Imagine that!įrom that moment on, I have read your work periodically, as a political and emotional survival drive, mainly in my transition processes, from a Cuban “citizen” to a migrant student on the southeast Mexican border from woman to queer person to non-binary transmasculine boy the transits between activism and the academy, continually negotiating my presence in the spaces of feminist activism in Mexico and in the Chiapas academy, which maintains the intact colonial essence of the western academy. While my coworkers discussed in the department meetings strategies for students to commit to a political project that for me is a dictatorship, I read Zami. At that time, I worked in the Department of Marxism and History at the Agrarian University of Havana, in Mayabeque. I remember reading some articles more than three times, in order to understand each sentence well. English did not stop me: I picked up an old dictionary and read both books very patiently. A queer Latina student from the Latin American School of Medicine lent me Sister Outsider and Zami more than ten years ago in Havana. I would love to tell you how I got to know your work. Maferefum for you, your ancestors, and Yemayá every day. Above all, I am the son of Olukun and listen to the waves of Yemayá every day, despite living in a valley surrounded by mountains. I am a migrant, Afro-Cuban non-binary trans-masculine boy, living very close to the Southern Border of Mexico. Right now, a pandemic is killing Black communities in the United States, and a similar fate can be seen for many of the Black and indigenous peoples in America. I am writing you from an Afro-dystopian period. The Center for the Humanities Distributaries Audre Lorde Now: Letter to Audre Lorde from the Future July 10, 2020
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