“Machete” and the rise of the Mexicans

I finally saw Robert Rodriguez’s brrrrrilliant Mexploitation flick Machete last night, thanks to Netflix. This on the heels of  TDS finally adding a Senior (sorry, Señor) Latino Correspondent.

But I digress… MACHETE! Of course, the Anglo Elite of S.G. would never allow it to be shown in theaters (sorry, make that the ONE theater) here without clutching their pearls and moaning about how they were assaulted by the very thought of the film, which was CLEARLY the first step in an all-out race war. Our resident Border Militia Bubbas would have piled into their pickups and set up a perimeter around the multiplex to ensure that no uppity Mexicans would get the idea to start hacking and cleaving their way through their betters, or at the very least demanding some minimal rights of equal treatment and protection under the law.

We’re dealing with two contradictory lines of thought (and I use the term loosely) in our charming little burg and others like it. On one had, the Bubbas and Real Housewives believe that our Latino population should be happy — grateful! — for the opportunity to serve as their housecleaners and gardeners and busboys, and to not mind one bit when they hear terms like “wetback” thrown around in casual conversation, or are pulled over twice as often as white drivers. Papers, please — but no offense!

On the other hand, they’re terrified that one little spark — say, a jubilantly gory splatter flick starring a craggy ex-con whose ancestors came from South of the Border — will prompt anyone whose last name ends in -ez to to grab the nearest sharp implement and murder all whiteys in their beds.

The Bubbas and Housewives whisper (audibly) about how they have to protect themselves — they’re under siege because “they” resent “us” (gee, I can’t imagine why), and “those people” are just plain violent by nature. I mean, just look at all the killing going on just over across the Rio Grande! (And to THAT I say…well, that’s another post.)

But maybe, just maybe, Bubbas and Housewives wouldn’t have to worry about The Rise of the Mexicans if they stopped creating the very situations and grievances oppressed people tend to rise up against. After all, if they treated everyone justly and with respect, they wouldn’t have to worry, right?

Or, in the parlance of the movie: If they didn’t f*ck with every Mexican they met, they wouldn’t have to worry about f*cking with the wrong one.

P.S. Viva la revolución, cuál no será televisado.


About Bloody Hell Leah

I'm a blue state girl in a red state world. Yes, I am in hell.

Posted on May 27, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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