In silence, I stand
Nipples bared and bowed
To the bravery of the stolen
Of the forgotten voices
Of the raped
Of the tortured
Of those killed in the name of freedom
I bare my body
I surrender this suit
I plaster truth
I carve it into the bones of me
Until the world hears
En Chile torturan violan y matan.
“In Chile they torture, rape and kill.”
The story behind the poem My Body, My Protest, begins with me stumbling into bed at 4:30am, slightly (or not so slightly) intoxicated after a night out dancing. I was doing the habitual scroll through my Instagram timeline when I came across an E! News post detailing the events occurring at the Latin Grammy’s. This is where I first saw Mon Laferte’s political red carpet protest moment, where she completely bares her chest to strategically raise awareness of the grotesque acts of police brutality taking place in Chile right now.
Chile is currently experiencing a season of political unrest as thousands exercise their political right to protest. Protesters are taking to the streets to express their fury at the establishment and are demanding social reforms to address the high levels of inequality the country is experiencing.
Here is a useful link for more details on what is happening/has happened in Chile during the protests: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-50512093?intlink_from_url=https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/topics/c452lzylemmt/chile-protests&link_location=live-reporting-story
In summary, 22 people have been killed as a result of excessive police force, while thousands have been seriously injured, tortured and/or sexually assaulted. These are absolutely abhorrent acts of injustice and I was profoundly moved by this whole situation, compelling me to write something about it then and there. I deeply admire Mon Laferte for using her platform to raise awareness of the human rights abuses that are happening all over the world. Mon Laferte reminded us all that our bodies are not merely sexual tools, they are powerful vessels – holding, giving and supporting life.
Here Mon Laferte chose to use her body to express a significant message. She utilised the power of the naked female form to highlight our human right to protest, to challenge norms, to shake systems, to change the world.
I am the tower
I am home
I am family
I am security
I am where safety should be
I am where you can let your guard down
Until…
Friction.
Two opposing forces cause a spark
Left in me because too many believe me to be
An eye sore,
The reason you clutch your purse tighter,
A reminder of the unattractive reality of poverty,
When you would much rather
Be left behind the veil of ignorance
Wealth gifts you.
So they give me a ten million pound paint job
To cover the cracks of financial inequality
Without actually dealing with the problem
– This becomes the fuel
To the fire left in me by the scornful eyes of the rich
By the powerful
Who measure worth by bank balances
They are the fuel to the fire that grows in me in the quiet, unsuspecting cover of night.
But, unfortunately, in this case
The fire is not a metaphor for love
The fire is not a metaphor for passion, for intensity, for purpose, for pleasure.
The fire is a fire
The fire is death
The fire is pain
The fire is destruction
The fire is neglect
The fire is the government, the biggest furnace of corruption
The fire is a life destroying entity
The fire is trauma
The fire is hate
The fire is what happens when we neglect social wounds; such as classism, racism and inequality
For so long
They begin to fester and persist.
For I am no more
No more am I the myriad of lives, loved ones, hopes and dreams that inhabited me.
I am now a derelict shadow
That will not be not be ignored, society.
Society is the ashes, in which the
Phoenix will rise.
“Aleppo has become a synonym for hell” they say
When I switch over to the 12’o’clock news
And my mind meditates on the rhetoric.
Hell hath no fury like a government scorned
I think to myself
As I realise
How poorly reported this whole travesty has been.
I see women
Walking dead
But alive enough to see the bones of their children
Mothers, brothers, sisters, lovers.
Decomposing, decrepit. But trust me, she suffers the worst death.
I see children
Numbed with pain
Too young to be this conscious
Of the harsh realities of this world
“Aleppo is a place where the children have stopped crying” they say
All these victims – merely pawns in the devil’s chess game
But what I do not see
Are the culprits in chains, or
News reporters, screaming, losing their shit as they damn
The power hungry, the murderous
Who sit in suits and orchestrate deaths
Who use rape as a weapon of war
To silence the outraged, to assert their dominance
I want to see our government
Accepting responsibility for the part they’ve played
For the moves they’ve made
That have contributed to the pain that echoes in the walls, in the halls
And in the hearts of everywhere and everything in Aleppo that the bombs have missed
That the militiamen have yet to demolish
That the Syrian government have yet to devastate
That the Russian government have yet to destroy
“This tragedy was created by a vacuum of Western leadership, of American leadership, of British leadership” they say
And I accept through gritted teeth
May we one day come to appreciate the privilege and right to life
We so carelessly take from others
And I want the shame of this to saturate
And lead to productive action
From all that can
From all that should
From all
Welcome to Ruth's Rhapsody 