For the vendidas and vendidos, and to those
who don’t know, I am Frida Kahlo. I
am not that fake Frida that vendidos manipulate
to fit their colonialist-racist agendas.
Since my death I have been transformed into
this false empty personality that had nothing
significant to say, nothing Indigenous to
represent, and nothing to contribute to "Mexicanismo",
"Indigenismo", and to the concept
of an Anahuac nation. I am simply portrayed
as a "victim", merely "a cripple",
a wife who lived "in her husband’s
shadow", a "Latina" role model,
and the simplistic label of "a Marxist".
I was more than just a Marxist. I was never
a Latina! I was always only a Mexican!
The really meaningful things in my life are
obscured by selective racist and feminist
sexist research. I have a big problem with
your selections. What aspect of my Mexican-ness
do you not understand? What on earth is wrong
with you?!!! Are you blind! Lost! Confused!
The time has come to stop all of this nonsense!
First off, before I was a Marxist, I was Mexican.
Mexican was my life. My political ideology
was Marxism. It was the political ideology
that I practiced as a Mexican. Back in my
day, many Mexicans turned to Marxism because
it gave us a plan of action with which to
fight colonialism and capitalism. At that
time Marxism was perfect, or as near to perfect
as we could find, to ending the oppression
of Mexican people. Marxism gave us hope and
inspiration! It was the only available option
to us at that time. The studies of our Anahuac
heritage were still in their early stages.
The option of an Anahuac heritage approach
to our problems was just beginning to blossom.
If that option would have been fully developed,
it would have been the full focus of my life.
As a Marxist I was able to organize and confront
the economic racism that was attacking us.
Marxism was the only viable tool available
to us that we could use to fight injustice
and oppression against the Vendidos and Europeans.
I was given birth by a very beautiful Oaxacan
woman, and by my Mexican land. I was not given
birth or identity by Karl Marx! I respect
Karl Marx, but he does not define who I am.
My nation and my land define who I am. The
actions of my life define who I am.
Our people that are Marxists today don’t
care about their people. They say that they
are just human-beings, that they don’t
have a nation! Pinches Cabrones! We have a
Nation! A beautiful nation! Can’t you
see that we have been denied our nation, and
our identity and our heritage.
Our nation has been stolen from us for almost
500 years! Diego and I understood that we
were Mexican! I hate it when you vendido-fools
focus purely on my involvement with Communism,
without any mention of my Mexican pride, my
love of my Mexican heritage. Your treason
instantly shoves me into the category of a
“Generic Human Being“. That is
insulting! It is racist!
I am also used as a female icon, a Feminist
icon. There was far more to me than just being
What I did was for all of my people not just
women. Mexicans are women and men, both are
components and heirs of our great civilization:
Anahuac. Both are colonized and enslaved to
Europeans! Together we must fight for our
Many people say that I “lived in Diego’s
shadow” and that I was “his victim”.
Please! Give me a break! You really did not
understand the relationship that he and I
had. Stop making a pinche love story and novela
out of my life! I was a victim of European
colonialism and a victim of Gringo exploitation,
along with millions of my people. I was not
the victim of a beautiful Mexican nationalist!
If I were alive today, I would definitely
not be posing for a LATINA magazine, let alone
a HISPANIC biography. Those terms did not
even exist in my time. They do not define
me. I defined myself as Mexican. I am not
Roman! I am not a pinche Española!
Not a Spaniard! Don’t insult me or inflict
me with your own self-hate and ignorance!
If you want to hate yourself, do it alone
and don’t incorporate proud Mexicans
like myself into your masochistic racist habit.
I did not leave my identity as a mystery!
I made it very damn clear who I was and what
I wanted to be remembered as!
"Mexico" is today approached as
a dead thing by many people. Some take pride
in the Nican Tlaca (Indigenous) past but they
are not willing to build for a Nican Tlaca
Mexico is alive because we are alive! This
is what I lived for. This Mexico was the essence
of my existence. It was in my art. It was
in my house. It was in my heart.
I have been stolen from my people. I am manipulated
to fit stupid, racist, treasonous agendas.
I hate to see my image under bold letters
LATINA, beneath a RED STAR, as a FEMINIST,
MUJER stamped on my forehead! What the hell
is wrong with you!
I want to be under bold letters that read
MEXICAN, bold letters that read LIBERATION!
"Mexican people" I screamed at
the top of my lungs! "Scream with me...The
Mexican Revolution continues!"
It continues because you, my people, are enslaved!
Rebel against this colonialism! Against this
Genocide! You were enslaved when I was alive
and now that I am dead, you are still enslaved!
You have been taught to hate who you are,
to hate anything that is Nican Tlaca! You’ve
been sadistically taught to hate yourself
and your people! Don’t! You are cheating
yourself out of true pride and dignity. Embrace
your Mexican-ness! Learn your true Anahuac
This is our land MEXICANS! Throw away your
dress shoes, put on some huaraches, throw
on a huipil, be who you are!
On July 13, 1954, the doors of life were
closing and a pulmonary embolism walked me
through the final exit. In my coffin I was
rested, as a Mexican. My hair was done up
in the rainbow-ribbons style of our ancestors,
flowers braided in. I was wearing my favorite
huipil from Yalalag, with a lavendar silk
tassel, the one I wore when I painted my self-portrait
with Dr. Farrill. I was wearing my beautiful
black Tehuana skirt. Around my neck rested
jade, coral, and silver. At my feet laid an
array of red flowers. This exit was colorful,
full of beautiful life and beautiful death,
full of Nican Tlaca beauty.
Although I no longer walk amongst you, I
am with you. I continue to remind you of our
beautiful Anahuac heritage with my art. My
paintings now pierce your mind, awakening
your imagination and challenging you to stop
your self-hate. My Tehuana dresses now dress
my home. My paint and paintbrushes still speak
for me, scream for me: Que Viva Mexico!
I leave you my Mexican paintings as a sign
of my endless Mexican pride. I leave you my
life as a proud Mexican, so that you may follow
in my footsteps, so that you will keep walking
with me as proud Mexicans. Be Mexican! Be
Let me live in our history. Let me live in
the full courage and the full knowledge of
our beautiful Anahuac heritage. Let me live
in Tenochtitlan as Diego painted me, amidst
the scent of our Mexican chocolate, and the
backdrop of our beautiful Anahuac civilization.
Let me live in you, Mexican!
Que viva Mexico! Que viva Zapata! Que viva
la vida! La vida Mexicana!
These are the words from my actions, my
paintings, and my life.
version of the book STOLEN HERO transcribed
by Citlalli Citlalmina Anahuac)