shackled and drawn

this is how
fortunes were made
from the fruit of our bones
field and furrow subverted open sky
sweat out of sunlit drudgery

we walked in chains to music not our own

this is how
worlds destroyed worlds
continents broke like waves upon each other
tide after tide piled us on beaches like shingle

this is how
our stone eroded to sand beneath
everything we did to survive our coming
how sharp and volcanic our souls became
held tight under the black shrouds
our skins were in your eyes

this is how
at the seas’ parting we stumbled
blind upon your shore-lands squinting
in the glare of your supremacy
in our defeat

this is how
you fed us crumbs
that tasted only of the distance
between our home and these
your islands of empire

this is how
you stole our strength
and made your profit out of it
left us weakened and crucified us
on your cross of Jesus with whips and steel
your tongues of angels and men
and fifty lashes

this is how
you did not really believe
in the God you trusted to hold us down
and whose justice you held back

this is how
we were made
to be your hand upon the plough
your shoulder heaving stone as if to reveal
the corpse of your dead Messiah
and bring you to salvation
and lead you to peace

this is how
we were your slaves

© BH, 2020

---

Yesterday, I said nothing. Except, I had this already written on 28 May. A propos of what? The death of George Floyd wasn’t the catalyst or inspiration. It was something David Olusoga described in his latest series, A House Through Time.

He is exploring the history of a house in Bristol, built in the 1700s. Inevitably that touches on the slave trade. Like the USA the UK had its hands in that business, English and Scots alike. Our cities have streets named for it as much as their stones are steeped in the blood and sweat of the people who were bought and sold by it.

Olusoga pointed to the slave routes, ‘to here in the Americas,' he said, ‘from here, where my family come from…’ He went on to talk about the trade in cheap food, oats from here, sent to the plantations because it was a cheap staple for the slaves.

That was what sparked the line ‘crumbs that tasted only of the distance from our home…’

The world, as it does, turned and other events surfaced. Nothing has changed in three hundred years. More’s the pity…

Then, yesterday, I heard Spike Lee being interviewed by Will Gompertz on the BBC. 'The USA,' he said, 'was founded on stolen land, genocide and slavery. We have to face that before we can move on.' Same goes for the foundation of British and other imperialisms. Stolen land, genocide, slavery. 

Time for it to be called out for what it was and still is… and ended.

————

The title, by the way, is a reference to the song of that name by Bruce Springsteen on his album, Wrecking Ball.

The image is me, darkened, for shame, maybe, for the colour of my soul, for the reason that we’re aa Jock Tamson’s bairns.

David Olusoga on Wikipedia.