Insist on Polite

Insist on Polite

I grieve with you.
I grieve as a person of colour, as a person assigned female at birth, and as a Canadian who’s tired.
Grief and shouting for justice gets tiring,
When only our people and our allies seem to be listening.

I grieve with you today, Senator Sinclair.
I grieve with your family, Colton Boushie.
I grieve with your friends, your people, and your community.
I grieve at the injustice, and how today resting in peace has alluded you.

I stand beside you right now, as a black man, and a non-white person.
And I know we have allies among Caucasian people who stand with us.
Allies that know what their ancestors did, and refuse to repeat them.
Unlike others within the Caucasian community who stubbornly refuse to see what has just happened here.

I’m tired of the white person making the rules to suit and uphold them.
I’m sick of their rewriting history to suit them, and selecting juries that will protect them
I’m sick of white police officers, and white civilians killing us; and a white jury acquitting them.
I hate that descendants of slavers, murderers, and thieves getting the last laugh. Every time.

A farmer kills a boy with a hand gun in Saskatchewan.
Police taser, shoot, and beat with a baton a  black man, who was mentally unstable, in Montreal.
The farmer, police, and jury are all white;
Their victims were Indigenous and African.

No justice for the slave and savage,
free pass for the slaver and settler.
History repeats, and it goes on.
Yet, where is justice in all of this?

Yet who invaded and stole land from Colton’s ancestors?
Who stole my ancestors, and Pierre’s ancestors, from Africa and dragged them here in chains?
Now they steal our lives, and walk away.
Why is it always us that have to pay?!

They insist we be quiet, while they get louder.
They insist on us being polite, when they rudely call us niggers and savages.
They insist we don’t trespass, despite them being trespassers.
They insist we value them, while they clearly don’t value us.

When will the day come when mothers can rejoice, instead of grieve?
When will all the colonists weep with all the displaced?
When will the grieving end, and reconciliation begin?
When will there be justice for Pierre and Colton?

Colton was not a savage, he was a  young man.
Pierre wasn’t a slave, but a man who needed help.
Stanley isn’t innocent, he is a murderer.
The police weren’t there to help, but destroy.

I grieve that Colton and Pierre paid the price for crimes they didn’t commit.
I mourn for their mothers, fathers, siblings, cousins, and family.
I wish their souls could find some peace, despite it.
And I wish/hope Canada might learn its lesson this time.

The tragic reality is?
Most will just point to things like the Underground Railroad.
Then they’ll say racism is someone else’s problem, not a Canadian problem.
And more will join Pierre and Colton prematurely in their restless slumber.

This Poem is a Poetical response to Canadian Senator Murray Sinclair’s Poem, and my reaction to recent injustices against Indigenous Canadians and African Canadians. The former is a result of the of  the  “not guilty” verdict for Gerald Stanley, despite evidence clearly pointing to him being the murderer of First Nations’ youth Colten Boushie. The latter is a result of white police officers in Montreal murdering Pierre Coriolan, a mentally unstable black man. 

Today I grieve for my country.
I grieve for a family
that has seen only injustice
from the moment a farmer with a handgun
(why does a farmer need a handgun?)
killed their son.
I grieve for a mother
who saw the police raid her house
and treat her like a criminal
and not the victim she was.
I grieve for other mothers
with empty arms
who are reminded of their own loss
at the hands of others.
and the lack of answers that haunt them still
I grieve for the youth
who now see no hope,
and whose hunger for justice
gives rise to anger.
I grieve for the children
whose lives now have
one more jeopardy.
I grieve for the elders
who have seen this before.
And whose wisdom holds no means
to get through this evenly.
I may grieve for some time.
But then again…
we have been grieving a long time.
This is why
we can’t “just get over it and move on”.
My country won’t let me.

Author: Dreeny Crim

I am a 27 year-old living in the GTA, Canada. I blog about mental health, gaming, things going on in Canadian news, and asexuality.

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