Disenchanted Patriot

Okay, I'm sitting in class
and the room is dark
and the others are quiet,
listening to the man
                             with long hair
                             and bitter smile
speak.

Okay, I'm sitting in class
and we're watching the prospectors
skewer children like sick livestock
and steal away their homes
                                         with illegal contracts
                                         and toothy smile.

Okay, I'm sitting in class
watching the hidden genocide
unfold on the ground beneath my feet
centuries old -

Okay - so, I'm writing down -
 on torn, crumpled paper -
in blood
the history of this great nation
                                             with broken heart
                                             and bitten tongue.



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This poem was my attempt to reconcile with the fact that truly - this nation, the United States of America, was built upon the bloodied bodies and burdened shoulders of, not only my own African ancestors, but of the indigenous peoples of America as well. 

Especially after learning about the American Indian genocide in California - my home - which was a centuries-long attempt to eradicate the indigenous culture and to subjugate completely those whose land was stolen from them, I have been struggling with my allegiance to such a country as this one, one which I wish to raise up to what it could be... but one which I also want to expose to its populace, those who don't know the full extent of this history, or do not wish to contemplate the implications of this country's actions on our present-day lives.

It isn't much, but I hope the fact that its been on my mind, and that it won't leave my mind for decades to come I'm sure, is solace that the disgusting acts perpetrated against indigenous populations has not been forgotten.  I hope that remembering it publicly will at the very least be a first step in the right direction.

http://www.pbs.org/indiancountry/history/calif.html