From Hour of Assassins and Other Poems by Cecil Rajendra. London: Bogle- L’Ouverture Publications, 1982.
I am always struck by the universality of the images and themes that Mr. Rajendra raises in this poem. Here are a few examples that come to mind:
When small liberties began to fray . . . . In St. Petersburg, Florida, where I live, the Florida Holocaust Museum has a permanent display that I have always found to be particularly important, as a lawyer, because it reminds me that the law can be used to cause great harm. This display includes a timeline showing how the laws in pre-war Nazi Germany were changed over a period of six years to disenfranchise, restrict, persecute, and isolate Jewish people. The first wave of what would ultimately be more than four hundred antisemitic laws and regulations was focused on restricting Jewish citizens from civil service and other aspects of public life.
When their newspapers were shut down. Thomas Jefferson recognized the importance of the free press to American democracy: “No government ought to be without censors: and where the press is free, no one ever will.” Even prior to the pandemic, more than twenty percent of the newspapers in the United States went out of business during the prior fifteen years, according to an article in the New York Times. In addition, the past few months have brought attention to the serious crackdown on independent media and access to online information in Russia.
When might became right and their friends were carried off screaming in the pitch of night. Every day, we read about individuals in Ukraine being forcibly deported to Russia. In our own country, more than one hundred thousand Japanese Americans were forced to leave their homes to be incarcerated in internment camps that were euphemistically called “relocation centers” during World War II.
These images—both historical and contemporary—are so bleak and so painful that sometimes, hope is in short supply. Mr. Rajendra reminds us that our hope is in not turning away, even when “the truth burns.”
In preparing this anthology, I found—and was inspired by—a number of examples, both historical and contemporary, of what not turning away might look like. Some of these voices come from the past and are quite famous: Elizabeth Barrett Browning denounced slavery at great personal and professional cost. Langston Hughes powerfully invoked images of crushing poverty. Edna St. Vincent Millay dared to suggest that “America the beautiful” could become an America that is “beautiful nowhere” if apathy toward the American “cause” continues to prevail. Other voices may be unfamiliar to many readers but are, thankfully, still with us: Naomi Ortiz and Stephen Lightbown are strong voices in the disability justice movement. John Brandi challenges us to see incarcerated persons as persons. Dee Allen requires us to reckon with homelessness through the eyes of a person who has experienced it.
As we continue to have conversations about what it means for us to strive toward “a more perfect union,” I hope some of these voices will serve to inspire and challenge you, as they have me.