I wish our people could share
or pickup lines.
But right now
we have to share
how to protect
ourselves from teargas
so that it doesn’t sting
We have to share
how far a stone can travel
in the air to battle
the bullets flying
toward our youth.
Our mothers have to
remind each other
so that the grief doesn’t
bury them alive.
(But then again
when you lose your child
a part of you can never
I wish our people could share
or pickup lines,
and compare how bright
the colors are
in our different
parts of the world.
But right now,
our grief and anger
tie us together,
like it always has.
'every 28 hours'
grief waters into revolution.
collect your tears—
your son’s and daughter’s un-lived dreams—
and water them into ground.
what grows could be new life
with the wildest flowers
and sharpest of thorns to ward away
oppressors’ deadly claws.
when we mourn in the streets,
the concrete breaks through to the heart of the earth,
which holds the secret to freedom:
every time we love,
every time we imagine
beyond the wretchedness of prison,
we re-member our worthiness of life.
you find that your tears
summoned a choir of black angels,
the mightiest, brightest and most wise
you find they possess more power
and grace than current logic could contain.
and all along,
the history books told us
to be scared of black,
to see brown as dirty,
when all they did
was bare witness to the truth
that would destroy
and shed an ocean of them.
history is losing its way.
slowly we return to the earth’s core
serenaded by black melodies,
grief waters into revolution.
the angel orchestra awaits your tears,
for they are the drums
that keep our memories
You say you send troops so that you can save lives,
while you fund the massacre of those that only resist to survive.
You say that the world calls you to protect and secure,
but your so-called world is the elite that sponsors the death of the poor.
You applaud the bravery of Mandela’s raised fist,
but if he was still alive he’d be on your terrorist watch list.
You hold the hand of the murderer and hand him more weapons,
while children die before you as they shout their last wishes.
You claim that this land is the leader of the free,
but Black is still segregated by the veil of ‘criminality’.
Your words have no meaning when ‘defense’ is genocide’s guise,
but the day is coming near when this mask will be your demise.
From underneath the rubble a child still survives,
and so is the truth that slowly starts to rise.
We need to stay mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically alert, open and vigilant. Liberalism is at its all time high in its use of words like “defense” and “security” as a means to justify horrific violence. Keep your minds clean. Ask yourself what is happening underneath the words, the language. Let the silence speak.
The US government is funding the killing fields. People around the world (home and abroad) who once had solidarities are now seeking to annihilate each other with their own bloody hands. At the same time love continues to rise in the brave hearts of those who know it’s the only way to stay alive and awake. The resiliency of humans is unbelievable. It takes warriors to stay awake, to not turn away, but to face the impossibility of this moment, to face the horror, the insanity, the grief and do something with it. And to face one’s own complicity in the horror is the hardest part of it all.
Here’s a thought I am sitting with today: What does collective and organized resistance, outrage, grief and resiliency look like in Oakland? Your neighborhood? What are we dreaming our world into?
What kind of world do we live in when being critical of the occupier is somehow inhumane?
What kind of world do we live in when a two State solution is presented even though one of the States was created in demolition of the other?
What kind of world do we live in where those trapped for their lives are seen as murderers and terrorists when they are screaming for their lives by resisting to be choked?
This is not the time to be watered down by fear of being too truthful or too radical or too brown or too black or too woman or too alive.
These are moments in history where we can choose to stay safe in the status quo to keep up our recognition from the liberal mainstream and continue to be complicit in violent patterns, or choose to speak what is unpopular and true and participate in changing the tides with words and spirit that cut through the thickest lies.
Revolution is not pretty. Revolution is not romantic. Revolution may tear you apart, but it will burn away the things that keep you from evolving into justice, into love, into light into wholeness.
Life is too short to swallow dreams of freedom.
"I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. We’ve been taught that silence would save us, but it won’t." - Audre Lorde
Nina Simone said that to be an artist is to be relevant to the times. Here’s my letter to President Obama and a message from my heart for anyone who’d like to hear it. <3
I am so disappointed in you President Obama…
I burn with sadness, anger and heartbreak all at once. How could you dismiss the incalculable inequity Gaza is facing and say Israel has a right to defend itself?
Gaza’s population is 50% under the age of 16 trapped in the world’s largest open air prison and these children are suffocating and dying behind its walls. How can you compare Israel’s attacks as defense or even talk about this as they are two equal sides fighting each other?
Gaza is bombarded Mr. President, and your government is funding this terrible apartheid by continuously sending military aid to Israel that continues to map the destruction of my Palestinian brothers and sisters. How could you applaud the work of the great Nelson Mandela in his work for South Africa when you are supporting an apartheid far worse? We have enough problems with our prison system here in the US while schools are closing and Black and Brown children are being funneled and pushed into jail.
I am a singer but am finding it hard to sing with so much burning everywhere, and I am still trying to create art but sometimes all there is is ashes and ashes and heartbreak and tears and it is not just about you way out there in the White House making policy, but it is also the culture in our country of a deep social conditioning trickling down to everyday personal encounters that makes us harden our hearts even with each other when another’s difference starts to illuminate a difficult truth that differs from our ego beliefs keeping us alive.
There is so much trauma in this country carrying the voices of ghosts of slavery and annihilation and rape and torture and yet somehow we are supposed to be the land of the free yet we are paying for the death of others right now and I mean right now as the smoke rises from destroyed homes in Gaza all in the name of defense?
I don’t know where to go from here Mr. President. I know the heart of this country is hardened by fear and hatred, it was built on the backs of others. It is reflected in our institutions and trickles down to the mundane parts of our lives. These systems teach that freedom is power over others and that freedom is hierarchy and that freedom is something that is sold, bought and taken. We the people, can’t blame anyone for our own hardened hearts and we remember that by organizing and refusing to go along with these systems that you are now the ambassador of. There are many of us healing and staying open enough to feel all this pain and see this sorrow and healing the best we can and we won’t give our power away, but we can’t feel it and change it all on our own, we need more numbers of open-hearted warriors to actually save lives and face this unlogical logic and melt this whole crazy upside down kingdom where wrong is seen as right.
Mr. President, don’t be another one who ignores the horror of what’s happening and disguises it with flowery words like “conflict” and “peace resolution” and “truces.” Those words are dead. The meanings are gone, along with every sweet soul who is on the other side of life asking us to be their voices while we are still alive.
an artist trying her best,
Half the population of Gaza is under the age of 16…If there is any solidarity to be had please think of the brown and black youth shuffled into the juvenile system in your backyard (if you’re in the u.s.) and then think about all the youth in Gaza forced to live in an apartheid state and a war zone imparted on them…
Leaders such as Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela, Angela Davis, and others have been pointing out these structures for decades. We are not the same and drawing parallels isn’t quite right, but we are tied by this structure that imprisons.
We are each others’ backyard.
Your four walls
where only smoke is allowed to rise,
haunted by your daughter’s screams,
choked by confinement,
lost in translation
by the those that fear your truth.
By the time your calls for help reach the airwaves,
four young boys playing soccer
have already become angels.
Your walls have always spoken
loud and clear, year after year.
Yet why does it have to be
the lifelessness of children
that cracks the code for the powers that be
to throw crumbs of attention your way?
The birds circle around you
begging the trees and the land
and the sea to protect you.
Your belly holds the discarded memories
that would destroy ignorance,
yet you are kept in solitary
so that the problem you pose
to the order of things
would never be exposed,
and things would keep on churning the way they have,
keeping the settlers comfortable
so that they ignore your ghosts
living in homes that were once yours.
Apartheid is not some word
to be said by so-called scholars or so-called radicals
to make themselves feel revolutionary.
It is not some word to remind us of
what has been done before to South Africa
(as if it’s over)
and think, “oh yes remember what happened to them in that distant time”?
It is a word to be uttered with a sacred thunder
because it is the separation and death of humanity,
seeing people as cattle to be locked behind bars
and locked behind checkpoints
because who they are and the air they breathe
does not fit into the lives built by institutions
that sell the lie that
'power is an object to hold, to be passed around like a water pitcher only filling certain glasses while the rest wilt with dehydration'.
No, power is not that, and even though it kills and starves and tortures
there is still that place where Gaza knows it has breath left to fight
and breath left to love
and breath left to write
and the power to stand
and look the world
in the eye and ask:
"do you see me yet?"
hold on to goodness, even in a flood of sorrow.
the fact we feel suffering, anger or pain only means we know what it is to have joy and peace, however distant that memory may be.
it may take tens of generations, but things grow when we keep dreaming into the good of ourselves and all that is.
i do not mean the dankness of prison walls or the systems that put those there. i mean there is a blueprint behind the hopelessness that is still good, and there are those who have forgotten how to see it.
memory can be the crane that destroys Babylon.
live your truth of this goodness. sometimes it is as a fighter, sometimes it is as a quiet sage. whatever it is, just be sure to channel the waters of love to course through your roots so that it reaches your soul.
and don’t be discouraged when its fruits don’t bear this season.
something was planted in the ground and will bloom when the soil is watered with strength, resiliency and compassion.
Songs are cries for freedom in translation. They are the messengers from one side to another. They hold our grief, our longing, & our peace.