Black, Red, Yellow and White Lies Still Matter: To Fix The House My Great Grandfathers and Grandmothers Built

By Marie Arruda-Machado Medici

Startling, straightforward, and sometimes disturbing truth that dispels the false narratives we have been taught to believe for generations and that continue to be taught to our children and grandchildren.

This is what author Marie Arruda-Machado Medici reveals in this compelling genealogical study.

When Marie embarked on researching

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798822913400

Marie Arruda-Machado Medici

Marie Arruda-Machado (Lopez-Sotomayor-Guzman-Manrique-GOYA-Nunez-Barcelona-Martinez-Quintanilla-Perez) Medici is a special education teacher of 20+ years and a writer of books and songs since her teen years and of poetry since childhood. As a multicultural and multiracial disabled American veteran, Marie was an honoree and marched in the procession for the National Native American Veterans Memorial in Washington, DC, in November 2022. When not teaching or writing, Marie is an avid collector and enjoys doing arts and crafts, woodworking, reading, conducting genealogical research, and traveling with her family, whom she adores. She has three lovely children and two beautiful grandchildren.

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Dedications (Reiterations)

I dedicate this book to Great-Grandfather, King James I and VI (king of Scotland, Ireland, and England), who said, To make women learned and foxes tame has the same effect—to make them more cunning, and to knowledge. May we (this includes the women) gain all the knowledge that we can!

This book is dedicated to my wonderful family, my distant cousin, Prince Lorenzo De’ Medici The Magnificent (my knighted prince and humanitarian hero) for his transparency in sharing of information about our ancestors and clearing their names (namely Queen Caterina who has been bashed by history over time), but first I must mention the establishment (the other family of mine making this book possible and allowing me to share this information with the common people—and my Lord and protectors, no doubt): of course, my mother; my father; my grandparents (RIP); my three beautiful daughters, Anastasia, Kayla, and Manuela; my two beautiful grandchildren, Hayden and Hunter; my siblings (as always, with special thanks and dedication to my beautiful sister Deborah, working behind the scenes for many years, to research with the Mormon Church, FamilySearch.org, and more); my niece and my nephews (Kaja, Aries, Ash, and Torsten); my cousins; and my faithful friends. I’d also like to give a special shout-out to my cousin Ken Membertou, who has been sharing much of our American Indigenous history with me. Thanks, cousin, and thanks to all my cousins! (Incidentally he has been fighting for stolen family fortunes and estates, at least one of them, though I have been looking into two stolen grandfather inheritances—the story is always the same, except my state of interest is now Vermont.) Thanks to my Abenaki family (and of course, all my other tribes). Where have our stolen billions of inheritance gone?

This book is also dedicated to Chief Paul Bunnell (an author and New England area Abenaki Chief), who states, The American Indian is the only race that must prove who we are. We always must give something up to get federal recognition. Hopefully, something can be done to rectify this issue someday.

This book is also dedicated to my world family (all creeds and races) and especially to the youth of the world. They deserve the truth!

Remember those who came before us—the ancestors. Honor them. There is only one race of people in this world. We are it. Honor us.

I dedicate this book to all the people of the world, especially those who are suffering from lack of knowledge, ignorance, and so forth. I dedicate this to knowledge and to all nations of the world and especially those nations of people who are Aboriginal to their lands, yet no one sees, hears, or respects them. I dedicate this book to my tribal affiliation of Ko’asek (Co’wasuck) Traditional Band of Sovereign Abenaki Nation. I’d like to again send a special shout-out to Chief Paul Bunnell, an author of genealogy and family tree books, from the tribe for his assistance, and I also pledge to help the Abenaki gain federal and state recognition in New Hampshire.

Regarding America (Canada and south and central America ass well as the Caribbean), my apology goes out to all the Indian tribes, of course. It should be clear to the world that America (at the very least) is now a nation where flags from other countries fly everywhere in masses—and boy, do I mean everywhere. I ask, Do the American Indian flags hang in other countries of the world? I’d bet my paycheck they do not! And how about a thank-you and an apology for the American Indian? I will apologize to you now.

To the American Indians out there (including myself), I hear you, I see you, I respect you, and I love you. I always will, and I will help you gain some respect and love as well from others—watch me! I will not fly flags from all other nations based on lies and disrespect toward you on your own land (including my own family—on our lands). I pledge not to hang up flags from all the other continents until I hang up some of yours (and mine). Let it be known to the world that it is OK to hang up Abenaki flags, Mi’kmaq flags, Mohawk flags, Aztec flags, Incan flags, Mayan flags, Taino flags, and so forth.

How dare we hang up all those other flags for a bunch of our fake American holidays! (Are we Americans ready to accept the fact that the Spanish were in the Americas first and that they never left [mind you, the Spanish owned almost half or more of what we now call the United States today, and the French owned almost all the rest. Or are we ready to accept that the Knights Templars were here in the Americas like forever, and there are things we do not know about our own history?] or that the Spanish were Templars, too—might I add, of the highest ranks?). We should not hang up flags from the world over without hanging up our Indigenous American flags on Indigenous American soil, right? It is very interesting, to say the least, that everyone complains about America, yet the ones who complain the most have the most freedoms of all, and that includes flying flags from other countries on American soil! I would love to go to Africa or Europe and fly my Mohawk, Aztec, Incan or Taino flags up anywhere and everywhere; Do you think their governments would allow it? Let us be honest here--- probably not! Absolutely not! Again, here, when I say American soil, I am referring to the Aboriginal First Nations (a.k.a. American Indians, Indigenous peoples). We cannot recognize other nations in America until we recognize them first!

All other countries of the world do this--- Recognize the first peoples. Reconcile with the first peoples. Why can’t America?

I don’t know if people in other countries are this ignorant (as some American people are—sorry, just saying), but I hope America is not the dumbest country on earth, for goodness’ sake. I mean, America is getting rid of Columbus Day (yes, I am a descendant—sorry) because they say he did not land in America. (Technically, he did—at the least, his descendants are still in Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, of course, and have been consistently as early as Grandfather Diego Colón; again, I apologize, but we are still there.) He was living in what is now called the Dominican Republic, but Americans are still adding new fake holidays as we speak, correct? Yet there is still not a national Indigenous Peoples’ Day in every single American state or place as there might be Canada, correct? While I’m on the topic of Canada, a big thank-you goes out to Pope Francis for apologizing and reconciling with my Canadian First Nation brothers and sisters. A big thanks also goes out to Prince Lorenzo de’ Medici, the Magnificent. Thank you again for all you do!

Why can America not reconcile with its first peoples? What in the world? This is as ludicrous as when Mary J. Blige was blocked from the Queen of Hip-Hop and R&B Award many years ago (even though she was an inspiration to many of us through our tears over the years). I guess one could say that I am as big of an advocate for the American Indians as my grandmother Maria Alvarez de Toledo y Rojas (vicereine of Santo Domingo—a.k.a. the modern-day Dominican Republic) was. (Or as my grandfather Columbus and Sir Knight Beauchamp the Mayflower investor could have been accused of going hard for the CRYPTOS!— you get the idea!). It is also ironic that Colón’s granddaughters (including Maria, the highest-ranking woman in the New World in the 1600s, and myself) were (and now are) the biggest advocates for the American Indians. (Remember the Taino?) Yes, you can call me the Indian Whisperer. My students at the juvenile facility always said about me, She goes hard for the Indians. You can also call me She Who Walks among the Commoners or She Who Tells Her Story, or The Hot-Headed Indian! These are also fitting. You get the idea. I will reiterate that we all matter. Indians too!

I dedicate this book as well to my extended family, the world, and to you, and may we all realize someday we come from different tribes or clans and not different species. I would also like to dedicate this book to all my teachers and professors (elementary, secondary, and postsecondary) and to my students, even those I only met in passing or in my book clubs, mentoring, and so forth. I dedicate this to information and to the world of information (and knowledge). Let us absorb all the knowledge we can. Knowledge is power; ignorance is downright scary.

We have moved from a world of next-to-zero information to a world of misinformation and superabundant information. Furthermore, we have forgotten how to think for ourselves. Scary stuff, my people! Wake up! I say this with the best of intentions. Knowledge and education are the only ways, people. Cheers go out to information and the abundance of it but may we all continue to navigate it safely. This book is for the underdogs and to the man (or woman—and kids) who is homeless with no food to eat. We are all important. We are all somebody.

We all matter. May you be blessed in all you do.

There is somebody in even the most primitive and minute of creatures; respect them all. (This one is straightforward.) We must all be very careful that, in not wanting to be a victim, we do not all become perpetrators. (For fear of becoming victimized should not motivate us to hurt others.) Many of us have endured extensive trauma throughout our lives; the dangers set in when we view our individual trauma as a license to traumatize others. (Our hurt does not give us the right to hurt others.) Nobody is better at oppressing others than those who have been oppressed themselves. (My oppressed ancestors of Spain, France, Portugal, and so forth oppressed another group of people: my American Indian ancestors.)

I am no longer a victim like my ancestors were. I am no longer a victim—I am a survivor for sure. I am no longer a victim like my cousins now are. I am no longer a victim, and I will help them near and far. (I am a survivor!)

Abandon Hearts

The day you left, you left me bereft;

You tore out my soul, and I can never let go.

Every single step I took, I saw your face; I saw you wherever I looked.

There is a void in my heart that I can never fix, right next to the heart murmur that forever clicks.

Every single moment that I can never regret; my heart, it’s on the way to heaven. My goal is now set.

The damage you did when you walked away is undeniably unbelievable, more than I can ever say.

Once again, I feel my heart ever so abandoned, and this pain in my heart—I assure you, I can no longer stand it.

You got further inside than anyone could ever get, and now I feel nothing but heartbreak and regret.

You came as quickly as you went; the pain and pressure inside, I must now vent.

You so selflessly gave your words and your heart of what was meant inside the deepest part;

The deepest part of my heart is leading me now to a brand-new start.

To Hell with the Indians

To hell with the Indians, you would say as you look the other way.

And To hell with the Indians, you would say until you heard what I had to say, and then you would turn again the other way.

I may be whatever to you, and maybe that is true, but underneath the masks, I am just like you.

Do you think you are the only one suffering, the only one of color? Now if you only knew I’m your sister, and you’re my brother.

The way you look at me tells me you have so much more to say, but every time you look at me, you have then looked the other way.

My heart is free, and this you will find; I’m a straight shooter, constantly saying what’s on my mind.

Some refer to me as a sniper, and others might refer to me as a woman with the force of a viper.

Either way you’ll see me, yes, I say you’ll see me, even if you turn away and run, and you try to be free of me or flee from me.

To hell with the Indians, you would say as you looked the other way.

And To hell with the Indians, you would say until you heard what I had to say, and then you would turn again the other way.

KING JAMES:

To Great-Grandfather King James, not only did you hijack the Americas, but you also hijacked every one of us.

When you hijacked the world, you hijacked everyone in my family trees; you did this whether I was Spanish, Italian, French, or Portuguese!

I Can Be Your Plessy

I can be your Plessy but only if you let me.

I can get in the front of the bus, and I can get in the back; is it the understanding of me that you may lack?

I am a human just like you; this concept you may behoove, and it always seems never-ending that I have so much more to prove.

The way you look at me and the way you stare, are you just that confident with that look and snare?

I must tell you now; I must warn you to beware as it all just might be a surprise—I care so much for my strength and the strength of my hair to my surmise.

I can be your Plessy, yes; I can be your Plessy. I can be your Plessy but only if you let me.

Of the many societal rules that they say are unfair, but many of you pretend to see my plight, of which you might seem to care.

Whether it be the equity of it all, which is rather grand; but again, I must say to you, with whom do you make your stand?

Would it still be with me, or would it be on the fence so you can bend? Again, I remind you of my plight of spite and recompense, my friend.

So I could sit in the front, and I could sit in the back because, deep down inside, I am Spanish, Indian, Asian, white, and black!

Will you judge me from afar; will you judge me for the black? Will you judge me for the whiteness or anything I might lack?

Where would you have me? You can see my contemplation; is there any room for my multiculturalism within the confines of this rigid nation?

I could be your Plessy; yes, I could be your Plessy, but I could be your Plessy only if you let me!

The Most-Hated Blood

Yes, I am Spanish and Portuguese—I can say that with ease within—

and two kinds of Indians with tumultuous cultured sin!

I am the blood of the blacks and the blood of the whites, and the blood of the red men endangered who we still slight!

I am the blood of the colonizer, the blood of the criminal!

I am the blood of the most hated, which is always quite subliminal!

The ancestors took the Indian—of course, it was all a mishap!

I tell you now—it’s not too late to put the Indian on the map!

Reconciliation—reconciliation is what they call it!

Reconciliation of the nation, which we should never halt!

Reconciliation of the most-hated modern nation!

The hatred runs deep with the nation’s utmost provocation.

The ones—red ones—called such, who sacrificed for all the masses!

I tell you now—this is nothing you learned in your kindergarten classes!

I tell you now, and I will tell you once again! We are brothers and sisters, and you are also my friend!

As brothers and sisters, it’s relevant and imperative; we all must sit down and talk about this story and change the whole narrative!

Where Are You, Red?

Where, oh where, where are you, red?

Where are you, red; where is the man whose blood has been shed?

Every crack, every crevice, every inch of the land;

Has evidence of being touched by the red man’s hand!

Where are you, red?

Where is the man they always declare is dead?

I see all the writings on the walls!

Even the red Sanskrit in the Sanskrit halls!

Where are you, red?

Where is the man they say has bled?

I know you were here; I can feel your red spirit!

I know you’re still here; my heart can surely hear it!

Where are…where are…where are you, red?

I do not believe them when they say that you have fled;

The animals, the plants, everything all around me!

Mother Earth dances to our chants, you see!

Where, oh where, where are you, red?

The only being left on earth who’s the butter and the bread!

Red, please come home to save the earth!

The other modern beings refuse to cherish her worth!

Red, please save our planet; red, please save our mother!

Red, please tell the tribes they are all sister and brother!

The Pain from Spain

Just call me the insane pain from Spain who was born from the evil weed or seed of greed.

The scapegoat of the slave boat, the one who was blamed, and the one forever shamed.

The one blamed and the one shamed was the king from the throne who never did it all alone but took the big fall!

The other side—you know, the other colonizers—sometimes we are referred as the sympathizers;

The ones who got away SCOT-free, yet the king took the blame for it all!

The one we are so proud of, the man of the guy of that Bible book!

Grandfather deserves some of the blame and another good, hard look!

The one who let him take the blame not once but twice;

Lived his long life out on another land. He lived with the same folks he would sacrifice!

A Good Cry

There’s always, always, always a reason to cry in this crazy world, but I say if you’re gonna cry, well, cry for a good reason!

Maybe a man came in and rescued you to be your newfound savior, and maybe you were his, or maybe the Creator only knows, and the Creator would agree. If you’re going to cry, my child, cry over some good!

I always say I smile and laugh a lot because, in all reality, what the heck else are you gonna do? I’m not crying all the time! I refuse!

I’m not crying, and I’m not whining, and I’m surely going to from here on out stop complaining, and I’m going to do some research before I