American I Betrayed You. MAYDAY2012

America, we've met.

I met you first before my father's fathers came to eat up your land with mouths on fire.
You whispered the secrets of your peace and I stood with you as you laid no claim on the ground my fathers came to devour. I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.
You told me the names of your children and taught me secrets to survive the deadness of winter. I learned to eat fish and arroz and danced with your brothers. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.
You reprimanded me as I stood behind the men and looked like a nervous child at my shoes, but I betrayed you. I fussed with my skirts, or I frowned in arrogance. It will never matter what I DID so much as what I DID NOT.

I met you again America. My wife pleaded I not go to the river by the border. My father said it was not a just war, but I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you. I fired the cannons like a dutiful boy to impress a distant and solemn father. I did not know he would not defend me. I found fury in my hunger and blamed you. I closed my eyes when I lit the cannons. I thought of new boots, and an officers honor. They fed me rancid meat and still I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.

When the slaves were tired of their slavery I thought I did right. I told their bosses to ease up and whispered gently to the children with no mothers. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you. It will never matter what I DID but what I DID NOT do.
At the auctions I asked the men to buy the families whole, but could not look you in the eyes America. I kicked the dirt. I hung my head but this is nothing. I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.

I met you in the strikers homes. I helped in the kitchens and listened at the town halls to hear the men whose hearts of rage were spewing justice's fire. I tended the children and brought the strikers water but when the police came I ran. I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.
When they broke into the flour storage buildings I gathered some in my apron, but when the army came I ran. I ran from the sticks and I ran from the guns. It doesn't not matter what I DID but what I DID NOT do.

We chatted on the bus before you refused to stand. I did not know you were right. I pleaded you to stop and just let it go. I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you. You told me it was not right and I said yes. I nodded and glanced at my tennis shoes. But when the bus stopped to let the police on I got off. I could not look at them take you, I could not. I was hungry and afraid but I betrayed you.

When the wars came and went I sent you letters. I told you I loved you. I said I was proud son. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you. I told you how you wore the badge of justice, the mark of honor. It will never matter what I DID but what I DID NOT do. I watched the other children in the streets, their heads hit pavement, their eyes ablaze. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.

We met again America. I was sweating in the afternoon sun in Alabama, picking ticks off of my dog who whined in the summer's intolerable heat. You took me home to meet your husband whose southern drawl left me confused but calm. Your daughters showed me the houses torn by the tornadoes. They held my hand and cried. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.

In a pool hall in New Orleans we met again. Your indignation filled the room. You whispered that they blew the levys, and that everyone knew. You always thought you'd beat me, but never did. You took me to the 8th ward, and the earth had eaten up the homes. There was no FEMA here, you said. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.

In Florida you fed me oranges from your truck, and spoke softly in spanish. Naranjas, comidas? You looked at your sneakers when you told me that you slept by the bridge, but you drove me all the way to Pensacola and shared cheap tequila you passed through the window to the back. You said they'd pull you over if I sat with you in the front. I remember thinking I had never thought oranges could be so beautiful. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you.
You said your three sons had been sent back, that one had been shot trying to get in and I filled with rage. But I was hungry and afraid and I betrayed you. It will never matter what I DID but what I DID NOT do.

In New York you said I couldn't sit. You said I couldn't stand. You said I couldn't speak, or draw or sing. But you were hungry and afraid and you betrayed me. You pulled me from the crowd and put your boot down on my neck. But you were hungry and afraid and you betrayed me. You turned me over and binded my arms with plastic that cut into my skin. But you were hungry and afraid and you betrayed me. You put me in the van, or truck or bus.
You said it was just a job.
I said you should find a better one.
But you were hungry and afraid and you betrayed us.

Mama Mama Can't You See Additional lyrics

Original Lyric (Origin Unknown)

Mama, Mama can't you see?
What police have come to be.
They keep trying to beat us down,
but we're rising all around.

Father, father can you feel?
The cold of bars made out of steel.
They keep putting me in jail,
Who want's the people all to fail?

Sister, sister can you hear?
The police sirens drawing near.
I'm just trying to speak my peace,
but they just send in the police.

Brother Oh what will you say?
As they're leading me away.
I'm just trying to make a stand,
For the people of the land.

Daughter, daughter can you pay?
For what you learned in school today.
Did you know that you would fight?
For what should be your given right.

Oh my son, what will you do?
When they take your house from you.
Will you take it like a "man"?
Or will you finally take a stand.

Preacher oh what will you say?
On the pulpit come sunday.
Jesus turned the tables down,
And they laid him in the ground.

Doctor, Doctor will you heal?
The broken bones that I can feel.
Can you hear that awful sound?
The sound of heads hitting the ground.

Mama, Mama can't you see?
What the police have done to me.
They keep trying to drag me down,
But I'm rising from the ground.

Baby, Baby is it true?
What the policemen do to you?
When they tear you from my arms,
Do they put you behind bars.

The WHY Manifesto

"Never be deceived the rich will vote away their wealth." -Lucy Parsons
"If voting changed something, they would make it illegal." -Emma Goldman
"Women have no government." -Victoria Woodhull

I don't know what it was that instigated my involvement in Occupy Wall Street.
I can't pinpoint any particular moment that shattered my perceptions of the world.
It could have been one of thousands.
It could have been my recognition of the seemingly causeless depression that hangs like smog over urban centers and rural ruins.
It could have been driving through Gary, Indiana witnessing the modern ruins of a city, once thriving, now utterly abandoned.
It could be bearing witness to the individuals left helpless by our government in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.
It could have been the pointless harassment of black youth in New York City.
It really doesn't matter, does it?

I know that the struggle for liberty is eternal.
I know we will never win absolute freedom from oppression.
I accept that arrogance and selfishness is an infinite plague, and that humanity, even it's most glorious moments will never completely eradicate the hoarding of resources.

That being said; I will never stop fighting.

I will not let my desires for freedom be glazed over by what seems to be an impenetrable fortress of mindless human weapons.
I will not allow fear to stand between me and my joy.
I will not eat the cake, so to speak.

I will, rather, bear witness to each act of indignant resistance.
I will glorify the people at every turn, and encourage revolt.
I will not be bystander to revolution.
I will deny the fate presented to me by the powers that be.
I will engage in daily acts of irrelevance.
I will forge psychic bonds with any and every people who stand against injustice.

When they stand, I will stand.
When they fall, I will fall.
When they rise, I will rise and so on until I stand facing death with satisfaction, assured that I have lived devoted to the true EVOLUTION of PEOPLE.

I care not your religion, your race or your language.
I care not your gender, your genes, your preferences.
I care only in your liberation from emotional, spiritual and physical bondage.

I may never meet you face to face, or hear your stories of struggle, but I will know them like the backs of my hands.
I will know them without words, without pictures.
Your story will be mine, and my story yours.