Kill Yah, police brutality poem

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*This is not a post about mass shootings.

*This is not a post on terrorism.

*This is not a post in regard to cops needing to defend themselves- which they have every right to do.

* This is not an anti-gun article.

*This is not anti-cop… even if I kinda am one as far as the local force goes.

 


I was here when they killed Eric Garner. It was by my house. I will never forget that day. It still makes me cry. This poem is inspired by him and the other countless victims across the US.

 

I will never forget how the news portrayed Garner-

a murder victim.

So what if he had children from different women, or wasn’t married, or whatever?? He is a murder victim by the hands of the police force that is supposed to be here to protect us. OVER FUCKING UNTAXED CIGARETTES. And the jury trial was clearly rigged because Staten Island’s  middle class are government employees. We are the borough of the Sanitation, the Police and the Fire Department who are all in bed with each other (I grew up in them. Christmas parties and all). With all those unions and connections, there is no way that Garner would get justice. I knew it from the beginning based on the population’s bias – the population’s occupation, their way to make ends meet either directly or through family members who are government employees. They should have had jurors from other boroughs or even farther away to make it fair.

This is my home, a home where I was raised with men with badges, and I do not, even as a white woman, feel safe on the streets any more. Even my mother was harassed by a cop so badly we took down his license plate (never got nowhere) and I got so angry. I don’t know how I stopped myself. It’s one thing to go after me over something stupid to meet a quota. I’ll be pleasant and play along as they question me as if I’m a big drug dealer or gang member or some crazy crack head on the side of the road just for going over the limit by a few miles or smoking in public. But if you go after a senior discounter and talk to them like a piece of shit- well, back the fuck up (I say quietly in my head). That’s my mother. No right to go from 0 to 100 over a ticket.

I believe that out of 100 cops, let’s say, you’ll get a few loose cannons. But those few loose cannons with excuses like poor training, bad lighting, etc KILL.  But hey, it’s fine if they do! THEY DON’T GET FIRED! THEY STILL ARE ENTITLED TO THE NYPD HEALTH INSURANCE! THEY STILL ARE ENTITLED TO RETIRE WITH 3/4! And a desk job is like a rubber room. It’s still a paycheck.

The sad thing, also, is that because there are some bad cops,

the good cops are distrusted,

blamed and even at times purposely targeted. That is not right! But, I don’t give a fuck about them. They still getting paid. Big whoop if we don’t like you. Y’all still killed my neighbor. I’m not that nice anymore.

I once had a civilian assault incident. It wasn’t too long ago. A man attacked me. It was very traumatizing. And when I got home the first thing my mother said was- CALL THE COPS. And I said, “no. they never do shit.” Why? Because they never do shit for me. And she agreed they wouldn’t do shit for me. Maybe show up an hour later or so. Or not show up at all.

And I come from a family of cops and firefighters (all the cops in my family have been good cops, including my grandfather, I am proud to say). Imagine the transition I had to go through now. It wasn’t by choice. My eyes and ears just saw the truth. There are major flaws. And the word flaw, quite frankly, is too weak of a term to describe the systemic disease that is rampant here. Their need to constantly look away from the problems- no wonder why we have record highs of distrust among civilians against the badge.

Anyway, my mother was very moved by this and it brought her to tears. And it brought me to tears. And today was a bad enough day and now I’m reliving this and it’s just terrible. I hate everything.

 

And remember, no hoodies. No speaking unless spoken to.

Answer questions clearly and directly.

Question if you are under arrest.

And if you’re not, drive away. And get the hell out of Staten Island, fucker.

 

Kill Yah, a poem by Drem

July 7, 2016

“They’ll kill yah if yah armed.

They’ll kill yah if yah not.

They’ll kill yah if yah armed.

They’ll kill yah if yah not.

They’ll kill yah when you down

or when you standin’ up.

They’ll kill yah at your house

or at a public park.

Next to a swing set

pushing yah baby son.

Based on a sketch-

you the man, son.

They kill yah if yah armed.

They’ll kill yah if yah are

even with arms up,

obeying the law.

Cause you all the same– thing.

Right in the back.

Or right in the chest.

It’s too hard to shoot

non-lethal appendages.

They kill yah if yah  armed.

They still kill yah if yah not.

They still kill you if you not.

14 or 40.

Yah still the same

black thing.

Gonna die young

over nothing.”

(C) Drem 2016

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