Kuwasi Balagoon (December 22, 1946 – December 13, 1986), born Donald Weems, was a New Afrikan anarchist and a member of the Black Liberation Army. After serving in the U.S. Army., his experiences of racism within the army led him to tenant organizing in New York City, where he joined the Black Panther Party as it formed, becoming a defendant in the Panther 21 case. Sentenced to a term of between 23 to 29 years, he escaped from Rahway State Prison in New Jersey and went underground with the BLA in 1978. In January 1982, He was captured and charged with participating in an armored truck armed robbery, known as the Brinks robbery , in West Nyack, New York, on October 20, 1981, an action in which two police officers, Waverly Brown and Edward O'Grady, and a money courier (Peter Paige) were killed. Convicted of murder and other charges and sentenced to life imprisonment, he died in prison of pneumocystis pneumonia, an AIDS-related illness, on December 13, 1986, aged 39. (From: Wikipedia.org.)
On : of 0 Words
Chapter 2
Poetry
your honor
your honor
since i’ve been convicted of murder
and have taken time to digest
just what that means
after noting what it means to my family
and how it affects people who read the newspapers
and all
i see now that i’ve made a terrible mistake!
and didn’t approach this trial
in a respectful, deliberate or thoughtful manner
didn’t take advantage of the best legal advice
and based my actions on irrelevant matters
which i can see now in a much more sober mind
had nothing to do with this case
i must have been legally insane thinking about:
the twenty-five murders of children in atlanta since
Wayne Williams’ capture
the recent murder of a man in boston by the police
the recent murders of two in chicago by police
the shooting of a five-year-old little boy in suburban caliph
the lynchings in alabama
the mob murder of a transit worker in brooklyn
the murders of fourteen women in boston
feeling that this is evidence of something
and that there must
be a lesson in all this—i thought
murder was legal
with no questions
the leaves are changing
to sheaves of fire
rust ‘n indigo
in waves
And all at once
And one by one
different in their deaths
like all times
and loved ones
and memories of places
faded from lack of presence
and fallen from the attention of today
to lie like a quilt on the earth
and winter
and change to the rich pungent ground
that feeds realities to come
with no questions.
Secretary Watts
saz that Native Americans have suffered the effects of socialism
and with his rubber stamps and memo machines
leaves mining companies the rights to dig up and poison
whatever space they have left
and it’s no big deal
But when that cracker saz something saz something about
the “Beach Boys”
the turd president and his wife and the white house staff
makes him apologize right away
after all what’s the meaning of the 4th of July
spring comes
spring comes
and mail
trickles in
and trickles out
as if written in blood
winter’s talk
hangs unresolved and useless as smoke
and well-reasoned routines are questioned
with a runaway mind
that doesn’t stop to sleep
and has come to expect
the bare minimum
for the sake of an argument
that will only make sense
when it is a fight
spring comes
shiny gray
and coiled
in a box
Benjamin Ward
Likes to entertain
and be entertained
on the rocks, in his office
likes to mix a little business with pleasure
likes to loosen up
before he hurrahs the boys
at police ceremonies
with a few drinks
and mop his brow
and shift his weight from foot to foot
at press conferences
and stutter
and entertain everyone who watches the news
This is no uncle tom
or some neocolonial fixture
of a city that suddenly found itself third world
and unable to stomach a Minter or Alvarez
as school chancellor
and as i picture him at the podium
i can’t help but hear Michael Jackson
singing Ben
or maybe i only hear the recording
is it live or is it memorex?
the mayor, his honor no less, who couldn’t stand
Back Minter or Brown Alvarez
loves Black Ben
and saz, everybody makes mistakes
Ben saz, he’ll never drink again
will cut the playboy routine
mops his brow, shifts his weight to the right
he’s asked, if he will resign
mops his brow, shifts his weight to the left
“Not today,” he musters a mumble
and his owner, looks at him, “Oh, come on Ben”
and i can almost hear him say, he’ll never come again
his honor explains, these are just a couple of instructions
in an otherwise flawless career as commissioner of
department of corrections, NYC
commissioner of department of corrections, New York State
and now as the city’s Top Cop
police commissioner
This is no handpicked uncle tom
The first black police commissioner of New York City
where more kids showed up to the airport to meet
Menudo in 84
than showed up to meet the beatles in 64
was appointed!
This is the one responsible for the Michael
Stewart investigation
This is the one responsible for bringing the
murderers of Willy Turks to justice
This is the one responsible for investigating
police brutality charges in Harlem
This is a symbol for how far a black man
can go in the United States.
A man mentioned in the Centurion!
making this videotape with his honor
like Michael Jackson did with Paul McCartney
“say, say, say, what you want” how am i doin?
Why are people complaining to koch about the police?
This in 1984—not 1964
Why are people complaining about racism?
ain’t whites in Staten Island complaining
about police brutality?
and Big Ben is checking into it
and being the top cop he knows about those things
how many times have you heard of cops
blowin somebody away because the cop thought
that the play gun the child had was real
or that the comb or bottle or whatever
made a bulge in a black teenager’s
pocket was a gun or knife?
but black cops, like Big Ben
have better vision than white cops
i don’t know if they do better on the firing range
but when have you heard of a black
cop blowing a white child away because
he thought the toy gun was real?
And how many times have you heard of a black
cop mistaking a comb or
bottle or bulge in a white teenager’s
pocket for a gun?
Is the ratio of these types of mistakes
the same as the ratio of black to white
cops?
how many times have you heard of
white cops shooting black cops?
OK, how about the other way around?
don’t whites carry combs and bottles
or otherwise have bulges in their
pockets?
don’t black cops accidentally discharge their weapons
So now you know who the guardian society guards
cause niggers know the law
and the law is
If you are black you can’t be white
and you can’t be yourself
Other speakers have takened a nip before addressing a convention
and entertained friends on business hours
but what else does that nigger apologize for?
i remember
i remember her asking me if i thought her shoes were pretty
while limping beside me down the avenue
in a din of pain
the cops turning the block for the second time
slowing up traffic to glare at us to see how we would react, like dobermans
the beer cans and wrappers on the sidewalk
the shadows of the young trees
the slight friendly breeze of the night of holding hands
the expensive shops filled with non-sense
and wondering who could afford such folly
you know, it’s the little things …
life is rough
Life is rough when your attitude is bad
the routine you’re going through seems a curse everything is boring
there is no reason to do the things that are possible
and the things that there is good reason for … appear impossible
A voice in the back of your head tells you, “so and so” is full of shit
and “so and so” wears different contentiousness and murkiness
and swarms into a swirling mass down the drain of a thousand years
like rust and gravel dust in the painted desert
that looks like a place but ain’t really nowhere
and every offered niche a place for a mole
or labrador retriever or longhorn steer
or some position not applied for in the dung heap you’ll stick in.
the klan marched
the Klan marched through a town
with an economically deprived New Afrikan
and Chicano community
accompanied by police
who followed the Klan demonstrators around
and beat a Chicano woman for being a
Chicano woman, and clearly
opposed to racism
and beat a Chicano man after following him
around
cause he was there
but it wasn’t really the Klan
it was just Austin
the Klan has been active
a beating here a murder there
“the good ole boys”
and you say that you will deal with the Klan
but first we got to live together
that is not so. We don’t have to live together.
We won’t be living together.
when we try, you do the living and we do the
dying, for 400 years
so we will die together
like Sundiata, Zayd and Twyman
or like those working-class armed agents of the state in Nyack
until our survivors understand and make
suitable rearrangements
cause it’s not the Klan
it’s Austin
it’s Amerikkka
mother of pearl sky
Mother of pearl sky
crystalline phantom trees
sheering wind
harvesting the residue of feelings past
and depositing them into the icy void
of space, that is permitted
because there is no one inclined to wonder
where questions fret and pace
by seashores empty since labor day
watching the reruns of reflections
etched through the eyes
to souls that shudder
only when undistincted
a kind word, for being left alone
which can be distinctive
like footprints that spoil the snow
rain
Rain, rain, rain all day
Wash this stinking town away
down the river and out to sea
every home and every building and everybody
Rain rain rain all night
so we can see things in a different light
grab the inner tubes and logs
save the people and drown the hogs
some solo piano or guitar
Some solo piano or guitar
and sun filtering through the curtains
she hasn’t picked out yet
in some little ticky tack
or old abode stacked in the crowded heights
like a chamber
where all the ghosts
can stretch their arms and yarn
and settle in the folds of blankets and unpacked clothes
giving us their blessings
assured in our resolve
when she awakes, after sleeping like a baby
happy to be alive and awake
and to see me
and i’ll be myself
filtered through the roof
The rain filtered through the roof
collected in some unseen crevice
and fell
in cadence
in some unseen spot
like some lost drummer
summoning phantoms
having taken refuge in the night
and fusing themselves with those of us
who were wet
and dark
and listening
we’ve got to
We got to stop meeting this way
looking for an apartment
and negotiating with supers,
who want two months security rent
and an extra month’s security to nod in our favor
going from building to building
and giving up and dropping by to see
what your mom may have the
inside scoop on
Cleaning the hoods of cars with our jeans
as she climbs out on the fire escape
and explains that all those bastards are full of shit
and we wander the streets
stopping for coffee and plans
till finally you can’t wait
and i have to go
We got to stop meeting
in clubs
that the police close down
because they see people leaving at six in the morning,
on weekdays,
giving them the finger
and the owners have smoked up the graft
and had to pitch in with Mr Big, Franz Fringey
and Tootsie Roll for
cab fare
to turn angles in the bronx
where he forgets the name and systematically rings all the bells
until someone who doesn’t even know him
hits the buzzer and then
goes back to sleep
leaving those harlequins to roaming the hall
until i get up that evening to pick up Sunday morning’s paper
having a late start on living like other people
or sort of
other people don’t part every two weeks
or go for years making do with dreams and reflections
or hunger until the mind waters and pours through the eyes
to only be blocked by masks
they jog and come home
and watch T.V.
when the world is stale
When the world is stale
and springs brings warnings instead of promises
and old acquaintances drop out of sight
for reasons of their own
and new ones who need help for problems of their own
saturate your every waking moment
with noise
you find yourself raking coals
of friendships past
turning over in your head
designs of better days
or at least adventures
rather than the endless sitcom
lock step
They march in formation
lock step
in cadence
so that their bodies don’t betray
their fear
by jerky-hesitant motions.
Head straight
on order
by order
so that the folder
cannot confirm under-certain eyes.
They make noises
“hut, two”
to think “hut, two”
and whatever they are told
instead of possible death.
And they think of dying anyway
even though they are used to thinking whatever they are told.
And they think they should be honored for this.
And they shall be
increasingly
with grenades.
refused
i remember
being refused
by a lover
and being put up
and being put up with
by a friend
and making myself scarce
to make it easier
walkin the streets
in the cold
thinking
that it’s really gonna take some doin
wondering
which nut would crack first?
when could we do another raid?
‘n start from scratch and git back to basics
and how could i find who i needed
and looking at my watch
while checking a frozen muck
and walking into the happy cheery juke joint
‘n ordering a double ‘n another
and looking up and seeing an acquaintance
and leaving
‘n going back—to where i was put up with
walkin into the darkness
feeling the warmth spread like an invisible glow of
a kerosene lamp
and thinking, how amazing
with so many problems
and no answers to what to do next
but here,
a simple chemical, could make me feel so much better!
i laugh at hypothetical warnings
and sap rap about the virtues of feeling miserable carefully folding my clothes
and dropping them on the floor
twirlin my feet ‘n body, in a quilt ‘n charcoal sofa
i heard my host announce
that a friend who was supposed to be there already
should be coming at any time
they called 3 hours ago
and “i didn’t know what could have takened so long?”
and “could stay up to open the door?”
These are the times that try men’s souls
and as the cloud ascended to my head
from the fire in my belly
and made the darkness sweet ‘n heavy
and reflections from the street lamp and objects
aimed at though caprice inhabit images in
a whirlpool, lighter than the gross planet at
many points where, making yourself go is a pre-
requisite for getting nowhere
i remember
thinking as much in paraphrase and what a time to be
called upon to muster an
extra effort, just a little reframe, reprieve,
a break from consciousness for a soul who had
had it with reality
All in my head and unsorted
And i remember explaining that i was …
rockland
Up in Rockland
they like to believe
that they can get up in the morning in their mortgaged banes
eat breakfast at McDonalds
drive down to Hill Street
sit on each other’s desks drinking coffee
pack their state-issued revolvers, bulletproof vest, heads and tales in state-issued cars
and ride around Harlem, the South Bronx, the Lower East Side, Bedford Sty, Brownsville, Jamaica
looking for trouble, shaking down suspects, chasing “Niggers and Puerto Ricans” around maybe git some overtime
and drive back up to Rockland, across the tappan zee bridge to manicured lawns, fresh air, space, HBO
Eat pizza, soak up suds and shoot the shit about the “Animals”
and go back to the jungle
as if nothing had happened
and nothing will happen
Up in Rockland county
they like to believe
that they can go on some shift at a crowded concentration kamp
count the blacks, latins, Indians, an whites who for some reason couldn’t get a job and add up the total
complain about the fuel they feed the “inmates”
watch them
take them to Kangaroo court
maybe get some overtime and
thumb through a couple of cunt books
and Gang up on some “Animal”
and drive back up to Rockland, across the river,
Aw! feeling better already,
unwind, loosen up, curse “fucking scumbags”
& “go back to work” maybe taking a coupla weeks off in the Caribbean
As if today was yesterday
Up in Rockland
they like to believe
that they can come to the city
collect rents, make their commissions, sell their tax credits, do the wall street hustle
take in a couple of shows, a couple of drinks,
some entertainment on the company card and drive back up to Rockland, across the tappan zee bridge, surrounded by loyal cops
and firemen, a boat on the river,
year-round swimming and tennis at the spa
the good life maybe invite the boss over to dinner, cocktails and maybe when the economy is better, God
Up in Rockland
they like to believe
that they can count money indefinitely with no interruptions
because the Criminal Law and Natural Law are the same, because the guys on the legal tender
look like
them, and either made a killing in slaves or Government
And plus the cops, punch drunk viet veterans would rather die than look for a job
they are really strange up there
Not that there ain’t merchants, paperboys, waitresses,
gas station attendants, nurses,
teachers, housewives, bartenders
Nuclear plant workers, domestics, students, unemployed,
butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, laborers—if i was a laborer, and you were in labor, and you had a daughter of mine, would you let them enthralled her
But whoever hears of these folks, or us, we could be the same for all we know
but they could never be the same in Rockland
they like to believe they could.
Kuwasi Balagoon (December 22, 1946 – December 13, 1986), born Donald Weems, was a New Afrikan anarchist and a member of the Black Liberation Army. After serving in the U.S. Army., his experiences of racism within the army led him to tenant organizing in New York City, where he joined the Black Panther Party as it formed, becoming a defendant in the Panther 21 case. Sentenced to a term of between 23 to 29 years, he escaped from Rahway State Prison in New Jersey and went underground with the BLA in 1978. In January 1982, He was captured and charged with participating in an armored truck armed robbery, known as the Brinks robbery , in West Nyack, New York, on October 20, 1981, an action in which two police officers, Waverly Brown and Edward O'Grady, and a money courier (Peter Paige) were killed. Convicted of murder and other charges and sentenced to life imprisonment, he died in prison of pneumocystis pneumonia, an AIDS-related illness, on December 13, 1986, aged 39. (From: Wikipedia.org.)
Albert Washington is 64 years old and has been locked up in U.S. dungeons since 1971. To the people, to the revolutionary movement, he is known simply as Nuh, the Arabic form of the name Noah. This past December, cancer was found in Nuh's liver. Doctors gave him three to ten months to live. In March he was moved out of Comstock Prison to the prison medical facility at Coxsackie in Upstate New York. This system is utterly merciless. It has neither forgotten or forgiven the revolutionary stand of Nuh. Even now when he faces death from cancer, they refuse to release him. In Oakland, April 22, it was clear that the life and struggle of Nuh is remembered among the people too--in a totally different way. That evening 150 people turned out for a moving evening tribute to Nuh Abdul Qayyum (as he calls himself since embracing Islam). (From: TheJerichoMovement.com.)
Those Without Mouths Still Have Eyes and Ears, they are Anonymous
Those who cannot be identified are classified as anonymous. Anonymity describes situations where the acting person's identity is unknown. Some writers have argued that namelessness, though technically correct, does not capture what is more centrally at stake in contexts of anonymity. The important idea here is that a person be non-identifiable, unreachable, or untrackable. Anonymity is seen as a technique, or a way of realizing, a certain other values, such as privacy, or liberty. Over the past few years, anonymity tools used on the dark web by criminals and malicious users have drastically altered the ability of law enforcement to use conventional surveillance techniques. An important example for anonymity being not only protected, but enforced by law is the vote in free elections. In many other situations (like conversation between strangers, buying some product or service in a shop), anonymity is traditionally accepted as natural. There are also various... (From: RevoltLib.com and Wikipedia.org.)
Chapter 2
