A poem
dedicated to victims of lifestyle police everywhere:
We'll ransack your home, tear your family apart;
Take your children away, and that's just a start.
We'll take or destroy everything you hold dear,
And leave your heart heavy with anger and fear.
Concerned citizens are easily found,
Who believe all the lies we've been spreading around;
We'll threaten and bully the weak and the poor,
Til we get a warrant to knock down your door.
We'll swear under oath that the rumors are true,
Then be on our way to terrorize you.
While others may know us by different names,
The m.o. of drug cops is always the same.
A battering ram, a percussion grenade,
Signal the start of another drug raid;
Looking like Nazis, in black riot gear;
No police badges or uniforms here;
We break and we enter, guns drawn in case
You try to protect your family or place.
The crimes we commit in our quest to control
Are justified means to a glorious goal:
A drug-free America, even if we
Take away all of your rights to be free.
Protections of privacy, gone by the way;
Oppression is really a small price to pay
For knowing your family is safe and secure
From dangerous drugs and their deadly allure.
Drugs that are evil, Satan's own kind,
Possessing your soul, your heart and your mind.
We know it's a lie, but we'll never back down;
No matter the cost, we won't be turned around,
For we have no courage, no conscience, no heart,
To undo the damage done; no place to start.
Our make-believe war has become the real thing,
With all of the suffering that real wars can bring.
Our power is awesome; our brotherhood strong;
If you stand against us, you won't stand for long.
The fear we instill in your family and friends
Will cause them to scatter, like dust in the wind.
Violent drug raids put your children in danger;
We'll take them away and we'll give them to strangers;
Then we'll blame the loss of the ones that you love
On evil, illegal, dangerous drugs.
a poem
Comment posted by rita on Sat, 10/06/2007 - 12:47pmI know what you mean, Mojo; I love to read, but reading (novels, even) about life under Naziism or South Africa under apartheid makes me want to puke. In fact, after my first raid, after a friend of ours was shot to death in another raid, my mom (a WWII veteran) said that she felt like she went sleep in the US and woke up in Nazi Germany.
I graduated high school in 1971 -- the US was by no means perfect then, by it seemed that we were well on the way. My grandchildren, however, will grow up in a police state.
Please feel free to copy, e-mail, print or otherwise share this poem -- I have more.
poem
Comment posted by rita on Sat, 02/16/2008 - 12:02pmI posted it on the Drug Policy Alliance forum and Wierd Harold put it on his website but as I just ended four years of probation, to be perfectly honest, I'm still a little skittish about speaking too freely. I'm working on that, though, and, as I said, feel free to copy, e-mail and otherwise share it yourself -- thanks for the input.
And thanks, mojo, for sharing yours.










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a poem
Comment posted by rita on Sat, 10/06/2007 - 12:36pmThanks for your comment; I know two 23-year-old brothers and their 19-year-old sister, victims of a violent drug raid when they were much younger, all now in prison -- it could be that they would have ended up there anyway, but they never really had a chance.
My agenda is to see an end to the war and end to the violence; to that end I wish (selfishly, maybe) more people who have experienced it first-hand would speak up -- but then, I was 50 when I got raided the first time; maybe it's easier for me, since I was more angered than scared by the whole thing.