Sunday, August 27, 2017

What's Happening Here




My parent's lifetime ago
the world watched
millions of human beings
be ripped from their lives
tortured
abused
murdered
under a banner of
ugly, fear-fueled supremacy.

"That'll never happen here."
are the words I hear.

My father was three years old in 1933
when the walls of Hitler's first concentration camps
rose
to imprison
anyone perceived
as opposing Nazi policies.

"That'll never happen here."
are the star-spangled rally cries I hear


Six million people died
at the hands of vicious, small men
empowered beyond reason,
smoothing their barbarity
to their believers
behind slogans and chants
and the polished fear-fueled facade
of Nazi swag.

"That'll never happen here."
is what I hear
as swastikas are brandished
in Charlottesville and beyond
by marching white supremacists
carrying fear and guns and self-righteous hate.

The holocaust survivors
spent...spend...their lives
staring at the tattooed numbers on their arms--
I can't begin to understand
what it is to live
with the burden and gift
of that kind of survival.

"That'll never happen here."
is what I hear
as our president pardons and praises
an Arizona sherriff for
brandishing the kind of inhumane brutality
against those perceived
to be illegal immigrants
that Hitler himself would've recognized.

It seems pretty clear to me
that the 83 years
between
the Holocaust
and
President Trump's America
are collapsing into each other.

It seems pretty clear to me
that there are terrifying similarities
between the forces
that pushed Hitler to power
and the forces that are giving
President Trump free rein
to do, say, and sign what he pleases.


It seems pretty clear to me
That this  is EXACTLY what's happening here.










Sources

Arizona Sherriff Joe Arpaio 












United States Holocaust Memorial Museum: History of Holocaust

https://www.ushmm.org/learn/timeline-of-events/1933-1938


Jewish Virtual Library: History: Organized efforts to push back against rise of Hitler 1933

http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/could-we-have-stopped-hitler

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Demands for Explanations Not Forthcoming

Should I give you understanding
for your murder and hate
for your monochromatic dreams
fueled by terror  and guns?

As you look at your own pale face
in the mirror
does it make your blood run? 

What do you fear?

What do you fear?

Should I reject your shuttered understanding,
your insistent demanding
that this land beneath our feet
is rightfully white?

Even you can't pretend
that before your ancestors landed
there were nations here,
their face, not your face,
reflecting, refracting
in the lakes and rivers
you claim to own.

Even you can’t pretend
that named and nameless millions
were dragged from their home shores
only to make your pockets heavy
only to be ripped from family
only to be abused, raped, killed
unceremoniously billed
as 3/5ths of your humanity.

This truth delivers us
to your uncomfortable
denial—
Should I place you on trial?
Whose home is this home?

I’m as guilty as you
for slipping past the terror
invisible in my anonymous skin.

But I know I am guilty
and I admit I don’t know
where my balance rests
between easy anonymity,
 accidental ignorance
and my twisting, burning sorrow
for those you want dead. 

Would you change your tune of hate, given  the chance?

Or would you choose to continue
your terrifying, destructive
immolating
dance?

CHM

8/2017

Saturday, August 12, 2017

I Pity the Child He Was

Somewhere deep inside all of us is the child we once were.

That  child is so often
too often
hidden
under layers.

Under layers of denial.

Under layers of
fancied sophistication.

Under layers of resume words.

Under layers of
carefully
curated
reputations.

But the child is there.

Somewhere deep inside our President, our leader
is the child he once was.

That child is hidden
under layers
of  denial.

Under layers of
opulence and extravagance.

Under layers of achievements
earned or invented or bestowed.


I think a lot about that child,
hiding inside our President,
inside our leader.

And I pity the child he was.

That middle child he was.

That confused child surrounded by
all the THINGS that money could buy,
all the STUFF
all the simpering voices
telling him superb half-truths.

How lonely was it to have been him as a child?

How empty was it
to have been
unable to tell
the loving friend
from the jealous?

How isolating was it
to have had
a father who demanded success
at all costs?

How confusing was it
to have grown up
hovering between
being told
he was everything
and yet not enough?

I've spent my adult life nurturing, guiding, helping to shape children
towards their future everythings and anythings.

In everything and everyone I have taught
the one thing that I tried to give every child
was the permission
to fail.

The FREEDOM to fail.

And once they failed
once they'd fallen,
I tried to offer them the strong hands
to help them back up
to try again.

The loving hands
and the honest voice
telling  the truth
especially when the child
didn't want to hear it
but needed to hear it.

I study our President,
this powerful, wealthy man
who is either entirely despised or entirely adored.

In his bubble of power and money
from which he can lure or purchase
adoration
I wonder...

does he have someone in his life
with the loving hands
and the honest voice?

Has he ever?

No, I may not like the man our President is

but I pity the child he was.