No? Okay, well I'll ask it then, sheesh.

How did The Unapologetic Mexican come to be fashioned, and (more importantly) how might you avoid fathering such a being, or (worse) watching your daughter(s) become utterly fascinated or impregnated by one? Well, while there is no cure nor preventative for the question of fascination, the former puzzle might be solved by digging back into the past a bit.

Firstly, The Unapologetic Mexican's drum beats in tune with the great Xicano heart that connects all descendants of the Indigenous people of this land. While some call him "mestizo," what they really mean is that he is mysterious! And mighty. And that his Indian blood has been mixed with that of the European. (The Unapologetic Mestizo just doesn't have the same ring, though).

So there is your first hint.

1. An All White Nation. You'd have to prevent my Papá from meeting my mother. You'd have to forbid the mixing by the Brown (which I know you are scratching your head to try and figure out how to do already, but La Raza Cósmica is becoming a reality, despite any shortcomings of José Vasconcelo's philosophies or personality). You'd have to stop a White girl from falling for a Chicano...but I already told you: there's no stopping that. We are irresistable in that fashion.

2. Free Speech. You'll have to get rid of it. Because I grew up with the belief sown deep into my bones that I have the right to speak my peace no matter what any man or woman says, as long as I am not advocating or inciting harm to anyone (any American inside or outside the country, that is). I even thought that right was universal for years! That's how American I am. I didn't even know that this wasn't a world-wide Right, inherent in the heart and being of all World Citizens; that it only applied to Americans. You can see I still exercise that right, and am proud of doing so. This First Amendment right is as American as the Boston Tea Party was. Do you fear my Free Speech? I think you do. (And why? Why do you hate America?)

3. More judicious vetting of school textbooks. Because while care was taken to slant things against the indigenous, and in favor of the White Europeans who invaded the continent and decided that their Holy God sanctioned unfettered greed and the murder of other humans, you did leave in the parts about the Indians who lived here first. And you know, that part never sat well with me. I could never square it with the professed ideals of America. And perhaps this is one of the moments I thought of my own heritage and wondered what sort of land I was living in after all. Perhaps this was one of the seeds of my early awareness. So...go further. Don't just leave out one or two events; don't just remake the events in the history books. Completely omit the truth of how America began. Just write something like...And lo, they came upon a beautiful and empty wilderness, and their God told them they were destined to command it and plunder it and expand from coast to coast until they ran out of oil, at which point they were to plunder the rest of the world. I don't know. I know that's a little rough. But hey, you've got Alberto "Vendido" Gonzales inventing reasons why torture is American, and if you can pull that one off, I have complete faith that you can come up with a better introduction to the Grand American Story.

4. The Weak Fabric of Hypocrisy That is Stained With So Much Red, White, and Blue. You'd have to provide teachers that weren't cruel, self-interested; that weren't liars, that weren't boozers, and that weren't sleeping with other married teachers. Or at least stop the students from knowing about it. Same with the institution of molestation that is our Catholic Church system. If you must give these people a place to prey, you've got to keep it out of the papers. What are children to think with such violent paradox in their midst? You'd have to do a little work on the history books, as I said. You'd have to hide the sight of ghettos filled with the Brown, hide the sight of floods that are ignored, and then drown. You'd have to hide the evidence of a system of harmful preference. You'd have to stop the TV from oozing it's viscous, obvious lies, the ones that enforce a million malicious memes, and do all they can to have the viewer live in fear, self-loathing, and abject consumerist loneliness and mania. You'd have to have true leaders, like the thinkers in our books. Because I listened to them a bit, and all doubt was removed from my mind. I knew I was being led by fat, greedy, lying, small men, and my spiritual allegiance waned. And speaking of allegiance, you'd have to change the Pledge of Allegiance to make it true. Maybe if that were the case, I never would have been called to the office in 8th grade, and harangued for refusing to stand with the lemmings and mouth the mantra of lies. You'd have to make sure la chota were fair and just in their duties, and that they did not take drugs for themselves once confiscated, that they did not abuse the helpless, or the Brown, and you'd have to make sure that they upheld the laws they are charged with enforcing.

Oh yes—I am as American as it gets. And I began as most Americans do: I learned about new countries when America bombed them. I believed in the rights of the Individual above all else. I grew up believing that I have the right to be comfortable, despite how poor, or hungry the rest of the world is, and if I could eventually elevate myself to be richer than everyone else, I deserved it, and by that same code of justice, could shunt of empathy for anyone who wasn't so fortunate. I believed that if a man entered my home with (what I determined to be) ill intent it is my duty and kingly right to stab him to death or blow his head off. As a good American, I believe I have the right to bear arms, to keep weapons of various types and lethalities in my domicile (it is my Castle). And just like a true American, I believe that nobody can force me to believe in a God I don't want to, nor can anyone enforce laws or rules on me that are conceived in theocratic origins, or with a specific deity's agenda in mind. That's how American I am. I'm so American that I believe—heart and soul—in the Constitution of the United States, the one that vests in me the rights of Free Speech, Peaceful Assembly, the Right to Bear Arms, and Freedom from unwarranted search and seizure or invasion of privacy. The one that guarantees me the right to pursue my life, liberty, and happiness. I'm so red-blooded American that I have internalized the strength and gusto of the Declaration of Independence and all that is entailed therein, especially the right of the people to divest themselves of a tyrannical and unjust government that does not truly represent them.

And some lessons are learned well, eh? I'm still a cocky son of a bitch. I've been bred with the knowledge that I am of the most powerful nation on Earth, and I have been irrevocably imbued with that American sense of righteousness and strength. In this political stance and belief, I literally radiate an arrogance and aura of power that can only be brought about by growing up in the worlds only Hyperpower. (Yet it seems that some don't like it so much when this attitude is aimed at anything except the "Furreners.")

Like a good consumer, a good materialist American, I have toys. I have a $2500 wi-fi/widescreen G5 Macintosh that syncs with my Bluetooth phone from anywhere in the house. They both can take pictures and play video. Attached, I have two monitors and an Altec Lansing speaker system with subwoofer. I have an intercom system that allows the entire house to speak to other parts of the house. I have two turntables (and a microphone) and a mixing board and a beautiful receiver, and a keyboard, seven guitars, two TVs, an air-conditioner, an airbrush, hundreds of records and CDs, two pairs of $300 shoes, multiple sets of sneakers, tons of clothes, hats, books, movies, a Playstation and a Nintendo Gamecube. I've owned a Chevy (truck and 2 cars), a Ford, a Subaru, and a Hyundai. I have two sets of headphones, one pair costs $80, and it sits on top of my Alesis $220 effects processor. I could go on. Are you getting me? I'm an American, vato, and I own enough gear to counterbalance the riches of a small third-world village. Or ten.

Yup, I'm American born and bred. And after my family of origin busted up, I was raised by two White people, given a White last name legally, took a new first name on my own, lived in White Suburbia for a time, and was instructed by a White bigot, an Irish Catholic from the DMZ—from the projects of the South Bronx. So just like some of these anti-brown Americans, I was taught (in many subtle and surreptitious ways) that the White race is superior, that homosexuals are "fags," that blacks are "niggers," Chinese were "chinks," and that I was a "spic."

So what went wrong, Über-Patriot? Why on Earth did I not fall before the Altar of the System and pledge myself, unequivocally, for all she stands for? Why, when clearly, she has offered so much glorious bounty my way?

We peel the onion deeper.

My mother (the White part of my background) was a "hippie." Oh yeah. I mean I was born to her (she turned 18 a week after I was born) in 1969. My papi and my mother both were disenchanted with the system. I know many Right-Wingers have trouble with Cause vs. Consequence, so let me help you. Your WARS engender reaction. They cause those with clear minds and hearts to recoil in disgust at what are clearly actions of racism and exploitation and Manifest Destiny-inspired fear or greed. My mother was one of those. She recoiled for a time. Sure, she went to nursing school and after almost 40 years has become a very respected nurse in a position of management and authority (recently met with Clinton and other senators about Bird-Flu), but before she got on that path, I was taught—osmotically, not directly—that the government was suspect. That the Establishment had its own agenda, and all was not what it seemed.

I suspect there is a large faction of the Right who would now say "AH-HA!"—despite what I just said about Cause vs. Consequence. Thier brains are broken in this way. They hunger for another Great War Moment, entranced by the WWII legend, and thus easily swept up in the USA's propaganda and neversated hunger for more fuel, or power; they need to believe in their wars as a Fourth of July we can export and deign to rain down clusters of independence upon the various tribes of non-Whites, where we are spiritually obligated to riddle the population with depleted Freedom, where it is our nations DUTY to render to bloody splinters anything that we fear may stand in the way of our Brave, Free Agenda of Empire.

Thus, these hawks need to see the People's reaction to the wars as an action itself, and certainly not a just and beautiful protest of spirit inspired by a honest repulsion to unnecessary murder and greed. They need to view these reactions as a traitorous agenda to "weaken America." There is no saving these cognitively impaired and spiritually bankrupt souls. They will clutch their diseased worldview in their quaking palms until the day they are lowered into the soil.

The truth is, the Vietnam War was a load of shit, and so is the Iraq war. Two incidents we lied about to catalyze (yes, just like the War on Mexico's Territory, and I'm sure every war henceforth) and two wars that brought with them the opposition of many clear-headed people who didn't stand to benefit as much as the warmakers do. People who only cringe to be represented by billions of dollars worth of bombs, bullets, grenades, napalm, phosphorous, mutilation, humiliation, and death.

Yet, all these things were in place for many years. And still, I was not so politically active. I was like most well-colonized Mexican-Americans, or the well-colonized non-Whites that toil and wander throughout this haunted spiritual wasteland. I didn't even think consciously about many things that hurt me, or that I yearned for, or the injustices I saw and felt. I didn't rally with the land of my ancestors, I didn't speak out with such vehemence, I didn't protest the administration, I didn't dedicate a large part of my waking energy to setting things right, educating others, or helping others in this fight. I was, like America's unspoken primers instruct, isolated, self-concerned, lulled into distraction by the easy (relative) wealth that is available to the American. I tuned out the radio, the TV, and the politicians. I maintained a vague sense of anger and injustice over what I knew to be a crooked system that treated so many unfairly and medicated myself with toys, distraction, and recreation.

I had given up on believing in this land's tenets by 14. This was the time of a massive internal existential explosion of thought for me. I began writing poetry on my tests (instead of the answers), was referred to a psychiatrist, dropped out school, left home by 15. And after that, I just wandered.

Eventually, I grew tired of being poor and principled (as I saw it). And then, I decided to go to college. At 27, I returned to school, and decided to make my way up the grand path of American Success. (I'm leaving out a few incidents, clearly). I did my best to do my best, and through the channels that are laid out for all us Lucky Americans. Still, though, racial inequality was not on my mind. The oppression that exists in this country was not on my mind. Those suffering at the hands of US policy: not on my mind. What was on my mind? My Cush. My dwelling. My cash and my comfort and mobility within the system.

Until September of 2001.

I was living in the heart of the hive—in NYC—and I had recently graduated NYU (with honors). I was living with my girlfriend, and in the middle of a breakup. Well, I hardly need to elaborate on what happened on the eleventh of September. Suffice it to say, when the towers came down and filled the island with panic, smoke, and fear, I was electrified, terrified, furious...I was a maelstrom of emotion. I even repeated, idiotically (but very understandably in an animal sense) Bush's mantra of "with us or against us" for a while. I seriously contemplated joining the Marines so that I could be shipped over to Afghanistan to do some killing. Right. So don't talk to me about being treasonous, Patriot.

We all felt unified in our righteous anger. We all felt very "American." The Mexicans, the Blacks, the Australians.... Even the French.

But the smoke cleared. And the government's agenda rose up even higher than the planes that were steered into the WTC on that fateful day. Queries were squashed, debris destroyed, records sealed, witnesses legally silenced. Nobody paid too much attention to all that at the time. In the Reichstagish after-tremors, we were as One. We acted in concert, ignoring anything that pointed out contradiction to the primitive fight or flight reaction our government is still trying to instill in us.

In the government's scramble to keep us scared (because it's all they have now), they began to use other angles to further the instinct to kill the Other, and keep Them out and down. And since at heart, so many of America's power grabs are about either fuel, coin, or White dominance (or all three), it was only natural that the government would begin exploiting the undercurrents of racism that make up so much of our American behavior and institutions. And so the "illegal immigration" meme began.

But hate and fear do not like to be corralled. They like to feed, to propagate. They resonate with a hunger and agenda that is bigger than any mortal soul who conjures them up and empowers them in haste. Like dark spirits, they will spill out of their prescribed parameters, and begin to gnaw at, stain, and spoil all in sight.

And so the Hate on Mexicans began. Lou Dobbs began beating his tired, pink drum; the MinuteKlan began hoping for a chance to fire off some rounds at the Brown, and the Neo-Nativist, stoked with census numbers and a fear of losing his pallor, began to seethe.

It was this same drumbeat that also roused The Unapologetic Mexican.

One day, I realized that a line was being drawn. And whereas it had been so much easier to feel assimilated into American culture (and remain dozing), it soon became an act of self-loathing to pretend my lineage, my people, and myself were not being attacked and impugned. And that is not something this American will stand for. Ever.

So the answer to the question that you, dear Patriot Amerikaner White Supremacist, were too timid to ask, and only imply? Where did such a man come from, an American who is hostile to the notion of White Dominance, against the wars we see fit to rain down upon the indigenous; a man who favors the poor and the downtrodden over the wealthy and exploitative; a man willing and able to stand tall and deliver his daring diatribe in the most loquacious lathering of livid and luscious language? He came from your own hands and heart.

YOU gave birth to the Unapologetic Mexican. And if I am a traitorous, hostile "foe," it is your doing. Stand and behold your creation, White America. And to you, I say—to those cowering in their malestar pálido—you best begin to develop a wider view of Cause and Consequence and Care. Or see your dearest, core-supporting ideas be relegated to the mass grave of outdated paradigms and dead ideologies that litter the unfortunate landscape of our collective history. I hope those whom I address are intelligent enough to read and understand this language. Too often people such as the ones I am responding to carry a prefabricated frame, and use anything they can to fill it in with their fears. But don't misunderstand me. I never wanted to bring down the USA, and I don't now. I just want her to be as glorious and ideal and beautiful as I was once taught she was. I rail and spit this fury and sadness because she has let me down, and without question. She has let down the banner of advertisement and rhetoric and bared her festering breast.

But my surge of pride and energy is not a giving up. It is a beginning. For I see a new day dawning. From the ugliness and hate that the Decider has heralded forth, we may recoil once more, and in our resilience, forge an era of truth. This can be our response. An era of awareness, of caring, of unity; of meaning what we say; of looking out for the weak one. I know it sounds like madness, after we have become so very used to living in Terror. But I pray that I may be an agent of this day's arrival. I dare to dream that I already am, in my own small way. Let us work for a day of love, and truth, and hope, and solidarity. No more unjust and unneeded war. No more White dominance for the sake of White dominance. No more exploiting the poor, or the Brown. I will do all I can to personally see this through. I don't have any need to exclude you, or anyone who doesn't wish me harm.

But ¡ojo!: I will not be denigrated, injured, humiliated, or sold a pack of lies. And I will not see my people harmed. I will continue to run my mouth, relish my frijoles, pay tribute to all mi antepasados, and tell the truth as I see it. No apologies.