By Arjun Janah
I see the people in two camps (though some are in-between)
And one of them is calling for an ending that’s obscene.
They’re calling for the cops to do what those for hire do best,
To beat up on the ones who dare, their binding chains, to test.
But since the ones who’re testing are these students, who are white,
Or women who are white as well, this gives the rest a fright.
For pepper spray and rods and boots, when used on those who’re darker
Or poorer may be quite okay — and safely out of sight,
Or even guns and bullets, used when we’re asleep at night,
But when it’s done in daylight, with reporters gathered near,
To those who’re lighter, richer — why, then some refuse to cheer,
Though others still approve — and only wish they’d done it sooner.
To both these camps, the other one is certifiably lunar!
And here’s what those in power are now thinking. Hear them say,
To others of their kind, “Let’s stop this wretched thing, today!
“For if some question, what was held for longest time as true,
Then what’s to save some other things from critical review?
We bomb the regions far away — and people burn in hells.
But see, there are no pictures and that story, no one tells.
But what to do when people rise up here, in this, our street,
Or merely sit — near places where we one-percenters meet?
They circumvent the ban on mikes by echoing together!
They point out things that no one did without the tar and feather!
They even give out food and books — and people pause to think…
They’re rodents! If not driven out, this ship of ours might sink!
So hear our drums of war and how we beat them, till at last
Our lust for blood is satisfied. But has the danger passed?
Oh no! These books they distribute, in public in the square,
Must now be gone! And so must those, who advocate we share!”
I wondered off, from working life, and this I saw and heard.
I wondered loud, if rich should share. But I was called a turd.
But here is what some others said, who came to my defense,
And what they said, to me at least, made somewhat better sense.
“Remember that the ones who lived, in this, our bounteous land,
Remembered those who came by ship, but did not understand
The land or cultures that were here. They were, by climate, beaten
And surely would have perished — as do all who haven’t eaten
The season long. But natives came — and gave, it’s said, of maize,
Of turkey and of other things. This did the saved amaze
And they gave thanks (as we still do) not to the ruddy “Indians”
But to their God, their Savior Christ, in these, their new “dominions”.
And natives gave them implements — and other things they needed,
For they were used to sharing all — and those, in trouble, heeded.
But when one needed something back, and asked, this raised a fever
On those who understood him not, and called him, “Indian giver!”
And so it’s been. They’re vanished now, the ones who knew to share…
But should, in turn, these folk depart — who now, to sharing, dare?
Babui / Arjun
2011 November 24th, Th. (Thanksgiving Day)