Did you hear about Augusta Georgia
On the eleventh day of May
The year Nineteen and Seventy
It was a fateful day.
The day began as any other
People going to work
Across town to work for the bossman
To scrub the white woman's floor.
The sleepy Savannah was flowing
Same as the day before
But on the backstreet of downtown Augusta.
There was anger at every door.
The police had announced on Sunday
Charles Oatman whose age was sixteen
After being beaten and tortured
Had died in his jail cell, you see.
Was it the police or his black cell mates
It didn't matter at this point in time.
He was a child in an adult's prison
And being black was his major crime.
The soft sobs of his mother and father
Rang heavy through the backstreets of town
My baby is dead, I can't stand it
Why are we all standing around.
Five hundred angry black people
Walked down to City Hall
Silantly saying, it's over
No more will we stay here and crawl.
But over their heads waving proudly
The Confederate stars were massed
The symbol of death and of slavery
Of the present as well as the past.
The young people lunged toward the state flag
Ripped it and tore it down
As if to say this is a new day
They burned it to a curling black flame.
Teargas and machine guns were fired
By police ready near by
The crowd surged back in the struggle
Six black men were going to die.
They found them dead on the sidewalk
Shot in the back everyone
By white men themselves scared of dying
Their fear held tight to a gun.
A week later the ashes were settled
The bodies lay dead in the ground
But a new day had come to the backstreets
That our violence can never put down.
On the eleventh day of May
The year Nineteen and Seventy
It was a fateful day.
The day began as any other
People going to work
Across town to work for the bossman
To scrub the white woman's floor.
The sleepy Savannah was flowing
Same as the day before
But on the backstreet of downtown Augusta.
There was anger at every door.
The police had announced on Sunday
Charles Oatman whose age was sixteen
After being beaten and tortured
Had died in his jail cell, you see.
Was it the police or his black cell mates
It didn't matter at this point in time.
He was a child in an adult's prison
And being black was his major crime.
The soft sobs of his mother and father
Rang heavy through the backstreets of town
My baby is dead, I can't stand it
Why are we all standing around.
Five hundred angry black people
Walked down to City Hall
Silantly saying, it's over
No more will we stay here and crawl.
But over their heads waving proudly
The Confederate stars were massed
The symbol of death and of slavery
Of the present as well as the past.
The young people lunged toward the state flag
Ripped it and tore it down
As if to say this is a new day
They burned it to a curling black flame.
Teargas and machine guns were fired
By police ready near by
The crowd surged back in the struggle
Six black men were going to die.
They found them dead on the sidewalk
Shot in the back everyone
By white men themselves scared of dying
Their fear held tight to a gun.
A week later the ashes were settled
The bodies lay dead in the ground
But a new day had come to the backstreets
That our violence can never put down.
envoyé par Alessandro - 7/4/2010 - 15:14
Come fecero il governatore della Georgia Lester Maddox (un democratico con la fama di segregazionista che di lì a poco sarebbe stato rilevato da Jimmy Carter), ed il sindaco di Augusta George "Buster" Albert Sancken Jr. a riportare l'ordine nel paese dopo tutti quei morti, con la comunità nera sconvolta, ferita e inferocita? Beh, mi auguro che prima di tutto abbiano rimosso lo sceriffo assassino e i suoi tirapiedi (ma non è detto!)... Ma la vera genialata fu quella di mobilitare colui che, allora come oggi, è senz'altro il più famoso figlio di Augusta, un uomo che godeva e gode della stima, dell'ammirazione e dell'amore di tutti gli afro-americani, un artista che già conosceva una fama mondiale, un afro-americano lui stesso che solo un paio di anni prima aveva avuto il coraggio di cantare a squarciagola Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud... Mister Dynamite, Jaaaaames Brown!!!
Eh sì, il 12 maggio 1970 fu proprio "The Godfather of Soul" a tenere ad Augusta un grande concerto che dovette essere, al tempo stesso, una celebrazione dell'orgoglio nero, una sorta di preghiera laica di commiato alle vittime e un rito collettivo di esorcismo della violenza... Testimonianza di quella sera è uno dei più bei dischi live del compianto James Brown con i suoi J.B.'s: "Sex Machine – Recorded Live at Home in Augusta, Georgia, with his Bad Self"
“Several people of good will said let's get together, get a body in place so that something like this will never happen again, Brown played a key role in that,” ricorda Frank Thomas, direttore dell'Augusta Human Relations Commission.
(Fonti 1 2)
(E se quello storico album volete ascoltarvelo... !!!)
Eh sì, il 12 maggio 1970 fu proprio "The Godfather of Soul" a tenere ad Augusta un grande concerto che dovette essere, al tempo stesso, una celebrazione dell'orgoglio nero, una sorta di preghiera laica di commiato alle vittime e un rito collettivo di esorcismo della violenza... Testimonianza di quella sera è uno dei più bei dischi live del compianto James Brown con i suoi J.B.'s: "Sex Machine – Recorded Live at Home in Augusta, Georgia, with his Bad Self"
“Several people of good will said let's get together, get a body in place so that something like this will never happen again, Brown played a key role in that,” ricorda Frank Thomas, direttore dell'Augusta Human Relations Commission.
(Fonti 1 2)
(E se quello storico album volete ascoltarvelo... !!!)
Alessandro - 7/4/2010 - 21:50
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Album “Broadside Ballads, Vol. 5: Time is Running Out”, Folkways Records.
L’esercito aveva appena sparato sui giovani della Kent University nell’Ohio, e di lì a pochi giorni avrebbe riaperto il fuoco sui giovani della Jackson, nel Mississippi…
Tra quelle due terribili “prove di forza” di un potere violento ed agonizzante si situa un episodio altrettanto grave, ma purtroppo dimenticato dai più: il 9 maggio 1970 ad Augusta, in Georgia, un nero di sedici anni, Charles Oatman, fu arrestato dalla polizia locale e poche ore dopo morì nel carcere di Richmond County in seguito alle percosse ed alle torture inflittegli da agenti e secondini… Ovviamente le autorità negarono tutto: prima dissero che era stato picchiato dai suoi compagni di cella, ma non furono in grado di spiegare perché un minorenne fosse finito in mezzo a detenuti adulti… Allora cambiarono versione e dissero che era “caduto” (e il mio pensiero non può non correre subito a Stefano Cucchi e ad Aldo Bianzino e a Federico Aldrovandi e a tanti altri nostri morti)… Due giorni dopo, centinaia di neri incazzati neri si raccolsero in un parco cittadino per poi dirigersi verso la prigione, e lì furono affrontati dagli uomini dello sceriffo E. F. Atkins e del suo luogotenente Jim Beck. La polizia, prima ancora di parlamentare con i leader della protesta, sparò gas lacrimogeni scatenando la confusione e gli scontri che ne seguirono… Il mattino seguente c’erano sei corpi a terra, tutti di maschi di colore colpiti alla schiena da proiettili in dotazione alle forze di polizia…
(Fonte)