God I hate the white supremists
I’m dedicating this post to all the #whitesupremists who feel a need to drop by my social media accounts and gratuitously berate me because of my ethnicity.
I’m desperately trying to establish why some people think that Western Civilization is the benchmark for everything that’s good and wholesome, and #FirstNations Australian culture is the benchmark for everything that’s loathsome.
Let’s take a moment to analysis Western (Christian) Civilization, and its interactions with the rest of humanity.
Western Civilization, or, the progression of death and destruction
He wanted to know
And peter only asked who is that dude?
Who is the black dude?
Looks like a troublemaker to me
And the foundations of the mighty mighty
Christian church were laid
hallelujah jesus
nah, they ain’t got no shame
Cause they killed the Carthaginians
in the great appian way
And they killed the Moors
“to civilise a nation”
And they killed the earth
And blew out the sun
In the name of a god
Whose genesis was white
And war wooed god
And Australia was born
Where war became peace
And genocide patriotism
And honour is a happy slave
cause all god’s chillun need rhythm
And glory hallelujah why cant peace
be still
They barbecued six million
To raise the price of beef
And crossed the 38th parallel
To control the price of rice
I’m sorry, fellows,
the killing was just one of those things
difficult to pre-visualize–like a cow,
say, getting hit by lightning
ain’t we never going to see the light
And champaign was shipped out of the East
While kosher pork was introduced
To Africa
Only the torch can show the way
In the beginning was the deed
And the deed was death
And the white supremists are getting confused
peace be still
So the great white prince
Was shot like a nigger in texas
And our Black shining prince was murdered
like that thug in his cathedral
While our nigger in memphis
was shot like their prince in dallas
And my lord
ain’t we never gonna see the light
The rumblings of this peace must be stilled
be stilled be still
In the ditch
snakes crawl cool paths
over the rotted thigh, the toe bones
twitch in the smell of burnt rubber,
the belly
opens like a poison night-flower,
the tongue has evaporated,
the nostril
hairs sprinkle themselves with yellowish-white dust,
the five flames at the end
of each hand have gone out, a mosquito
sips a last meal from this plate of serenity.
And the fly,
the last nightmare, hatches himself.
And a wind holding
the cries of love-making from all our nights and days
moves among the stones, hunting
for two twined skeletons to blow its last cry across.
Acknowledgements to Nikki Giovanni
