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I Bear Witness
By Eric L. Wattree Sr. (Columnist)
Published September 10, 2009

I Bear Witness

I sit, I watch,

And I grow ever more obsolete

As I bear witness:

I bear witness

To a once vibrant people greedily gulping down society’s hemlock.

Even as they claim to be “keeping it real”, they continue to kill, maim, and despise their own

In hot pursuit of the prime directive with the passion of a sheetless Klan.


I bear witness

To Black fists in the air in false solidarity promoted by self-serving poverty pimps

As the world looks on and giggle at crooked fingers pointed elsewhere.


I bear witness

To the superficial attempt to ban the “N-word”

While the new “un-ni**as” stand around watching

Children killing children and fathers drugging sons

As they celebrate, lionize, and enrich those who denigrate

The very womb of their culture with impunity.


I bear witness

To a generation of lost knowledge, cut off from its roots by Ronnie’s “Just say no” generation

Of crack, greed, death, and political corruption;

A generation where the new N-word is pronounced “Responsibility”

And the keepers of the flame completely ignore the destructive power

Of bitch, slut, tramp, and whore.


I bear witness

To the reckless disregard of the words uneducated, irresponsible, and classless.

Should we not ban these words as well,

Or should we ban banning words altogether as we celebrate their meaning?


Yes, I do bear witness.

I bear witness to a new world – a world where gross ignorance comes disguised as enlightenment

And funky sneakers look down with disdain upon the sweet smell of Florsheim;

A world where saggin’ pants and gaudy glitter enable country bumpkins to masquerade as elegant

And the exquisite surrender of eloquence is the very essence of what it means to be hip.


Where’s Langston? Where’s Baldwin? Where’s Oscar Brown, Jr?

We need you stormin’ this beach, because


I now bear witness

To a world where motherhood stands alone,

To be “dope” renders a smile,

And posterity embraces the wind for paternal sustenance;

A world where the walking dead strut about rapping the wisdom of idiocy,

And we praise the illiteracy of vulgar nursery rhymes as profound;

A world where salvation’s final gasp is compared to the pigmentation of brown paper bags.

Malcolm, Martin, where are you?  I once stood with a crowd.

Now seemingly alone, I’m forced to bear horrific witness –

True witness . . .

To the imminent demise of our people,

And my heart bleeds.

Categories: Beneath the Spin

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