“Sermon of the Dreamers” by John Warner Smith
Poet Laureate of Louisiana, 2019–2021
Shortly after being appointed the Poet Laureate of Louisiana, I was contacted by the Iberia African American Historical Society (IAAHS) to compose and read an original poem to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the expulsion of eight African American leaders in Iberia Parish in 1944. Four of the leaders were doctors. The IAAHS was founded in 2017 to research the long and rich history of African Americans in Iberia Parish, to educate the public on that history through community talks and publications, to commemorate the history through the installation of historical markers, and to preserve local sites that mark the history of African Americans in Iberia Parish.
The commemorative activities of the 1944 expulsion culminated on November 16, 2019 with the unveiling of an official state marker honoring the service of the African American leaders.
In writing the poem, I wanted to capture the historical context of slavery, Jim Crow, and the civil rights movement, as well as the current social, political, and economic struggles of African Americans. The poem is written in two parts, the first of which speaks in the voice of slave masters and the second in the voice of African Americans. The reading was produced as a podcast by Southern Hollows.
|
I later agreed to pay for the design and layout of a trifold of the poem and donate the flyer to the IAAHS for public distribution. The IAAHS agreed to print the flyer at their expense.
Sermon of the Dreamers
Commemorating the 75th Anniversary
of the Expulsion of Black Leaders in Iberia Parish, Louisiana
Come therefore, let us now kill him,
and cast him into some pit; and we shall say,
‘Some wild beast has devoured him.’
We shall see what will become of his dreams!
--Genesis 37:20
I.
We have the guns.
Let us hunt and cage the Africans,
bestial and void of soul,
plunder their paltry possessions,
strip them of country, language,
birth name and heritage,
sail them far
from the earth they till,
beyond their forests,
hills and shores,
beyond memory,
and dare them to look back.
We have the guns.
Let us own the Africans
until death, brand them
like beasts, use them
to make profit of our fields,
berate and bullwhip them,
silence their drums
and songs of redemption,
and dare them to fight.
We have the guns.
Let us make laws
to keep the Africans unfree.
Muzzle them.
Lock them up.
Bolt our doors.
Banish their leaders.
Bury our books.
Forbid them to seek,
find, and teach
the power of knowing,
and dare them to dream.
II.
We are the dreamers:
African Americans,
Louisianians,
Iberians,
born of fire and rock,
children of a God
who can’t be chained,
a spirit that can’t be broken.
Oh America, our country tis of thee,
come with us.
Walk the fields
of death and degradation
that made you rich and powerful,
the past that portends
your future—our journey
across gut-churning seas
and bitter, blistering plains,
through streams of shed blood,
the past that no night falls,
no deafness, silence or shut eyes,
no brightly gleaming dawns
will ever bury or fade.
Come with us, America.
Trace the bombast and hypocrisy
in godly beliefs and declarations
you spoke, all the gardens not blooming
of seeds you sowed long ago.
Trace the innocence you ravaged,
making fears of our days,
and the poverty you made
of race and color
with walls that smothered hopes
of our families and children.
Oh beautiful, America,
land that we love, follow
all the hell you gave us
over centuries of suffering.
Walk the wilderness
and stony roads we trod,
barefoot and burdened,
through the valley,
to the mountaintop
where we now stand—free,
unbent and unbroken,
standing
for Turner, Tubman and Douglass,
Du Bois and Hamer,
Rosa, Malcolm and Martin,
for Jesse Washington,
Emmett Till, Alton Sterling,
and victims of hate and injustice
of all races and creeds,
standing
for loving mothers and fathers
with children going wherever
their dreams can take them,
never forgetting
the harrowing, horrifying nights
when Hardy, Pierson, Williams and Faulk
were brutally beaten,
driven out of town,
dumped into a road,
and told to walk fast,
don’t look back,
and don’t return,
if they wanted to see
another morning sun,
never forgetting
why Lilly, Volter, Dorsey and Scoggins,
seeing the same flames of hate
jetting toward their doors,
hurriedly packed and left town,
leaving all they had built
and the bright futures
their sacrifices had promised.
Oh America,
our beautiful, beloved,
sweet land of liberty,
we stand strong and mighty
for them and millions more,
in God’s village,
armed with faith,
overlooking the valley,
honey dripping from the rock,
sunlight draping our shoulders,
drums beating, voices lifted,
the past in our gaze,
and the future in our hands,
fighting back, marching on,
and we ain’t gonna let nobody
turn us around.