An Introduction by Jessica Isla

To poet-activist Suyapa, who inspired this poem

I am this body marked by blows
that walks day after day under the sun,
under this uncertain sky of flying machines,
amongst gusts of smoke and
the sound of rifles
I am an infinite number of faces:
the murdered boy,
the grandmother walking
the Lenca people armed with infinite patience
The woman painting banners,
The girl on crutches
Each facing alone or joined together
The olive green walls weighed down with violence

I can say that from my body many odors emanate
The fresh-cooked montuca
The tortilla and the beans
The sweaty hands and tired bodies,
but also
the smell of shed blood
of gas and gunpowder
the smell of death and of fear.

My throat
is crowded with voices:
I am in the passionate discussions at meetings
the teacher's shout
the story of the young woman who was raped,
In the protest of the beaten, of the tortured
In the voice that sings in the streets

I am thousands of hats and
hundreds of words,
I am embraces, tears,
tenderness, bursts of laughter.

I am full of smiles that illuminate the day
colors that come from every place
I have joy, an urge to dance,
I have hope.

Because without me the streets
Would be left alone,
Because without me the walls would say nothing
Because I am your hands, your tired feet,
Your voice.

I am the resistance


Editor's note: Thousands of Hondurans continue to flood the streets to protest Roberto Micheletti's military-backed coup, which ousted Manuel Zelaya's democratically elected government on June 28.

Women are integral participants in the movement, and many have been targets of violent repression by the regime. In response, women's groups and human rights organizations formed Las Feministas en Resistencia (Feminists in Resistance).

The preceding tribute to the uprising by poet Jessica Isla, a spokesperson for Feminists in Resistance, was translated by Laura Mannen of Radical Women in Portland, Ore. The poem is circulating widely among Latin American feminists.

(source)