Amelia (Mely) is a Mexican migrant of Purépecha roots who has spent half of her life in this country. In my home, there was always noise, a lot of noise: the sound of my mom’s sewing machines mixed with the particular movement of the great Tenochtitlan. I carry engraved in my memory Mexico City’s Zócalo, the great demonstrations and the encampments from which the songs, pain, and resistance of the people emerge. “Fucking lazy people, they want the government to give them everything,” I would hear some adults say, while my mom cursed at the PRI and shared food —and, when she could, a coin— with those “troublemakers.”

My grandmother was a woman who taught herself how to read and write. “Doña Amelia, it’s your turn to lead the Virgin songs and pray the rosary,” they would tell her. She would begin singing the chants, and I, between being pulled, smacked, and pinched, had no choice but to sing the second part with her (those tremendous pinches were how you got yourself in line, hahaha). She was always a hardworking woman.

After 20 years in these nations stolen by North American imperialism, my leftist and rebellious side also took shape. Here I met a very talented group of people in music. I am now part of a band called Rabia al Sistema: punk in Spanish with self-managed and revolutionary ideas, from South Central Los Angeles, Tongva Land.