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(en) They murdered an anarchist

From nawrocki@istar.ca (norman nawrocki)
Date Tue, 24 Jul 2001 03:58:47 -0400 (EDT)

      A - I N F O S  N E W S  S E R V I C E

They murdered an anarchist

He lay on his back in the street
eyes closed, arms at his side, legs, akimbo,
blue jeans but shirtless
He looked almost peaceful,
except for the massive pool of blood
that trickled out of two bullet holes to his head,
This young anarchist, Carlo Guiliani, 23 years old,
would never again protest, dance, sing,
attend meetings, or embrace friends
brush his teeth, or cook breakfast
or love another anymore
murdered in cold blood by police
on a sunny afternoon in Genoa Italy

Moments later, Carlo encircled
the globe, entering homes thousands
of kilometres away via the Internet
photographed from a dozen different angles
once passionate, alive and angry
seconds later, silenced and still
felled by two gun shots
then run over by a police jeep
escaping the murder scene

Millions of us never knew you, Carlo,
anarchist brother,
But now your name is stencilled
on the tongues of the speechless,
your lifeless body now fixed in the minds of the incredulous
immortalized on the front page of newspapers
you, alone, within a circle of dozens of blue-helmeted, riot cops,
staring vacantly,
and puzzled over your corpse
Carlo, you died like a butchered dog in the street,
so that a gang of
wealthy, powerful criminals could shake hands, smile,
slap each others' backs and drink fine Italian wine
safely, knowing they had a 20,000 strong
body guard, prepared to
tear gas, beat and even
murder protestors like you, like us,
to allow them to conduct their sordid business uninterrupted
We know they are not troubled by the death of one anarchist,
or a handful of anarchists,
They oversee the daily violence of the State, of Capitalism
obliterating whole families, communities, towns, regions, tribes
the needless, preventable deaths of millions worldwide
One less 'troublemaker' won't stop them

But Carlo you tried
and they made you pay with your life

Your blood Carlo, was hosed away into sewers
where it mingled with the blood of the homeless,
with the blood of those forced to beg & starve everyday.
with the blood of broken boned, poisoned, beaten workers,
men, women & children
with the blood of others who died at the hands of police,
soldiers and hired assassins
your blood infused them all with a fierce rage
the rage of the forgotten, the voiceless, the expendable
victims of a money-crazed world gone mad
and this  blood red  rage, rose from the sewers, and
poured out of the mouths of screeching rats
and spilled into the streets of Genoa, into
palaces, boardrooms, reception halls, limosines
and stained them all red, a carpet of blood
it overflowed into rivers & oceans
touched continents far away and
crept onto beaches at night staining them red
it oozed its way onto signed agreements, memos
and documents that seal our fate, but  which we never see
& stained them red, too
to remind everyone of the rage of those like Carlo,
who die so others can profit
to remind them that this blood red rage
has just begun

- Norman Nawrocki,
  Montreal, 21/7/01

Norman Nawrocki

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