Mark Duggan was demonised by the police and the facts of his killing ignored. It seems now that the marginalised live in a parallel, unjust universe. Yesterday the Mark Duggan inquest decided officers who shot Duggan dead in Tottenham in August 2011, acted lawfully. The jury voted by 8-2 that although Duggan was unarmed and did not present an immediate or real threat to the police - the police were right to kill him. Ultimately if the Duggan family had, had proper legal representation, a European Court ruling, would have lead to the proper verdicts of unlawful killing. The Duggan family now join a long list of others, seeking justice for unexplained deaths in police custody.
I would like to remind you there have been more than 333 suspicious deaths in police custody since 1998 and zero officers have been convicted. Where is the justice in this.
We seem to live in a country where a police officer can and will discharge their weapons, and avoid any form of recompense. Mark Duggans family and friends will continue to demand justice, and to seek , answers to the questions raised by this case and highlight the cover up that many believe has happened.
Remember too, that what has happened to Mark Duggan could happen to anyone of us.
Marks family are calling for a peaceful vigil on Saturday, 2pm outside Tottenham Police Station.
No Justice , No Peace: A Poem for Mark Duggan
I thought that all life was innocent, but for some, this is not the case, if you happen to be, from the wrong part of town, justice will be abandoned, and deaths dominion, will deliver to you, a life sentence.
I can understand, the undertows, of rage and disbelief, after bullets leave another, young man dead, and a mothers pain, when her tears are washed away.
I percieve, recognise the passion and intensity, unleashed,after unwarrented, bloodshed spills on our streets, where certain hands that pull triggers, are simply protected, and that if you put your hands up, authority might not want to see, and why, when there is no justice, there can be no peace.
The following video reminds us why we struggle to rid Palestine of the Israeli occupatuion. 'Wala' in this context is like the word 'boy' used by slave-owners when addressing their slaves. The poem is from a poetry collection called 'My Voice Sought The Wind' by the exiled Palestinian American poet and human rights activist Susan Abulhawa. It speaks for the thousands of Palestinians, whose lives and livelihoods have been stolen or destroyed by Israel, as they in turn become a source of cheap labor that lines up before the sun, in long demeaning queues to work in Israel, where they are often exploited and mistreated. It also speaks for the oppressed within Palestine.
Abulhawa sees the BDS movement, according to a 2012 profile 'as one of the most effective ways to promote Palestinian rights and achieve justice against Israels ongoing ethnic cleansing."
2014 has been named ' Year of Solidarity with the Palestinian people.' The international community must now press on to demand statehood for the Palestinian people, and allow them their freedom.
Free Chelsea Manning and all the other whistleblowers. A song by David Roviks. Chelsea Manning should have her draconian 35 year sentence commuted immediately to the 3 and a quarter years she has already spent behind bars. What further purpose is there in further punishing a brave person, who after all is said and done, helped to publicise deeply troubling incidents. Chelsea Manning is a courageous woman who deserves are respect for exposing the lies of U.S imperialism. We should not forget her.
Join Chelsea Manning's Irish supporters along with her family and friends in West Wales for two days of events celebrating Truth. All proceeds will go to the Private Manning Family Fund http://manningfamilyfund.org/, eaising money to support family members in Wales with the cost of prison visits to Chelsea in Kansas.
As Chelsea's American grandmother said:
if you can;t tell the truth, then don't bother speaking!
Chelsea told the truth and has paid with her liberty.
PROGRAMME
( may be subject to minor changes)
THE MANNING TRUTHFEST A Gathering for Chelsea (Bradley Manning
brought by Irish musicians, performers and other supporters to Manning's family in West Wales. Suppported by Irish Justice and peace group Afri http://www.afri.ie/
Friday 10 January, 7.30pm-11pm Irish music and performance night Shamrock Bar, The Square, Fishguard
With Irish musicians Joe Black, Robbie Sinnot, Brian Fleming, Ellen Cranitch, Imogen Gunner, RoJ Whelan & singer Sorcha Fox.
Donal O'Kelly will perform his award winning solo show Fionnuala
Entry by donation.
Saturday 11 January, 2pm-5pm Solidarity with Chelsea Manning from Ireland: Public Meeting & Live Irish Music The Picton Centre, Freemans Way, Haverfordwest
Introduction by Joe Murray and Donal O' Kelly
Harry Browne, journalist, lecturer & author
Nuala Kelly, formerly Director of ICPO ( Irish Commision for Prisoners Overseas)
Ciaron O'Reilly, former prisoner of the US (Manning WISE UP solidarity network).
Human Rights Lawyer Gareth Pierce (live or as a video address)
Chaired by Andy Storey of Afri.
Live music with Brian Fleming, Joe Black, Rovbbie Sinnot, RoJ Whelan, Ellen Cranitch, Imogen Gunner.
Entry by donation.
Saturday 11 January, 7.300m-11pm Irsih music and performance night (with bar and buffet) The Labour Club, Dew Street, Haverfordwest
Muscicians: Joe Black, Rovbbie Sinnot, Imogen Gunner, Wllen Cranitch, Brian Fleming
Sorcha Fox will perform her poetry piece with film Who Am Ireland?
Brian Fleming will perform his show Have Yis No Names to Go to?
The evening will end with an Irish music session.
Entry by ticket £5
Limited tickets - Booking essential.
Amiri Baraka, incendiary and emotive poet is at moment recovering from an unspecified illness.
Born in Newark, New Jersey, he went to Howard University, then. joined the U.S Air Force for 3 years, but was given a dishonourable discharge after accusations of communism.His early work was associated with Beat and Black Mountain poetics, however after murder of Malcolm X in 1968, Bakara left the predominantly white literary world of Greenwich Village for Harlem, where he founded the Black Arts Repetory Theatre and began an intense involvement in Black Nationalism.
In 1968, he took the Bantu-Muslim name Imanu Amiri Baraka, which means 'spiritual leader,' 'prince' and 'blessed one,' he also became the main theorist of the Black Aesthetic movement, which sought to replace white models of consciousness with African/American language and values.Later he embraced the philosophy of Marxism and became a supporter of third world liberation movement.He also supported the revolutionary overthrow of the capitalist system , for both black and white.
For Baraka, the ideal black artist was jazz saxophonist John Coltrane, and the rhythms and pulses of jazz and blues he has devoted and written articulately about in a career spanning over fifty years, winning many literary awards..
He has become respected for his pointed social criticism and fiery writing style, his voice incendiary, emotive, confrontational, He believes poetry should rattle readers, rather than serve as decoration.
The following poem proved to be a little confrontational, but he steadfastedly refused to refute any of it.
Somebody Blew up America
This controversy threatened to cloud the poems larger message.As journalist Jeremy Pearce explains " the poem announces the plight of the downtrodden through history, repeatedly asking 'who' is responsible for political oppression across the globe." I thank Amiri Bakara for rekindling the fire of politics in poetry.
The divisive politics of race and power continue to engage him. To Barak, the vital connection between art and politics couldn't be more clear, " There's a great flock of lies that have to be refuted, and only poetry can do that." His voice has been used to speak out against oppression and injustice,he presently believes that President Obama has failed on many foreign issues, Amiri's revolution has been fought with words,that I hope continue to be shared and not silenced, and shine a light, carry on his unflinching point of view who shares the worlds mirrors, both beauty and ugliness.
I for one wish him a speedy recovery.
Political Poem ( for Basil)
Luxury,then, is a way of
being ignorant, comfortably
An approach to the open market
of least information. Where theories
can thrive, under heavy tarpaulins
without being cracked by ideas.
( I have not seen the earth for years
and think now possibly " dirt" is
negative, positive, but clearly
social. I cannot plant a seed, cannot
recognize the root with clearer dent
than indifference. Though I eat
and shit as a natural man. (Getting up
from the desk to secure a turkey sandwich
and answer the phone: the poem undone
undone by my station, by my station,
and the bad words of Newark.) Raised up
to the breech, we seek to fill for this
crumbling century. The darkness of love,
in whose sweating memory all error is forced.
Undone by the logic of any specific death. (Old gentlemen
who still follow fires, tho are quieter
and less punctual. It is a polite truth
we are left with. Who are you? What are you
saying? Something to be dealt with, as easily.
The noxious games of reason, saying, " No, No,
you cannot feel, " like my dead lecturer
lamenting thru gipsies fast
1964
The New World
The sun is folding, cars stall and rise
beyond the window. The workmen leave
the street to the bums and painters' wives
pushing their babies home. Those who realize
how fitful and indecent consciousness is
stare solemnly out on the emptying street.
The mourners and soft singers. The liars,
and seekers after ridiculous righteousness. All
my doubles, and friends, whose mistakes cannot
be duplicated by machines, and this is all of our
arrogance. Being broke or broken, dribbling
at the eyes. Wasted lyricists, and men
who have seen their dreams come true, only seconds
after they knew those dreams to be horrible conceits
and plastic fantasies of gesture and extension,
shoulders, hair and tonques distributing misinformation
about the nature of understanding. No one is that simple
or priggish, to be alone out of spite and grown strong
in its practice, mystics in two-pants suits. Our style,
and discipline, controlling the method of knowledge,
Beatniks, like Bohemians, go calmly out of style. And boys
are dying in Mexico, who did not get the word.
The lateness of their fabrication: mark their holes
with filthy needles. The lust of the world. This will not
be news. The simple damning lust.
float flat magic in low changing
evenings. Shiver your hands
in dance. Empty all of me for
knowing, and will the danger
of identification,
Let me sit and go blind in my dreaming
and be that dream in purpose and device.
A fantasy of defeat, a strong strong man
older, but no wiser than the defect of love
1969 Ka' Ba
A closed window looks down
on a dirty courtyard, and black people
call across or scream across or walk across
defying physics in the stream of their will
Our world is full of sound
Our world is more lovely than anyone's
tho we suffer, and kill each other
and sometimes fail to walk in the air
We are beautiful people
with african imaginations
full of masks and dances and swelling chants
with african eyes, and noses, and arms,
though we sprawl in gray chains in a place
full of winters, when what we want is sun.
We have been captured,
brothers. And we labor
to make our getaway, into
the ancient image, into a new
correspondence with ourselves
and our black family. We need magic
now we need the spells, to raise up
return, destroy, and create. What will be
It's that time of the year again, as always, there are lessons to be learnt, isn't this always the case, but this does not mean we have to take it all, or put up with government crap. Anyway here's to the future, to friendship, the shadows of freedoms treasure, the petals of tomorrow, breaking down the powers that we did not choose. Stay irresponsible, alive, not kneeling in submission, follow unity's dance, take back authority, reconfigure, remain heard, refuse to negotiate when your impossible dreams are not allowed. Don't forget to sing out Blwyddyn Newydd Dda/ Happy New Year. Onwards and upwards. Heddwch/peace Free Palestine.
There are lies, damn lies and then tory lies, the above list just the of the iceberg really,all their actions have done is fuel division, swelling social anger. The Tory's main purpose seems to be moving public money into private pockets, shattering any remnants of hope and carving up the country, as people drift into poverty and our living standards plummet.Nobody voted for their austerity package,this party that seems to toss accountability or transparancey, aside, that have been caught out trying to delete old speeches and promises from the internet.
Also 350,000 people are now regularly forced to access food banks, their is increased hospitalization because malnutrition rates have nearly doubled under the tory's. Doctors have written to the BMJ (British Medical Journal) calling food poverty a national emergency. Causing harm is their devotion, causing pain is their game of sport, still lining the pockets of their rich friends, while attacking the marginalised and the poor. And next year the Conservative Party will daft proposed new laws to curb the impact of European human rights legislation in Britain. I can only imagine what other nastiness they have in store for us.
Still in it all together, I don't bloody think so, just another tory lie.....Happy new fear
David Roviks is a singer/songwriter and author who I greatly admire, who spends much of his life on tour. Spreading his messages and songs of social significance. Roviks has made all of his recorded music freely available and endorses the free distribution of his work by all non-profit means to promote his work and spread his political messages. A social activist who speaks out against websites or programmes like i tunes that charge money for downloading his songs. A supporter of the occupy movements, and many other causes clamouring for a better world. Enjoy.
This clip is from the 1957 British comedy film A King in New York, directed by and starring Charlie Chaplin in his last leading role, presents a satirical view of certain aspects if United States politics and society. The film was produced in Europe after Chaplin's exile from the US in 1952, It did not open in the United States until 1967,
The young boys name is Michael Chaplin, son of Charlie Chaplin.
It's that time of year again, when we sing about peace and good will,when our impulse is to give, share and support others, feelings of solidarity and mutual aid, find their form in the midwinter festival that in this part of the world, is now known as Christmas.
Today, as the tentacles of the capitalist market reach into every part of our lives, those feelings are commodified, we are encouraged to pay for the convenience of expressing our feelings for our fellow beings through gift giving. We fret about our purchases, are they good enough? Will the person like them?
But, as well as this, people across the world think of those who have less and donate food, clothes, toys and money.
It is worth remembering that these acts of solidarity are part of our nature, that the impulse towards mutual aid is not just a once in a year anomoly, that it was a deciding factor in our evolution and is something we need to nurture if the human race is to survive the coming centuries.
As Kropotkin wrote in Mutual Aid, a factor of evolution.
I will be quiet for next few days, as library closing until the new year, a little post, on boxing day, perhaps, and then quite probably not until the new year, so in the meantime...thanks to all who've supported the blog....
Best wishes.
solidarity
Another world is not impossible, it is inevitable,
heddwch/peace.
' Throw your dreams,
into space like a kite,
and you do not know ,
what it will bring back,
a new life,
a new friend,
a new love,
a new country'
- Anais Nin
Sunrise at Newgrange
Sunset at Stonehenge, and the veil is drawn
gliding under shifting skies,
following earths trembling hum
the thunder of life's mutation
imagination awakens,, loses wings
impatient and a little crazy
lets words escape, beyond control,
into spaces unafraid of weight.
The dance of transformation
hooks and catches, follows whirling path,
flowing in winds sowing filter
navigates uncharted space,
without borders restrictive figuration
turns nothing into edges everlasting pulse,
remember loved ones, those gone far to soon.
do not forget to engage, deeply with your own soul
And in the blessed morning
as time comes round again,
opens up its brilliant rays
reconstructs our roots,
supplements our need
releases again the delicate
seeds of dream,
slipping chrysalis's of survival
deep into futures hungry realm,
