Global Black Caucus Steering Team Secretary

  • rsvped for Bessie Coleman's 100th Year in Flight 2021-06-04 08:10:18 -0400

    Bessie Coleman's 100th Year in Flight

    Please join Democrats Abroad Toulouse on Saturday, June 19th to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Bessie Coleman becoming a pilot in France. She was the first woman of color to earn her pilot's license, truly a milestone in history! 

    The event will be moderated by Beatrice Monthioux, DA Toulouse Member-at-Large

    Speakers will include: 

    • Christine Debouzy - President of the French Association of Women Pilots
    • Coline Béry - Specialist on Adrienne Bolland, aviatrix who did the same type of training before Coleman
    • Olivier Sarrazain - Director of the documentary film "Bessie Coleman Première Aviatrice Noire"
    • Françoise Sockeel - Of the Aeroclub of Abbeyville in the region where Coleman trained

    The event will take place via Zoom. Please RSVP to receive a link for joining the event. 

    Co-sponsored by the Global Black Caucus and Global Women's Caucus--Main organiser Jeaneen Johnson 

    Juneteenth festivities continue with a different event hosted by the Global Black Caucus from 6pm to midnight CET where there will be music, poetry and art.  Please click here for more details and to RSVP for the particular event.

    WHEN
    June 19, 2021 at 4pm
    WHERE
    Via Zoom
    Toulouse, Occitanie
    France
    Google map and directions
    37 rsvps rsvp

  • Democrats Abroad Denmark Celebrates the 4th of July

    Get out your red white and blue and come celebrate America’s Independence Day with DADK in Copenhagen’s Langelinie Park on Sunday, July 4 from 12:00 pm - 3:00 pm. Bring your own favorite picnic lunch and game and join other Americans and friends for a fun day for the whole family!

    WHEN
    July 04, 2021 at 12pm
    WHERE
    Langelinie Park
    Nordre Toldbod 16
    Copenhagen 1259
    Denmark
    Google map and directions
    12 rsvps rsvp

  • published The World We Live In in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-05-23 16:02:36 -0400

    The World We Live In

    Poet Laureate Circle 2021-Alexandra Smith.png

     

    The World we live in doesn't view us as we are.
    It sees us through the scope of the biases that plague it
    We are judged through a filter changing from person to person
    We are not truly seen
    Merely perceived
    Presumed to be- and therefore, to the World we become

    The World we live in doesn't view us as we are.
    It sees us as is necessary for the continuations of the narrative bought into by the most people with the best weapons and the loudest voices.
    The World decides how we define success, failure, truth, faith, our identity by putting us in categories to make us easier to manage.
    He, She, They, Them, Non-binary, Straight, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, Monogamous, Polyamorous, Pan-sexual, Asexual, Man, Woman, Black, White, Brown
    Defined as therefore limited to

    The World we live in doesn't view us as we are.
    The World doesn’t view us.

    People do

    The World is an intangible set of ideas that we, People, have chosen to define ourselves and others by
    We created these constructs so we can redefine them- if we want
    And we must choose to
    We must decide that the frames, boxes, cages- we have infused with ourselves to form our identities are indeed malleable.
    We must want to accept more than our own ideals if we wish to share this world.
    Because it does not only belong to one narrative- IT IS MADE OF MANY

    The world we live in has People who don’t view us as we are.
    But we can learn to see each other.
    If we so choose.
    And I hope we do.

    Because I want the world I live in, to see me as I am.

     

    Alexandra Smith

     

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  • published The Silence for 100 years in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-05-19 16:30:42 -0400

    The Silence for 100 years

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    Paul's daughter Irene Melina Hickman reads his poem:

     

    The history of a country can be known by its music.
    You think you know how it feels to watch without
    The ability to stop it.

    As the structures collapse. As the fire maneuvers its
    Way through the halls-windows and beams. Weakened
    By the fire, the structures fall into ashes.

    The laboring pain of the creators gone up in smoke
    Caused by the vile deed of a false report.

    That was 100 years ago

    There they stood gazing into the empty streets with
    The piles of burnt wood-melting steel and smoldering
    Papers- pictures family heirlooms gone into the
    Ashes of the wood from whence they came.

    The Silence for 100 years

    As they trod on the footsteps left by those whose hands
    -Blood-sweat and tears labored to build a street
    Envied by many.

    They- the emancipated heirs of the former enslaved builders
    Stand on their paths. Now the aftermath - just remnants
    Of ashes and dust as far as their eyes could see.

    The Silence for 100 years

    And they have stood stoically patience waiting for
    That which will not -rightfully come.

    And that was 100 years ago- to this day!

     

    Copyright © 2021 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

     

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  • published My Mother in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-05-09 11:13:49 -0400

    My Mother

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    Oh mother, mother, my dearest mother. As
    I sit here. Remembering, your wisdom
    And words of compassion. I surely do miss.
    The consolation, of your gentle words. I
    Surely do miss. The guiding wisdom of
    Your yesteryear. I surely do miss.
    The righteous, scolding from the depths of
    Your knowledge. I surely do miss. The
    Misunderstandings, because of my youth and
    Lack of wisdom. I do acknowledge.
    The failure, to hear your words, and my
    Vile deeds. I do acknowledge. The failure
    To fully exploit my talents and gifts. I
    Do acknowledge.
    And, oh mother, mother, my dearest mother.
    The days and nights, will never go by, with –
    Out thinking of you. Nor shall the years pass,
    Without a loving thought of you.
    And when I die, the last words I shall utter will
    Be, I love you – my dearest mother.

     

    Copyright © 1995 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

     

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  • published Family Matters in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-05-04 14:50:18 -0400

    Family Matters

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Elaine.png     Elaine_Thomas-2.jpg

     

    She was an obedient child
    Born of hard-working parents
    Strictly raised morals ingrained
    She was given a new assignment
    From her third-grade teacher
    To draw a picture family tree
    Of her extended family
    She poured through the crayon box
    Looking for the right colors
    Grandma’s cedar neck
    Uncle James from Louisiana
    His toothless pecan grin
    Aunt Mabel from Kentucky
    Her face like a shiny penny
    Great Uncle Joe from Maryland
    Gnarled like an old hickory tree
    Her Georgia and South Carolina roots
    Mama’s long peanut fingers
    The burnt umber in her father’s skin
    Her sister’s bushy chestnut hair
    Her brother's smokey topaz eyes
    She checked once again
    But to no avail
    Her school crayola box
    With the built-in eraser
    Had only one brown.

     

    [email protected] All rights reserved
    Camille Elaine Thomas
    May 04, 2021

     

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  • donated via 2021-05-02 10:13:21 -0400

    2021 Global Annual Meeting

    Democrats Abroad Global Meetings are only possible thanks to participant donations. Our meetings are not sponsored by donations from corporations, PACs, other organizations within the Democratic party, etc. Suggested Donation for participating in our 2021 virtual global meeting is only $46 USD.

    Got extra cash from your travel savings by attending this year's meeting "virtually"? – Use some of those savings to add to your donation and Click on the box with the amount you wish to donate or enter a different amount under "Other $" –  and hit that donate button.

    Thank YOU for your generous support!!!

    2021_DAMoV-Donkey.png

    Donations are made to Democrats Abroad (Democratic Party Committee Abroad) and not to any candidate for Federal Office.

    Donations to Democrats Abroad are not tax-deductible.

    Donate

  • published Kneeling to Stand in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-04-30 14:05:57 -0400

    Kneeling to Stand

    Poet Laureate Circle 2021-Alexandra Smith.png

     

     

    They told him he was disrespectful.
    That he had nothing to complain about.
    His protest made people uncomfortable.
    They targeted him, they blackballed him, they tried to diminish him.
    Because he was kneeling for us.

    They said he was innocent.
    “If that man hadn’t resisted arrest, that man would still be alive.”
    They said he was just defending himself.
    They made excuses for him, they defend him, they respect him.
    Because he was kneeling on us.

    They told him; he was didn’t deserve his job.
    They demanded he put his money where his mouth is.
    They took his career for being obstinate.
    Yet he kept kneeling, in silent, lawful protest.
    Because he was kneeling for us.

    The defense put the dead, on trial.
    They claimed the victim’s death was his own doing.
    Apparently, the officer had no other choice.
    They said it was the victim’s fault.
    Because he was kneeling on us

    Several years ago, he tried to explain.
    People laid down in streets, malls, and stores.
    They silently, peaceful asked for equality.
    Nothing more- just the desire to be treated the same.
    Because they were kneeling for us

    Yet the brutality continued.
    The death toll kept rising.
    Black men, women, and children kept dying.
    There was no justice, so there could be no peace.
    Because they were kneeling on us.

    We’ve been less than cattle, 3/5 a person, and one drop too much.
    We’ve given our sons and daughters to causes that don’t represent us.
    We’ve watched our youth go from school to prison in the blink of an eye.
    We, the people…We are people… We always have been.
    But they were kneeling on us.

    As long as prisons are for profit,
    As long as black men are seen as threats,
    As long as the laws protect some and not all,
    This cycle will continue- it was designed that way.
    Because it was made to kneel on us

    I wish I could say that we now stand at a crossroads.
    I wish I had more faith in this country's desire to deliver on its promises.
    I wish I believed that justice was truly served.
    But I’ve read this story before- I’ve witnessed this section before- I know this position well,
    Because they are still kneeling on us.

    Men, women, and children have sacrificed.
    We have protested “the correct way.”
    We have recorded violence and mourned the loss of our young.
    We have petitioned, boycotted, and screamed-
    Because we were kneeling for peace.

    As a nation we must do better.
    As country we need to choose to respect and honor each other’s experiences.
    We have the power to create the future Dr. King saw.
    The first step is for them to take their knees off us.
    Because we are kneeling to stand.

     

    Alexandra Smith

     

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  • published I Remember You in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-04-13 21:20:58 -0400

    I Remember You

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    I remember you, when we went swimming in dad's pond.
    I was not mud crawling!

    I remember you, when you drove the wagon wheel over,
    Jo's arm after she fell out of it.

    I remember you when you threw my red fire truck out,
    Of our burning house.

    I remember you, when someone let the 1936 Plymouth roll down,
    The hill into the frozen pond -two mules pulled it out.

    I remember you and Rudy playing one on one basketball.
    I remember you always beat him, and how you two,
    Put that small tennis ball through the hoop,
    Of an empty tin can-nothing , but net!

    I remember you and the Monarch bicycle you bought,
    After Rudy had bought a Schwinn bike.

    I remember you calling out got a “carp” as you came from,
    Fishing at the lake crawling with venomous snakes.

    I remember you and the bricks you threw at the venomous snake,
    That had climbed up the tree next to the house.
    When you got home from school -he almost bit me as,
    I was playing self catch in the Yard.

    I remember you and the blue and white 1955 Ford,
    With its broken drive shaft that you repaired.

    I remember you and your beautiful bride named Sadie,
    Whom you brought to Muskogee to meet us.

    I remember you and your beautiful daughter Brenda,
    Whom you sent us a picture of her at birth.

    I remember you and how proud you were of Tim,
    Joann's husband And how smart you said he was -
    Truly he is. But, Joann is smarter and better looking.

    I remember you and your IBM computer that sparkled my,
    Children' interest in computers -that I have been,
    Paying for every since.

    I remember seeing you at the Mayo Clinic, and you,
    Gave me the grand tour of the facility in your wheel,
    Chair-thinking nothing phases this guy!

    I remember you, I remember you my brother, I remember,
    You are my mentor and hero! You did so much in spite of it all.
    I never heard one word of “self-pity”!

    Enjoy Heaven! My brother -you have earned it!

     

    Copyright (c) 2007, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

     

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  • Once Upon A Concrete Jungle

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Elaine.png     Elaine_Thomas-2.jpg

     

    Adjusted to seclusion
    As the roar of tragedy
    Struck our cities in rage
    A deluge of gloom
    Descended upon our hopes
    Slowly embodied our grief
    Into whimpers at dusk
    Clandestine closets shattered
    Complexities multiplied
    Crowds watched in horror
    As armed illiterates
    drummed up rancor
    mocked our foundation
    with dirty complot flags
    vilified our sanctuary
    smote down our honor
    hung dung on our trust
    relentless knee on a neck
    a massacre in parlors
    gates opened to egotists
    the bible held by a demon
    we drew our slingshots
    congregated in protest
    cast our voices in hope
    while a pandemic slew
    molesting unmarked caskets
    we scrutinized babies
    lying naked in grime
    cages of demolition
    waiting for auction
    hearts in calamity
    marching tin soldiers
    charging ruptured borders
    lilies of the fields
    crying for sustenance
    while polluted rivers
    sprout from fracking fields
    requiring a funeral anthem
    for a disoriented continent
    Meantime the eagle sways
    to a divergent cadence

     

    [email protected] All rights reserved
    Camille Elaine Thomas
    April 07, 2021

     

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  • Into the Realm of Discourse

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    --Irene
    Finally, off on the long journey to a familiar land.
    Fearful, yet unafraid of the long wait to see her.
    As I remember, surely not the same as I left, but will
    Still caress the spirit with renewed freshness.
    To see souls wondering, lost in a morass of ideas.
    Seeking, a solution for the pain, that follows.
    The poor judgments, grasping for answers from other
    Lands. While looking far way, will not provide
    The answer, nor the good life again.
    Life passes, without clear thoughts or dreams
    To shed light for ideas, as we trod into a
    New epoch. As the cosmos rushes to
    Escape that which is not to be escaped
    And the windows slowly close....

     

    Copyright (c) 2012 Paul S Hickman, All Right Reserved

     

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  • published A PTSD Nightmare in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-04-05 08:52:55 -0400

    A PTSD Nightmare

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Elaine.png     Elaine_Thomas-2.jpg

     

    A dream last night
    40 Vietnam warriors
    Sitting stoned
    Around a fire
    In Central Park
    With the bombs
    Still exploding
    Inside their bowels
    While seagulls jeered
    Along the dead seacoast
    A blackbird named Jonathan
    Rose with a catfish
    In its hungry mouth
    I had a dream last night
    A little black boy
    Singing inside a burnt-out Chevrolet
    Where have all the flowers gone
    While the bar next door
    Blasted the mantra
    Let it Be

     

    [email protected] All rights reserved
    Camille Elaine Thomas
    April 03, 2021

     

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  • published A Bad Day in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-20 08:46:05 -0400

    A Bad Day

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Alexandra.png

     

    The police chief said the shooter was having a bad day
    A bad day?

    That day a man, with rage in his heart and lust in his loins
    Lashed out.
    Unable to control himself, unable to restrain his desires
    He let them loose-
    He murdered you.
    A bad day?

    That man lives, breaths, eats, survives
    While you live on in memories and stories.
    He eliminated people because of his own failings, his lackings
    Yet the police chief said the shooter was having a bad day
    A bad day?

    That man decided that his desires were stronger,
    More important than your Right to
    live,
    breathe,
    grow,
    thrive,
    to exist
    A bad day?

    He tried to erase that longing, erase you
    But he won’t succeed
    You will not fade into the past because we will remember you.
    You were mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, friends
    You were loved. You are loved.
    You deserved more
    You deserved longer
    You deserved better
    A bad day?

    We will remember you for who you were,
    Your loved ones will carry you in their hearts
    You will live on as a piece of all of us.
    We will keep you alive
    Because you ARE so much more than some man’s
    Bad day.

     

    Alexandra Smith

     

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  • published An Ode to Women’s Month in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-19 11:25:04 -0400

    An Ode to Women’s Month

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Elaine.png     Elaine_Thomas-2.jpg

     

    We give daily
    Our bodies nourish
    Like the Earth
    We give life
    We strive to sustain
    Our successes are few
    The crowds don’t cheer
    Our heroines leave
    Often go unnoticed
    Still we strive hard
    With quiet laughter
    Our hearts on brim
    Love fills our chores
    As we join together
    One month a year
    To give us credit
    Our own praises
    In the month of March
    Just because it is spring
    Once again we dance
    As we are allowed to

     

    [email protected] All rights reserved
    Camille Elaine Thomas
    March 19, 2021

     

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  • published An Asian American Blues in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-19 11:14:19 -0400

    An Asian American Blues

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Elaine.png     Elaine_Thomas-2.jpg

     

    We used to listen to a song
    From the Isley Brothers
    Singing about soldiers
    The four dead in Ohio
    Now another tune is playing
    Eight killed in Atlanta
    Attacked, harassed, scapegoated
    Murdered for being Asian
    Blamed for a virus
    Women shot in March
    Sacrificed for Women's Month
    Can’t you hear the drummers
    Sounding like machine guns
    Hear the mothers sighing
    The little children crying
    The world watches and moans

     

    [email protected] All rights reserved
    Camille Elaine Thomas
    March 18, 2021

     

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  • published Hope in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-18 16:39:28 -0400

    Hope

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Carlos.png

     

    Away from the dark cold blood of hate,
    away from the evil eyes of racism,
    away from the horrific path of xenophobia,
    rests the promise land of our pledges,
    where the roots of fraternity, sown with the clipped wings of the missing souls,
    will grow into the hearts of hope,
    to engrave in our building stones the calling beats of love.

     

    Carlos Colao

     

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  • published Our Asian Soulmates in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-18 13:47:30 -0400

    Our Asian Soulmates

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    You have been our gracious Japanese landlords.
    Our Vietnam war zone protectors, friends and co-workers.
    My Korean IT professional associate.
    My Korean graphic illustrator for my poems.
    You have been my former interned Japanese associate.

    And we have trod with a host of acquaintances from Asian
    Nations of Japan, Korea, Philippines, Vietnam, China, India,
    Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Hong Kong.

    All of which have been with the greatest respect towards us
    And our family and our friends.

    To have a vile deed doer martyr some of our Soulmates is
    Sad and the work of the evil one who chose a weaker brainwashed
    One to do his deed.

    May their Memories be Eternal

     

    © 2021-Paul S Hickman-All Rights Reserved

     

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  • published The Reunion in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-11 15:01:42 -0500

    The Reunion

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Paul.png

     

    As the rays of the sun, eclipsed the night.
    The journeys to a distant place starts.

    And we came, some by car, some by plane,
    Some by train, and some thought to walk.

    Drifting in from the North, the South, the
    East and the West. We are not strangers
    Among strangers.

    Gathering to share the wisdom, experiences
    And the knowledge of thousands of years.

    Guided by teachers of the ages, dedicated
    To prepare and enlightening us for these
    Times.

    Oh, wise ones of the past. We struggle to
    Meet your yesteryear's challenges. As they
    Fade from our minds, and we fight to recover
    Them. But are still misty, dim, and physically
    Untouchable.

    Our hearts, feeling faint as you slip away.
    Regretfully, even the scolding and your words
    Of wisdom are much needed - now.

    But your spirits, still guides us through the
    Unknown wilderness. Even though everything is
    Changed, and not the way you left it or taught
    Us.

    Your voices will continue to guide and console
    Us. As we stretch to reach the epitome of our
    Essence.

    With your desires in our minds and souls. We
    Come closer to each other. And even though you
    Are not here, we can feel your presence. As we
    Depart once more to the cosmos.

    As the time passes ... and you our ancestors cry
    In the distance -with open arms.

     

    Copyright (C) 1994 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

     

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  • Carlos Colao joins the GBC Poet Laureate Circle

    Please welcome Carlos Colao to the GBC Poet Laureate Circle!
    Carlos is an active poet that writes in both Spanish and English.
    We are looking forward to Carlos' participation in the Poet Laureate Circle.
    You can read/hear the poem, "Nuestro Día", by Carlos Colao here.

    Carlos Colao from Spain - Read Carlos' Bio

     

    The other diligent members of our Poet Laureate Circle are:

    Jasmine Cochran from China - Read Jasmine's Bio

    Elaine Thomas from Germany - Read Elaine's Bio

    Nadine Pinede from Belgium - Read Nadine's Bio

    Paul Hickman from Greece - Read Paul's Bio

    Alexandra Smith from China - Read Alexandra's Bio

     


    You can register to vote and request a ballot at https://www.votefromabroad.org/. The sooner you do it, the better. 


  • published Nuestro Día in Poet Laureate Circle 2021-03-08 20:18:00 -0500

    Nuestro Día

    gbc_Poet_Laureate_Carlos.png

     

    Nuestro Día
    El día en que la libertad pueda quedar reflejada en los dictados de la Vida,
    en el que las personas no se sientan amarradas por las raíces del pasado,
    en el que el astro sol ilumine el sendero,
    en el que el oscuro pasado escarmiente el futuro,
    en el que un cielo azul brillante resguarde nuestros sueños,
    en el que las sonrisas del destino endulcen el camino de la vida,
    en el que la grandilocuente vida retruene su sonoro resplandor en el interior de cada uno.
    Para saber lo que seremos, querer lo que querremos, amar lo que trasciende más allá de nuestra conciencia,
    más allá incluso de las dulces y frescas sensaciones de libertad.

    Ese día, será un DÍA, como aquél que nunca fue, como aquél que podrá ser, pero, eso sí, que ¡DEBERÁ PERMANECER!

    Carlos Colao


    Our day
    The day that freedom can be reflected in Life's commandments,
    in which people do not feel bounded by the roots of the past,
    in which the sunshine of our supreme Star clears the burden paths,
    in which the dark black side of the past removes the thorns of future,
    in which the intense blue sky shelters our dreams,
    in which the smiles of destiny enriches our bold life road,
    in which the magic of life grandiosely plays the beat sounds of love inside each one of us.
    To know what we will be, to want what we will want, to love what goes beyond our consciousness,
    beyond even the sweet, fresh feeling of freedom.

    That day, will be a DAY, like the one that never was, like the one that could one day be, but, yes, that it will have to REMAIN!

    Carlos Colao

     

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