GORILLA THEATER – a poem from Kevin ‘Rashid’ Johnson

“Flip their script …
from gorilla to guerillas”

Who is King Kong? You say he me? Hell naw, you wrong!
Yeah, they called us both “ape” from day one.
And we was both kings back home,
The Kongo for one.
And just like Kong,
We was defiant and strong.
And yeah, he big and black,
like a whole society of us.
And was haunted from dawn to dusk,
just
to capture for the sake
of enriching a nation of united snakes.
Chained to stakes
in filthy ships’ holds,
abducted to be sold
as a spectacle.
Expected to
make the slaver a fortune in gold,
smiling like sambos.
Hell no!
Slaver think we supposed
to curb our outrage.
Claim he done us a favor
saved us
from our backward ways –
by puttin’ us in a cage.
To entertain our oppressor,
our possessor.
Be his happy slaves.
Be his buck.
But now, we bucked,
broke our chains
set them self-righteous, lily-white
spectators to flight.
Outta spite!
Cuz they felt alright,
making a joke of our plight.
Put their gorilla theater to flames.
They think they right,
claim we insane.
Say we wrong for fighting to be free,
for making a mockery
of their civilization,
shittin’ all over their tehnology.
Easily
finding cracks and footholds to scale their walls,
with natural dexterity.
Still lookin’ to reign tall.
Now they gotta look up at me!
No! Stop! The slaver say:
Cuz your nimble hands and feet,
was made to serve me,
to dance, compete, be my athlete.
But stay away from Fay Wray!
He say
she forbidden fruit!
But he use her too.
I mean ain’t it funny,
even the woman he supposed to cherish
just an object to make money.
To berate. Dominate.
But the ape
treated her better than her own mate.
Kinda why it was fate,
she felt a soft spot for ol’ Kong.
Her own misery
made her see
the slavers was wrong,
But she was pampered not strong.
Afraid to put her neck on the line,
for a gorilla
like he did for her
when she was in a bind.
She was blind.
And even when she tried to break out
her own detention
a breakaway slave sojourner
had to save her convention.
But WASPs got twisted minds,
rape Kong’s kind,
then claim when we demand freedom,
we talkin’ ’bout Fay Ray’s behind.
He say, “She mine!”
Won’t turn her loose.
But our struggle inspires her
to wanna bust loose.
‘Til white reaction bring out the guns and noose.
Then she bail, leave us jailed,
inside she vacillate.
Watch them pierce, flail and flagellate,
our flesh and
concentrate
their firepower and incinerate.
To teach the untamed ape
by lynching, a lesson
’bout rebellin’,
with guns branded by Smith and Wesson.
And we suppose to just take shit.
But, hell naw! We don’t buy it.
Like Kong we go ape shit.
They call it inner-city riot…
Insurrection,
and declare a state of emergency.
But we need direction,
to stage a real insurgency
to get free.
That’s why they aim to slay and scourge,
leaders like Malcolm X, Comrade George,
Fred Hampton, MLK.
They target the head
to make us easy to play
against ourselves
and make us easy prey.
Til we exterminated,
the nightmare scenario eliminated.
Manufactured white fright vindicated.
Distorting class contradictions
with ones based on skin.
A distraction
from united action
against the rich white men,
who got
Black, White, Yellow
Red and Brown all penned in.
Yeah, you right,
that King Kong script
did have us in mind.
A subliminal message, to teach our kind
that capitalism’s the greatest
gorilla killa of all time.
So we best fold and bend,
or face mass hysteria
to bury the
beast within.
Fear and hate
whipped up by media spin.
So bow down, do as the Romans do,
stay in line.
But we still here,
biding our time.
Ain’t dead yet!
Done fell and got back up a thousand times.
Survived every hardship
their murderous minds could design.
And we still clinging to the walls,
beating our chest,
still rebellin’ yet!
And we might be ’bout to get –
wise
Expose the racist lies.
Organize
all colors to uprise.
Unite the masses,
against the ruling classes.
Neutralize
their agents and spies.
Man the passes,
to hung the hunters,
and kill the killas.
Flip their script …
from gorilla to guerillas.