I’ve been avoiding a performance piece about earthquakes. So many seismic shifts and fault lines these last seven years. Paradoxically, there’s nothing new not already covered in the Red Black & Moonlight (RBM) series, except the level of Official cruelty, act of barbarity and hypocrisy is more vivid and vicious, with genocidal aftershocks. I didn’t know how to began. Then, in one day, after a poetry show, I wrote this piece that will probably be developed somehow, into the next series of 90-minute shows: Seismic Shifts: Haiti Freestyling to murder Tarzan, Jane & their Uncle Toms
Part one -
We are a people who have endured: STOP, no more. no more.
January 12, 2010 at 4:53 p.m, the world tilted. A tremor took hold of me that won’t stop but at pure panic. I’m that amputated limb stretching to explore an unfathomable agony with no arms.
Ayiti. Ayiti, they buy and sell you like the pieces of Louisiana Territory real estate the French didn’t own that they sold to Jefferson.
Maybe I’ll dance first? Maybe I’ll sing first.
Gotta get this energy out of my body first. This screaming pain out my mind, first? From my head that can’t handle this, I’ll bring it down to my belly juices, uncoiling pure energy back up. That’s never let me down yet…
Last night I was at a poetry session to celebrate the life of Nathan P., who hosted the poetry slams at the world famous Nuyorican Poets Cafe from 2000 to 2007. Ngoma and Iyaba were there. It brought back happy memories.
I hooked up with slam poets I’d not seen since Bush regime change 2004 interrupted my flow to come head up Ezili’s HLLN giving voice to those the Bush vampires had brutally silenced.
The Haitian guy at the door said he caught my show at Yale long ago when he was starting out. “Don’t you remember,” he says. “I am Haitian-Dominican, had a big Afro back then and you suggested I go work my stuff on Wednesdays at the Nuyorican?” I’m nodding inanely. He’s running things now. This session with all the best performance poets from the Tri-State area was organize by the Haitian-Dominican who caught my show years ago when he was starting out. I feel seismic old. Looked at the stage being set up, wondering if I still had the silver bullet to freestyle the old Sanba way, take down the Vampire’s Black collaborators, still had that kryptonite for the white saviors, from the Left, from the Right, who had killed the bi-centennial and woke up Dantò?
As friends took to the stage, I freestyled in my head.
Scratched notes down on a napkin not to lose the moment’s honesty cause Ginen has got to step up even if words are not big enough, tears not grief enough, got to step up even when the mind, the heart, the spirit is not big enough to absorb the shock of 300,000 of us dead in 33 seconds in the earthquake, the shock of thousands upon thousands who were maimed and paralyzed, limbs amputated without anesthetic, some un-necessarily amputated. We’re already amputees even as the shock of UN-imported cholera keeps the tremors resonating, resonating us into crazy, even as we endure the 16,000 NGOs masturbating on Black pain. Can’t be paralyze when we’ve got to stop Haiti’s Uncle Toms, return Aristide and the will of Desalin‘s people.
The Oppressors, cruelly, unrelentingly, keep crumbling jagged cement blocks and twisted heavy metal onto our Haitian heads.
We are a people who have endured.
We’ve endured since 1503.
We’ve endured 300-years of chattel slavery.
And now we’re enduring this indirect colonialism.
And it’s hard.
It’s really hard to fight forced assimilation because that’s what they want us to do. To assimilate into their profit-over-people culture, deny ourselves, our own interests and pursue the interests of the white power structure.
Those Haitians who refuse to do that, suffer unendurably. And we are suffering unendurably. Those who don’t dance, grin, shuffle and jive at S.O.B’s to the mentally colonized moronic Kompa beat ya’ll…with Uncle Toms like coup d’etat-Wyclef Jean, Michel “Sweet Mickey” Martelly and Richard Morse – will suffer Lavalas marginalization, unendurably. Their hate is real. Duvalier dangerous. Treachery blatant, yielding palpable coup d’etat destruction since 2004, but served with the international looter’s approval, spread on top of a shuffling song delivered on carnival nights. No need to mention clouded in sexism.
I have never,
in a span of a year,
seen so much calamity.
January 12, 2010 at 4:53 p.m, the world tilted. A tremor took hold of me that won’t stop but at pure panic. We lost so many people in the earthquake. I say hello and goodbye with tight hugs, like it might be the last time. Cause it’s been the last time with so many I didn’t expect to lose. Over 300,000 people sacrificed. In an apocalyptic earthquake. It’s not fathomable. Then the international looters came, took most of the charity monies good-hearted citizens from around the world think they gave to Haitians, these monies never went to the Haitian poor. Then after that came the rains.
Bodily tremors, soul tremors: shivering wounded and traumatized earthquake victims entombed on flooded streets together with the dead remains of family and friends still interred under the rubble, never removed.
Almost two million Blacks living horribly, quivering uncontrollably for over a year, under soggy tarps and sheets, flooded in mud from Hurricane Toma. Then came all the family and friends we’re losing to UN-imported cholera. Then came Obama re-started deportations back to earthquake ravaged, cholera-ravaged, coup d’etat ravaged, NGO and Duvalierist-ravaged Haiti. And when Haiti’s poor said enough, the Clintons, wife and husband, both said: “No, you’ve got to go to elections!”
The world saw the Nov. 28, 2010 election travesty, stuffed ballots, destroyed ballots, strewed all over the streets, children playing hopscotch over them with earthquake dead voting while the living banned from voting
And when we said STOP, no more, no more,
then came the return of the bloody dictator Baby Doc Duvalier escorted by UN-troops from the airport to a cushy Haiti hotel, safely delivered on our heads from 25-years exile in France to boost up Haiti’s unendurable suffering. Obama Administration legitimizing the old Duvalierists that the Lavalas movement had sacrificed so many innocent lives to annihilate. Duvalierists, the overseers for empire in Haiti, these three piece suited local looters-Tonton Macoutes -the career Haiti technocrats working for the international looters, run things now – lending a Black face to Haiti’s exploitation.
Bloody Duvalier’s Louis-Jodel Chamblain/Prosper Avril death squads roam free in UN-occupied Haiti. Roam free in the Republic of NGOs further weakening the Haitian state, NGO executives accountable to no Haitian voter. Disaster capitalism and the shock doctrine still crumbling on our heads with Duvalier dictatorship victims assaulted, insulted, yet again. The living wounded further, disenfranchised, shocked, shocked, shocked, psychically terrorized, forced to starkly absorb justice denied. Hammered down. Shocked, shocked again and again. Nailed and contained-in-poverty’s coffin: debt, dependency and foreign domination, again and again.
People don’t seem to understand
Haiti needs justice not charity.
That it’s not foreign aid that helps Haiti.
Foreign aid is about Washington laundering US-tax payers’ monies back to Washington insiders, moving monies from its right hand to its left hand.
People don’t seem to understand that less than 1 cent,
less than 1 cent, of every dollar donated to Haiti goes to the Haitian government.
But the international looters – the U.S. stakeholders, the French, the Canadians and their embedded media – are always droning on and on, saying the reason why Haiti’s so poor and unable to rule itself or to help the earthquake victims is because of the corruption of Haitians. But that corruption is less than 1 cent, the rest of the $0.99 cent per dollar goes to the international looters and their Haiti Oligarchy-local looters who apply donor monies for foreign administrative fees, foreign salaries, shipping fees, the rest earning interests in foreign banks for the poverty pimps’ charity executives or it’s put in their pockets while they gleefully masturbate on our Black pain. Gleefully masturbate, masturbate, masturbate…on our Black pain.
People don’t seem to understand that it’s Haitians in the Diaspora whose monies actually holds up Haiti, not foreign aid or any USAID, Sean Penn, Paul Farmer or fake Jake Sully’s donor donation dollars.
I came to win, was raised to win. This is how I breathe. My redemption song…All I’ll ever have is this redemption song. This libation to the Ancestors.
Kote moun yo ye?