Day 68: SAY THEIR NAMES

SOCIAL DISTANCING | SOCIAL JUSTICE

Video credit: The brief history of racism within the Minnesota police explained by reporter Rachel Maddow, MSNBC.  #GeorgeFloyd

This morning my bedroom is dark.  An early morning thunderstorm blocks the sky.  It formed over Seattle, traveled 90 miles to reach Bellingham at 9:12.  It swipes across our landscape as it continues its path towards the Canadian Rockies. The thunder shakes the earth.  The earth needs to be shaken.

A poet friend posted “Say Their Names”, by Seattle poet Mercedes Aristotle Lindholm. It is shared below.  I am not very good at talking or writing about atrocious events.  My God—I’ve written about the death of my daughter in my book “Fallen”, I’ve written about homelessness, domestic abuse, even freakin’ break up poetry, but this…over and over again, this goddamn two decades of documented abuse…with no reaction by civic leaders–I have no words.  Words literately escape me.  It’s too much.

I can’t write about trump.  I am outraged, gobsmacked, dumbfounded.  My ears are assaulted EVERY DAY during this neo-nazi president’s rule AND amazed that the “Teflon Don” isn’t slapped in the head and dragged off to jail.  It is not unlike the way police officers, fresh from the kill of unarmed black citizens, escape true justice. How?  Why?

I do not like trump’s america.  I want a Land Of The Free America, I beg for an All Created Equal America!

Minnesota police arrest CNN reporter and crew on live TV as they cover Minneapolis protests
PUBLISHED FRI, MAY 29 20206:51 AM EDT

I am weak.  I can not write. I look to others like Mr. Lindholm.
Please, read his poem out loud:

 

SAY THEIR NAMES
SAY THEIR NAMES
SAY THEIR NAMES

I grew up as a black man in the United States.
We used to throw snowballs at cop cars to get them to chase us because we, and the officers were bored. No one was trying to be violent.
Today I would like to do what ever I wanted.
However I fear that I can not.
Some think I am paranoid or overreacting.
Thank G.O.D. my children look white,
however they now both identify as black.

I fear to go birding (#ChristianCooper)
I fear to go jogging (#AmaudArbery)
I fear to relax in the comfort of my own home (#BothemSean and #AtatianaJefferson)
I fear to ask for help after being in a car crash (#JonathanFerrell and #RenishaMcBride)
I fear to have a cellphone (#StephonClark)
I fear to leave a party to get to safety (#JordanEdwards)
I fear to play loud music (#JordanDavis)
I fear to sell CDs (#AltonSterling)
I fear to sleep (#AiyanaJones)
I fear to walk from the corner store (#MikeBrown)
I fear to play cops and robbers (#TamirRice)
I fear to go to church (#Charleston9)
I fear to walk home with Skittles (#TrayvonMartin)
I fear to hold a hair brush while leaving my own bachelor party (#SeanBell)
I fear to party on New Years (#OscarGrant)
I fear to get a normal traffic ticket (#SandraBland)
I fear to lawfully carry a weapon (#PhilandoCastile)
I fear to break down on a public road with car problems (#CoreyJones)
I fear to shop at Walmart (#JohnCrawford)
I fear to have a disabled vehicle (#TerrenceCrutcher)
I fear to read a book in my own car (#KeithScott)
I fear to be a 10yr old walking with my grandfather (#CliffordGlover)
I fear to decorate for a party (#ClaudeReese)
I fear to ask a cop a question (#RandyEvans)
I fear to cash a check in peace (#YvonneSmallwood)
I fear to take out my wallet (#AmadouDiallo)
I fear to run (#WalterScott)
I fear to breathe (#EricGarner)
I fear to live (#FreddieGrey)
I CAN NOT BE ARRESTED WITHOUT THE FEAR OF BEING MURDERED (#GeorgeFloyd)

This fear is NOT NEW either.
I am blessed to know my G.O.D.
and to know when to shut up and keep my head down.
I have been arrested and incarcerated many times for no reason with no charges.
Been in cuffs in the back of cop cars starting at the age of 11, more times than I can literally count.
I have had a knee of a cop on my neck 3 times before I was 18.
I have had multiple guns pointed at me dozens of times. I have been taken from my property and stripped and given a RED jumpsuit for standing my ground!
And I am one of the fucking “GOOD GUYS”!!This is why now, I know how deal with cops.

Love and Light!…
peace is still a ways off I guess.

Mercy LnL
Seattle, WA
https://www.facebook.com/ari.lindholm

 

Protesters gather near the 3rd Precinct in Minneapolis during a rally Tuesday in response to the death the day before of George Floyd in police custody. Richard Tsong-Taatarii | Star Tribune via AP

https://www.mprnews.org/story/2020/05/26/fbi-bca-investigate-death-of-man-in-minneapolis-police-custody

Poem / Song: When We Gather

baltimore Reuters Jim Bourg
Photo credit: Baltimore, Reuters / Jim Bourg, April 2015 Protesters form a line in the streets of Baltimore

 

There’s a revolution

flowing through us

when we gather

it is screaming

to be free

 

 

There’s a revelation

flowing through us

when we gather

it is screaming

to be free

-SPL

Tensions In Baltimore Continue To Simmer After Days Of Riots And Protests Over Death Of Freddie Gray
Peaceful Protest Photo credit WGNO / Baltimore April 2015

standing
Photo credit: Baltimore Sun / Colin Campbell, @cmcampbell6

 

More information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Freddie_Gray

 

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Forgiveness

As a writer I am often overtaken by my characters.  Trying to imagine what a new character is thinking, how they would walk, talk, what kind of clothes they wear and what they’ll do next is in the job description.  Yet sometimes I’ll have an encounter SO real that it seems more like entertaining a house guest instead of character development.  Visitation or not this interesting dream encounter with a former plantation slave moved me.
While working on copy for my radio blues program, Boosie’s Playhouse Classic Blues, an unexpected guess knocked on the door of my subconscious. Late one evening I was focused on the origin of the blues.  I learned that the blues started in the fields by slaves call and responding to each other in rhythm to help make the tedious work go by faster, and  to communicate with each other, sometimes in code.  Still thinking on this, I retired for the night, slipped under the covers and fell into a dream.
Visitation
In my dream I sat writing at a desk, wrestling with words, when the spirit of a man walked in and sat down across from me.  The outline of his form glowed giving no doubt that he crossed over from another world, the gateway behind him was blurred.  Lights in the room changed with his presence, turning from fluorescent to candlelight, the walls of the room from brick to log, and the furniture itself changed before my eyes from 21st century to the 19th.
Somehow, in my dream, I knew all about proper ghost etiquette.  When you meet a spirit it is like having the sensation of a butterfly landing on your cheek.  It is wonderful, yet you know instinctively how fragile they are.  You can scare them away with sudden movements or loud noises.  They do not want anything from you, but for you to listen.  Listen to their story, to hear their voice.  If you are fortunate enough to hear a spirit speak, do not ever forget what they tell you.  You must, out of respect for the dead, always remember what it is they tell you.  The only wish of the dead is to be remembered.  And so, I opened my understanding, while I waited for him to speak.
The ghost in my dream had beautiful dark skin, light brown cotton trousers hung from his hips and a loose fitting white shirt.  Broad shoulders and strong arms framed his torso.  He must of been, at least six feet tall when standing.  His demeanor, and this is most important, was like a deep river, moving peacefully.  He was going to talk to me; I could feel it, as long as I stay still, and so I did…
His large hand rubbed his face as he started to form words.  My ears perked up as his story filled my mind; his voice was warm,  “I came here to explain to you what it was like to be a slave.  Being a slave is to be tortured.  To have to no control over your life.  Your day and life are chosen for you, and yet you dream.  You dream of what you think freedom would be like.  You dream of control.  It seems youhave been hurt for a long time and prayed those silent prayers while enduring your pain, and that you kept walking through the pain. That is how I found you.”  The air tingled as his voice gave instruction,  “Listen now.  Being free, legally free, will not give you true freedom.  Until you forgive those that hurt you, you will always be bound up in chains!”
He continued using words and images as he told me his story. For half his life he was a slave in Georgia, then in 1866, he was a free man working as a sharecropper up North.  His children were born free, by his wife who wore his ring, in the home he owned.   His dream to control his own destiny came true, yet something was missing:  forgiveness.  Somehow along the way, he found forgiveness for the slave owners.  He said he knew those dark hearten torturers would never tell him they were sorry, they would never beg for his forgiveness, so to rid himself of the final burden HE forgave THEM.  Those mindless, faceless, nameless torturers of slaves, he forgave them.
The Gift of Forgiveness 
Forgiveness insures that the people who hurt us do not continue to hurt or have power over us.  You must forgive in order to move on.  I was overwhelmed with joy to hear my ghost friend share his story.  He left with a whisper as I woke with a jump.  I knew I had to write it all down, every detail!
Some believe that the power to forgive is a gift from heaven.  The Visitor’s comment “walking through my pain” was in reference to my recent divorce.   Many divorcees hold onto their hatred for their ex’s.  I have met ladies who hold onto hate.  I have seen how it keeps them from enjoying the new life they are trying to build for themselves.  Hate makes us sick!
If you really want to be free from hate, you have to forgive.  This is true for me; I know it without any doubt.
What an interesting dream.  I shall think on it for a long time.  I do not understand how or why I had this dream but I am thankful for it.  Perhaps it was my subconscious trying to make a personal connection between what I was working on and my past.  Or perhaps, just maybe, a spirit came to talk.
Good stuff here: