These are my thoughts today, the day of the traditional Corpus Christi festival celebrated annually in Cusco. (This reflects the culture of the Catholic church here, not worldwide, just to clarify). It reflects what often happens here in the religious culture of this area.
You say there is no slavery
But you are still enslaved,
Slaves of cruel, unfeeling masters -
Powerful to oppress
But powerless to help.
You say you are free,
That what you have is yours.
Yet they take what is yours -
Yours and your children's -
And blow it up in smoky fireworks.
They take what should clothe your children
And use it to confect glorious robes
For a body that feels no cold.
They take what should fill your stomach
And spend it on musicians, dances and costumes.
They take your children's future
And turn it into elaborate bannerettes
Proclaiming your merit
Both now and at your death.
They strip you, leave you cold and bare
And never hear a single prayer.
They turn your men into violent drunks;
Your women and children
Become the abused.
They wear many disguises
All over the world -
Ancestors, entertainers, gods of rain and war -
But here they are called saints.
You say there is no slavery,
But you are still enslaved.
