Kings Of History (with back-story)

This is a poem I wrote on April 29, 1992, the night of the "Rodney King" riots in Los Angeles. I wrote it while watching the riots unfold all night on the television newscasts.

In light of the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri, and the revelations of other killings by police of black men around the country, and then the subsequent shootings of police officers in New York City, I decided to pull my poem out and re-read it. It was surprising and frustrating to me that it remains so relevant in addressing what is still going on, when it comes to race relations in our country.

It just seems to me that we never address the real problems. All we ever address are the symptoms. It's the same old story of alienation and inequality that has plagued our country for so long, with no end in sight.

It's been 50 years since the civil rights act. It's been over twenty years since the L.A. riots of 1992, surrounding the Rodney King verdict. We didn't address the problems then, just like we aren't addressing them now.

Oh yeah, we will address the symptoms all day long, and plaster them on the evening news all night long. People are rioting, looting, burning. That is against the law. That is the problem. Bring in the State Police! Bring in the National Guard! These people are law-breakers and must be stopped.

But those are the symptoms. We never address the underlying problems of WHY! Why are these people rioting and looting. Why is the frustration of people played out in violence on the streets?

It is because the changes needed are not really happening. Inequality and racism are the sick underbelly of our nation.

When the L.A. Riots happened in 1992, I was right smack dab in the middle of them. I was working in the Ahmanson Theatre on "Phantom Of The Opera." The Ahmanson Theatre, in the L.A. Music Center, is two blocks away from Parker Center in downtown Los Angeles. We were
backstage, waiting for the stage manager to call "Places" and we saw the riots on the news as they unfolded.

The show went on (of course the show must go on), but when the show ended, an announcement was made that Parker Center was under siege, the freeway on-ramp was in flames and National Guard Humvees were patrolling the perimeter of the Music Center. They said all audience and
crew needed to stay in the theatre until it was safe to leave.

About an hour later, around 11:00 PM, they announced that the freeway on-ramp was no longer in flames, and that we could leave carefully. I got safely to my car and headed home, which was in Mar Vista. As I drove west along the Santa Monica freeway, I looked to my left and was
surprised to see how many spots in the city were in flames. It looked like a war zone out of a movie. It was an image I will never forget.

I got home, turned on the news spent the rest of the night all night long, watching my city burn. And while I did, I wrote this poem. It relates what happened that night and it relates what is still happening now in our country.

The next day, I printed up hundreds of copies of my poem, went down to the Venice Beach Boardwalk, and handed them out to people all day long.

Will we ever learn? Will we ever evolve as human beings to a place where this insidious racism does not polarize us?

Here is the poem I wrote. It is titled "Kings Of History."

KINGS OF HISTORY

The "Kings"
     in our country
always get hurt.
Why is the world
still groveling in the dirt
 . . . searching for justice?

Another riot in the street.
Another fanning of the racial flame.
A "King" was broken
in the street
and no one gets the blame.

It's not a mystery;
just another piece of history
that the media fuels the flames of
for all to see.

Buildings continue to burn
throughout the city.
Prayers for peace
     call out
all around.
You wonder . . .
"Is humanity or justice
being served?"
as you watch
     all over
          your city
burning to the ground.

Why do they never listen
when we cry out for equality?
The true "Kings" of our country
     call out
through eternity.
Martin Luther King, Lincoln,
John & Bobby Kennedy
     When will we finally listen?
     When will we finally see?

Why do we have to sacrifice
     so much
for so little gain?
It's about human rights.
And it's happening . . .
     once again.

It's not a mystery;
just another piece of history
that the media fuels the flames of
for all to see.

Buildings continue to burn
throughout the city.
Prayers for peace
     call out
all around.
You wonder . . .
"Is humanity or justice
being served?"
as you watch
     all over
          your city
burning to the ground.

It's no mystery
that pent-up feelings
have taken to the streets.
But death and destruction
do not bring solution;
they only increase the pain
of an already open wound.

Why do joblessness, homelessness,
depression, frustration
and anger . . .
seem rampant everywhere?

Why do unjustified murder
and beatings
go virtually unnoticed
in every town square?

Why are executions being justified
and war glorified?
Yet no one around you
seems to care.

It's no wonder that anguish,
pain and alienation
are now once again played out
on the streets of our nation.

Why do the "Kings"
     in our country
always get hurt?

It's not a mystery;
just another piece of history
that the media fuels the flames of
for all to see.

Buildings continue to burn
throughout the city.                                            
Prayers for peace
     call out
all around.
You wonder...
"Is humanity or justice
being served?"
as you watch
     all over
          your city
burning to the ground.

       C. Steven Blue 4/29/1992