RAMADAN MUBARAK

RAMADAN MUBARAK

WE ARE STILL HERE By Mary Canty Merrill, Ph.D

WE ARE STILL HERE

By Mary Canty Merrill, Ph.D.

Black people have been through many traumatic experiences. Our hearts have been cut deeply. Our minds have been twisted. Our bodies have been abused. Yet, despite all that we have been through, and though we may be weary at times, we are still here.

We were kidnapped from our native land—Mother Africa, yet we are still here.

We were shackled in chains, and crammed into the bowels of ships headed for the New World, yet we are still here.

We were forced to sail for weeks, months—and sometimes a year—amid inhumane and diseased conditions, yet we are still here.

We were torn from our families and loved ones, yet we are still here.

We were sold into slavery as property, yet we are still here.

We were raped and sexually abused by slaveholders, yet we are still here.

We were hung and brutally whipped, yet we are still here.

We were branded and mutilated, yet we are still here.

We were hunted down like wild animals, yet we are still here.

We were imprisoned for minor infractions—or no infractions at all—without legal defense or recourse, yet we are still here.

We were spat on, tormented and insulted, yet we are still here.

We were forced into hard labor from sunup to sundown, yet we are still here.

We were devalued as human beings, yet we are still here.

We were used as prizes in lotteries, yet we are still here.

We were used as wagers in card games and horse races, yet we are still here.

We were allotted the bare minimum of food, yet we are still here.

We were given the cast-off clothing of whites, yet we are still here.

We were abused and exploited through medical experimentation, yet we are still here.

We were provided no care for our health, yet we are still here.

We were placed in situations that jeopardized our well-being, yet we are still here.

We were forbidden to buy or sell goods without a permit, yet we are still here.

We were forbidden to own livestock, yet we are still here.

We were subject to nightly curfews, yet we are still here.

We were forced to live in meager shelter with leaky roofs, thin walls and dirt floors, yet we are still here.

We were forbidden to read and write, yet we are still here.

We were forbidden to marry outside of our race, and sometimes forbidden to marry at all, yet we are still here.

We were coerced into nursing white babies, yet we are still here.

We were treated harshly by cruel overseers and made an example to others, yet we are still here.

We were stripped of our freedom, yet we are still here.

We were in physical bondage for 300 years, yet we are still here.

We were subjected to a hard, miserable life that is now difficult to imagine, yet we are still here.

We possessed nothing except our dignity, yet we are still here.

We were forced into segregation, yet we are still here.

We were bitten by vicious dogs, attacked with tear gas and sprayed with fire hoses, yet we are still here.

We were searched at any time and for any reason, yet we are still here.

We were sharecroppers who were cheated and denied land ownership, yet we are still here.

We were robbed of our heritage, history and resources, yet we are still here.

We were denied our constitutional rights, yet we are still here.

We are subject to racial profiling, yet we are still here.

We have been forced into mass incarceration, yet we are still here.

We are still considered an inferior race, yet we are still here.

We have endured modern day genocide, yet we are still here.

We built this country called America with our blood, sweat, and tears, yet we are still here.

We have endured hundreds of years of racism, discrimination and oppression, yet despite everything that we have been through, we are still here.

WE ARE A STRONG, RESILIENT AND NOBLE PEOPLE… AND WE ARE STILL HERE!

IN MEMORIAM TOTEN TANZ Dedicated to those who died and those who survive ...

IN MEMORIAM TOTEN TANZ  

By Celine Leduc edited by Norman Simon  April 2017 

Annie and Anita were friends

German Jewish, the other Christian

They joked: We are Judeo-Christians

They shared a passion the arts.

One a dancer, the other a percussionist

Yes, they complemented each other.

Religion united them: they celebrated

Hanukah/Christmas - the light that guides

Passover/Easter - Freedom from slavery

Little did they know they would be slaves.

They would be hunted as killers and traitors.

Politics made them enemies

They disobeyed --- they were friends.

Politicians said:  The Jews killed Jesus

Politicians acted and KILLED Jews

Religious leaders: ministers and priests

Preached, "Hate Jews," they killed Jesus.

Rabbis believed they would be safe

They reminded everyone, "We are German.

Germans are good people. We are friends.

The madness will pass --- have faith."

A knock at the door, a broken door

Houses searched, people rounded up

A suitcase packed in a hurry.

In a truck, bringing them to a train.

People displaced sent to a CAMP.

Annie and Anita decided to leave.

Fake exit cards - forged documents

From Berlin to Amsterdam

To freedom we will drive and walk.

They wait till night to cross

Check the patrols, the border guards

Snow on the ground, it is cold!

The hearts of the guards are cold

Anita says, “Go, I will follow.”

Annie runs, crosses to safety.

Anita starts to cross

She is spotted by a border guard

One shot resonates Annie falls

Anita runs back They are caught

Thrown in a truck – destination DEATH

The music has died

The dance macabre starts

Anita dances a solo : Toten Tanz

The dance of death.

POEM BY ~ Manidoonaateshing-ikwe / Phylmarie Fëss, woman of Ojibwe Turtle Clan

get well card

a girl was battered

sometimes by her angry mother with the father’s belt,

but because mother said to,

most often her father swung that leather strip

or his hand,

while he said,

“look at me when i talk to you.

don’t look at me like that.”

or he’d ask,

“what are you crying for? i’ll give you something to cry for,”

“don’t you feel it? i’ll make you feel it,”

then he’d hit again.

again.

and the girl hugged herself and tried not to cry too much or too little

saying in her mind, “not your fault.

remember they used to love you.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

a young woman was declared tramp and evicted

by her landlady

when she respectfully, privately

requested that the older woman tell the elder's father

to please keep his strange words,

and his hands

off.

so the young woman walked along the treed, nighttime road

with cases and purse in arms and wept silently

while strangers stared

thinking to herself, “not your fault.

they are sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

an at-home-alone daughter was raped

by a drunken neighbour

who chastised her sin,

so she reclused to her room

and watched the door,

for months.

till one evening she whispered her shame,

and her mother recradled the girl in arms and wept with her,

saying, “not your fault.

his mind is sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

a ‘with-child’ woman was pounded

by a stranger who threw his jacket over her head

on a downtown street,

beaten as he shrieked, “bitch! bitch!”

and later her sister held the woman in her arms and wept with her

saying, “not your fault.

his mind is sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

how many more

we belted girls?

we tormented women?

we raped daughters?

we pounded mothers?

before we all walk together

and need no longer cry, “not our fault.

it's the violence-borne society,

the violence-porne society,

the violence-torn society,

that is sick.

it’s not

our

fault.”

no more,

Creator, please.

no more,

now.

we

walk

together

now.

~ manidoonaateshing-ikwe / phylmarie

If you wish to share, I give permission. If you wish to share without photo, I give permission, but to preserve layout, copy and paste the whole honour song poem from title to signature line end. Miigwech / Thank you, for passing on the message in defense of girls and women.

Domestic Violence Created by Poetess Queen Francine Nedd Nov 2006

Domestic Violence
Created by Poetess Queen Francine Nedd
Nov 2006

Oh God, hear my prayer, my voice, my cry, my plea,
from the grave for the suffering people
of violence still alive behind me,
For my eyes are now closed, and sewn very tight,
because the man I love decided to kill me one night.

It all started out gradual then progressed very slow,
the longer I stayed
the violence began just to grow and grow.

It started as insults verbal, lowering my self-esteem,
I’d wondered to myself how he could be so mean.
It escalated to harsh beatings, bruises, and broken bones, to a degree I would often sit in the dark afraid and alone.

Ashamed of my face disfigured to such a degree,
and he’d convinced me that my suffering and bruises
were all because of me.

Afraid to call my family or the police on the phone
he told me if I did, he’d break my face and collarbone.
For almost any reason he use to beat me,
to much damage to the womb and I lost two babies,
maybe three.

Fed up and convince he truly had no love for me
I planned my escape and my chance to be free.
I just said this is enough I can’t take it no more
and I grab my coat and headed to the door.
He grab me by the hair, said you think you leaving me,
and he began beating my face until I could not see.
I was leaving that was it, I’d made my decision,
and I struggled harder and harder to repair my vision.

I was unable to reach across him to the wall phone
I stole the chance and I kneed him in the groin.
As he toppled over and we hit hard against the floor
I struggled to rise and headed for the door.

Surprised he was even able to grab my leg’s
as I fell he gave me two sharp blows to my head.
My head became groggy and very light
as I continued my fight to save my life.
The man I‘d married, loved for many years
was sealing my death and ignoring my tears.

Yes, my husband and I had a terrible and final fight;
the last I remember was a twist of a knife.
My husband not only took my life and the life of himself
but our newborn baby due on the twelfth
I lay next to him before we both took our last breath,
he said, I told you that this marriage would be until death.

My bodies in this casket as my family say’s goodbye to me, I am a victim of a crime of domestic cruelty.
Maybe this prayer may save the next couple,
and I hope too God it’s true,
because problems of domestic violence
can lead to your deaths too.

Lord there is such a great need for a healing,
when people are reacting in violence
without thinking or feeling
Domestic violence is violent no matter how big or small, violence is violence let’s put and end to it all
If its man against woman, or woman against man,
stop closing your eyes saving lives is the new plan.

To be seeing and not telling or a continued
victim in silence,
the toll is rising, put and end to
Domestic Violence

NADIA by Veronica Marjon Van Bruggen

NADIA  

Nadia is a girl

She is a Yazidi girl

She is a very brave Yazidi girl

She is a very brave victimized Yazidi girl

She is a very brave victimized and orphaned Yazidi girl

She became enslaved

She was (legally !!!!) raped

She managed to escape and was a refugee

She had to endure all this, because she is an innocent Yazidi girl.

She now has an advocate

who is ashamed

and says so in an assembly of the UN

she is proud to present Nadia

as a survivor, 

a Yazidi leader

a Nobel Peace Prize nominee

a Goodwill Ambassador of the United Nations.

Her name is Nadia Murad.

Nadia  by Veronica Marjon Van Bruggen   Copyright   September 2016