Gather - Alice Walker Poem on NYPD Murder of Eric Garner

On Saturday August 9, we saw the image of Brown's body, lying in the street, uncovered, for four hours, while his mother sobbed on the curb, begging the police to let a nurse look at his body.  There are no longer big crowds in the streets of Ferguson, but this is not over.

I sometimes wonder how many people understand what it's like for young Black and Latino men to walk the streets with a target on their chests.  Do each of us know the hurt of having loved ones' lives stolen?  What about a body lying for hours with no respect given, treated as disposable?

Along comes renowned author Alice Walker, with a new poem about the NYPD murder of Eric Garner,conveying, with deep grace, some of the understanding and challenge needed, as we head into the October Month of Resistance to Mass Incarceration, Police Terror, Repression, and the Criminalization of a Generation.  Thank you, Alice.

A group of high school interns in the World Can't Wait office read the poem together, and it gave us a lot to think and talk about.  One had not seen the video of the NYPD killing Eric Garner, the man whose unjust death has brought protest in NYC.  You might not have seen it, but you can, here.  60 days have gone by, and no indictment of the officers who killed Eric.

We're asking your assistance in spreading this poem everywhere, including on your blogs & websites, on social media, in classrooms, at poetry nights, readings and protests about police brutality and political repression.  Please share when you do so.

Gather
©2014 by Alice Walker
for  Carl Dix and Cornel West

It is still hard to believe
that millions of us saw Eric Garner die.
He died with what looked like a half dozen
heavily clad
policemen
standing on his body, twisting and crushing
him
especially his head
and neck.
He was a big man, too.  They must have felt
like clumsy midgets
as they dragged him down.

Watching the video,
I was reminded of the first lynching
I, quite unintentionally, learned about:
it happened in my tiny lumber mill 
town before the cows were brought in
and young white girls
on ornate floats
became dairy queens.
A big man too,
whom my parents knew,
he was attacked also by a mob
of white men (in white robes and hoods)
and battered to death
by their two by fours.

I must have been a toddler
overhearing my parents talk
and mystified by pieces of something
called “two by fours.”

Later, building a house, 
i would encounter the weight,
the heaviness, of this varying length
of wood, and begin to understand.

Read the whole poem at Alice Walker's Garden.