"Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year; it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

      ~John Lewis

At the 2021 DPCA Annual Global Meeting in May, Democrats Abroad adopted Resolution #1 -  Rename the Historic Edmund Pettus Bridge for Congressman John R. Lewis. From this resolution, the Democrats Abroad John Lewis Global Voting Rights Day action committee was formed. Together we have planned a series of events and actions in July to celebrate the life and work of the late Georgia Congressman and Civil Rights leader, John Lewis. Often described as the conscience of the Congress, he was a friend to Democrats Abroad. July 17th marks the first anniversary of his passing and the first annual John Lewis Global Voting Rights Day.

The dedication and bonding of both permeates the barriers of age and life.
The transplanting of knowledge into the player with the grace and skill of
An eagle in a hunt.

The bonding overgrows the years current and past to an unknown level of
Continuous dialogue of both is truth and understanding. As the player goes into the
Realm of being a “Basketball Jones” as his coach had been for so many years.

His coach's love of that 'round pill' supersedes all other sports on this planet.
As the player watches like a hawk on the prowl for a victim. Seeing through all
Of the side noise and distractions with the focus of a shark. He embraces all of the
Coaches style and techniques honing them into a grace likeness of a track star in
A 'poetry in motion' likeness with a pure desire to win and win every time.

As he embraces- his players with a cocoon of love and respect instilling in them the need
To be the very best for themselves in each and every challenge.

The days-weeks-months and years pass with grace and the emerging of a coach- not
A player as the cocoon dropped away. All that was ingrained in his soul and heart became
As granite to be the best and the best is just around the corner.

Now -as the epitome of his former coach no longer a player- but a coach. As the
Crowd roars and his players push to be as he was with his coach in high school.
Polishing their skills in a diamond like way revealing the inner beauty of perfection of
Them as their coach - not a player for his former coach in high school.

As the years pass, the coach and his coach continue their bond as though it is yesterday.
As the crowd roars and his players smile with love for their coach as he did to his
Coach in his high school days.

With a championship as their target and bound with a steel like bond between the players
and their coach -they take to the floor-and the clock starts...

© 2021 “The Coach and the Player”- Paul S Hickman- All Rights Reserved

And, the time has come for the retreat into the caves
from whence we came.

As the Clock Stops

As the clock stops, and the wind blows in all directions
as the changes are upon us. With the top down and the
down on top as it has been spoken to us.

As The Clock Stops

As the clock stops, and fear grabs the souls of the iniquity
doers of deeds. And with visions heard over the horizon whips into
our faces burning us with the hot winds of change.

As the clock stops then starts again with the changes done.
And we stood there in awe...

© 2021 “The Clock Stops After 400 Years” -Paul S Hickman- All Rights Reserved

Today I met two angels on the path
One was an older slightly lined woman
White mature cultivated masculine
She asked me to dance with her
But first I should take off my clothes
I hesitated out of shy conceitedness
Then she put her arm around my waist
The natural bond was unabashedly felt
Nothing mattered except the moment
I urgently shed my constricting shirt
The empty hall transforming into a ballroom
The next angel was a dance teacher
He showed me a warm-up exercise
It looked graspable quite simple
Until I realized that I was in a cage
I looked below and discovered the others
Dancers moving with diverse rhythms
Each performing their own technique
I opened the gilded filigree door
And I jumped.

Camille Elaine Thomas
July 1, 2021
[email protected] All rights reserved

Can you hear the whistle blowin‘?
Do you know where you’re goin?
Take a trip down the seaside
Clear Waters moving deep and wide
Ridin on that new A Train
Best method to stop the pain
Ridin high on the line
And everything is oh so fine

Cus it’s a brand new day
No old dues to pay
That’s all i got to say
Is it’s a brand new day

You take one step forward, two to the side
The movement just makes you wanna ride
Nothin to stop the positive flow
Listen up just nod your head and feel the glow

No blues gonna catch me and get me down
I can feel my mojo jumpin‘ comin round
Everything is movin on to where I wanna be
Nobody’s Drama is gonna be fuckin‘ wid me

‚cus it’s a brand new day
Hear what I say
It’s a brand new day
No collector bills to pay

Immigration laws hey no taboo
Gun Control thats what we gotta do
Make racial profiling a Thing of the past
Make defund the Police free at last

Change you mind and you ass will follow
The Oppression blues you ain’t gotta swallow
Free your mind from mental slavery
Stand up strong that’s true bravery
Together we stand divided we fall
It’s about the peoples Unity, that’s all

From left to Right and back again
Change your mind Baby, that ain’t no sin
Philosophies White Brown and black
It’s the Unity of the Forces, that’s what we all lack

‚cause it’s a brand new day
Nothin‘ left to say
Hey, it’s gonna stay
It’s the only way (repeats)
To make a brand new day

Camille Elaine Thomas
June 01, 2021
[email protected] All rights reserved

Paul's daughter Irene Melina Hickman reads his poem:

When does it end with my death.
The minutes-hours-days weeks-months-years.
We the enslaved toiled without mercy for those who control
Our daily movements.

The shear physical and mental pain must be endured for the
Ancestors wrestle with this too. Mental - the teachings us
The anguish yet to come endlessly.

Days In and Days Out

Into the fields of nothing for us. As we watched over each other
With care and love. Keeping that unseen love intertwined
With bitterness and hatred. Both learned from the ones free
To do to us without regret.

Days In and Days Out

There was no end insight for us. Some ran only to
Be returned with bruises and scars. Some whimpered like
Young puppies while others stood tall and erect. None
Could wonder back and forth without interrogations.

Days In and Days Out

While we were still chained and loaded in cages like untamed lions.
Glaring our eyes towards the en-slaver who called out our action
On their parts. The power of the eyes looking deep into the souls
Of the en-slavers Raising their fear beyond their belief. As they
Withheld the freeing us from bondage when the news passed days ago.

Days In and /Days Out

The whispers of good news for us. The cuffs and iron around
The neck and ankles were to be taken away.
To break freely. Some danced a jig and ran around happily.
For me it was the harness wrapped around me inhibiting my
movements. Controlled anger caught me giving me
the release of my soul before death would claimed me.

Days In and Days Out

JUNETEENTH -NEVER AGAIN!

(c)2021 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

On the morning of May 30, 1921, a young black man named Dick Rowland was riding in the elevator in the Drexel Building at Third and Main with a white woman named Sarah Page. The details of what followed vary from person to person. Accounts of an incident circulated among the city’s white community during the day and became more exaggerated with each telling.

Tulsa police arrested Rowland the following day and began an investigation. An inflammatory report in the May 31 edition of the Tulsa Tribune spurred a confrontation between black and white-armed mobs around the courthouse where the sheriff and his men had barricaded the top floor to protect Rowland. Shots were fired and the outnumbered African Americans began retreating to the Greenwood District.

In the early morning hours of June 1, 1921, Greenwood was looted and burned by white rioters. Governor Robertson declared martial law, and National Guard troops arrived in Tulsa. Guardsmen assisted firemen in putting out fires, took African Americans out of the hands of vigilantes, and imprisoned all black Tulsans not already interned. Over 6,000 people were held at the Convention Hall and the Fairgrounds, some for as long as eight days.

Twenty-four hours after the violence erupted, it ceased. In the wake of the violence, 35 city blocks lay in charred ruins, more than 800 people were treated for injuries and contemporary reports of deaths began at 36. Historians now believe as many as 300 people may have died.

Watch our event commemorating the Tulsa Race Massacre.

Download the slides from the presentation

Listed below are some resources you can use to learn more about this tragedy and make sure nothing like this happens again.

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

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

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