The Muse Minefield

February 4, 2011

When The People Have Had Enough

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Everyone knows that Dr. King not only talked the talk, but he also walked the walk. His dedication to championing the concepts of justice and equality was surpassed only by his courage, which he punctuated profoundly when he stated that “A man who won’t die for something is not fit to live.” Dr. King was clearly a man who was willing to die for what he believed in because he could not live with the way things were.

It appears that the wave of protest and revolt that is currently surging across the Middle East was triggered by the supremely sacrificial act of a man who was willing to die because he could not live with the way things are in his beloved country Tunisia. I don’t know exactly what 26-year-old Mohamed Bouazizi believed in, but I believe that it’s safe to say that he had had enough.

Mohamed Bouazizi had a university degree but was unemployed. To make a living he sold fruit and vegetables, basically trying to survive as an unlicensed street vendor. One day the authorities in the small city of Sidi Bouzid where Mohamed lived seized his produce cart, essentially taking away his livelihood, his means of survival. It’s been reported that Mohamed became so angry that he set himself on fire. He died a couple of weeks later.

But the impact of his act was instantaneous. The incident enraged witnesses and rioting quickly spread throughout the town. Reuters reported that “Riots are extremely rare for Tunisia, a north African country of about 10 million people which is one of the most prosperous and stable in the region.” I guess the obvious question would be “prosperous and stable” for whom? A relative of Mohamed was quoted as saying, “People are angry at the case of Mohamed and the deterioration of unemployment in the region.”

The majority of Americans have absolutely no knowledge of the social, economic and political dynamics at the root of what is currently taking place in the Middle East, but there are millions of Americans who do know a little something about unemployment in a country that is “prosperous and stable” for a select few.

As a recent commentary in The Nation pointed out, “While 22 million were searching for jobs in the US this week, Goldman Sachs tripled Chief Executive Lloyd Blankfein’s base salary and awarded him $12.6 million of stock, a 42 percent increase from ’09.”

Laura Flanders, who wrote the commentary, takes the position that it is the income inequality that exists in Egypt that has compelled people to take to the streets, pointing out that, “As in Tunisia, the protesters are driven by fury at poverty, lack of options and the looting of their state by the super-powerful.”

The income inequality that exists in America has been receiving major attention lately, especially during the recent tax cut spectacle. But what’s incredibly shocking and perverse in the comparison between the US and Egypt is that, as Ms. Flanders writes, “…the US actually has much greater inequality than Egypt—or Tunisia, or Yemen.”

That’s right, the income inequality in the most powerful nation in the world is worse than that of Egypt, Tunisia, or Yemen– countries located in a region of the world that at this very moment is being transformed by an unrelenting demand for the end of tyranny and the establishment of governments that are dedicated to the well-being of all citizens.

After hammering home the facts that the income disparity between the rich and the poor in this country is “anti-democratic” and that American democracy is “suffering,” Ms. Flanders concludes with the question, “What are we going to do about it?” For me the most significant question is: When will the people decide that they have had enough?

December 1, 2010

rosa verses/outkast

 

For Rosa Parks, who sued the rap group OutKast for defaming her name. Today is the 55th anniversary of her historic act of protest.

they should have

been able to sit themselves

in her space

they should have

been able to see the look

on her face

as she sat at the

threshold of birth

as she reversed the

spinning of the earth

but…no connection/no direction

trivializing

the struggle to fit

the rhyme

careless chants

do not echo from her time

she felt

the wetness on her face again

the spit and the spew and the

frost hurled from frozen lakes of blue

the complexities of their profane homage

deriving analogy from a historical stoppage

when a nation began to see itself through

the windows of mass transit…

something large, often empty and hungry for profit.

November 10, 2010

Winter in America

It’s winter…winter in America…and ain’t nobody fighting, ’cause nobody knows what to save.

From the song “Winter in America” by Gil Scott Heron/Brian Jackson

Nowadays when I reminisce about being young and black in America back in the early 70’s I see it as a special time, a transitional period in different ways, on different levels. Personally I had successfully made the leap from grade school to high school and was reveling in my passage into the teenage years,  bolstered by the belief that manhood was just around the corner. 

But things were drastically changing in the world at large as well. Dr. King was assassinated in 1968, and I remember standing on the back porch on the second floor of the apartment building that we lived in and watching the sky turn reddish-orange and black from the flames and smoke during the riots that had broken out. Then a couple of months later I sat in front of our black and white television mesmerized by the news coverage of the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy.

From what I was told these were good men that stood for what was right and wanted to help make this society, this world, a better place for all people. The fact that they were killed because of their benevolent beliefs was a signal to my young mind that this world was not as nice a place as I thought it was. I guess that it can be said that I had developed a higher level of consciousness about people and the society that I lived in.   

 

Then there was the music. The songs began to reflect the prevailing spirit of the times, questioning and outright challenging long-held notions and beliefs about America and it’s commitment to the principles of justice and equality.

One of my all-time favorite songs of this genre of music is Winter in America, by Gil Scott-Heron and Brian Jackson. Released in 1974, the song still powerfully speaks to the pain and disillusionment that stems from decimated dreams and perverted promises and the spiritual toll of struggling against complex forces that suppress and oppress.

One can only hope and pray that there will always be those that will never stop believing in and working towards a changing of the season that leads to the realization of the highest of American ideals…

October 14, 2010

two-handed schools (a lesson in Martin and Monk…)

 

the vibrating strings add melody

to words that vibrate the earth

the hands of a musician

the hands of a martyr

are clasped in an image

that goes beyond any piano

that goes beyond any pulpit

mere wood carved

and shaped and commanded

in immortal mold that maintains

the same breath, the same heartbeat

for both prayer and improvisation 

two hands can blur the black and white

that sits idle, that sits ignorant

absent the rhythm and the reason

the flow of blood and thought

that celebrates

life through composition

that celebrates

death through baptism

two hands are brought together in prayer

from right to left / from left to right

two hands caress and pound contrasting tones

(between heaven and hell there is harmony).

                                                             

October 4, 2010

accomplices to evil & abstract apologies: Guatemala

I believe that most human beings know how it feels to have a dream run over by reality; whether the dream is large or small, there’s disappointment, there’s pain.

It can be said that an ideal is an elaborate or deliberate dream…deliberate in the sense that humans have a tendency of inviting others into those dreams that they strongly believe can become reality if they can convince enough people of it. Often the ideal sounds and feels so good that the spirit underlying the ideal is rarely discussed…until the ideal is run over by reality.

There were a couple of things that inspired me to write the poem below, portrait of guatemala. After reading different accounts of the American government’s involvement in overthrowing the democratically elected government of Guatemala in 1954, and then reading Guatemalan Mayan leader and 1992 Nobel Peace Prize winner Rigoberta Mench’s memoir, “I, Rigoberta Menchu,” I felt compelled to express thoughts and feelings about this massive collision of ideal with reality.

America is supposed to be the model- the ideal- for democratic government. So why would this country’s government engage in the sabotaging of another democratically elected government?

But that’s for another time and post. What prompted this post is the recent revelation that in the 1940s U.S. government researchers deliberately infected Guatemalan prison inmates, women, and mental patients with syphilis as part of an experiment to test the then-new drug penicillin.

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius issued a joint statement apologizing to “all the individuals who were affected by such abhorrent research practices.” President Obama also issued an apology.

The experiment was uncovered by Susan Reverby, a professor of women’s studies at Wellesley College in Massachusetts. She found out about it while following up on a book about the infamous 1960s Tuskegee study on black men who were deliberately left untreated for syphilis. (Another time, another post)

Regarding the Guatemala experiment Reverby said, “In total, 696 men and women were exposed to the disease and then offered penicillin. The studies went on until 1948 and the records suggest that, despite intentions, not everyone was probably cured.”  

She also pointed out that the Guatemalan government was a co-sponsor of this hideous practice. I have no doubt that there are some who are twisted enough to try to justify what happened on the grounds that the victim’s own government consented to their suffering and death, so why should the U.S. government be condemned? 

I can hear the words of Dr. Martin Luther King ringing in my ears: “To ignore evil is to become an accomplice to it.”

portrait of guatemala

it could be that democracy died the moment that it became a spoken word,

exposed to the malignant discourse of congress that prevails against conscience;

maybe it was an embryo aborted by the eagle, never given a chance to soar, it’s death going unrealized until 1954…

if there had been passion for the lie instead of the literal the deaths would not have multiplied the deception by a hundred thousand or more

but truth must become human before it becomes passion and people are sacrificed because truth is eternal:

while they bled the zopilote was red / as they faded the zopilote was white / when they died the zopilote was blue;

in the fincas, in the cantinas, it was myth turned to stone that ground them like maize; myth born of ideals that frighten the central banker

myth born of ideals that threaten the corporate planner; myth born of ideals that endanger the satanic structure

myth no longer nourished by the mind’s heart yearning to cradle what it has given birth to becomes the stone that is dead wisdom;

it becomes righteousness that precedes rape, the eucharist that precedes extermination.

lies/fincas/plantations/catinas/taverns/lies…

a lie corrupts time because it is neither the beginning nor end of truth; it is the nightfall sometimes mistaken for midday

when men suspended between power and pathology insert images like knives into the endemic eye

and flashes from the blades are said to reflect the glory of the sun

lies/fincas/plantations/catinas/taverns/lies…

pain is confined to one language, many severed tongues woven into the one silent scream

that is heard when the two faces speak from one mouth, the teeth sinking into throats primed for revelation

when democracy breathes from dividends that final breaths yield:

while they bleed the buzzard is red / as they fade the buzzard is white / when they die the buzzard is blue;

the images of something higher fall from the skinless sky

that held no eyes of yellow and white, just red vein-like patterns that lead to and from the mass graves of mud and concrete and lead and ink…

(the substitute gods are becoming illiterate in their deception)

they can be seen running naked across avenues from finance to fiction, screaming for reclassification; their own mode of mercy they must digest like vomit

(their tombstones resemble half-eaten maize)

when will the apologies cease to be white like the powder that decorates the fresh dead?

(the still faces of peace as violent illusion)

savagery becomes a trait of sorrow when yesterday’s tears become today’s smudges; narrow streams that nourish the late edition, the misplaced memorandum

the torturous drip of truth that the tongue tries to catch before it falls to the dust that was once particles of faith, particles of promise; the disintegration of dawn…maybe (for the sincere propagandized)

a moment of deity that ruptured the human shell, spewing hope that distorts the heavens and the saints-

while we bleed the zopilote is red / as we fade the zopilote is white / when we die the zopilote is blue…

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