Admirable sentiments.... a bit overwhelming for me ....the suffering and injustice of all Humankind. 
Just for today I think I can manage to consider the actions taken by those who one sunny morning in New York, in peacetime, wiped out over 3000 souls going about their the name of Islam.   This is enough for me to contemplate but also the fact that I have never, in my environment,  heard one word of regret from a Muslim.
Mike - living in Islamic countries for over 20 years, including Saudi Arabia since 1999.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Carrol Cox" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 5:17 PM
Subject: Before I Start This Poem

> In this season of Know-Nothing rage against Migrants & Muslims, the
> following poem seems particulary appropriate. It could be read in
> Churches, posted on the bulletin boards of classrooms, circulated to
> friends and fellow workers. It contains a good deal of history not often
> mentioned. It is a pity it fails to contain a reference to the
> pacification of the Philippines a century ago, which formed the  model
> followed by the Japanese in their Burn All Loot All Kill strtegy in
> China, as well as inspiring Kipling to write his "White Man's Burden,"
> specifically intended to honor the U.S. policy in the Philippines.
> Carerol
> Before I Start This Poem
>     by Emmanuel Ortiz
> Before I start this poem,
> I'd like to ask you to join me in
> a moment of silence
> in honour of those who died
> in the World Trade Centre
> and the Pentagon
> last September 11th.
> I would also like to ask you
> a moment of silence
> for all of those who have been
> harassed, imprisoned, disappeared,
> tortured, raped, or killed
> in retaliation for those strikes,
> for the victims in both
> Afghanistan and the U.S.
> And if I could just add one more thing...
> A full day of silence
> for the tens of thousands of Palestinians
> who have died at the hands of
> U.S.-backed Israeli forces
> over decades of occupation.
> Six months of silence
> for the million and-a-half Iraqi people,
> mostly children, who have died of
> malnourishment or starvation
> as a result of an 11-year U.S. embargo
> against the country.
> Before I begin this poem:
> two months of silence
> for the Blacks under Apartheid
> in South Africa,
> where homeland security
> made them aliens
> in their own country.
> Nine months of silence
> for the dead in Hiroshima
> and Nagasaki, where death rained
> down and peeled back
> every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin
> and the survivors went on as if alive.
> A year of silence
> for the millions of dead
> in Vietnam--a people, not a war-
> for those who know a thing or two
> about the scent of burning fuel,
> their relatives' bones buried in it,
> their babies born of it.
> A year of silence
> for the dead in Cambodia and Laos,
> victims of a secret war ... ssssshhhhh ....
> Say nothing .. we don't want them to
> learn that they are dead.
> Two months of silence
> for the decades of dead
> in Colombia, whose names,
> like the corpses they once represented,
> have piled up and slipped off
> our tongues.
> Before I begin this poem,
> An hour of silence
> for El Salvador ...
> An afternoon of silence
> for Nicaragua ...
> Two days of silence
> for the Guatemaltecos ...
> None of whom ever knew
> a moment of peace
> 45 seconds of silence
> for the 45 dead
> at Acteal, Chiapas
> 25 years of silence
> for the hundred million Africans
> who found their graves
> far deeper in the ocean
> than any building could
> poke into the sky.
> There will be no DNA testing
> or dental records
> to identify their remains.
> And for those who were
> strung and swung
> from the heights of
> sycamore trees
> in the south, the north,
> the east, and the west...
> 100 years of silence...
> For the hundreds of millions of
> indigenous peoples
> from this half of right here,
> Whose land and lives were stolen,
> In postcard-perfect plots
> like Pine Ridge,
> Wounded Knee,
> Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers,
> or the Trail of Tears.
> Names now reduced
> to innocuous magnetic poetry
> on the refrigerator
> of our consciousness ...
> So you want a moment of silence?
> And we are all left speechless
> Our tongues snatched from our mouths
> Our eyes stapled shut
> A moment of silence
> And the poets have all been laid to rest
> The drums disintegrating into dust
> Before I begin this poem,
> You want a moment of silence
> You mourn now as if the world will never be
> the same
> And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
> Not like it always has been
> Because this is not a 9-1-1 poem
> This is a 9/10 poem,
> It is a 9/9 poem,
> A 9/8 poem,
> A 9/7 poem
> This is a 1492 poem.
> This is a poem about
> what causes poems like this
> to be written
> And if this is a 9/11 poem, then
> This is a September 11th poem
> for Chile, 1971
> This is a September 12th poem
> for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977
> This is a September 13th poem
> for the brothers at Attica Prison,
> New York, 1971.
> This is a September 14th poem
> for Somalia, 1992.
> This is a poem
> for every date that falls
> to the ground in ashes
> This is a poem for the 110 stories
> that were never told
> The 110 stories that history
> chose not to write in textbooks
> The 110 stories that CNN, BBC,
> The New York Times,
> and Newsweek ignored
> This is a poem
> for interrupting this program.
> And still you want
> a moment of silence
> for your dead?
> We could give you
> lifetimes of empty:
> The unmarked graves
> The lost languages
> The uprooted trees and histories
> The dead stares on the faces
> of nameless children
> Before I start this poem
> We could be silent forever
> Or just long enough to hunger,
> For the dust to bury us
> And you would still ask us
> For more of our silence.
> If you want a moment of silence
> Then stop the oil pumps
> Turn off the engines and the televisions
> Sink the cruise ships
> Crash the stock markets
> Unplug the marquee lights,
> Delete the instant messages,
> Derail the trains, the light rail transit
> If you want a moment of silence,
> put a brick through
> the window of Taco Bell,
> And pay the workers for wages lost
> Tear down the liquor stores,
> The townhouses, the White Houses,
> the jailhouses, the Penthouses and
> the Playboys.
> If you want a moment of silence,
> Then take it
> On Super Bowl Sunday,
> The Fourth of July
> During Dayton's 13 hour sale
> Or the next time your white guilt
> fills the room where my beautiful
> people have gathered
> You want a moment of silence
> Then take it
> Now,
> Before this poem begins.
> Here, in the echo of my voice,
> In the pause between goosesteps of the
> second hand
> In the space
> between bodies in embrace,
> Here is your silence.
> Take it.
> But take it all
> Don't cut in line.
> Let your silence begin
> at the beginning of crime.
> But we,
> Tonight we will keep right on singing
> For our dead.
> EMMANUEL ORTIZ, 11 Sep 2002
> "The anatomy of man is a key to the anatomy of the ape." KM, Grudrisse

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