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Paul Stevens Nov 2012
Amadou awakened with a start, it was Omar one of the guardians(security guards) of Yaldagou (the largest Hospital in the capital of Burkina Faso) knocking on the window of his taxi, Amadou had just settled down for the night after a long day in the heat and fumes that was Ouagadougou it was just after midnight on Sunday, he struggled to wake up rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Omar explained in Mori(local language), that there were two white people in need of his special service.

After a quick explanation that someone had died in a private clinic nearby and the body needed to be transported to the morgue at Yaldagou,  he snapped out of his sleepiness and thought for a moment how much he could charge the rich white people, it was two days after Eid and as a strict Muslim he had been celebrating the holidays and now he had been offered an opportunity to supplement his taxi income, someone had to do it and it was an unsavory job and anyway on the few occasions he had done it, it had been lucrative, it might as well be him!

Amadou thought to himself, if you had the misfortune to die in the day time there was a private service but in the night dignity went out the window and it was up to people like Amadou and a select bunch of taxi drivers with seats that could be configured to accommodate the corpses of the recently deceased to perform this service, so taxi 87 driven by Amadou would take this lady who had died from kidney and other ***** failures, after struggling for some days she eventually lost her battle and slipped into unconsciousness and finally died.

Amadou finally settled on 10000 CFA(local currency) a fair price, after all the so-called professionals would charge 30000 CFA three times more and it was around Eid "Allah Akbar".  

A quick "Thank you" to Omar for helping them and the two white people left with him for the short journey to the clinic, after the usual discussions the body was released and  transported to the morgue to join the other recently deceased waiting for burial in the morning,

Amadou, rearranged the seating in his taxi after parking up in his favourite place under the trees of Yaldago it was just after one thirty, a good ninety mins work he thought to himself, yawned, and settled down to sleep a few more hours before dawn prayers.

This was Africa and "someone had to do it" was his last thought.
A true story, something that happens regularly even today!
“Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.”
                                                    ­ George Orwell, 1984* (published in 1949)

Which brings us, of course, to the subject of torture since 1949.
Come with me to the Casbah, Babaloo.
We begin in the 1950s with the French in North Africa,
****** baguettes in Algeria,
Couilles frits, anyone?
Electrodes wired to Mustapha’s *****.
And "Bigeard's Shrimps,” as the bodies were called,
Dumped over the Mediterranean from aircraft,
All things considered a je ne sais quoi,
Though Camus and Sartre gave it a whack.

Then the 1960s: the CIA dabbling in mind-control and LSD.
Later, a Phoenix Program,
Very secretive, sympathies with the Cong required,
Various elders selected,
The village disinfected,
**, **, ** and a bowl of Pho.

Apartheid anyone?
Thirty years of South African terror & torture.
Torment in the townships,
Shaka Zulu gold and diamonds,
De Beers in Swaziland swing.

1971: riots at Attica,
Prisoners abused and tortured,
Rockefeller’s overcrowded slammer,
An upstate New York katzenjammer,
Nelson’s finger on the trigger,
39 dead and counting,
But who’s counting?

The CIA, back in the news in 1973,
Torture chambers under Chilean soccer stadiums,
And the Khmer Rouge:
Those Wacky Cambodians with skull racks.  
And let us not forget the British,
With centuries of colonial experience behind them,
Occupy six counties in Northern Ireland.
Finally codify the imperial process,
The Five Techniques:
Sounds like a Motown group,
Satin smooth colored boys,
But more method than music:
(1) Wall-standing,
(2) Hooding,
(3) Subjection to noise,
(4) Sleep deprivation,
(5) No food and drink.

And there’s a bunch of horrible ****,
We still don’t know about the Argentine ***** War,
And other Mai Lai-like,
****-fest massacres in Vietnam.

How about torture since 1984?
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo,
Come quickly,
(www.prematureejaculatorsanonymous.com)
To mind,
As do US-sponsored rendition facilities,
Spread throughout the NATO alliance.
And closer to home, it’s never a dull moment in the 5 Boroughs:
Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, The Bronx and Manhattan.
Take your pick from Giuliani’s Greatest Hits,
Rudy Kazootie’s campaign of law and order,
Not necessarily in that order.
More awful than lawful,
A bathroom plunger rammed up,
The Haitian voodoo ****** of Abner Louima,
While he be handcuffed at a Brooklyn station house.
Or, the NYPD partying like it was 1999.
When in fact, it was1999,
And a curious death it was for Amadou Diallo,
Would-be American citizen from The Republic of Guinea,
(No connection to Italy or Italians),
Abner & Amadou: a pair of cautionary tales,
Either/or reflecting standard procedure for the Po-Po,
Time and time again from coast to coast.
Either/or: poor Abner, no Haitian Papa Doc.
Poor Amadou, on his way home from night school,
When police squeeze off 41 rounds,
Most of them in his direction,
Hitting him 19 times.
Just the facts, ma’am:
Diallo had reached into his jacket.
A trigger-happy police officer yells “Gun.”
A jungle warfare quartet springs into action:
Shenzi, Banzai, Ed & Zazu,
Four equally trigger-happy colleagues,
Empty their weapons.
No gun was found on Diallo,
Only the wallet he tried to pull out,
Containing his Green Card,
4 U.S. dollar bills;
And a laminated,
Credit card-sized copy of the U.S. Bill of Rights.
(I just didn’t know when to quit, did I?
The wallet was there with Green Card and the bucks,
But I made up the part about the Bill of Rights,
Trying to add poetry to tragedy, as usual.)

I don’t have to say much about Rodney King (RIP).
You watched it on TV a hundred times,
And a picture’s worth a thousand words.
Or ten thousand or a million, I suppose.
“Can’t we all just get along?” asked Rodney Glen King.

Last but not least there’s Kelly Thomas (RIP),
Another incidence of police insanity,
It was July of 2011 in Fullerton, California.
Thomas, a 37-year-old homeless man,
Schizophrenic, but unarmed,
Beaten to death at a bus depot,
During an altercation with six Fullerton police officers.
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2019225/Kelly-Thomas-Poli­­ce-beat-taser-gentle-mentally-ill-homeless-man­-death.html#ixzz1e­3­4QnHtr

Mervyn Lazarus | Attorney | (www.mervlazarus.com) Police Brutality, Excessive Force and Jail Injury cases | California . . . Albuquerque

Jackie Chiles perfect attorney -YouTube, (www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpcEietIoxk) Nov 17, 2010 - 13 min - Uploaded by Kroeger22 All the scenes with Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld."Chiles is a parody of famed attorney Johnnie Cochran; both ... www.seinfeld.com

Perhaps the greatest torture of all,
Is that which artists subject us to.
Let us examine the case of Roberto Bolaño:
Roberto Bolaño, the great Chilean writer,
Tells a fabulous World War II story,
About a Spaniard--an Andalusian--
Fighting for the Germans against the Russians.
Captured by the Russians,
He is tortured for information.
The Spaniard speaks no Russian,
He knows only four words of German.
The Russian interrogators strap him into a chair,
Attach electrodes to his *****,
Attach pincers to his tongue.
The pain makes his eyes water.
He said--or rather shouts--the word coño.
It is Spanish for ****.
The pincers in his mouth,
Distort the expletive,
Which in his howling voice comes out as KUNST.
The Russian who knows German looks at him in puzzlement.
The Andalusian was yelling KUNST,
Yelling KUNST and crying in pain.
KUNST in German means art,
And that was what the bilingual Russian heard, KUNST.
“This ******* must be an artist or something.”
The torturers remove the pincers,
Along with a little piece of tongue,
And wait, momentarily hypnotized by the revelation:
The word ART had soothed the savage beasts.
So soothed, the savage beasts take a breather,
Waiting for some kind of signal.
Meanwhile, the Andalusian bleeds from the mouth,
Swallows his blood liberally mixed with saliva, and chokes.
The word coño,
Transformed into the word *KUNST,

Had saved his life.
It was dusk when he came out of the building.
Light stabbed at his eyes like midday sun.

So, it’s a fact that I love,
Truly love the simple blunt Anglo-Saxon expletive ****,
****: I pray that while I am being tortured some day,
I have the dignity to scream the word out loud.
And if I am screaming **** at the very end,
When my nervous system finally fails,
When I **** my pants,
When my pulmonic heart and lungs collapse,
Is that so bad?
Is that so wrong?

Do you realize that 1984 came--
Came and went, without any significant cultural hoopla?
The networks ignored it.
As did the cable pundits.
No significant comparative analysis between,
Orwell’s book 1984 and the year 1984,
Was broadcast electronically or publicized in print.
Steve Jobs got it, but as usual no one else did.
Mr. Jobs (RIP) did his best,
To mainstream its profound cultural relevance,
But ultimately failed,
Despite the $1.5 million he paid one of the networks,
To air a one minute nation-wide commercial,
During the 3rd Quarter,
Of Super Bowl XVIII,
January 22, 1984.
Despite Ridley Scott’s astonishing spell-binder,
His 60-second spot for The Macintosh 128K--
Still considered a watershed event,
And an advertising industry masterpiece,
…YouTube it and watch it.  (www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8ji0B98IMo).
See the hammer throwing athlete chick,
See her fling the sledge,
That huge sledgehammer,
Smash into Big Brother’s flat screen face.
Despite Jobs’ global presence,
Despite Steverino’s unfettered microphone access,
Whenever he felt an oraculation coming on,
Despite everything,
He was unable to move the powers that be,
To either hype the book or the prophecy come true.

So, what’s my point? I have two.
First, in April 1984 the estate of George Orwell,
And the television rights holder to the novel 1984,
Considered the edgy Jobs/Scott commercial to be,
A flagrant copyright infringement,
Sending a cease-and-desist letter to Apple Inc.
And the advertising agency that produced the spot: Chiat/Day Inc.
The commercial was never televised as a commercial after that.  
Score: Lawyers 1, Artists 0.

My second point is that in November 2011,
The U.S. government argued before the U. S. Supreme Court,
That it wants to continue utilizing GPS tracking of individuals,
Without first seeking a warrant.
In response, Justice Stephen Breyer (one of the sane ones),
Questioned what this means for a democratic society.
Referencing Nineteen Eighty-Four, Justice Breyer asked:
"If you win this case, then there is nothing,
To prevent the police or the government from monitoring 24/7,
The public movement of every citizen of the United States.
So if you win, you suddenly produce what sounds like 1984 . . .”*

My third point,
(Yeah, I know I said two, but *******.)
My third point is that I’m just so ******* angry,
All the time, late and soon like Wordsworth,
(Was anyone more aptly named?)
I am angry about so many different things,
And every day that goes by I relate more and more,
To the thousands of Americans that occupied,
Zuccotti Park and Oakland,
And countless other venues,
Out into the streets.
Across the country.
Around the world.  
I am humbled by their courage and perseverance.
Yet, I am afraid for them.
I am made paranoid by the scope and power,
Of the government,
Of the ruling class that controls it,
And the technology they allow us to embrace,
Technology’s sinister potential,
Now that more and more knowledge and information,
Has been digitized,
Existing only in cyberspace.                                                      ­                                                 
What frightens most is the realization,
That anyone with a word processor,
And access to the database could rewrite,
Any historical or legal document,
To fit the needs of a current agenda.
The scary part is—
Repeating myself for emphasis—
That anyone with a word processor
And access to the database could rewrite,
Any historical or legal document,
To fit the needs of a current agenda.

Does anyone out there give a ****?
Does anyone out there share my nightmare?
Do it to Julia.
Do it to Julia.
Alicia Jul 2016
My entire life, I've been around the police force.
Mommy, Uncle Tony, and Anita have always been my favorite.
My heroes with the shiny cars and badges.
In my eyes, they are reigning champions of
"good officers still exist" during times like this.

I've never seen a storm last this long,
and I've kept my silence for far too long.
I was stuck.
For all I knew was a good officer until my brothers
and sisters were exploited on tv screens and magazines.
Blood seeping down and staining shirts, eyes wide open,
and bodies lying in the street.

Growing up, all I knew was a good officer.
So my world shook when I noticed the bad ones, too.
They make it hard for me to defend what I've always
known to protect me. At some point, the bad ones,
we must ****. And with a corrupt justice system
that dismisses the actions that we see, it gets tough...
For both you and me.
"STOP ******* KILLING US," we scream.
But no matter how many octaves we reach,
they still aren't listening. And we are left to wonder,
"Who's next: you or me?"

We make posters with blank spaces,
prepared for another one fallen.
But it's apparent that they refuse to see
that our people are hurting; and that
the chains they put on us not that many years ago
are still bound to us as if they are the latest accessory.

I didn't celebrate the fourth this year.
My people are dying, and here I am breathing
and hoping that anyone near and dear isn't affected by this mockery.
"Black on black crime is a real thing." No denying that statement
but why say that first knowing that some of the ones
we are told to trust don't want to see you free?
Do you understand that any black man could be next?
Even though I'm a woman, ****, it could be me.
My *****, are you listening? Did you get word?
Homie said, "Set your clock back 300 years!"
How about that for a rude awakening?

Quit telling my people that this **** here is an illusion.
You wanna be "a *****" so badly?
Cool, my *****, this is our reality.
We out here dying every day, b.
Pictures of dead bodies and videos of the crime scene,
mothers and children crying.

I never know what to expect.
I'm just praying I don't get a call saying (insert name here)
died at (insert time here) for their melanin radiating
and minding their business.
#JusticeFor___: Trayvon, Sandra, Kathryn, Sean, Eric,
Rekia, Amadou, Mike, Kimani, Kenneth, Travares,
Tamir, Aiyana, Freddie.
Alton and Philando with six shots to the chest.
****, y'all know what's next and I'm so ******* tired.
I will say their names unapologetically
because my heart can't take
my people's hearts tearing at the seams
from the mutual pain we are experiencing.

Black kings, I will pray for you.
Black families, stay whole.
Black children, alive and unborn, I love you.
Apparently: a wallet, sleeping, Skittles, a cellphone,
loud music, cigarettes, cigarillos, shopping at Wal-Mart,
toy guns, failure to signal, CDs, and reaching
for your license and registration can get you all ****** up.

I've never seen a storm last this long.
I've never seen the good officers be seen as the criminal.
I've never seen a people so desperate and anxious
for light at the end of a tunnel...
Until the bad cops thought it was okay
to play illegally and get away.
*7716
I wish the bad police officers weren't overshadowing the good police officers out there... Especially because I know so many OUTSTANDING police officers. And I hate seeing my people be treated so unfairly. This hurts.

No audio... Yet.
@the_monAlicia
itoro Mar 2018
Unapologetically Black

I am black, what does that mean
It's supposed to mean that
That everywhere I go I am seen
It means that the sun and I have the best of relationships
That of melanin and honey I drip
It means that every step I take is magical
So beautiful, its biblical
My body, a pulchritudinous sculpture
In my roots, circulating the richest of cultures
I make my own light
And it's so so bright, such a beautiful sight
My cloud-like tresses with the most diverse of personalities
From wavy, to curly, to, coily, to *****
Everyone who is not me can only envy
But instead,it means that
It means that everywhere I go I am seen
It means that people don't have to think too much
Immediately I am judged
Because of the colour of my skin
I am treated like I come from the bin
You see me wearing a hoodie
You immediately think to **** me is your duty
Because I’m African
You treat me like I ain’t human
But I’m so much more than that
Now, I’m going to try to talk to you and make an impact
Don’t you realize, that the fabric of our society is being torn up by racism
We’re destroying and attacking ourselves like it's cannibalism
Don’t you realize that you're not worried about me
But instead my place in the human race
Don’t you realize that you are fed half truths
In the history books
I'm more than your stereotypes of being loud and obnoxious
You all think the same way it’s like you don’t even have an option
You focus on my colour
And don’t realise that the cops killing us are getting dollars
Amadou Diallo was shot 41 times when trying to enter his apartment
Think about it, he never got to do all the things of which he dreamt
This Guinean immigrant came to the country supposedly with streets paved with gold, only to fall to the ground, ****** and grey
It's not a big deal you say
Well Sean Bell was shot on his way home to his soon to be wife on the day of his marriage

50 BULLETS

No reason stated
Is this really what we’re going to encourage
Aiyana Stanley was only seven when she was shot in her sleep while her house was being bombed
Unacceptable it is beyond
Today I walk on your lands fearing our lives, my head the ground
I wonder if my heart ever feel sound
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
I choose not to stand around and watch the hate
I know that I was not made for this fate.
I’m tired of the continuous *******,
Well **** sorry I didn't realise i wasn’t allowed to be black in public.
My skin is not a burden, it’s a blessing with a touch love,
Smiling wide, head high, graceful like a dove.
In the future we stand, sit back and relax
So I puff up my ‘fro and turn my ****** music on,
Because whatever you say or do I will not crack
I will always stay unapologetically black.
this is a collab poem i made with @lorenzyyy_
i do not claim all rights. i give half to miss. lorenzy.
Ciarra Reneé Feb 2014
The question that has arisen is:
What and how do we teach our black boys?
What is permissible for them to do in the eyes of the law or of a scared shooter?
Can they walk home from a convenient store?
Can they listen to rap music in the car with their friends?
Can they go to their bachelor party?
Can they whistle at a white woman?
Can they defend themselves?
These are the questions that we don't want to ask but we need to answer because young black men have become moving targets in America
We don't want to beg these questions in the black community because we don't to instill fear in our children but if not what shall we instill in them?
Because respect and toleration has only gotten them shot at
How quickly can a black man reach into his pocket?
Is he allowed to reach for his wallet or his hairbrush or a bag of skittles?
Do we have to teach the young males in our community the proper speed in which to make movement?
Being brown poses a threat in and of itself
And don't tell me that we have freedom
That time has passed and our nation is evolving, that racism doesn't exist
Racism is in the American culture
It is in the puritanical foundation that this country lies upon
It is the basis of the American economy
It is written in our constitution
It is all around us
Racism is so deeply embedded that white people have convinced us of our inferiority so much
That we've grown to hate ourselves
See when the foundation of a nation is racist
People of color grow to hate themselves and one another
Black on black crimes don't even make headlines
It's daily
It's called reversed racism
We know the threat we pose and we know what are fate will be if we don't comply or turn our music down or put our hands up quick enough or walk fast enough or slow enough
Young black men are forced to fear the law
Taught to hide from blue and white
Scared to be African before they can be proud to be an American
Nationality does not matter when the image that our nation is based is blonde hair and blue eyes
The hyphen -American in our ethnic title serves no purpose when we are not treated as such
We are black before we are American
We are black before we are brothers or fathers or uncles or cousins or friends
We are black before we are human beings
And We are thugs before we are able to explain ourselves
Our history and our culture is based on tragedy and oppression
The enlightenment of people of color can not be discussed because the plight of our community is still all too relevant
Young black men must know struggle before they can know success
Have to be informed before they can be children
Have to understand injustice before they know justice
Know What not to do's prior to to do's
Must hear the names Emmet Till, Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis well before they hear
Barack Obama, Al Sharpton, Colin Powell, George Washington Carver, Harry Belafonte, and Michael Jordan
Warned before they are encouraged
Black before they are human.
Abigail Madsen May 2014
America
Land of the free
Home of the brave
but don’t forget the clinically insane
because they’re here too
Making different people black and blue
especially the ones of a different race
What is freedom if it comes with a price
the price of too many lives
lives cut short by the bitter bite of a bullet
piercing through years
resulting in more fears
causing more tears
tears of families
and friends
watching their loved ones life come to an end
thats not even the worst
no justice is being served
to those who got the last word
words shooting from a gun
words denied in court
inequity for those whose lives were cut short
people like Renisha McBride
feel like they now have to hide
from people like Theodore Wafer
who refused to be safer
lack of understanding that Renisha was hurt
and she wanted help
but you ended her life with a yelp
as she knocked on your door
she had no idea she wouldn’t live anymore
gun to her face
you sent a message out to her race
that she went to seek help in the wrong place
telling those like her they don’t belong
in the human race
sadly is isn’t the only case
Jordan Davis
who was not even on a first name basis
with
Michael Dunn
shot nine times
even though he had committed any crimes
nine
times
Trayvon Martin
whose life ended
at the end of a gun
in the hands of the one
who took the “law” onto himself
obvious patterns show
this was no accident
although
he was
acquitted
and he got his gun back
permitted
information was not told
omitted
Zimmerman got refitted
and Martin shot dead
because something was off in someone else’s head
sent to his dead bed
the truth never said
Zimmerman fled
and how are those like him
suppose to move ahead
guns hiding in every direction
ailing like an infections
running from their own reflection
and I have an objection
because this is not the act of natural selection
and it’s sad people of different color still need specialized
protection
because apparently
pulling out a wallet
justifies being shot
41 times
not
but it does for the NYPD officers
and for a South American immigrant
Amadou Diallo (Jallo)
only 23
died callow
shot by four men
so shallow
4 guns
19 hits
41 shots
Bang
dead
----
How can this country preach
that we not only have freedom
but freedom of speech
but as soon as Bruce opened his mouth
and let the truth come out
and talked about
the truth behind
41 shots
he was “un-American”
he was a “flying ***”
it’s sad
we treat other human beings
as animals
and we claim to be equal
but there are people here who are still evil
and law officers who are deceitful
and last I checked ******
is illegal
and you are allowing upheaval
A mother should not be afraid to sent her son
out to get groceries in fear
that he may never come back
So don’t tell me
America
is equal
Cedric McClester Apr 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Those plain clothes cops
Won’t admit
That they wronged the Mail Man
They almost hit
Was he disorderly
Perhaps a little bit
But wouldn’t you be
If you almost was it

What’s the point
In wearing plain clothes
Acting undercover
If everyone knows
That you’re the cops
Well let’s just suppose
That they don’t know
The profession you chose

The cops were aggressive as the video shows
Now that it went viral
Almost everyone knows
Then they rear-ended another car
Which sent the prisoner flying
So there you are
But clearly they didn’t give a ****
They didn’t even bother to secure his truck

What’s the point
In wearing plain clothes
Acting undercover
If everyone knows
That you’re the cops
Well let’s just suppose
That they don’t know
The profession you chose

It was abuse of power
But the Mail Man was charged
With disorderly conduct
Which was a mirage
The facts of the matter
Are as plain as day
He shouldn’t have been arrested
But he was anyway

There was a time
They said they ruled the night
But Amadou Diallo
Was a gruesome sight
They haven’t lost that swag
And that ain’t right

What’s the point
In wearing plain clothes
Acting undercover
If everyone knows
That you’re the cops
Well let’s just suppose
That they don’t know
The profession you chose





















Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
james nordlund May 2020
Your living was a gift.
Your life taken shows us
All how we're not being.
Taking our own lives,
In effect, by not doing
All we can.
You may be dead, yet,
Still, you give us insight,
That we're not fully alive.
May your memory be
A constant reminder of
What we lose when
We fail to be,
That being everything.

Cops asked an African man,
In N.Y.C., "show us I.D."?
He reaches for his wallet,
Before he can even pull it out
His body's riddled with 20 bullets,
The cops reload, shoot him with 20 more,
Making sure he couldn't live to tell.
In memory of the assassination of Amadou Diallo, 2-4-1999; posted in memory of Ahmaud Arbery, who was assassinated on 2-23-20 by an ex-police officer and his son; Breonna Taylor, who was assassinated on 3-13-20 by police; and George Floyd, who was assassinated on 5-25-20 by police   :)   reality
wordvango Sep 2017
dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.
Seriously, I have never seen comments on a poem on HP be more better thought out or literally more prescient or more in need of reposting!
Alexander Miller Jun 2020
I close my eyes and pray. I hope we see the day,
That all this **** wastes away.
I try to contemplate the same reason I stayed. Hoping not to be afraid.
We empty the soil of our lifeless graves. And still we're the still the same.
Yeah, I know we've had enough.
Oppressors with handcuffs,
Professors that ****** us and the school system that kills us.
I realize that this corruption always was.
But now in this time all the lifeless cries are adding up.
Unarmed. And dead.
The trauma in our heads, The damage said.
TRAYVON MARTIN Walking home when Zimmerman shot him.
KEITH SCOTT Sitting in car, reading.
Shot and killed, bleeding,
ATATIANA JEFFERSON Looking out her window,
Shot by police who was supposed to be protecting her though
JORDAN EDWARDS Riding in a car.
Shot in the head by police went way too far
JONATHAN FERRELL Asking for help after auto accident. Shot twelve times by police,
Facts I can't stand. This should not be our reality
STEPHON CLARK Holdng a cellphone.Things you can't condone.
Shot 8 times It is a extreme crime. Officers not charged. a unjustice at large.
AMADOU DIALLO While taking out wallet, screamed stop it.
Four officers fired 41 shots,  another death added to the profit
RENISHA MCBRIDE Auto accident, This **** I can't stand.
Knocked on door for help. Another perceived racist added to the shelf
Homeowner was found guilty of second-degree ******.
You can't change the past just know how he hurt her
TAMIR RICE Playing with toy gun, no justice for someone's son
Shot and killed by police officer arriving on scene.
Yeah you may not believe it. but it happened see it
SEAN BELL Hosting a bachelor party, this is our reality
50 rounds fired by police officers, who were found not guilty.
Another sin you don't see
WALTER SCOTT Pulled over for brake light,
Shot in the back by police officer who lost his mind.
Another unjust on civil rights
PHILANDO CASTILE Pulled over in car, this went too far.
Told officer he had a legally registered weapon in car.
Shot and killed. No justice instilled
AIYANA JONES  Sleeping, shot and killed by officer in a raid on the wrong apartment.
Justice has lost it. Officer cleared of all charges.
TERRENCE CRUTCHER Disabled vehicle, another death of the people.
Shot and killed. No way to heal
ALTON STERLING Selling CDs, shot at close range while being arrested.
No justice. We can't make sense of this
FREDDIE GRAY Beaten to death while in police custody.
Another way of the oppressed, can't you see
JOHN CRAWFORD Shopping at WalMart,  where are our hearts
shot and killed for holding a BB gun on sale,
Again no justice and sin prevailed
OSCAR GRANT Handcuffed and face-down, officer shot him in the back.
Not even carrying a strap. sadness in its wraps
AHMAUD AUBREY Jogging, Heart stopping just cause of perceived injustice.
Jaw dropping but it doesn't end there
GEORGE FLOYD. Killed by officer who made sin his choice
Hate we can't avoid but one thing we can deploy is the truth.
That these are people too.
Say their names and reconize the pain
Did George Floyd’s life matter?
Did Breonna Taylor’s life matter?
Did Ahmaud Arbery’s life matter?
Did Eric Garner’s life matter?
Did Trayvon Martin’s life matter?
Did Mike Brown’s life matter?
Did Tamir Rice’s life matter?
Did Keith Childress’ life matter?
Did Bettie Jones’ life matter?
Did Philando Castille’s life matter?
Did Michael Noel’s life matter?
Did Jamar Clark’s life matter?
Did Michael Lee Marshall’s life matter?
Did Dominic Hutchinson’s life matter?
Did Junior Prosper’s life matter?
Did Keith McLeod’s life matter?
Did India Kager’s life matter?
Did Felix Kumi’s life matter?
Did Samuel Dubose’s life matter?
Did Darrius Stewart’s life matter?
Did Sandra Bland’s life matter?
Did George Mann’s life matter?
Did Jonathan Sander’s life matter?
Did Victor Laros’s life matter?
Did Spencer McCain’s life matter?
Did Jermaine Benjamin’s life matter?
Did Kris Jackson life matter?
Did Kevin Higgenbotham’s life matter?
Did Amadou Diallo’s life matter?
Did Oscar Grant’s life matter?
Did Calvon Reid’s life matter?
Did William Chapman’s life matter?
Did Walter Scott’s life matter?

All black / All unarmed / All murdered by US Police

Did Dylan Roof’s life matter?
Did Peter Manfredonia’s life matter?
Did Anthony Trifiletti’s life matter?
Did Patrick Crusius’ life matter?
Did James Holmes’ life matter?

All white / All murderers / All arrested peacefully by US Police

Unarmed blacks
Killed by US Police
5x unarmed whites

Black men and boys
Killed by US Police
2.5x white men and boys

This is why we kneel
This is why we march
This is why we protest
This is why we are mad as hell
This is why we are fed-up as well

This is why we riot

Riot is the language of voices unheard

When you respond
“All Lives Matter”
To our “Black Lives Matter”
You’re not listening
You didn’t hear
You don’t care
GTFOH

~ P
À Mérante.

Au printemps, quand les nuits sont claires,
Quand on voit, vagues tourbillons,
Voler sur les fronts les chimères
Et dans les fleurs les papillons,

Pendant la floraison des fèves,
Quand l'amant devient l'amoureux,
Quand les hommes, en proie aux rêves,
Ont toutes ces mouches sur eux,

J'estime qu'il est digne et sage
De ne point prendre un air vainqueur,
Et d'accepter ce doux passage
De la saison sur notre coeur.

A quoi bon résister aux femmes,
Qui ne résistent pas du tout ?
Toutes les roses sont en flammes ;
Une guimpe est de mauvais goût.

Trop heureux ceux à qui les belles
Font la violence d'aimer !
A quoi sert-il d'avoir des ailes,
Sinon pour les laisser plumer ?

Ô Mérante, il n'est rien qui vaille
Ces purs attraits, tendres tyrans,
Un sourire qui dit : Bataille !
Un soupir qui dit : Je me rends !

Et je donnerais la Castille
Et ses plaines en amadou
Pour deux yeux sous une mantille,
Fiers, et venant on ne sait d'où.
Maître de boucan
Je construis mon ajoupa à flanc de montagne.
Il n 'y a cette nuit ni vent ni pluie
Dans ce pays en suspension
Entre bois, montagnes et précipices.

J'ai franchi avec toi sept rivières à gué
Escaladé les parois abruptes
Tandis que les diables faisaient grand bruit
Sortaient en miaulant et piaillant de leurs repaires
Pour aller voleter au-dessus de la mer.

Malgré leur chant d'effroi je ne désarmais pas, au contraire
C'était pour leur chair noire, douce et exquise
Que j'étais là en plein Carème
Dans cette montagne aux Diables.
Ni grives ni perroquets ni perdriques ni perdrix
Ne m'auraient fait dévier de ma chasse
Sans chiens et sans bâtons
A ce mets délicieux que sont les diablotins.

Je me voyais déjà les déloger de leurs terriers dans les falaises
Et les manger de broche en bouche
Selon les règles boucanières d'antan
Ou dans une feuille de cachibou ou de balisier
Quand tu m'as soufflé en me mordillant l'oreille
Ton envie urgente de pastrama fumé aux sarments de vigne.
Tes désirs sont des ordres
Mais comment trouver en pleine montagne aux Diables
A trois heures et quelques du matin un mouton sauvage,
Un agneau de pré-salé,
Un bélier broutant dans les vignes
Qui accepte de gaîté de coeur d'être sacrifié en holocauste
En pleine période de jeûne ?

Je me mis à prier le Révérend Père et la Vieille Dame
A qui je promis l'abstinence perpétuelle
De ces diablotins et autres cottous
Au goût de poisson
Pourvu qu'ils me fassent tomber du ciel
La divine pitance de tes ovins délicieux .

J'ai commencé à ramasser les herbes et les brindilles
Les branches de cannes sèches et les écorces de coco,
Les branches sèches de manguiers et de citronniers
Le chiendent, le *****-contra pour parfumer.
Et le silex et l'amadou pour mettre le feu.
Un peu d'alizé pour la fumée.
Et de la patience pour que le feu prenne.

Mais en lieu et place des moutons
Il se mit à pleuvoir sur notre bivouac
Une volée de cent un de ces volatiles blancs et noirs
Daciens comme Dalmatiens
Frais, séchés puis marinés aux rayons de lune
Tous volontaires et consentant à la dégustation magique
Du pastrama fumé de diablotins

Goûte-moi donc à ce vin de madère
De derrière les ******
Sans lequel je ne pars jamais en excursion
Et pardonne-moi pour le mouton
Si tu veux demain je te ferai un pastrama d'oies traditionnel
Voire un pastrama de voyelles
Marinées dans le miel, le thym, le sel
Le romarin, le laurier, le poivre et le piment
Le sel, l'ail et l'huile d'olive
La menthe, l 'oignon et le vin rouge à volonté
Ce que tu voudras, tant que tu voudras...

Mais goûte-moi ce matin avant que le jour ne se lève
Ce pastrama de diablotin fumé
Essaie et dis-moi !

Tout est affaire de goût et d'accoutumance !

Savourons ensemble le panorama et le pastrama
Savourons l'altitude de ces diablotins rôtis à la broche
Et fumés aux sarments de chiendent et *****-contra
Savourons la manne et l 'abstinence
De cette nuit étale de printemps-hiver
Au sommet de la Souphrière
Avant que conformément à ma parole
Je n'entre dans les Ordres.

— The End —