So there's this guy in history right? Cause history's a thing that people are in.
His name is Bayard Rustin. He is one of the- we wouldn't have the civil rights movement if it wasn't
for Bayard Rustin. He was a mentor, confidant, speechwriter for Dr. Martin Luther King, he
organized the march on washington for rights in jobs where King made the famous “I have
a dream” speech. You will rarely ever hear about him unless you watch a lot of PBS because-
some of you probably do- you rarely hear about him because he was a queer man in the midst
of all this. And it was very much a hush hush thing, and it saddens me because I’m queer,
and I’m like why, Bay, why? So yeah. This poem is for him. It starts with a quote from
Bayard:
"We are all one and if we don’t know it by now, we shall learn"
Skin of gospel, Truthful eyes like grey clouds
That threaten to soak, then pour, You are a rainy Sunday in our history
Something holy, necessary, giant But forgotten and neglected for brighter days.
How could they push you into the back pew? More treacherous than a closet,
Seated you someplace to be unseen, Unheard, needed your brain, your soul, your
fire, Your face was not welcome, kept locked in
a box somewhere, You were always trying to free someone,
Forever trying to escape something, Eternally the prisoner.
God imagined you into a knight, But King and his court fashioned you into a jester,
Clown, queer, Your skin the right color,
You lover the wrong sin, Men, your capturer and your release,
You just wanted to free them. You just wanted them free to work, to love,
to grow, To know life unlimited,
To taste freedom unfiltered, You dreamed America Beautiful,
But black boys who couldn’t ‘get right’ Were nightmares.
Bayard Rustin, The movement was not for you,
Your skin, yes, but your heart, that’s a stretch,
They were ashamed of you, Bayard No matter what you spoke into existence,
Or what you breathed life into, Your lips were contradictions,
because you kissed men, This was a movement of the church, Amen.
How could you lead them? What was your agenda?
What would it look like if the leader of the black movement
Turned out to be a faggot? You humbly bow into in the shadows.
You were a risk, A danger to the cause too priceless to give up
They needed you,
needed your fire
Or else everything might have burned, You kept that movement from being cinders,
Cedar skinned angel, What was your gospel?
What kept you company in the shadows?
Bayard, did you ever grow tired of the beatings?
When the licks of enemies hurt less than the tongues of friends
Did you ever hand ever clench? Did you ever throw that fist
When they were surrounding you with nooses
and torches Ready, everything around you in flames,
And they were calling you flaming, and nigger, and faggot, and coon, fairy,
barely human. When the monsters were surrounding you, ready to butcher,
What did you pray?
Whose face was painted On the back of your eyelids
To keep you at peace? What kept you moving?
What kept you fighting? How deeply did you love your people?
Did you know that everything
you worked for would not bare your name,
The marches, the fights, freedom,
Today we owe our lives to you, For your selflessness,
For your sacrifice, You historyless man,
Forgotten prophet, Savior dressed in shadows,
you made us one. If we don't know your name,
we'll learn it.