Protest Poetry

Sadie Overstreet read her poem, “The Difference You Make” to a crowd of students protesting ICE abuses at the Jan. 13 Lewis and Clark High School walkout.

The Difference You Make

Sadie Overstreet

It sickens me to sit here listening

To the big men and their bickering

The ‘he-said, she-said' distraction

While the real problems are gaining traction

If I could speak to the man in the chair

I would ask why he thinks he belongs up there

Because it’s not for the people

Unless that person is himself

It’s not for justice

The law is only enforced when broken by someone else

It’s not for dignity

Actively stripping away our God-given liberties

It’s not for the constitution

As every day we get further away from what we fought for in the revolution.

But still. We lick from the fingers that feed us crumbs

Forgetting what the crumbs are keeping us from

We feed what we are being fed

Because that’s just the way the American people were bread

But today we refuse to blindly follow

Today we are chasing the change of tomorrow

It would pain me to pretend that I’m not scared.

I feel helpless and stupid, useless and unprepared.

What difference do I make?

No one’s getting freed for my sake.

But somewhere out there,

A little girl is screaming.

Down on her knees, begging, pleading.

Somewhere out there,

A little boy is crying

Because while he was watching his mother dying

He realized the world does not care.

They don’t care because it’s just “somewhere out there”.

That little boy and that little girl aren’t allowed to speak a word.

Their cries and screams and childish dreams: whispers that won’t be heard.

They exist in a corrupt kind of quiet.

You can try, but you can’t fight with silence.

You can’t win by being compliant

We can’t afford to be complacent

Revolutions start in the dark of a basement.

So when the world is wrought with rage

We must place ourselves upon a stage.

And when the world is infected with violence

And we find ourselves suppressed into silence

Remember that we have what others do not;

We have the freedom, the freedom to talk.

To stand together and peacefully walk.

We have a choice.

We can choose to use our voice.

And it hurts in my chest

Does it burn in yours too?

Do you feel that fire

That spark inside of you?

Hold onto your thoughts

Let them flicker and fester

Let them burrow and burn

Recycle and pester

Speak for those

Who cannot speak for themselves

Remember that you represent

More than yourself.

Your words matter.

So go, write them down.

You have thoughts

All that’s left is sound.

Be so loud

That no one can ignore.

Not the man in the chair,

Not the neighbors next door.

I’m so glad you’re here.

And I bet the world is, too.

Don’t discount your worth.

Every person matters. I’m talking about you.

Claire McConnell gives a passionate speech and reads a poem at the Jan. 13 Lewis and Clark ICE protest.

Courtesy of Sol Yoon

Icy Streets

Claire McConnell

There’s a chill in the air and there is ICE in every street.  

Cold, white snow enfolds the ground and brown soil underneath. 

Old men groan as they wipe the snow from off their boots- 

A country young, from others gone, we plant our brand-new flower SHOOTS 

But now he 

Shoots in every direction 

And then only one. 

Bang. 

Bang.  

Bang. 

The bloody drip freezes in small, icy sections. 

The brown soil, red, before Spring could come.  

Men in hoods arrive along with the icy storm 

Covered head to toe but it seldom keeps them warm 

They use their boots to stomp on the healthy flower sprouts 

They take angry breaths that go in and out. 

And out. 

And out. 

And out. 

Till there is nothing left but shallow breath. 

We try to lay our heads by counting white sheep 

One sheep 

Two sheep 

Three sheep. 

For now, our country is almost at its death. 

We watch our voices turn to mist, cold air stealing our deep breaths.  

... 

I see a blizzard approaching from the east. 

It’s howling voice deceives: It’s all ok. 

K. 

K. 

Flood and fog cloud all our streets- 

Children are no longer allowed out to play 

But under the frost a memorial waits 

A revolution against a white, icy state. 

Through the fog, a smoky visage of freedom appears

With the expression of hope despite the presence of fear.