{"id":4783,"date":"2021-11-28T16:32:15","date_gmt":"2021-11-28T21:32:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.tempestmag.org\/v01_2020\/staging\/?p=4783"},"modified":"2021-12-02T09:52:34","modified_gmt":"2021-12-02T14:52:34","slug":"in-you-i-trust","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/2021\/11\/in-you-i-trust\/","title":{"rendered":"In you I trust"},"content":{"rendered":"

Over the weekend of November 6 & 7, 2021, the Tempest Collective gathered for its first convention. Numerous documents were circulated in the months leading up to the convention, and brief introductory talks were given by various comrades to \u201ckick-off\u201d discussions. The following poem was submitted by a Tempest Collective member at the conclusion of the convention with the following valediction:<\/em><\/p>\n

to organize in liberation,<\/em>
\nwe practice. Your dear<\/em>
\ncomrade,<\/em>
\n Brian Young Jr.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

\n

Comrade,
\nI know you<\/p>\n

once intangible
\nwe collab-
\norated
\na degree\u2014a screen\u2014
\nseparate were we
\nyet moved
\nI knew
\ncomfort that
\ndissolved the screens
\nand, yes, it was
\nwe.<\/p>\n

you were
\nBaldwin “Beale Street” Black;
\nEmma “no dance, no revolution” white;
\nArundhati “Broken Republic” Brown;
\nyour hair is now Cornel West grey, blown-out like
\nAngie on Court day;
\nyour words bred commitment, John Brown
\nact of faith; and you moved, yes your grace
\nbrought
\nfreedom, freedom from ancient
\nAfrica
\nto lasting Ballrooms of today.<\/p>\n

but screens,
\nI’m reminded of
\nborders
\nthose that separate
\nour common
\nunyielding need
\nfor camaraderie<\/p>\n

we
\ncommuned
\nat Haymarket
\n& were
\nreassured our mission
\nstands in anti-
\nthesis with
\nSisyphus<\/p>\n

that hill\u2014which is our challenge\u2014is life. Its heights stretch
\npast the heavens. Its lows
\npierce Hades. The end,
\nwe know not. But that boulder,
\nthat is our oppression, contains our ancestors’ pain. Their
\nblood runs down my sleeves as I push with you. They were
\ncrushed in battle; on plantations; at borders;
\nin prisons; at gunpoint; on streets; at work; in their homes
\n\u2014their homes weren’t their safe space; by lovers. They were
\ncrushed by lovers,
\neven today.<\/p>\n

We push to reclaim
\ntheir hope
\n\u2014our mission\u2014of liberty. And
\nthere is no sense of futility in you, futility in me.<\/p>\n

And screens
\nwe’ve made
\nutility
\nbut have that
\nwish
\nI had to see
\nI had to have
\nmy faith
\nrestored in this decree:<\/p>\n

We can govern ourselves.
\nI kid you not.<\/p>\n

Now tangible
\nyour height un-
\nproved what
\nI perceived
\nyou were 5-2, 6’3
\n5 feet, 6 feet
\nboth above
\n&
\nin between<\/p>\n

you wore
\nthose blue
\ncasual jeans
\na gold hoop
\nearring
\na hat that matched
\nblack tees
\nyou wore 2pac
\nyou knew, as
\nI know, Killer
\nMike & El-P
\nyour mouth
\nwide open you
\nchortled with glee
\nyou ate\u2014we
\nwere
\nfed.<\/p>\n

And we
\nwe disagreed.<\/p>\n

I ask you
\na question
\ncomrade:<\/p>\n

how might I, how might you,
\nhow might we? Inspire us to
\ndrink from life\u2019s well
\nto trust in its history. Trust
\nas it flows
\nthrough us with
\nthe force of our
\nevolving species.<\/p>\n

How might I inspire you to
\njust keep moving? Keep moving,
\nwhen moving seems a distant fantasy. Keep moving,
\nwhen the rise of the sun encourages the
\nheavy chore of merely arising out of bed. Even when,
\nthose corporate powers seek to solidify as
\nprivate property. Even when, in struggle against that small
\nclass of the so-called elites we suffer a defeat.
\nWe keep moving.
\nAnd not just move.<\/p>\n

We organize, we build, we assert that tangible future of our Socialist vision.<\/p>\n

And comrade
\none more
\nthing:<\/p>\n

Did you know the muscles of those who fight often ache?
\nDid you know those who wish to carry light
\nface the uncertainty of the grey? ‘Cause certainly the night
\nseems unyielding to the hope of a new day. But, I’m reminded that
\nhope is a verb. This I know,
\nI saw you today.<\/p>\n

Featured Image Credit: Eric Cass, for the Tempest Collective.<\/em><\/small><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A poem from Brian Young Jr.<\/strong> in recognition and celebration of the first Tempest Collective<\/em> convention. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":115,"featured_media":4820,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,258],"tags":[260,259],"class_list":["post-4783","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-article","category-creative-writing","tag-2021-convention","tag-poem"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/11\/brianwavepoem.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4783","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/115"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4783"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4783\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4820"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4783"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4783"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tempestmag.org\/test02\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4783"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}