s.o.c. 7

Before we were told to go back to where we came from, they brought us here to build their railroad.

They told us, "Yellow, you go into the tunnel and make the mountain blow."

John A. MacDonald stood over the last spike, front and center in the frame, claiming all the credit as if he didn't claim the lives of forty-five thousand.

And after the forty-five thousand, they will lift the Act

And uplift themselves by turning us into the threat.

They will tell you yellow is the color of the cowardly, corrupt, and criminal.

On their movie sets, they'll replicate our laundromats with ancient architectural styles to further hammer home that we are the backwards, barbaric peril.

And the first man you see on the silver screen won't look like you. He'll be a white man wearing a mask with slanted lines for eyes

not eyes.

His name is Hop Lee with the big buck teeth. He hits a police officer and flees the scene, as treacherous as his territory,

But when you walk through Chinatown, the flames reflect off the round, rabid glares

of the cop that hammers your home into ash

of the mob that cuts you off from your mother and father's gift

your black braid prostrate on the pavement, blackening with your clean clothes, and you will wonder if this is why we say white is the shade of destruction and death.

But you'll remember that yellow is what the emperor wore, and that this is yellow land, your land, because when we gave them transportation, we gave them their nation,

and you're yellow because your skin isn't just white, it's white gold.

Like the monkey king under the mountain, Guanyin will lift your yoke, and you will rise like her lotus - not from our impurity, but from how they beat us down in the name of purity.