by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
The finest young people of every era are always those most impatient with injustice. It is they who are the heirs of Harriet Tubman and the maroon leader Zumbi dos Palmares. On our behalf, the poet acknowledges them.
Thanks, Mama Harriet!
by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
I cried, āHelp, Mama Harriet, help!ā and you,
Beautiful young warriors, came Toyi-toying
from Ferguson, Baltimore, The Town, etc.
Through teargas clouds, pepper spray storms
You came tying traffic into hangman nooses,
shutting malls down like open and shut cases
of killer cops who walk. You came wrestling
Your minds out of the hands of exploiters!
I cried, āHelp, Mama Harriet, help!ā and you,
Beautiful young warriors, came incandescent,
kicking, screaming out of capitalismās wombā
waters breaking, unleashing torrents of energy,
sending surges of resistance, electrifying our
streets, illuminating our steps like Las Vegas
nights! You came galvanizing, mobilizing,
Organizing through wet blankets of false
consciousness, suffocating confusion and despair,
plastic cuffs, āprotest pensā, āfree speech zonesā,
police state checkpoints and jagged resting places of
Boomers bamboozled by the stateās complex simplicity!
I cried, āHelp, Mama Harriet, help!ā and you,
Beautiful young warriors, came waistbands
concealing questions. Came, actions unraveling
riddles wrapped in enigmas, shrouded in superstition:
What is the state? Whatās this octopus with ten thousand
tentacles, all circling the wagon? Whatās this creature of
constitution, courts, judges, legislators? Whatās this machine
of mediators, arbitrators, governors, generals, admirals, wardens,
agencies, bureaus, spies, snitches andāfoot soldiers, sons of
slave patrolsāthe police, all on the same page in the same
Playbook?
I cried, āHelp, Mama Harriet, help!ā and you,
Beautiful young warriors, came trusting fresh unvarnished
perceptions that the state
PROTECTS private plane, ātoo big to failā, Cayman Island
crowds
SERVES 99% pig foots & fistsāknuckle sandwiches,
boot burgers, baton blows, taser and loads of hot leadā
compliments of the 1%
You sensed it aināt brokeāevery epithet, insult, punch, kick,
baton blow, bullet, serves superbly! You realize you canāt fix
the robberās
Gun leaving skeletons wasting in doorways on cardboard
mattresses, hands curled into cups from beggingā¦
You feel you canāt tinker with terroristsā bombs, blowing up
Food Stamps, Social Security, Medicare, and your schoolsā¦
And you canāt adjust clubs suppressing free speech,
smashing strikes, shielding scabs, crushing resistance, and
drum majoring for wars slaughtering class brothers and
Sisters by the thousands in Africa, Asia and Latin America
I cried, āHelp, Mama Harriet, help!ā and you,
Beautiful young warriors, you āfit the profileā
Toyi-toying from Ferguson, Baltimore, The
Town, etc., vying for mastery of mass struggleās
Myriad forms: sit-ins, boycotts, marches, mass meetings,
Mass rallies, teach-ins, freedom schools, freedom songs,
sabotage, armed self-defense: doing the difficult
Todayāthe impossible might take a little whileā¦
Raymond Nat Turner Ā© 2016 All Rights Reserved
Our poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner is an acclaimed bi-coastal poet and performance artist. Find more of his work at Upsurge Jazz on the web, or at our upcoming live BAR events.
It is righteous and correct to say the names of victims of police violence, but we must also āSay the names!ā of our living political prisoners.
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Cheri Honkala tells Ann Garrison that the Biden campaign headquarters threw up a rent-a-fence when they heard the Poor Peopleās Army was coming.
A big BOOMā 27,000 tons of ammonium nitrateā¦ chemical compound for agricultural Fertilizerā¦ āstoredā 6 years at the port of Beirut 220 dead 5,000 injured
