Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

Injustice: Ferguson, Missouri; Sanford, Florida; Cleveland, Ohio

Injustice:  Ferguson, Missouri; Sanford, Florida; Cleveland, Ohio

My heart is broken.

There is no justice.

There’s racism and privilege and hate and violence.

There are some rich, white people who really don’t get it.

There are those who laugh at pain.

There are whose who get off on the death of black youths.

And there are others, who, wanting to seem rational, say, “Well, we don’t have all the facts.”

There are others, who, wanting to seem on the right side of “the law” say, “Well, did you see the video of Michael Brown robbing a store?” or, “Well, Trayvon threatened George Zimmerman, or smoked dope,” or, “The kid Tamir Rice was waving a gun.  How could police know that it wasn’t real?”

I say to all of them about the first two questions:  That has nothing to do with this!

I say to them, all of them, about the first two questions: Haven’t you ever done wrong? Would you think it is fair to be killed for it?

I say to all of them:  Don’t obfuscate with irrelevant facts!

I say to all of them about all three:  Does anyone have to die?  What happened to the police tackling someone, disabling someone whom they see as a “threat” —  without killing?

I say to all of them:  Stop justifying that secret racism in your own  hearts.

I say to all of them:

There are five facts about what happened in Ferguson, Missouri:

One:  A teenager died in the US.

Two: A black teenager died in the US.

Three: A police officer shot him from several, perhaps, hundred or more feet away.

Four: The teenager was unarmed.

Five: He was killed in cold blood.

Go and search your own conscience, I say.

AND SHAME ON YOU, if you think he deserved it. 

AND SHAME ON YOU, if you think his killer deserved to go free.

AND SHAME ON YOU FOR NOT CRYING FOR ALL THOSE YOUNG BLACK TEENAGERS AND CHILDREN WHO DIED.

http://The Death of Emmett Till

 

After Steubenville–A Poem

After Steubenville — A Poem

©By Vijaya Sundaram

March 19th, 2013

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sickness has stolen into our worlds.

The souls of our young men,

Swollen with self-love

(Or could it be self-hatred?),

Fatten themselves upon the spirits

Of our young women, who,

Powerless, longing for recognition,

No matter whence it arrives,

Find themselves caught unawares

In the buffeting waves

Of the contempt and hate

That pulses in the swollen, unfettered

Power-crazed glands of young men.

After such crimes, what punishment?

And  who shall speak for our girls?

Filled with confusion, eager for love,

Looking for direction, they follow

False trails, lose sight of themselves,

And, trapped in a mirror world,

Desperate, surrounded, they cry out,

Lose their way, flounder, flail, fall

Out of consciousness.

And the talking heads on idiot boxes

Blame them subtly, making mouth-noises.

Do they not see the horrors they condone,

Waggle-tongued hypocrites of our time

And of our shame?  Worshippers of clay gods,

They babble and preen, loose-jawed

Purveyors of muck, shaking their heads,

While our girls lose consciousness.

After such crimes, what punishment?

And who shall speak for the boys?

Lust for power and narcissism,

Hero-worship and sports-worship

Create a crazy, mirror-world with distorted

Images, reality suspended, decency snuffed out,

Morality crushed underfoot, shame splintered!

Self-knowledge drowned in manic laughter,

They cavort like Pan’s satyrs.

A sickness afflicts our children.

And our girls shall not see freedom

And our young men shall know prison.

Each imprisoned in a hell that we,

The makers of our world, need to break down.

Break down, rebuild, rename, re-teach.

And we need to teach our children well

Or we shall all go to hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Teach Our Children — Crosby, Stills and Nash YouTube Video