June 1, 1865
September 2, 1945
November 30, 1955
What is this common infamy?
All are on the wrong side of history.
The day before monumental events
Shaped and formed
our moral compass
our very humanity.
And one day–in the not too distant future–
Oh God I hope and pray
that this season of atrocities too will take its place
at history’s gate
closed out from what is decent and moral and just
The tearing of child from a travel weary breast
The haunting sobs “Papa, Papa”
The dusty and dirty and disoriented, alone
in the heat of a desert, with not a thing to call their own
Even language escapes them.
Running with desperation from future of despair
Toward arms which promise
the huddled masses,
yearning to breathe free
And yet with malicious and selfish intent
Arms do not liberate,
but separate and incarcerate
All as political plea
A scourge on the very fabric
Our collective moral fiber
We are marked again
on the wrong side of History
in a mutiny of everything that defines us as human;
All who have ears to hear let them listen…
History will judge us
as standing on her wrong side–
when the stories are told
and the generations look back
they will ask of us…
How could that happen?
Why did people let that happen?
And humility will wave her long finger in the faces of those who dug in their heels and say
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