesses. Of course, one cannot self diagnose themselves into having depression, they would have to see someone professional in the field of mental health, like a therapist. But that is the hard part, asking for help.

Afraid that something bad might happen, afraid to be judged, afraid that everything they have would disappear the instant they tell someone.

Because of the constant fear, people who have depression would feel a constant pressure to tell someone. However with their fear, it would seem impossible to do so. It would feel as if you were in a body of water. You are drowning, trying to reach the surface to breathe but something is holding you down. When you finally lose hope of getting out, you would just keep going down.

Depression can lead to a more dangerous path. Like self harm, alcohol or drug consumption, or committing. Depression just increases the chances.

There was a man named John Kevin Hines who had jumped from the Golden State Bridge in an attempt to take his own life. He survived and is now an American suicide prevention speaker. In an interview, he said that the moment his fingers left the railing, he had regretted it. Wishing to not die.

Now, imagine all those people who were able to commit. They might have also regretted it the moment it happened.

A way to help is to just ask if everything is ok. Try to make their day a little better. This wouldn’t fix the problem immediately, but something is better then nothing.

One way that can treat depression is writing out your thoughts. Drawing, making music, exercising… just picking up a new hobby to try and get out. To get out of a constant spiral. No one is going to judge you if you tell someone, so don’t be afraid.