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SELF-DEFENSE
The Western High god, his ambassadors
and dogmas denied me. I'm a Haitian woman, committed to be SILENT NO
MORE, so I called the ancient Grann to help me through. But an
old wave, he sent out his big-boys, the U.S. Ambassador to Haiti
with Haitian-American Brotherman D.O.J. and Mzzz Career White Chick
to blunt the blow. Together, they tried suffocating my range of motion,
putting me on this here crashing airplane. In effect, they said if I
stayed in my position at the Ministry of Justice continuing to do what
I was doing, millions of U.S. dollars to help "reform things in Haiti"
would be in jeopardy.
With their American-Justice-For-Sale,
they then said I had a conflict of interest: was, in effect,
evil Eve ruining the Empire. I thought that old dog couldn't hunt. I
was wrong. Then when a radiance I didn't own rolled me through, it fired
up all their flames into Red,
Black and Moonlight.
So now I hunt too.
M ap boule, soaring past their nucleic powers with my Grann's
passion fire, soaring past Fourth of July fireworks with the original
Statue of liberty before it was transformed into the Alabaster
Lady my children in Haiti are yearning to touch. I'm rolling on, commemorating
the Grann, like this: (Up on the stage video screen - see
the transformation of the Statue of Liberty as a Black captive breaking
her chains.)
You see, for me, Self-defense is the art of dodging while moving towards
your goal in a slow stroll. I'm stretching myself whole, stepping into
my soul, unrolling self-control like a fast fallen river out of their
footholds. Rushing the stages of life in multi-roles, without blindfolds.
I'm riveted to the rock 'n roll but I'm going to circle wide; undulating
hips and butt all the way to the floor 'n curving back up, unspooling
neck to the rise of Danbala's tides. I'm going to, uh! Anmwe! I'm going
to try to transform the blackest of blues from the womb to the tomb;
curving life's stage with my brain and breath, not my death. I'm gonna
love with feelin' arms outstretched. No faint steps. My shoulders are
going to roll, my waist is going to swirl, my naps are already curled.
I'm going to flex my bare foot and kick it high above the tear of the
past and stare of the future. Way above the abyss. Come on, y'all. Self-defense
is the art of rolling. M ap boule. M ap boule. M ap boule. N ap boule.
Ha, ha. You've got to roll through this fire, right? Because you know,
if you don't... what's going to happen. Tell 'em what's going to happen
if you don't? W ap toufe, right? You'll suffocate, right? So,
see, we Haitians, we'll make song of everything. Even the pain of rebirth.
When we do it, we DO IT ALL with rhythm. And we are going to roll, whatever
we do. We are going to confront. We are not going to deny. But we're
going to roll through this fire until we CHANGE ALL OF IT. That's why
m ap boule... i'm on fire.
Ladies and Gentlemen. Turn. Look at the empty space air... I know you
know I've been there.
(© Èzili Dantò, October 31, 2002)
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