Mamdani Making Things Happen!

POTUS putting out Propaganda

A Juneteenth Poem (excerpt)

When Juneteenth was made a national holiday, my hands started writing what it must have felt like to be freed. What happens when you've only known poverty, back-breaking work, and servitude? As I write this, I’ve just read the poem for the first time in almost a year, and I started bawling like a baby. I’m not exactly sure what set me off, but it felt like a deep well of pain passing through me. If only I could explain, but I cannot put it into words yet.

Today, for Juneteenth, I would like to post a short excerpt from my, as yet, unpublished
‘What Good is Freedom When You’ve Got No Place To Go”
by Robert Rw Anton


What good is Freedom
When you've got no place to go
No one to call on
No wealth to show

No place to live
No money to spend
Nowhere to run
No next of kin

No prospects or future
No history no past
Nothing you remember
Forgot under the lash

We's free we's free
What does that mean
How to digest it
Like good rice and beans

We's free we's free
Say it once more

What good is Freedom
When you've got
No place
To go


- Robert Rw Anton

(This is a multivoice poem I'm currently seeking to have published)

Every Day Feels Like A Crisis. What Can We Do? #poliTics #political #skits

aNew poem (excerpt) by Robert Rw Anton

Close up Mr Allen

The very next morning I awaken
to bombastic booming thunder

No rain predicted & the Earth shakes
with a vengeance never felt
before I was a child of God

My world our peace has been broken
The drumbeat quickens
War is at hand

#poems #poetry #writerscommunity #excerpt

I'm Grieving Democracy

I didn’t know how I was going to face it, how I was going to feel. Somewhere deep down in my being, I must have known. There was hope in my heart, but I couldn’t even watch the election results. A friend was having a watch party and invited me to play cards, Spades. Listen, I knew something had to be amiss in my soul. I rarely turn down an opportunity to play Spades or Bid Whist with friends, talk some smack, and engage in rigorous discourse. Something was not right.

Instead of going to the party, I opted to sit it out and cut myself off from all worldly communication: no social media, network news, phone calls. I did run down to Times Square, Bubba Gump’s, to get some Bang Bang Shrimp and Mac N Cheese for dinner. On the train home, I ran into a neighbor/friend who lives close by but I rarely see- NYC is like that. We talked all the way uptown, then stood outside my building for a good hour chatting and catching up.

When we parted, I headed straight for bed and woke up early, not of my choosing, to again ignore socials and news. Instead, I made some tea and started braiding my hair. In my heart of hearts, I knew. I was putting off the inevitable. I was hoping that America had crossed a divide and the new world was upon us.

Three and a half hours later, I had breakfast and opened my laptop. What was the first thing that popped up? You may have guessed the election results, and you would be correct.

My heart fell into my shoes. I thought, “I must be being pranked,” but in my soul, I knew. Our former republican president has once again won The White House (in no small part due to the votes of a majority of…) Well, let's not get into the blame game. It’s an election: there are winners and losers. This is how Democracy works.

As I searched for more information, I learned that Republicans also had taken control of both houses of Congress. My heart sank a little lower. I decided to close my laptop and continue my plans for the day. I texted a few friends, went to the bank and the grocery store, and made my way back home… to write.

I’m a little numb. I would be lying if I told you that I was confused, or disheartened, or ashamed, or disgusted. I knew! This is how it is. This is how it is going to be for the foreseeable future. I’m no rocket scientist, but when someone shows you who they are, believe them. America has shown me its stripes since I was a kid growing up in the ghettos of a city, at the time, divided by East/West, Black/White, Rich/Poor. This is nothing new for me.

I love to play cards. Did I say that? In cards, you play the hand you are dealt. For better or for worse, you do the best with what you have. You may lament your luck and curse the deck you were dealt, but you do the best you can with what you have. And, win or lose, you don’t quit because the next hand may be the one that puts you over the top, makes you a winner, gives you the title or crown, or bragging rights for the next however long until you play again.

As I write this, I feel myself getting choked up. I haven’t allowed myself the chance to grieve yet. I will grieve, mind you, but I know that we are going to be alright. We are going to turn these lemons into lemonade, keep fighting for the rights of our neighbors and friends, keep calling for civility in our daily lives, keep working, praying, earning, living, dreaming, protesting, achieving, and being.

Yes, we can, and yes, we will. You’ve got this. I’ve got this. We’ve been here before and overcome it. We can and will do it again. I am willing to bet on it.

We Mourn Their Lives

We mourn
Not for the first time
Nor for the last I fear
Life taken in the twinkle
A blink of the eye

A man-person of color
They say he was
Something that he refused
Did not claim
Would not accept

Through trials and tribulations
Many years passing
They claimed he did
He refused them again and
Finally the crowd spoke Up

But finally was too late
To change the minds of
They who would have their
Bloodlust satisfied on the
Alter of unforgiveness

We mourn another
Another life
Another lynching
One more black body
Sacrificed at the alter

Not for the first time
Nor for the last
One more sacrifice
To a God who would demand
Blood on their hands

a dedication to the memory of Marcellus Williams and all those innocents put to death at the hands of an un-justice system.

The Gravity of a New Dawn

The joy in my soul while watching
The Vice President of the United States walk
and wave
Greet the massive crowd at the Democratic
National Convention
The chants of U... S... A...U... S... A...
Rush of adrenaline coursing through the veins in
a body that has been ravaged and torn
Beat down and maligned
Feels like a new dawn. A new day
On the horizon I see prosperity and peace
Taking US forward into a paradigm shift
A path that has taken twists and turns that couldn't
have been predicted by the pundits
Sometimes the world brings US into a special moment
A once-in-a-lifetime, ground-shaking swell
Almost too good to be true
Too good to be real
History ready to be made
"Like family by love" makes US better
Day by day
Charting a new course
A new way



- Rw Anton

Practicing to greet the First Female President of the United States

Sonya Massey Killing Sickens Me!!!

Let me get this straight, Sonya Massey called the police for help. She was then harassed for her identification. The police told her to turn off her stove, and then they demanded she step away from the stove that they just told her to approach. A police officer who has had 6 different law enforcement jobs in 4 years then shot her in the face seconds after saying he was going to shoot her in the face. He did not have his bodycam turned on, and we would not know what really happened if his partner didn't have on his bodycam the whole time. ENOUGH!!!

WE ARE SICK AND TIRED OF BEING SICK AND TIRED! WE ARE SICK AND TIRED OF BEING SICK AND TIRED! WE ARE SICK AND TIRED OF BEING SICK AND TIRED!

STOP THE DICTATOR!!

Can you explain why you support #45?

The State of Black Publishing in America?

"#45 Should Still Be President"

I CAN'T BREATHE

 

"Stop right there!" 

No, not again. I can't keep going through this every other evening. I'm on my way home from work, just minding my business, and they come after me every time. Why does it have to be like this? What have I done in this life to keep them riding me like I'm some sort of common criminal? I look around to see if there are others nearby, but it's just as dark and deserted as any other Harlem street after all the shops are closed. 

 "Let me see some ID." 

My blood is beginning to boil like a pot of hot grits on too high heat. I know I should try to stay calm, but the pop pop popping of every blood vessel in my body is calling out for me to scream, shout, let it all out. I'm so tired of this. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm on the edge of just...No. 

No! I have seen too many videos of too many cops shooting too many innocent victims for simply standing up for their rights. What will he do to me if I start yelling and screaming about how unfair this is? I haven't done anything! I am just trying to go home after a long day at work. I work hard! I work long hours! I work for little better than minimum wage! I don't deserve this type of treatment. 

"Did you hear me? Where is your ID?" 

"Why?" I say, my throat as dry as a matza cracker. " What do you need to see my ID for, what have I done? Have I broken any laws?" My heart is racing, fit to be tied, right out of my chest. Come on, Tam, just show the guy some ID, my head tells me, but my heart isn't in it. I want to resist. I don't want them to keep treating me like a second class... I would say citizen, but I don't think this is how a citizen of the United States of America should be treated. "What have I done, and why are you stopping me? I know my rights." 

"Oh! We've got a smart one, do we? You can either show me some ID right here, or we can take you down to the station until we identify you. You fit the exact description of a perp we're looking for in a robbery in the neighborhood." 

I know he's lying. The only "description" I fit is the fact that I'm a black male in a black neighborhood. Most people don't even call the cops around these streets. More often than not, they end up shooting the wrong person; sometimes, the person actually calling for help. I know he's lying, but what can I do about it? He can say whatever he likes, and the law will back him up. Their Laws were made to keep a foot on the necks of the poor and the blacks and all the "others" that threaten their fragile sense of superiority. 

"Do you understand English, boy? I want to see some ID, and I want to see it right now," he says as he puts his hand on the gun holstered on his right hip. 

"I refuse to be harassed like this. I'm just walking home from work. If you want to call my employer, I will give you his number; but I'm well within my rights. You cannot stop me without probable cause." It sounded like I was confident, I think; but my hands were shaking, and I swear my voice cracked more than once. "Do what you want, but I'm taking law classes over at Burisma College, and this is unacceptable!" 

"Is it unacceptable? Well, why didn't you say that in the first place," he says - his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You sure seem like an upstanding citizen. Excuse me for presuming to think you could be our robbery suspect, sir. You are free to go." 

I was so surprised that I barely thanked the officer; I just wanted to get out of there. 

As I turned to walk away, I felt a pain in the back of my head;  as I tried to raise my hands to the offending spot, hands grabbed my wrists and pulled them behind my back. He put me in handcuffs and then proceeded to go through my pockets. 

"You just keep your mouth shut, you uppity nigger. When I ask you for something, you do as I say. I could shoot you right now, and no one would care. It's not smart to try and grab for a police officer's gun. Don't you know that?" 

"Fuck you, you fucking..." I tried to say, but he had pushed my face down onto the pavement and kicked me in the mouth. The warm smell of blood filled my nostrils, and I tasted...red...on my tongue. I don't know why I thought of red, but it didn't taste like any food I could remember eating. It's how I imagine the color red would taste: thick, slow, heavy. It started to choke me as it ran down the back of my throat. I gagged and convulsed and tried to spit it out.

"I can't breathe," I tried to say, but the words weren't coming out. "I can't breathe" again and again until I blacked out. 

MASKS AND MANDATES - It shouldn't be political

SHOULD VOTING BE THIS DIFFICULT?

Early voting started in New York City. I awoke with a determination to cast my ballot - to be counted. There was no rush, but I knew that I needed to get it done as soon as possible. 

That first morning, I washed up, ate, dressed, and headed out. My polling place is in the next block from where I live. Before I reached the corner, I could see the lines. Those lines snaked up, down, and around... and around the block. My heart sank a little.

Taking out my phone, I started at the front of the line and walked around the block to record this phenomenon. I have voted every year since I was eighteen years old. I have voted in several cities. I have voted in this particular neighborhood for the last seventeen years and four presidential elections. Never have I seen lines outside of my polling place. 

The line wrapped around the entire block more than twice. It bunched and stalled and crawled and bundled. The faces I noticed were not happy, but they were not mad either. They seemed to be nothing more than determined. 

At one point, I thanked those I passed for coming out to vote. My mind was reeling at the connotations, but I didn't stay. I couldn't stand out there that long with more than a week of early voting left. I made a video, to post to Instagram, about the experience. Then, I walked home and began uploading and editing the video on the massive crowds standing in line - not for a concert but - to vote for their government representation.

I planned to try again the next day. Again, I arose and got myself together and trudged to the next block. Again, lines were wrapping around and around. I'll try again tomorrow. Tomorrow is a Monday, and most people will probably be at work. I thought this, forgetting that it's Covid season and thousands, if not millions, of people are laid off or unemployed. 

Never-the-less, I arose early and attacked the morning to stand in line. Stand in line, I did. Except, I forgot that my polling place wasn't opening for another two hours. It was a cold and dreary morning. It started to drizzle. I gave up and went back to my warm apartment. 

Thwarted! Once again, I felt like I could have tried harder. But, I still have several days left. I'm undeterred. I will try every day until election day if need be. 

Before heading to bed that night, I checked the weather and noted two decent, partly cloudy but warmer days coming. Yes! I should be able to handle that. I fell to sleeping soundly through the night and woke up early, once again, to have some fruit and oatmeal and head out. I had forgotten that the place didn't open until noon, so I picked up a few things at the store and made my way home. 

I have my plan. It's cool but not too cold outside. I'll go out at 11:15 and wait for their noon opening. That's it. Today is the day. I hope today is the day. I'm already getting a tad exasperated with the whole thing. My enthusiasm is beginning to wane. 

Then I remembered, they just confirmed a new Supreme Court Justice in the middle of the night. She had been sworn in at the Capitol in record time. No! It was more than enough to reinforce my resolve. 

The time came. I packed my bag with a few things to keep my mind occupied. Approaching the corner, I saw the line was barely two blocks long - much better than the last few days. I took my place, and people started quickly filling in behind me. Before twenty minutes had passed, people had occupied the next block and a half. I couldn't see where the line ended. 

It was still a little chilly as the sun was barely peeking from behind the clouds. I mentioned that I lived close by and might go to get a jacket, and the guy behind assured me that he would hold my place, but I stuck it out for a while. 

The line began moving in fits and starts. I looked up from the game I was playing to see the line coming towards me. It wasn't my line; it was the second wrap-around of the new line. It was beginning to extend past me. By now, it was about 12:15. 

It seemed that the line was moving incredibly slowly. I got around the next corner and needed a bathroom break. My buddy held it down for me. We had never met and only talked for a brief few moments, but he was now my buddy. He was behind me. He had my back. 

I probably should have grabbed another jacket and scarf while relieving myself, but I didn't want the line to suddenly start moving and leave me behind. So, I handled my business and quickly trundled myself back to my space. They had barely moved. 

Thank God for a good book and Bid Whist Plus. I read and played, read and played. Now and then, I answered a few texts and quickly stuck my head back into my iPad (which was down to 13%), but I was approaching the final corner. The doorway was just beyond that corner. 

When I rounded that final bend, I felt the sunshine down on my body, and my outlook instantly improved. My spirits lifted, and I started looking around to see if I recognized anyone from the neighborhood. I didn't. There were so many faces, and I didn't want to stare. There was lively conversation here and there, but, like me, most people had brought along things to keep them occupied and entertained. They were busy reading, talking on the phone, playing games on their devices, and sweating out this once-in-a-lifetime, Democracy-threatening election. 

Am I being a bit dramatic? No, I don't think so. Every person who follows politics believes this is the most divisive election in the history of these United States. We all know that there needs to be a resounding defeat of our current president to send a message to Washington. I don't know if we can do enough, but I would not miss this chance to save my life (and lives may be in danger due to the risk of catching Covid). 

The doors to the building are looming closer and closer. The poll workers admonish us, again and again, to keep our social distance. Instructions are given. The front of the line is getting antsy. We enter, take our places, sanitize our hands, step forward. Step forward, please. Thank you.

I retrieve my ballot, mark my choices, and run it through the machine. Counted! Counted! Counted!

If history is to be made this year, I resolve to be a part of that history. I have lived to tell the story. It took what seemed like a lifetime, but I did it. I stayed the course and made my mark. I hope it counts. 

God! I hope it counts. 

Early Voting in NYC's Washington Hts.

MISLEAD (apolitical poem)

 There once was a leader, almost red

Who danced on the graves of the dead

Hundreds of thousands

Died on his watch

His family was always well-fed

They skimmed from the kids they were charged

With helping, A charity at large

No one was the wiser

They pointed and despised her

Crooks were they all

We're mislead

"Violence Is Not The Way"

 

I was invited to a watch party on Facebook, and protesters in Philadelphia were attempting to pull down

a statue in a public square. It was equally comical and alarming. It was comical because it was clear

that they were acting out with no practical knowledge and alarming because I was afraid it would

topple over, crushing dozens of them under its weight. 

The scene was riveting to me. Though I had planned to head outside for a walk in the pleasant 80-degree weather that was blanketing New York City, I could not tear myself away. 

Into my reverie came the comment section with caucasian people calling it a "tragedy" and "disgusting." It set my blood to boiling. I posed several questions: "Which do you find more disgusting, the pulling down of a stone statue or the killing of black and brown people with no justifiable cause?", "Is the statue more important than the constant loss of Life they are protesting," "Are you as disgusted by three to four police putting their full body weight on a man until he dies - no trial, no jury of his peers? Killed. Murdered. And for what?"

I have yet to receive an answer to these questions.

Earlier in the day, I had gone to pick up a few groceries from the store and received a call from a good friend who lives in a city further south. He wanted to know if I had been watching the footage and photos of the many protests all over the Country - Philly, Cleveland, Atlanta, New York, Boston. So many.

We chatted about the ongoing state of race relations in America and the narrative pushed by the media. We commiserated over the continued marginalization of our people. We discussed the possibilities of the whole Coronavirus pandemic being a planned event (him being a bit of a conspiracy theorist, at times). Then, we hit upon a topic that was slightly contentious between us: Why are people rioting? Is that going to make it better or worse? 

Let me say that I am a proponent of non-violence, in general, and nonviolent protest specifically. However, I believe that it will take dozens of disparate approaches for any real change to occur. Some will need to fight back, and others will find their calling being nonviolent. There will be those who can circulate petitions and those who can get the ear of our representatives in office. I hope that all will use their right and responsibility to vote, but voting alone will not change people's hearts. 

People wax nostalgic about Martin Luther King, Jr. and his nonviolent protests, but it was not the lone approach of Dr. King that brought about Civil Rights. It was a combination of factions, including him, and Malcolm X, and the Black Panther Party, and the Nation of Islam, and, and, and…

Lest you forget, both the nonviolent Dr. King and the more militant Malcolm X were assassinated. 

I also remember reading the story of Nelson Mandela and realizing that, even though he was the leading figure touted in the struggle for equality in South Africa, there were many coalitions in that fight - some followed the nonviolent path, others were much more militaristic. They blew up houses, businesses, and power plants - if memory serves me correctly. 

There is no one walk to freedom and equality. 

As we continued our conversation, we came to the tentative conclusion that people need to do what they are willing to do. Those who can be nonviolent in the face of violence should do so. Those who are predisposed to fight, go to jail, be beaten and abused, should be ready to take their lumps for the cause. 

Black men, women, and children are being killed by those sworn to protect US even when doing things as innocuous as playing in a playground, driving down a street, or sleeping in their own homes. Who are you to say that they should only protest peacefully in the face of genocide? 

In this Facebook watch party, someone stated that "violence doesn't help anything," and I reminded them that the USA was created when people took to the streets, tarred and feathered their British overlords, and fought for Independence. Was it a smooth, safe, and nonviolent transition of power? No! 

Power concedes nothing without a fight. 

Every uprising has its detractors. There are those who would uphold the status quo as long as it is working for them. They will attempt to vilify those who are being unjustly jailed, beaten, and even killed before they will demand accountability from those sworn to uphold the Law.

"Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness." 

There is no Liberty in being killed for passing a small, fake bill to buy groceries. There is no Liberty in being murdered for failing to signal while driving down a deserted street. There is no Liberty in being assassinated while playing with a toy gun in a playground. There is no life that is not sacred and holy and worthy of due process. 

If you have not been demanding justice for Amadou Diallo, Sandra Bland, and Tamir Rice, how can you now declare that "violence is not the way."  Violence has been perpetrated on our kind from before we were brought to this Country. You birthed US in brutality during slavery. You taught US, from your history books, that violence is the way to get what we want. You continue to grind your knee into our necks and expect US to be complacent and nonviolent in the face of your cruelty.

It is going to take an economic, spiritual, and political revolution to stop the murder and subjugation of minorities in this Country. You are either with US or against US. 

Which is it?