Pollution at Tiananmen Square, Beijing (chinatravelgo.com)‘Towards the End of Chinese Communism’ and Other Poetry by Damian Robin The Society April 25, 2019 Beauty, Human Rights in China, Poetry 11 Comments Towards the End of Chinese Communism Through Shanghai’s packed glissando peaks and Beijing’s glossy miles, As though to keep out counter breaths and polish glassy smiles, The dazing days of blinding fogs form fumes like whiskey casks, And crowds wear masks like masks still worn for organ harvest tasks. Stretched fencing cranes brick up grave holes in deep construction sites … Dank cuts of meat and fly-tip slops no human ever bites Steam cook in dumpsters clogging backs of restaurants and shops … Here anyone who says what’s what is taken for the chop. As Chinese round the world are tracked, the living and the dead, The CCP’s cold genocides that poison what gods fed Are swallowed in Divinity as Wholesome Light extends And manifests in Falun Gong and all of Heaven’s friends. Light Light we know. Light that may not show. Deep Light, while human eyes are shallow. Purity. Light we may not see; far from human visibility. Perfect light, Inner Light, Wide Light that folds the world in Perfect Insight. Why Satire Fails Cold Genocide Today, let’s say your mother’s taken sick. You’re old, she’s older and she’s put inside A hospital so wide you need a map To find her bedside. Let’s say it’s serious, her smoldering wick Inside her’s choked too far to hide with pride And when you call she’s closed inside a nap Of dark’ning moonside. It’s close intimacy, not NHS Neglect or medical mismanagement Nor at a distance you can chortle ‘bout— It’s heart inside Fuming out to seek humane redress Of Fate, a personal encirclement, So it’s okay to shriek jaw-wide, full shout, Astride some hillside. Your deep reaction isn’t wit or stick- It-into hard-faced syndicates for wide Mishandling of human life as crap Beneath a bedside. Cold genocide’s more than a potty mess; More than an open war; not argument So visible that all can pity about— It’s hid inside A powerhouse of threat and mar and stealth That travels in a long trajectory That bears a can’t-touch-me autonomy That if disturbed disturbs world wider wealth That for too long we’ve kept as company And handheld as inevitability And so turn from unless it grows to be Our mother’s bedside. Note: “Cold genocides stand in contrast to ‘hot’ genocides, destructive acts of high intensity which annihilate the victim group in a short time span.” Studies of genocides have mainly dealt with periods of five or less years. Exceptions to this are the Ottoman Empire (present day Turkey, Syria, and Iran) killing of Armenians, in the early twentieth century; the Indonesian military’s killing of Timorese in East Timor in the late twentieth century; Sudan, Dafor, where black Africans and non-arabs (Muslims) have been killed since the beginning of this century; and the Chinese Communist Party’s killing of faith-based groups, particularly Falun Gong, in the early twenty-first century. “There is a sliding scale of genocides which vary with the perpetrators’ perceptions of the victim groups, the intentions of the perpetrators, the speed with which the genocides occur[,] the tools being utilized, and the intensity of genocidal motivations.” The above information and quotes come from Cold Genocide: Falun Gong in China, 2018. Damian Robin is a writer and editor living in the United Kingdom. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 11 Responses Peter Hartley April 25, 2019 I liked all three of these, particularly the first, with the understated horror it conjours up. The unusual adjectives in the first line make the poem clamour for attention for me, and reading it through doesn’t disappoint. Reply Damian Robin April 25, 2019 Thanks Peter. It’s great to see ‘a message’ ‘getting through’; that people ‘know’ although there’s still more messaging to do. Reply Renewal April 25, 2019 Really nice poems. Left me with a feeling of deep satisfaction Reply Damian Robin April 27, 2019 I hope with the strength of this satisfaction, Renewal, you can tell others about what is going on in China. Reply Monty April 28, 2019 I’m impressed with the innovative rhyme-scheme in the 3rd poem. Reply Damian Robin May 11, 2019 Thanks Monty. Often the odd rhyme scheme comes with irregular line length. A critic said Keats could not keep to the straight and narrow (or some such negative). Your comment makes me wonder how the un-rolled-out rhymes and line lengths in poetry happen. One way is … Begin to move; get it under control; repeat. Continue; prove; bake raised words from the soul; complete. Reply Monty May 11, 2019 Endeavour . . that’s how it happens. Damian Robin May 11, 2019 In deed . . . whatever the weather. Reply Damian Robin May 18, 2019 Monty – having read the third poem, do you consider its title — that satire is inadequate to treat cold genocide — is ‘proved’ ? Reply Monty May 20, 2019 I don’t believe that satire can ever be inadequate for any subject. Anything which can be criticised can be satirised. Reply Damian Robin June 6, 2019 On another thread on this site you noted something as being ‘not quite sarcastic, let’s say facetious’. This links to derision and satire. I think satire is meant to be is distinguished by being inventive or in the arts. That’s one point. Your comments helped me see that I was being too close to the survivors of CCP atrocities. I become sentimental and lose track of the persecutors. There are three sides I am now seeing – victims, violators, and by-standers. The last two can be satirised, derided, and I can be sarcastic/facetious about. All three need compassion. ‘There but for the grace of God … ‘ But these last two need ‘showing up’, have mirrors presented to them. They may be too far gone or hard but need ‘poking fun at’. I think it’s keeping to the humour that keeps satirists sane. Have you done satire? 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