by
Marcinho Savant
Today, a portion of, the nation celebrates… that which they’ve hardly earned. Friends and family gathered. Their Bar-B-Ques glowing red. Big, white coolers filled with Blue bottles and cans. A day off. Flags on sticks. A long weekend. I’m incapable of any such revelry.
More than half-a-century old, my hopeful faith in the promises of this land dashed--- my youthful naïveté now disabused of the fanciful expectation of a nation which claimed it saw me… loved me… because we are all equal. Free. Surely, I’m infinitely more free than my Great (great, great, grandfather who was born a slave) ancestor.
Certainly, I shouldn’t be soulfully wounded… because the balance of the branches of my family tree--- my forbears--- were not enslaved. They were Nobles, of Dalmatia, Croatia, France. Another branch hoisting leaves of lives from Brasil, Jamaica… But only one of my ancestors was the charge of the founding fathers. And, after his emancipation from captivity--- he achieved the American dream.
What, my heart wonders, of all the other children of the earliest America, whose children, and children's children, on and on… what is to become of them? Not only has a dream been seemingly endlessly deferred. It has been fundamentally, willfully, hatefully decimated. What of them?
Centuries, and decades, and years on, certain people are at liberty to grill, and drink, party, and puke, as though they have any earthly clue of what true patriotism is. Waving flags on sticks. Monster trucks. Fireworks. Hayrides.Loud music. Fun and frolic.
Others attempt to pattern their “celebration” of “freedom” on those of their former owners, however-,stained--- but dare they celebrate too joyously… too loudly… the cop visiting on a noise complaint--- is increasingly likely to shoot, or taze, or choke them, than to cite them.
Still others labor in their ethnic restaurants because the “real” Americans don’t want to cook and toil. What of THEIR American dream? The toilers.
For some of us, the sound of pyrotechnics, explosives… are not less than petrifying reminders of our lot. Echoes of our history. Resonance of our bloodletting. Every time I hear a blast in my orbit, I wonder if it is a ballistic destined to penetrate the windows of my hard-fought sanctuary. Or that of a neighbor. Landing in my flesh.
Roasting meat fumes do not heal.
I am, utterly, disinclined to don the masque of artificial, unequal, “liberty”, with the full knowledge that coming home from some such fête--- I could become a statistic. Slaughtered like so many dogs in the street.
4 July, 1776 is the “official” date when the thirteen original colonies secured freedom from the The Crown… when they fled it (Google to learn WHY!). Sure… we’re the most technologically advanced (or were) country of all time. We thrived on the rape and pillage of this fertile, ancient, sacred, land--- when we stole it, plundered, and squatted upon it, and the blood of its original guardians--- centuries-deep in the soil.
History tells much, but not all, of the decimation of the first, only, true, original, ordained, anointed, “Americans” ever to exist! Look at what mother USA did, and does, to them. Ever attempting to bleach the blood of centuries of despicable, deplorable, legacy, harm, and terrorism.
Unwilling to sit ‘round a patio, or park, under the guise of artificial, unreliable, freedom, equality, welcome, parity, which SOME people have enjoyed since America’s, oh-so-proud hailing. Immune to those around them… suffering and languishing under the charred bitter ash of their pilfered comforts, and pirated privilege. Unwilling am I, in the extreme.
I happen to have a grill. A balcony. Some gorgeous Rib Eyes. What I lack, entirely, is any semblance of a desire to continue the charade of liberty, engendered, and imprinted, upon me from birth. Too woke to “TOM”. Too heart-slayed to portray… too let down to feign “Up”… Appetite escapes me completely.
Today… I reflect on the tribes which nurtured, honored, respected, and worshiped with love, and dignity--- the land which gave them bounty, and liberty, and life--- until the terroristic interlopers came-- and, shamelessly, slaughtered them all.
I literally yearn… long… to believe in the promise of this land. It appears, however, to be dead. It will return, when sensible, loving, generous hearts once-again, righteously, rule. I will continue to fight for that day, even while I’ll not likely live to see it.
No Cokes. No smile. Just tears born of generations of empty, convenient, half-hearted, inconvenient, promises. Lies.
Too aggrieved to “party”. Too humane not to care. To reflect. No amount of red, white, or blue bunting and face paint can cover the agony I breathe today.
Bon Appétit to your collective gluttony and hedonistic revelry. Celebrate!
America. Yay. You must be so proud. Grill that.
As for me… I’m just nauseated, disgusted, and ashamed.
Marcinho Savant
Today, a portion of, the nation celebrates… that which they’ve hardly earned. Friends and family gathered. Their Bar-B-Ques glowing red. Big, white coolers filled with Blue bottles and cans. A day off. Flags on sticks. A long weekend. I’m incapable of any such revelry.
More than half-a-century old, my hopeful faith in the promises of this land dashed--- my youthful naïveté now disabused of the fanciful expectation of a nation which claimed it saw me… loved me… because we are all equal. Free. Surely, I’m infinitely more free than my Great (great, great, grandfather who was born a slave) ancestor.
Certainly, I shouldn’t be soulfully wounded… because the balance of the branches of my family tree--- my forbears--- were not enslaved. They were Nobles, of Dalmatia, Croatia, France. Another branch hoisting leaves of lives from Brasil, Jamaica… But only one of my ancestors was the charge of the founding fathers. And, after his emancipation from captivity--- he achieved the American dream.
What, my heart wonders, of all the other children of the earliest America, whose children, and children's children, on and on… what is to become of them? Not only has a dream been seemingly endlessly deferred. It has been fundamentally, willfully, hatefully decimated. What of them?
Centuries, and decades, and years on, certain people are at liberty to grill, and drink, party, and puke, as though they have any earthly clue of what true patriotism is. Waving flags on sticks. Monster trucks. Fireworks. Hayrides.Loud music. Fun and frolic.
Others attempt to pattern their “celebration” of “freedom” on those of their former owners, however-,stained--- but dare they celebrate too joyously… too loudly… the cop visiting on a noise complaint--- is increasingly likely to shoot, or taze, or choke them, than to cite them.
Still others labor in their ethnic restaurants because the “real” Americans don’t want to cook and toil. What of THEIR American dream? The toilers.
For some of us, the sound of pyrotechnics, explosives… are not less than petrifying reminders of our lot. Echoes of our history. Resonance of our bloodletting. Every time I hear a blast in my orbit, I wonder if it is a ballistic destined to penetrate the windows of my hard-fought sanctuary. Or that of a neighbor. Landing in my flesh.
Roasting meat fumes do not heal.
I am, utterly, disinclined to don the masque of artificial, unequal, “liberty”, with the full knowledge that coming home from some such fête--- I could become a statistic. Slaughtered like so many dogs in the street.
4 July, 1776 is the “official” date when the thirteen original colonies secured freedom from the The Crown… when they fled it (Google to learn WHY!). Sure… we’re the most technologically advanced (or were) country of all time. We thrived on the rape and pillage of this fertile, ancient, sacred, land--- when we stole it, plundered, and squatted upon it, and the blood of its original guardians--- centuries-deep in the soil.
History tells much, but not all, of the decimation of the first, only, true, original, ordained, anointed, “Americans” ever to exist! Look at what mother USA did, and does, to them. Ever attempting to bleach the blood of centuries of despicable, deplorable, legacy, harm, and terrorism.
Unwilling to sit ‘round a patio, or park, under the guise of artificial, unreliable, freedom, equality, welcome, parity, which SOME people have enjoyed since America’s, oh-so-proud hailing. Immune to those around them… suffering and languishing under the charred bitter ash of their pilfered comforts, and pirated privilege. Unwilling am I, in the extreme.
I happen to have a grill. A balcony. Some gorgeous Rib Eyes. What I lack, entirely, is any semblance of a desire to continue the charade of liberty, engendered, and imprinted, upon me from birth. Too woke to “TOM”. Too heart-slayed to portray… too let down to feign “Up”… Appetite escapes me completely.
Today… I reflect on the tribes which nurtured, honored, respected, and worshiped with love, and dignity--- the land which gave them bounty, and liberty, and life--- until the terroristic interlopers came-- and, shamelessly, slaughtered them all.
I literally yearn… long… to believe in the promise of this land. It appears, however, to be dead. It will return, when sensible, loving, generous hearts once-again, righteously, rule. I will continue to fight for that day, even while I’ll not likely live to see it.
No Cokes. No smile. Just tears born of generations of empty, convenient, half-hearted, inconvenient, promises. Lies.
Too aggrieved to “party”. Too humane not to care. To reflect. No amount of red, white, or blue bunting and face paint can cover the agony I breathe today.
Bon Appétit to your collective gluttony and hedonistic revelry. Celebrate!
America. Yay. You must be so proud. Grill that.
As for me… I’m just nauseated, disgusted, and ashamed.
