by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
Death keeps arriving, acknowledging no sanctuaries.
Black Lives Matter…little under capitalism…
by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
“You rape our women and are taking over our country” — Mass murder suspect, Dylannn Roof
Screaming sirens streaming to Mother Emanuel
Find time to ticket a Black man riding his bike
On the sidewalk; pulsing party lights, red and
Blue surround the African Methodist Episcopal
Church, shell casings litter the sanctuary like
Peanut shells after a baseball game, crimson
Beer puddles everywhere, like tributaries to a
Wild, mad, Mississippi, overflowing its banks “You rape our women and are taking over
Our country—” If he speaks Muskogean, and
Is claiming Ashepoo, Combahee, Edisto, Etiwan,
Wando, Wimbee, Cusabo, if he’s claiming extinct
Coosawhatchie River People—his point’s well taken…
His name’s unimportant, could be Mike or Ike,
Or Nathan Bedford Forrest, or Forrest Gump—
Blonde, bowl haircut, 5’9’ 120lbs out the shower,
Death arrived at 8, looking for leaders, shooting 9
From downtown, like another post-racial facial in-
Your-face slam-dunk, demonstrating, again, 1619
Forward’s open season; Death keeps arriving,
Looking for leaders at Lorraine Motels, Audubon
Ballrooms, in Chicago bedrooms, Mississippi drive-
Ways/ highways, South Carolina/L.A. campuses;
Death keeps arriving, acknowledging no sanctuaries—
Not praying, studying, meeting, walking, running,
Driving, swimming, selling, peacemaking; Death
Arrives with this month’s mass murder, this month’s
Lessons in class war, raging daily, hourly, straining
Every sphere scarlet…
Death arrives with this month’s mass murder, this month’s
Lessons, lessons lunging, extending, stretching, reaching:
Sun Salutes, beyond single cities and sanctuaries—
Once, I wept, cried, hot tears trickling down my cheeks
Trapping anguished screams in my throat, but how can
I cry for 9 of ‘mine’ and not for 1 million Iraqis, two
Thousand Palestinians, ghastly numbers of Afghans,
Pakistanis, Haitians, Libyans, Somalis and Congolese?
When the first Africans arrived here in chains, there
Were no “white” people, there were Natives, English,
Africans and others— the “white race” would be
Invented sixty years later, the trusty weapon used for
Blowing up unity between Englishmen and Africans,
Armed against the 1%! There were no whitewashed,
Hoodwinked hooligans, their textbooks redacted like
Black Panther Party FOIA papers; No bamboozled,
Clubfooted square dancers circling ‘round and ‘round
Real estate, ‘developer’ 1% exploiters over and over
Again and again, played like fiddles, duped by “white
Superiority” myths “white” privileges enforce; ceding
The ruling-class victory after victory, wrapping its icy,
Wehrmacht fingers ‘round throats ALL colors working-class
The Commander’s done Our Prayers and Hearts Go Out
14 times from the Briefing Room stage, entering glassy-eyed,
Solemn, stage right, post-racial pain pulling on his face,
Delivering cognitively dissonant, Shakespeare-like lines
”Leaving no stone unturned,” castigating “senseless violence”
With “gun control” comedy, “Innocent people were killed…”
Were their civil rights violated? Is it a hate crime? Terrorism?
“We don’t have all the facts,” “cannot make sense of what
Happened,” but must “come together for a conversation on
‘Race:’ cues of just how
little
Black Lives Matter
under
capitalism.
Raymond Nat Turner © 2015 All Rights Reserved
Assata Shakur wrote the introduction and this poem for the 1990 book Hauling Up the Morning: writings & art by political prisoners and prisoners of war in the U.S.
They called Assata Shakur a fugitive; we claim her as a compass. Her work and her words will continue to chart the path toward our liberation.
The empire has a new plan for Haiti, a return to military occupation dressed up as humanitarianism. Like past occupations, it will only increase the suffering of Haiti's people.
While Gaza burns, a collaborationist class is being handed the keys to a prison and calling it a state, all in service to western imperialism.
Western nations complicit in occupation and genocide offer a fig leaf of sovereignty by recognizing a Palestinian state that in reality would still be occupied.
