The New Mahican: The Misadventures of Gerardo Perez Chan

By Gerardo Antonio Perez Chan

The story of a naive undocumented Houstonian whose whole world is destroyed after an encounter with the Houston Police Department in Texas. In violation of the Constitution of the United States, the city of Houston's police force works with federal agencies in order to send Gerardo to a faraway land. According to the United States Constitution, the federal government and the state government are to remain separate entities in order to protect the rights of the people. Kept in captivity for three years with no opportunity of ever getting legal status in the only place Gerardo called home. As these events unfold, he attempts to understand what his world has become. He never loses hope that he might be released in order to continue his education and reunite with his family.

While in captivity Gerardo's mind makes sense of the things happening around him by turning events into mythical epics. He speaks to various individuals who tell him of their hopes and dreams and watches as their spirit gets crushed daily. Slowly starved by a poor diet, he struggles to find a way to legitimize his existence with a racist and hostile government that he does not comprehend. Having lost the ability to walk on his own, Gerardo then must use the prison walls as support in order to get about. Abused by his captors on a daily basis, he begins to lose hope of ever seeing his family again. Forced to sign a paper that waived his right to be a legitimate American, Gerardo is then exiled for a hundred years by a judge just as old. Who is broadcasting from another location to a television screen in a courtroom inside the concentration camp.

After being exiled from his home, they then send Gerardo to a land that he has never known. Struggling to survive, Gerardo decides that even though he fears the American government, he must return home in order to provide for his family. Even after being so heavily persecuted, Gerardo still holds on to his love for the country that destroyed his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662474224

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The New Mahican

The Misadventures of Gerardo Perez Chan

Gerardo Antonio Perez Chan

Copyright © 2022 Gerardo Antonio Pérez Chan

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7421-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7422-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Mahican Named Chan

Mother of Exiles

The Evil of Judge Cassidy in Lumpkin Town

Dreams of Home

Star Gate Gazing

The Aztec Warrior Battles the Ignorant Troll of Evil

Stories of Indians in a Concentration Camp of the United States of America

More Stories

Fire (A Poem for the God of Fire)

Gone

The ICE Playground of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and the Central Intelligence Agency

The Uniformity of Division

The Red Man's Illness

The Gestapo

Concentration into Death Zones, Districts, Wards, Ghettos, and the Eugenicist Rulers of This World

The Extermination

Bibliography

THE BRACERO PROGRAM (1942–1964) A CRITICAL APPRAISAL JORGE DURAND

The Power to Declare War: The Ultimate Check on Presidential Power

BUREAU OF EDUCATIONAL AND CULTURAL AFFAIRS EXCHANGE PROGRAMS

About the Author

Mahican Named Chan

At one point, I thought I understood what the world meant to me. As a young child, it was the simplest actions that brought joy to my life. When my mother extended her hand to me and held my hand for long periods of time. The smell of a fresh morning. The long walks in Guadalupe Plaza by the water fountain, across the church my mother insisted we attend. These were the years that my mother's word was law. You could describe our relationship as a civilian in Metropolis City looking up at Superman as he flew around the world at an astonishing speed literally turning back time itself. She was a mystery to me. She is still a mystery to me for she is a woman of few words. She is a woman of action. I recall many heroic memories when my mother saved me from the evil villains in my life. She taught me to never back down and to defend the ground I stood on. I frequently had found myself in these situations where the only thing that mattered was who had the quickest reflexes. These moments in my life were the ones I most loathed. Yet this was just the reality of earth. The reality of a culmination of faulty governments working together to keep the rich, rich and the poor near death. At this point in my life, things were simple to a certain extent. There would be times in my life when we were found without a dime, but we had each other. We had this emotion that to this day filled the center of my chest with pain, brought a creeping feeling onto my body, and turned my stomach to its core. I had never found these emotions to be productive, but they served their purpose. I would rather have them eliminated. I had found that all things were connected to each other in one form or another.

As the years passed, I found joy in the libraries of America. The one thing that could fill my soul with joy was the smell of books. The silence of its great halls. The other children that went were obsessed with Pokémon cards. I believe most of America was in love with elemental animals that could be caught with advanced laser-based ball technology. The children in the library constantly read and traded Pokémon cards. My mother could never give me much, but she made sure that I was as happy as possible.

I have always been an assertive person for when something must be done, there is no other option than to act. I will never understand my brother, yet from the moment he was brought from Hermann Hospital, he was placed under my responsibility. I don't remember how young I was, but I do know that I was very small and had a hard time lifting heavy objects.

To this day, it all feels so confusing. Like a great big blur that constantly flashes. At times, it seems as if everything is merely an illusion. I don't even know what I am. I seem to be losing interest in this as time goes by, so many situations in too many places. Events that I would rather have not taken place. Death seems to always find his way to me, not to necessarily take me with him, but to toy with me. It teases me and pokes fun at me as I walk down the streets of nothing.

The world is so big, but my world is one city, one nation. Many people make this statement, but my belief in individuality leads me to believe that I have my own interpretation of this world. In the beginning, there was darkness, then George Washington said, Let there be light. A light that shines through the ages. Even in the darkest of hours of our world, this light guides us. For I believe fondly in his teachings. The documents he helped create were the miracle of men who had finally put aside selfish ambition and agreed that a functional society needed to be created.

So, it was created on the ashes of, I only assume, billions of Indians counting their ancestors and their future generations to come. They reduced their population to a minuscule amount and corralled them in the southern region of the North American continent. They led them to believe that they too had a functioning democratic government, but in reality, what they had was an overseer who answered to my mighty lord, Sir Washington. He was still the God of this Catholic nation and twenty other assorted Spanish-speaking slave states. I noticed a large amount of doublespeak, misinformation, and propaganda that was used in order to subdue and lull the mind. This has functioned with an extremely high rate of success. Some time has passed since the creation of my Eden, and its founders are long gone, but their ideals are still with us. Even Benjamin Franklin's crazy notion that black people were people, not property. I don't know what he thought about someone such as me, but I would like to think that in another life, we would have gotten along fine.

There were times when I would analyze all points of the painting that was before me, but I, unable to understand the message it wished to convey to me, would continue to analyze. Perhaps a solution to the equation that is life. It is one of the most complicated equations you could wrap your brain around for if it could be described in our three-dimensional world, it would be a Rubik's cube with constantly multiplying faces. That kind of equation takes a brain with an iron will. At times I just want to smash the multi-dimensional Rubik's cube. Well, if you add more walls to it forever, then in essence it no longer is a cube, just an ever-growing geometrical beast.

Time is a concept of fools; space is their limitation apart from their tendencies to extreme levels of racist action. Who knows if what you do in life has an initial punishment or reward when the last bits of electricity run through your corneas and into your brain, informing you that those are the last images from that reality that you will be receiving. From experience, I can say that when you lose consciousness, it seems to be from the exterior of your vision, and then it moves in as spots start to develop due to the lack of oxygen and heart functions. If there is pain, is it retained after all functions have ceased? Perspective is relative, so does that make everything void? I have seen the eyes of people with void hearts. They do not care what may happen to you. They simply wish to crush you and get you out of their way. They are master adversaries who have treated me with the lowest of regards.

I would like to think back to Nazi Germany. What was it, 1942 till 1945? Or shall we look at it from around 1939, when the Nazi party was rising into power. Well to the point. The Nazi party obtained power by doing what many other large bodies of bureaucrats and military men do when they get together secretly in a room. The complete control and submission of its nation's population and the destruction of a fabricated enemy using racist ideology as its tool. I live in a similar version where I am not killed but simply played with, as cats do with their meals. The system that is my god is a very interesting creature indeed. It leads me to believe that liberty is the freedom of the individual, the right of a man to exist, yet when I come before their ever-judging eyes, they give me the classic Mr. Anderson spiel. The first time I saw that film, I felt it was speaking to me. That scene where the agent reveals himself to the foolish zombie who thinks he has a say in the matter. When an entity representing power has the ability to completely control every fiber of your being right down to the aspect of reality itself, you should take a bit of time-out to look around to see if it is what it presents itself to be. If this is not done every so often, then the god might get carried away and cause a great flood of digital misinformation in order to consume you from the inside out. I have lived in a state of no freedom, where an angel destroys his people in the name of my god, Washington. In the name of Washington, many must die. To what end, I have no clue. Could this be some sick, sadistic, twisted pagan sacrifice done for the stone owl god in Bohemian grove? The Stonehenge-looking thing in Atlanta, Georgia, really creeps me out. The fact John Lennon got killed shortly after trying to shine some light on the matter of mass depopulation of the colored by the superrich of the world. They must want to create a giant golf course that engulfs the continents. I am not too good at golf, but I do enjoy the game myself, so in retrospect, it would not be bad for them. As for me, I would be dead because I am an Indian. I don't know why things must be escalated to such an extreme.

The abnormality of the world is astonishing, yet at the same time, it is something to marvel at. The things that fascinate people are things that have little to do with their actual state of being. The system lives off its people and grows stronger with each passing age. The basic functions of democracy have been manipulated to the point that the average human is disregarded in some form or another. For I walk in the shadow of the valley of the dead, I will not fear for I am badass. This is my prayer to the ever-expanding universe that carries me in what I consider to be reality. At times, I think to myself that it would be nice to dedicate my life to developing an engine that could take you at a moment's notice anywhere in the universe. The universe is such a lovely thing to ponder over. The way I see it, I am a fish looking for a way out of the fishbowl. This is true in so many aspects of this existence for if we were to reach the Andromeda galaxy in a quarter of a second, it would boost the global economy. I believe that to accomplish true space exploration, we must all work together as a planetary team. I would like to believe that at some point in history, democratic equilibrium will be reached, creating an era of peace outlasting Pax Romana, even outlasting the biblical version of this. If the stars could talk, what would they speak of? Would they reveal to us that the universe is a giant dance where they are seeing who is the most graceful? If the universe is ever-expanding, is time itself being affected due to the rotation of our planet as well, or is our planet expanding with time?

The Christmas air was cool, yet the hot Texan sun reminded you to drink plenty of water. The frigid winter nights were perfect to skate about the town with friends enjoying the festivities at hand. The young Jedi never understood why he was sent on the mission; an intelligent Jedi would ask a few questions and simply accept the cards he was dealt. Abercrombie and Fitch had always been an excellent work environment. I enjoyed the late nights listening to eighty Gigabits of rock and assorted hip-hop. The meticulous organization of the store was my task. The hours were long, but the work was simple and, for my standards, well paid for the position.

I wanted to hang out with a close friend of mine I had met at Lamar High School, which at the time I was still attending. I should have graduated earlier, but due to my heavy workload combined with few hours of sleep, it created a half-functioning kind of situation. I went to school because I had the obscure notion that I could be of some use to society in some form of a scientific field. There were so many things that you could study, so my mind was everywhere at once. I got my phone from my pocket and gave Will Webber a call. Those were the glory days of my so-called life.

I got my mother a cleaning position in the company. It paid what I made, and the task was simple and light. Time had not been kind to my mother, nor Houston Chronicle and an assorted number of companies that found the rights of a person of color with the lack of English skills to be out of their jurisdiction of consideration. She had suffered an injury that disabled the right side of her head, legs, and back. Her lawyer was swiftly paid off by Houston Chronicle, and the case was never taken to court. I had wanted to help her, but she was too proud to use my English skills. Her mind could not picture a young child being much help in legal situations. I have always known my rights as a human being on this earth. There were other events, till it came to a point where her body was constantly in pain. I recall how she would stay up late at night screaming from the pain she said came from her bones. This ruined my day every single time.

We waited for my friend in front of the Galleria mall by the Cheesecake Factory. We got into the car and went off to the ghettos, where my small apartment was located. I went up the stairs to find about twenty cops and my brother in handcuffs. My mother became frantic as the whole situation escalated out of her control. I would end up going through the blind court system and fall so deep through the cracks I'd land somewhere in Mexico. I had fought for nine months or so for my freedom, but I was sent to Atlanta, Georgia, of all places. When I took my first steps across the bridge, I felt a sort of abandonment. I was about to experience this at a great level. I had a plastic bag with random crap that I had accumulated: my shoelaces, a belt, and my Stewie Griffin T-shirt. I will never forget what that shirt had written on it: I would like to talk to you, but you seem stupid. There must have been a million copies of that shirt, but I still found it to be funny. I was still in my work clothes and felt extremely out of place.

As the sun shined on my face, I looked around and saw nothing but small buildings, dirt roads, smog, dead animals, and trash all over the place. I was beside myself. In the concentration camp, I worked as one of the people who cleaned the pods. It paid in cents, and to top it off, we were taxed. I didn't understand them at all for if I was not of this nation, then why were they still giving me a job and taxing me while in the process of being exiled? The way I saw it was that if they truly wanted to make sense, they would hire people with papers to do the jobs that we were doing. To me, this was another form of doublespeak in its most glorious form, a concentration camp. I'll never forget how the alarms used to go off constantly, making me go mad. I have never had a choice of where my home would be, but as usual, God had decided for me. It seems that God has made all the decisions in my life. Directly or indirectly, Washington has always affected me. From the time I was born till the day I die, Washington will always control my life for that is the purpose of a god. From the highest points, it looks down at me and simply enjoys the way I squirm.

I was glad to be wearing Converse for they were one of my favorite types of shoes. I stood paralyzed for a moment when I reached the end of the bridge. I just could not believe that I was in Mexico. I had neither memories of this place nor any knowledge about anything. I found myself completely lost with no purpose in my life for it had been taken away by God. I walked to what appeared to be a gas station and bought a pack of cigarettes with the $68 I had made while working in the concentration camp. This was all I had to my name now: $66 and assorted cents, the Stewie Griffin T-shirt I was wearing, the horribly cute dress pants made to look like shorts, my Converse shoes, and my newly purchased pack of Delicados cigarettes. The scene was something out of a bad western film. It was just so apparent that crime ruled not only the streets but all forms of function within the town.

As I stood outside, a guy offered to take me back home, but I would never trust a stranger for that was rule number one when alone and not wishing to die. The Honduran fellow I was with had himself a beer and simply turned around to the desert and went back to America. Whether he made it to his home or died, I do not know, but I wished him luck all the same. I managed to make a call and got some money to go to Mexico City. A part of me knew that I should go home right away, but I just did not know-how. The angel representing God told me that I would be facing up to five years in hell if I tried to go back home; this was one of my main concerns.

When I reached Mexico City, I bought some clothes and simply stored what I was wearing in a bag. I called my mother, and after much effort, she managed to give me the number to her sister. I soon found myself in Morelos, Cuernavaca. While there I learned to what depth the government corruption extended. It had infected every fiber of society, creating this uncomfortable environment where the powers that be would literally move town squares just to keep the people from gathering there. I found this to be a blur or something that I just simply imagined. I was never happy for the thought of my family was constantly on my mind. I tried to do different things to keep my mind distracted, but nothing seemed to function. I even tried to love a girl once, but she grew bored of me very quickly. They all did with time, for once they have had their fill of sex, all that was left was what you were, and if I found them as a person to be repulsive, I simply wouldn't know what to do. That was why, in a way, it seemed I always let them do it for me. That way the relationship ended in a way that left the girl smiling. I have found love to be complex at times to the point where you just don't want anything to do with that emotion.

From there, I went to Poza Rica, Veracruz, to find out what I knew to be true, that I was not from there. I was not from anywhere. I had fallen from the sky and had sunk to the most profound depths of the earth to find that for the first time in my life, I was truly alone in this world. There was no God or superhero offering salvation, only the stars in the sky to guide my path. The path has always been unknown with too many mysteries. This path took me from the mountains of Xico to unknown rivers in the depths of the jungle. The south of the Gulf of Mexico was a horrific sight. Apart from there being chopped limes all over the place, the treat of you being the next gentleman to enter this madman's meat market was at an all-time high. The once-world-famous vacation spot of Acapulco had become infested with drug lords and hit men who were not taking any prisoners, simply killing anything that moved within the city. Recently six women from Spain were kidnapped, raped, then killed, and the city officials, to save face most likely, just grabbed at random people who could be blamed the quickest to then be presented before prosecution without any actual evidence, for their failed state system simply did not work.

The hotels seemed to be haunted, and the ocean seemed as if it would spit out the dead. I had a few encounters with death in this city, and I was ready to get out. Once I was out of there, I found myself on the path north toward home, toward the glory. Now I sat there formulating a plan to end up in the vicinity of home. There seemed to be something blinding the people of this earth for as I lived this neo-Nazi reality, the propaganda machine just spewed its filth over its brainwashed populations. I can understand that it is next to impossible for you to break free of the brainwashing misinformation and disinformation. There must be events in your life that line up in the proper way to reveal a large crack in the system, then when you fall through that crack and wind up in your own personal hell, you might better process this information. For me, it was this for it could've been another. I could've spent my entire life in a monkey's cage, sent to CPS, or simply disenfranchised in some way.

There were many cracks in this mirror that I was looking into, and the image that it showed me of myself, I felt, was not accurate at all but a manipulation created by doublespeak. It was notable in all aspects of society that everything must mean something totally to the contrary. This contradictory system was one of the most functional when it came to keeping the masses confused and fighting with one another. These contradictions set the foundation for controlled societies that believed themselves to be free but, in actuality they were so far from freedom. When you conform to what has been presented to you as reality, you enable God to dictate your life. It is not until you find your way out of the trance that you may realize your true potential as a person.

This world is made of many things with many functions interacting with one another in order to exist in unison. From the smallest bee pollinating a flower to a lion finding nutrition in a slow-moving Zebra, we all function as one, creating everything that is and ever will be within this time period. There is a sector of reality that is completely ignored and unseen by the masses of America. This is not news to many people who are well-informed on historic events due to life experience or just well-read.

Let's go back in time to the time of the great European immigration. When the Italians arrived on American shores, they were greeted with great amounts of hate from ill-informed people. They believed the Italians to be filth on this earth for their lack of education, hygiene, and of course, their lack of ability to speak English. I personally was not there, but judging from experience, I could only assume that they were beaten, stoned, soaked with buckets of water, and any other form of pain that could be caused while one was out on the American streets. They told me in school that to be different was an exceptional trait. I put so much effort into my education, expecting to become this contribution to society or something coming close to it. As I grew up, I was led to believe that I had to do my best in order to become what they wanted me to be, a productive and constructive citizen.

Citizen is derived from the city; when the first cities were being built around the temples in biblical times, this Latin concept started to be developed. This means an individual that lives in a city and contributes their effort in order to progress society is, therefore, a citizen for contributing to the construction of the city. Society is a functional group of people creating equilibrium. The elite historically always creates systems to govern the functions of society. In all cases, these bodies that have been given powers over the masses tend to get carried away. Look at King George III in colonial times. He raised taxes on his people, which lead to the Boston Tea Party. King George III knew that they were dependent on their English imports, for the king had decreed that the colonies would not be allowed to produce their own merchandise.

Porfitio Diaz ruled Mexico for thirty years. Although I did not see Porfitio Diaz or any of its other rulers as actual rulers but mere puppets of the higher power of Washington. From the so-called founding of this nation, it has been controlled by God. Its so-called presidents were simply unmentioned governors with a lower budget. I don't really know enough, but from what I have gathered, it is and always will be controlled by Washington. No privileges such as the other states. Let's be frank, during colonial times, the question of the extermination or coexistence with the Indians was asked. One sector of North America selected to live with the Indians; the other decided to completely exterminate the Indians and isolate them into pockets all across America. They called them reservations. I considered them to be concentration camps. They gave you the illusion that you were equal to the ones that took all your land, but in their eyes, you were far below them to the point of reaching the center of the earth and melting completely.

For me, every day I was falling ever deeper into the earth's magma, bringing agonizing pain to my bones. I had known who I was from the day I could conceive a thought. Washington, to my knowledge, has never known me. I was a glitch in its perfect program established to create a so-called equal society.