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 a woman.

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 liberation.

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 future.

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 heritage!

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 Proud!

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.

(Short version of the book STOLEN HERO transcribed by Citlalli Citlalmina Anahuac)