A while back I wrote this poem titled “If This Democracy Must Die,” and found myself hesitant to put it into the atmosphere. I posted a version of it here before, but have since added visuals which can be seen in the video above. My hesitation came from a concern of the message being misinterpreted. From the innate fear that comes from the potential for ‘punishment’ when mouths, Black like mine, speak candidly about this failed American experiment.
2026 is the 250th anniversary of the United States as a sovereign nation. It is (again) on the precipice of global warfare. It is being led by an authoritarian regime. It is attacking its citizens and suppressing the will of its people. So I surmise, there is no greater fear I can contend with than the reality of what is taking place. And what has been the reality ever since this experiment called democracy has lied to, and stolen from, and claimed the lives of so many people who do not resemble the authors of the false doctrines that propagate the myth.
This poems asks the question of “what if,” but it is really intended to deepen our imagination beyond what we have been subjected to, and to consider what our bounty could be beyond the limitations we have always known.
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If This Democracy Must Die…
If this democracy must die, I will not disrupt its transition. I will be as indifferent as it was every second my kin & ‘nem died to defend it. I will not shed tears at its departure. I will not visit its burial site. I might scroll the waves of mourners flooding newsfeeds with their grief, but I will not lift my voice to sing their song of sorrow.
I will not share words in memory of what it could have been. I will remember all the times my kin & ‘nem traded our ballots for hollow promises. I will not bring flowers to adorn its headstone. My knees will not buckle from wailing as my kin & ‘nem wept themselves weak enough when change never came after election polls closed.
I will remember the labor it imposed on me, how my kin & ‘nem wore their withering rights thin beneath its gray skies, and all the times our hopes for brighter days were denied.
If this democracy must die, I will not conjure a resurrection. I will not pray for its peaceful passage. I will remember every time it reneged on the social contract my kin & ‘nem signed in blood. Every moment our hope of overcome was overturned to make space for more oppression.
When this experiment does implode I will stand on the side of history stepping over the debris. Find a new country beneath the rubble of this wretched Republic. Help strengthen every set of shoulders weary from carrying its weight into a body politic chiseled by the true will of the people.
If this democracy must die, let me not be a prisoner of the moment. Let me remember all the times our best lives were confined under the guise of liberty & justice and all the days our freedom was shackled to papers written by enslavers who left us, the nation-builders, out of the inheritance.
I have no desire to pull the plug or to summon the Grim Reaper. I will view its demise with the same care I would give to the carcass of roadkill, rotting in the mess it made of itself.
I will journey forward. Eyes steady on the beauty…the bounty that lies ahead.
