Isabella Robinson



the sun is setting on Minneapolis

as elsewhere we await the call

police precincts are up in flames

but their pillars still stand tall

as a house of cards

built on the broken promise of Liberty & Justice For All Except Us

so intrinsically broken that you ain’t allowed to protest it

the pigs given badges and free reign by a government run by criminals are panicking with powerful weaponry in their clutches, corrupt cronies in their pockets as ever before

all bought and paid for

by this system concerned solely with capital while

innocent people starve in the streets

and the struggle rages on

in Chicago and Charleston and Cincinnati and Compton in

Selma and Baltimore and Baton Rouge and Los Angeles in

Ferguson and Flint and Paden City and The Bronx



powerful politicians value property and profits over the lives of the impoverished, and on the tv they tell us targeted violence and strategic destruction are no longer effective in America —

forget Blair Mountain, forget Yorktown —

only in Baghdad and Mosul and Raqqa and Aleppo and Kabul and Kandahar and Hanoi and Hai Phong and the West Bank and Elsewhere, anywhere but here

at Home

where Good Men take arms to die like dogs and to rape and to murder like savages for the rackets of capitalist parasites

where poor folk are slaughtered by the system like sacrificial lambs for the crime of Finally Fighting Back

if these All-American streets could speak for folks like you & me, they’d tell soul-crushing stories of

pure hopes and noble dreams emerging and vanishing instantaneously upward into that suffocating cancerous smoke of systematic oppression, illuminated with the saturated red-orange rage which Revolutions are made of

we are

more than unwilling martyrs for

half-hearted appeasement of

the masses being murdered we are

passion we are

the underclass

the proletariat

the People

the beaten and broken and damned

of all shades of life

realizing — grasping — igniting

the invaluable freedom of strength in numbers

we are

The Land of The Free built on the backs of the slaves and

still here we stand


still now we fight with fortitude

this system, the power,

our oppressor together

perpetually screaming in the language of shared struggle, in eternal Solidarity —

unsilenced by the scabs,

by the bastards,

by it all

douglas j harding

from W.V. Contributing news editor for MU’s The Parthenon, formerly @ Herald-Dispatch. “The truth is weirder than any fiction I’ve seen,” -Hunter S. Thompson

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