.
Sensual
Lines

.
By T.L.Finch

Loving lines that interlace
blending shapes and form
sensual lines in recline
soft moments in a storm.

Melting shapes of gracefulness
mesh inseparably
molten one into the other
writhing relentlessly.

Scented fragrance in the air
hardness from a softness
fluid shape opens wantonly
in the purest promise.

Languid, liquid shapes and forms
radiant rays of sun
evolving pictures in the mind
creation has begun.

One shape into the other
sexual forms of fun
vulnerable, sensual lovers
eclectic lines of one.
.
(The poem appeared on Writing.com)

PS : This is a watercolour study (life drawing)
made at the Académie Royale des
Beaux Arts de Bruxelles
.

Creative Commons License
My Mother's
Womb

.
.
Before I Knocked
.
By Dylan Thomas (*)

Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.

I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
As yet was in a molten form
The leaden stars, the rainy hammer
Swung by my father from his dome.

I knew the message of the winter,
The darted hail, the childish snow,
And the wind was my sister suitor;
Wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew;
My veins flowed with the Eastern weather;
Ungotten I knew night and day.

As yet ungotten, I did suffer;
The rack of dreams my lily bones
Did twist into a living cipher,
And flesh was snipped to cross the lines
Of gallow crosses on the liver
And brambles in the wringing brains.

My throat knew thirst before the structure
Of skin and vein around the well
Where words and water make a mixture
Unfailing till the blood runs foul;
My heart knew love, my belly hunger;
I smelt the maggot in my stool.

And time cast forth my mortal creature
To drift or drown upon the seas
Acquainted with the salt adventure
Of tides that never touch the shores.
I who was rich was made the richer
By sipping at the vine of days.

I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
A ghost nor man, but mortal ghost.
And I was struck down by death's feather.
I was a mortal to the last
Long breath that carried to my father
The message of his dying christ.

You who bow down at cross and altar,
Remember me and pity Him
Who took my flesh and bone for armour
And doublecrossed my mother's womb.

.
(*) Dylan Marlais Thomas (1914 - 1953) was a Welsh poet. He is regarded by many as one of the 20th century's most influential poets. In addition to poetry, Thomas also wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, with the latter frequently performed by Thomas himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his booming, at times ostentatious, voice with a subtle Welsh lilt, became almost as famous as his works. Read more.

------------------

--> The poem appeared on bryantmcgill.com

PS : This is a watercolour study (life drawing) made at the Académie Royale des Beaux Arts de Bruxelles.

Creative Commons License
Nayer-Camacho
.
.
Talal Hasan Nayer, better known as "NAYER" or "CAMACHO" is a journalist and professional cartoonist living in Sudan. He was born the 13th of January 1983 in Omrowaba, a town in Kurdofan State. He studied civil engineering in Sudan University of Science and Technology.

He currently works with "Ray al-sha`abb" daily newspaper and also used to draw comics in "Semsema" magazine.

Camacho invented 2 cartoon figures called "MOJJ and LOJJ", the goat and the domestic fly. He also created "THE SMART, THE STUPID and THE SMELLY" (also known as "The 3s Gang"), dedicated to chidren.

He participated in several individual and collective exhibitions (individual shows in 2004, 2005 and 2006 in Sudan University of Science and Technology, and collective shows in 2003 in Sudanese Media Center and in 2004 in the German Cultural Center.

A selection of Camacho's creations can be seen on Brazilcartoon.com. Also, don't miss his blog.

Nayer also made my portrait some weeks ago, it can be seen here.

Creative Commons License
The Terrible Fish
.
© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
Mirror

.
By Sylvia Plath (*)

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

(The poem appeared on Vmlinux.org)

-------------------

(*) Sylvia Plath was an American poet from Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. Her very short thirty-year life was riddled with stress and depression. Even though she was a very smart and talented young woman, at the age of twenty she tried to commit suicide. Unsuccessful at this task she continued to write, though her work suffered, and became darker and more depressing. A few years later she married and had two children and one miscarriage. Still bothered by this miscarriage and her recent divorce in February of 1963, sadly Sylvia succeeded in her second attempt at suicide, by inhalation of natural gas.

PS : This is a watercolour study (life drawing) made at the Académie Royale des Beaux Arts de Bruxelles.

Creative Commons License
T-shirts on
Urbankleding.com

.
(click on image to enlarge)
.
My "Uncle Che" drawing on t-shirt :)
.
Creative Commons License
One Nation (Move On)
.
© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
The following piece is thepoetryman's MoveOn.org Barack Obama Video Contest entry.

If you like it please follow this link and vote. While you're at it, and while you're on the vote page, you will see the video html embed code and the link code, please place the link code on your site for your visitors and if they are inclined to vote for it they can do so via the page that follows and it will count extra toward thepoetryman's video's chances of winning.

The video is based on my potraits of Barack Obama and Martin Luther king.
.
.
Vote now!
.
Creative Commons License
Aimé Césaire
.
.
Martinican politician, intellectual and
poet who was a founding father
of the négritude movement

.
By James Ferguson
.

Aimé Césaire, the Martinican intellectual and politician who has died aged 94, left his mark in two separate, seemingly contradictory, fields. As a poet, dramatist and essayist, he coined the term "négritude" to define the revolutionary black aesthetic that rallied French-speaking intellectuals in the Caribbean and Africa in the 1930s. His Cahier d'un retour au pays natal (Return to My Native Land), first published in 1939, is considered the undisputed masterpiece of négritude and a poetic milestone of militant anti-colonialism and metaphorical inventiveness.

At the same time, Césaire was a leading architect of departmentalisation, the process that transformed four French colonies - Martinique, Guadeloupe, Guyane (French Guiana) and Réunion - into fully fledged departments of France. While Césaire the poet inveighed against the cultural arrogance of Europe and celebrated a mythic African identity, Césaire the politician tied the mostly African-descended people of Martinique to the assimilationist structure of the French republic.

Césaire was born at Basse-Pointe, a small town on Martinique's north coast. Although in his Cahier he evoked his childhood as poverty-stricken and squalid, his family was part of the island's small, black middle class, with his father employed as a tax inspector. The family moved to the capital, Fort-de-France, where Césaire went to the Lycée Schoelcher. He was a prize-winning student, easily adapting to the elitist French education system which was entirely alien to the great majority of Creole-speaking rural Martinicans. In 1931 he won a place at the Lycée Louis-le-Grand in Paris. Four years later, he was admitted to the prestigious École Normale Supérieure, where he studied literature and philosophy.

Amid the ideological and cultural ferment of 1930s Paris, Césaire discovered a wide range of influences. In the company of African students such as Léopold Senghor (later president of Senegal), he familiarised himself with African culture and the continent's anti-colonialist movement.

He became interested in Marxism (although he was never an orthodox Marxist), read Harlem renaissance writers such as Langston Hughes and Claude McKay, and immersed himself in the various ephemeral journals and movements which proliferated during the inter-war years. In one such journal, L'Étudiant noir, he wrote an article attacking the cultural assimilation of blacks and counterposing négritude as a positive revaluation of African aesthetic values. Yet while Césaire was championing what he saw as a primitivist antidote to stultifying western rationalism, he was also on the treadmill of France's most elite academic institution, studying the classics of the official culture.

After eight years in Paris, Césaire returned to Martinique in August 1939, married to Suzanne Roussi, a fellow Martinican student and enthusiastic exponent of négritude. That same month, the first version of the Cahier appeared in an obscure Parisian journal, Volontés, eliciting no reaction whatsoever. For five years Césaire taught at the Lycée Schoelcher, inspiring a generation of students, among them the revolutionary psychiatrist and writer Frantz Fanon. He also edited a literary review, Tropiques, which popularised négritude themes of African culture and anti-colonialism among the island's intellectuals.

When André Breton, the high priest of the French surrealist movement, visited Martinique in 1941, he was impressed by Césaire's stature and poetry. According to Breton's own recollection, he found a copy of the Cahier in a Fort-de-France haberdashery, recognised it as a work of genius and relaunched the poet's career. In surrealism, moreover, Césaire found an aesthetic of irrationalism which coincided neatly with the anti-Cartesian precepts of négritude.

The war years were particularly harsh for Martinique, which was blockaded by the US navy in 1942-43, its white colonial rulers having sided with Pétain's Vichy regime. The enforced presence of thousands of French sailors encircled by a US fleet doubtless reinforced Césaire's hatred of racism. The emergence of the French Communist party (PCF) as the leading anti-Vichy force was another important development, and by 1942 Césaire was a member. In 1944, he escaped the claustrophobia of Fort-de-France and went on a lecture tour to Haiti. His exposure to the nation which had thrown off French colonial rule through revolution was a dramatic vindication of his négritude and reputedly cured his stammer. The heroic figures of Toussaint L'Ouverture and King Henri Christophe symbolised impoverished Haiti's grandeur and were later to feature prominently in Césaire's writing. He returned to a Martinique in political turmoil, where the PCF was capitalising on long pent-up aspirations for change in the colonial system. In rapid succession, in 1945, Césaire was elected mayor of Fort-de-France and a representative to the French constituent assembly, both on a PCF ticket. He was 32 years old; he held the mayoral office, with a brief interruption, for the next 56 years and, having been elected as deputy for Martinique to the national assembly in Paris in 1946, remained in post until 1993.

With the French colonies stagnating after decades of neglect and the privations of the war, Césaire and his colleagues on the left, both in Paris and the Caribbean, favoured political integration over independence, arguing that a "rational dependence" on France would quickly raise living standards through massive subsidies. The PCF-sponsored legislation creating the union was supported in a 1946 referendum, and Martinique and the other colonies became départements d'outre mer (Doms) or overseas departments of France, theoretically on a constitutional par with any French department.

But the rapid improvements anticipated by Césaire were slow to materialise. A highly centralised system of government from Paris gave too much power to a prefect; the subsidies from France were inadequate to rebuild the run-down island infrastructure. In 1958, Césaire voted in support of President de Gaulle's constitutional reforms which created the fifth republic and replaced the union with the "communauté française". These gave more political autonomy to the doms and also allowed Césaire to elaborate a political position which he held more or less consistently for the rest of his career: increased autonomy within a departmental relationship with France.

By then, moreover, he had shrugged off another form of centralising authority in the form of the PCF. In his Letter to Maurice Thorez (1956), he rejected Stalinism and the mechanistic downgrading of race and culture as diversions from class struggle. In 1958 he formed the Progressive Martinican party (PPM), an organisation which supported departmentalisation but demanded greater freedoms from metropolitan control. Re-elected mayor of Fort-de-France at every subsequent election and a deputy in Paris until his retirement in 1993, he was an efficient administrator and the personification of a status quo which most Martinicans found acceptable.

Despite his enduring electoral support, Césaire came under fire from both advocates of closer assimilation and supporters of independence. For the former, his demands for greater autonomy made Martinique an unjustified "special case" and threatened French goodwill. For the latter, departmentalisation had created a second-class citizenship and an artificial economy, held together only by French subsidies. President François Mitterrand's decentralisation measures in 1983 provided the PPM with some breathing space, allowing Césaire to claim that the doms would have a greater say in their development within a more regional framework of government. However, during the 1980s and 1990s advocates of independence made steady progress among a younger generation of Martinicans, accustomed to the subsidised welfare state and bored with the PPM's official line.

Césaire's literary work has also faced increasing criticism in recent years from younger Martinican writers who see négritude, with its mythic associations of primitivism, as irrelevant to a modern, non-African society. Although the republication of the Cahier in 1947 confirmed his status as a major 20th-century poet, Césaire never really achieved the same international success with subsequent work such as Soleil Cou Coupé (1947), or Ferrements (1960). His plays, dealing with historical aspects of colonialism, are little known outside France. As new Martinican writers stressed the importance of Creole as the medium for exploring the island's real culture, they derided Césaire's attachment to classical French as further evidence of his own assimilation to neo-colonial metropolitan values. The most ambiguous canonisation, meanwhile, took the form of the Cahier being included in the first-year French syllabus at Oxford University in 1996.

The contradictions at the heart of Césaire's career remained unresolved. Despite the massive importation of French consumerism into Martinique, he continued to argue that cultural autonomy could co-exist with departmentalisation. And despite the development of Martinique as a distant outpost of the EU, he persisted in looking to Africa as the source of authenticity. In his last years, he became irascible and would abruptly terminate interviews if the names of his political and literary critics were even mentioned.

Césaire's reputation as a poet rests largely on one epic expression of anti-colonial wrath and surrealist delirium; the Cahier has achieved the immortality that the French literary establishment bestows on certain works. But Césaire's legacy is perhaps more significant in the existence of a French department 7,000km away from France, whose people, for the time being at least, wish it to stay that way. His wife predeceased him; they had four sons and two daughters.

· Aimé Fernand Césaire, poet, playwright and politician, born June 26 1913; died April 17 2008

-------------------

--> This obituary appeared on The Guardian

Creative Commons License

River Don't Cry
.
© 2008 - Hubert Lebizay
.

We Are Made One With
What We Touch and See

.
By Oscar Wilde

We are resolved into the supreme air,
We are made one with what we touch and see,
With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,
With our young lives each springimpassioned tree
Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range
The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.

With beat of systole and of diastole
One grand great life throbs through earth's giant heart,
And mighty waves of single Being roll
From nerveless germ to man, for we are part
Of every rock and bird and beast and hill,
One with the things that prey on us, and one with what we kill

One sacrament are consecrate, the earth
Not we alone hath passions hymeneal,
The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth
At daybreak know a pleasure not less real
Than we do, when in some freshblossoming wood
We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good

Is the light vanished from our golden sun,
Or is this daedalfashioned earth less fair,
That we are nature's heritors, and one
With every pulse of life that beats the air?
Rather new suns across the sky shall pass,
New splendour come unto the flower, new glory to the grass.

And we two lovers shall not sit afar,
Critics of nature, but the joyous sea
Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star
Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be
Part of the mighty universal whole,
And through all Aeons mix and mingle with the Kosmic Soul!.

We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World's throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!

(Poem's source : judithpordon.tripod.com)

Creative Commons License
Painting a Woman Painter
.
© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
To See Her is a Picture
.
By Emily Dickinson

To see her is a picture,
To hear her is a tune,
To know her an intemperance
As innocent as June;
By which to be undone
Is dearer than Redemption,
Which never to receive,
Makes mockery of melody
It might have been to live.

(The poem appeared on
Quotesandpoem.com)
.
PS : The drawing was inspired from a photo by
the talented Ejenia Spasskaja, Minificus
.
:iconminificus:
.
Creative Commons License
My cartoons on
Toonpool.com
.
Selected Cartoon :
"Democrats Hunting Democrats"


© 2008 - Ben Heine
.


Agit-Blog
.
Ben Heine is a provocateur! His cartoons recall John Heartfield's agitprop images, but created with a blogger's tools: political protest and activism as streaming poetic diary entries on the Web. Heine is a master of his craft. He draws on a variety of expressionist and surrealist role models, including George Grosz and René Magritte, and combines images, poems and essays with great virtuosity. This "hunting" scene in Iowa, which was commissioned as a book illustration, is given an unreal, nearly ghostly depth by the expressionless faces of the Christian hunters, the vanishing point of the lettuce fields, just out of view, and the iconographic elements such as weapons and cars. Hannah Arendt's banality of evil, transported to the American heartland.
.
(toonpool.com 02/08)

Changing Masks
.
.
We Wear The Mask
.
By Paul Lawrence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

(The poem appeared on Dunbarsite.org)

Creative Commons License
Be Protected
.
.
Sex Without Love
.
By Sharon Olds

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

(The poem appeared on
famouspoetsandpoems.com)

Creative Commons License

The Dream Lives On:
40 Years After MLK

Peace Scooter
.
.
.
P.E.A.C.E SCOOTER
A Patriot’s Exhibition Advancing Community
and Environmentalism, on a Scooter
.

Many roads lead to common ground. It’s about a 20,000 mile Peace sign. Community. And You.

In the same year that the Peace sign turns 50 years old, I will trace the first ever HUGE Peace sign onto our U.S. map. What will you be doing? Oh, did you say supporting P.E.A.C.E Scooter? I hope so!!!

Can you imagine riding 20,000 miles on 10-inch wheels, four-inches above the road, to promote Peace, Environmentalism, and Community?

How else can you get so close-to the public, to the scenery? I’m interviewing people and shooting video of the American perspective. All the bizarre, beautiful, enlightening moments, will be shown here, starting May 2. There are 9,000 miles left to complete the Peace sign.

All I’m asking you to do is keep an open mind and contribute your beliefs.

I started this ride in 2007 because I want to help do my part in making the world a better place to live. PhotobucketI was scared that Peace is either seen as such a loaded topic, or just a commercial concept. I want to show that Peace is really every step, every mile. It’s how you treat yourself, others, and the environment. Knowing it was a controversial topic didn’t stop me, nor did being called a hippy. (I’m not)

Along the way, I will fundraise at least $12,000 for donation to organizations who work hard to improve America; focusing on domestic/international conflict, the Environment and Communities. My goal is simple, $1 per 1 mile driven. Of course a mission like this will have expenses, but less than half goes for gas, food, lodging. We get to discover things that help create Peace, like helping others in need, sustainable choices, being kind, and having fun. Please help by donating today.

I will talk to total strangers all over the country to find out what Peace really means to people. This is not to be mistaken as an anti-war demonstration. This is simply an extension of my lifestyle and my will to help make the world a better, kinder place.

P.E.A.C.E Happens 2008
America Needs Work. Yardwork.

That’s right, I want to mow at least one yard in each state into a Peace sign! It’s a powerful, pretty little symbol that represents social change globally. This is simply a free way to use your space to voice your beliefs. Please contact me if you want to see that Peace sign on your yard-or if you know someone who does!

The journey continues May 2, 2008. We’ve got a lot of miles ahead.
Run fast to tell your friends and family. Join me if you can-or host me in your town. But at least stick with the adventures!

While I’m out here cruising around our vast, beautiful country, think about Peace with me. Tell me what you come up with. And don’t point one finger, POINT TWO.

Each segment on the map above is available for sponsorship and represents approximately 200 miles. My goal is to raise $1 per mile. A segment can be sponsored by more than one individual. In fact I HOPE that this map is filled by small donations from many people, as an illustration of how community is built by individuals coming together in small ways.

Enjoy what you read? Read more about the concept here.

Source : peacescooter.com

Creative Commons License
Martin Luther King - Barack Obama
Heir to a King?

.© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
Martin Luther King "dream" lives on,
40 years after death

.
By AFP

WASHINGTON -- On April 4 America marks the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King, just as the first black candidate with a viable shot at the White House reinvigorates the late reverend's civil rights "dream."

In 1968 the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr was killed by a single bullet to the head while on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in downtown Memphis, in the southern state of Tennessee.

The Nobel peace prize winner was just 39 years old. Had he lived he would have turned 79 in January.

The mystery surrounding his assassination has swirled for years, with escaped convict James Earl Ray convicted of the murder and sentenced to 99 years in prison.

Ray confessed to pulling the trigger, then quickly proclaimed his innocence. Debate over the official version of events, in which authorities determined that Ray had acted alone, remained sharp.

Conspiracy theories abound, with many refusing to believe how or why this unknown convict could have escaped from a Missouri state penitentiary, planned the assassination, and thwarted King's security detail all on his own.

In death King became a martyr in the civil rights struggle, but in life he was a charismatic hero battling for racial equality, from the 1956 bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama and non-violent protest marches through to his famous "I have a dream" speech in Washington in 1963.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,'" King told some 250,000 people gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in the US capital.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Four words -- "I have a dream" -- thundered through his speech and entered into the American lexicon as symbols of the pursuit of racial equality in America.

Some 40 years later, Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama's campaign is putting that concept to the test.

The Illinois senator -- the only African American presently in the Senate -- addressed the sensitive race issue directly in a recent speech in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, that drew parallels with King.

Obama's remarks were "the most important speech on the question of race and the future of this country since Dr King's 'I have a dream' speech," said Chaka Fattah, a black Congressman from Pennsylvania.

Several other commentators hailed Obama's address as historic.

According to a CBS News opinion poll, 69 percent of Americans approved of the Illinois senator's speech, in which he urged an end to the country's "racial stalemate."

Obama also spoke eloquently about black "anger" and white "resentment" at a time when divisive talk about race threatened to engulf the presidential campaign.

"I have never been so naive as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle," Obama said.

"But I have asserted a firm conviction ... that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds," said Obama.

While 52 percent of Americans hailed King's "great influence" on civil rights -- with 75 percent of blacks and 47 percent of whites saying so -- some 39 percent of blacks said the country still had "a long way to go" towards racial equality, according to a survey of 1,012 respondents conducted by Ohio University.

Throughout the country, religious ceremonies and university conferences will celebrate King's legacy, including an event at Tennessee's Vanderbilt University, where longtime human rights advocate and black activist Angela Davis will address the theme "We are not now living the dream" of Martin Luther King.

(The report appeared on newsinfo.inquirer.net)



Forty years on, Obama, others
still stand in King's shadow

.
By John Railey

By the spring of 1968, an exhausted Martin King was often tortured by thoughts that he would be killed. He harnessed his pain and pressed on.

“He grasped the benefit of dramatizing his fight with death - and hence, his people’s fight with social death as victims of oppression,” Michael Eric Dyson writes in his compelling new book, April 4, 1968: Martin Luther King Jr.’s Death and How It Changed America.

“King never tired of telling black folk that unearned suffering, even death, is redemptive. … What we make of his death may determine what we make of his legacy and our future.”

Friday will mark the 40th anniversary of King’s assassination on that Memphis hotel balcony. The anniversary has always been a more realistic occasion than the King holiday in January. The holiday is about sweet dreams. The anniversary is about whether America really is moving from nightmares to those dreams. This year, in addition to the big 4-0 number, Barack Obama’s presidential run has given us all the more reason to ponder that question.

Obama, with his mix of black blood and white blood, has forced America into a debate on race. But it’s a debate that often gets dumbed down, just as King’s radical dreams of peace, equality and justice have been dumbed down. King’s hard legacy was quickly wrapped in soft myth.

“Before his body was even laid to rest, Martin Luther King Jr. had slipped into the long night of myth,” Dyson writes. “He quickly became the most overworked martyr since Abraham Lincoln.”

And “martyrdom also forced onto King’s dead body the face of a toothless tiger. … In exchange for collective guilt, whites have given King lesser victories: a national birthday, iconic ubiquity, and endless encomiums,” Dyson, who is black, writes.

“But blacks have not been innocent in the posthumous manipulations of King’s legacy. If whites have undercut King by praising him to death, blacks have hollowed his humanity through worship. … Whites want him clawless; blacks want him flawless.”

Amen.

Dyson writes about how Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, despite what Dyson depicts as strong efforts, have failed to fully carry out King’s dreams. You think? Dyson could have found a few other black leaders to explore. Regardless of what their inflated egos might lead them to believe, Jackson and Sharpton don’t speak for all black folks any more than James Dobson and Pat Robertson speak for all white folks.

Dyson writes that because “King and Jackson fought bitter battles with ugly forces, Obama can gracefully walk through doors kicked in by King and Jackson.” Jackson did fight those battles, at least in his days as one of King’s lieutenants. But Sharpton’s fighting, often just for the sake of publicity, has accomplished little except to further divide the races.

And how about all the anonymous blacks and whites who paved the way for Obama’s presidential run? Dyson does seem to get that point. “As he walks through those doors, Obama carries the legacy of his people even as he seeks to serve the entire nation. There could hardly be a more fitting tribute to King, and to the people and justice he loved.”

It’s a grand vision, anyway, that suggestion that Obama could sweep into the White House, buoyed in large part on the dreams of another charismatic black leader. For Obama to have made it as far as he has is a huge statement in and of itself about how far we’ve all come.

And regardless of whether we’re backing Obama, we can all hope that 40 years after King’s assassination, a black leader shouldn’t have to worry whether he’ll have all the time he needs to play out his hand, for better or worse. He shouldn’t have to worry that he’ll be killed for the color of his skin in a land that proclaims freedom for all.

(The article appeared on journalnow.com)

Creative Commons License
Forbidden Love
.
© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
Torn
.
By Melissa Farrell

Should darkness hold and keep this time
apart from all I've held as mine,
what light and smile does future hold
unless I shift and do as told?

And if I choose to hold my way,
refuse to bend nor think nor sway,
will all you've kept as strong and true
descend to die and rot in you?

Answer, love, if you may speak,
and tell me if you think me weak
in choice to cast love to its grave
for care of one whose lips I crave..

What path to take, how far to turn?
Two hearts impaled, and one to burn.
Oh, endless thought of choice and need;
who shall I wound and leave to bleed?

(The poem appeared on voicesnet.org)

PS : The drawing was inspired from a photo by
the talented Ejenia Spasskaja, Minificus
.
:iconminificus:

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