Congo, a Poem

I have to wonder why more women, in particular, are not raising attention; flying flags and freaking out over what women are enduring in D.R. Congo.

(CLEVELAND) - As Salem-News.com Reporter Jennifer Fierberg wrote this week in her article, Mass Rape in D.R. Congo: Where is the end to suffering?, we were updated on the continual, brutal mass rapes in the Democratic Republic Congo. Reports continue to surface on every day and they are ugly.

And in spite of the horrific, unaccaptable nature of these terrible crimes, most continue, quite tragically, to turn their their back on the indescribable suffering of women.

Women, they count for far more than their fellow human beings are apparently willing to admit. Even just twenty years ago, the suffering was discussed regularly, people were angry and considered brutality unacceptable.

But then came George W. Bush. As a U.S. President, he refocused our attention on the importance of waging wars in far flung parts of the world that never legitimately deserved the wrath of America's high tech military weaponry.

When it comes to the plight of women in the Congo, being gang raped by groups of ten men or more, the reaction is easy for many to simply turn the page to another story; it is not in their neighborhood, backyard or happening to their body.

I have to wonder why more women are not raising attention, but then we are distracted, heavily distracted, by occurrences ranging from natural disasters like the one in Japan, to the man-made ones often titled as collateral damage in places like Afghanistan. Some of us find that term highly insulting.

Congo

If only America the great protector could be so bold,
Ah! But, there’s no diamonds, no oil, aka black gold,
So why are we still in Afghanistan? How come Iraq?
Is not being gang raped 10 at a time a serious attack?

And yet it would be hard to help those away from home,
While in military academies we cannot protect our own,
The case for innocence, Jamie Leigh Jones & all the rest,
In uniform, LaVena Johnson, Amy Tirador, Morganne McBeth.

Brutal mass rapes in D.R. Congo occur on a daily basis,
We shudder to think of tears mixed in with bloody faces,
Surely after you have been repeatedly beaten by throngs,
It’s death or you accept defeat & painfully suffer wrong.

Sometimes 100 helpless women are kidnapped in one night,
As it is impossible with a gun in your face to put up a fight,
Democratic Republic of Congo is a woman’s worst nightmare,
However, if America won’t get justice here how will they there?

And these aren’t rumors of unrest because the reports are factual,
Any entity ready, willing & able to assist Amnesty International?
Some say it is their government’s fault, after all they are corrupt,
Villages of old men, women & children yes they’re sitting ducks.

Okay, billions are pledged to save the failing economy of Greece,
High tech weapons for good guys are stolen from Mexican Police,
Nothing more than armed street thugs, this army of the Congolese,
Waiting on our help what’s the saying about hell beginning to freeze?

Where there is no monetary reward how little we value others lives,
More coverage in America about Saudi women not allowed to drive,
Make an effort to check, www.atma-foundation.org as it’s a sure bet,
Until something valuable is found in the Congo, the our country forget.

By Luke Easter

Luke Easter is a poet who writes about things that are very close to the heart of Salem-News.com. Another former U.S. Marine, Luke heals the world with an approach that reaches people on a different level, one known for centuries, yet too often forgotten in the one we live in.

We live in a world of social & economic injustice. The main reason for founding America in the first place was to relieve the oppression of the King of England. Patrick Henry said it best, “give me liberty or give me death.” And yet, all too often death seems to be the only way out. Why is there such a high suicide rate especially among teens, in the land of the free & the home of the brave? What makes headlines? Good news? Ha! More depressing stories than anything else. I feel poetry takes an edge off the hurt of bad news while still delivering it but in a, “glitzy” sort of way. Giving a different perspective. Kind of like slap in the face as opposed to a knife in the back. At least with the slap you’ll live to see another day and you will know whom it’s from. I wasn’t here for the beginning of the world but at 59, I just might be here for the end.

Even though it’s still a knife, rhyme poetry helps to dull the blade. And that’s my job. You can write to Luke Easter at: lyricsfromlucas@aol.com