I am fire,
I surge, I hiss,
sometimes bursting forth in a flame
that lights up the world
illuminating unimagined dreams.
Then the black cloak
blankets out the glow.
Again all is dark,
but, still
beneath the surface
I surge, I hiss,
I endure, waiting, seeking,
building up pressure.
One day I will explode
destroying forever
the Tartarean crust of oppression.
I am fire,
I am the people.
The people of Colombia have been on the streets for 67 consecutive days, facing savage brutality in the form of torture, beatings, disappearances, live ammunition and rape at the hands of the state's minders, the police. This shows to what lengths the state will go to subdue the people, and it also shows what the people are facing in their struggle for justice, equality and freedom. The new world of justice for all will not be created on social media, it will not be legislated into being within the corridors of power. That world that belongs to the people and functions for all the people, will only be won on the streets, in the workplaces and in the local communities. A major weapon in that struggle will be the solidarity between communities, but that solidarity must cross those imaginary lines drawn by the power mongers, borders must fall, national flags used as firelighters. There can be no divisions between the ordinary people. It is one world, we are one people, this world is ours by right of the sweat, toil and blood of our previous generations.
I am the crowd
I swim in the quagmire of poverty
its hooks, its barbs, tear my flesh
rupture my dreams,
I hold my breath for centuries
hoping to break through, gasp pure air.
Through the murky mire
I see bright things, shiny things, sparkle
I see women in fine dresses, men in silk shirts.
I ask myself,
why do I swim in this cesspool?
I want the light and warmth of rectitude
to caress my labouring body,
seeds of my dreams to bloom
like wild flowers in a meadow.
One day, I will use my boundless strength
to haul this torn, battered being
out of the morass
onto the warm grassy bank,
when I do;
woe betide you, women in fine dresses
woe betide you mister in your fine silk shirt
should you ever try to get in my way,
for I am the strength of the world,
I am the crowd.
A few days ago, during the anti-government protests in Medellin, Colombia a 15 year old girl was raped by the police. On July 2, groups of feminists set fire to the police station with Molotov cocktails.Originally published by Abolition Media Worldwide.
This is not an isolated case, since the protests started, more than 2 months ago, 28 women have been raped.
The uprising in Colombia has hit its 67th consecutive day. Despite hundreds of people being killed and disappeared, and police shooting out the eyes of demonstrators, people have been returning to the streets, fighting back valiently, burning police stations and attacking police.
