Protest Stories

The fire burning within, as if a Molotov cocktail burned her soul.  Desire so focussed on her intent, to stand alone or with the security and camaraderie of a crowd, demanding to be heard. Was she rich, or famous? Did she wear the latest fashions? Did she speak the language of the politicians? No, but she was clear in her mind that she would stand and fight until the fight was won, or she had uttered her last breath. The...

She opened up the letter – read the words through teary eyes,another kind rejection, but it’s not a big surprise. She drops it in the basket on a pile of fifty more,a wasted application – not a single open door. She’d graduated college like her parents said she should,her path to a brighter future – but it wasn’t looking good. She’d borrowed lots of money in pursuit of education –a worthless course of study and a pricey g...

Waves of people filled the streets while chanting hand in hand,in hopes they’d send a message that would spread across the land. Some acts of grave injustice that they’d witnessed on TVaroused a mass of anger ‘bout police brutality. A cry for racial justice and a search for common groundhad them shouting for attention with an omnipresent sound. Some would follow ordinance and tout a rightful cause,but others turned to vio...

Friends in the local pub just couldn’t believe it. Even though, some of them had seen our actions with their own eyes. “Ben Coles in court?” they said, with some amazement, “Mr Easy-going. Mr Doormat. Never.” That, just about summed me up. I’d always hated any hassle and had avoided any confrontation. Couldn’t fight my way out of a meringue pie. Even with my dear lady, whenever a row was looking possible, I’d take off and...

There is no doubt that poetry has a unique ability to move the human spirit; an ability shared only with music and far more so than even the greatest prose, however impassioned. It is, therefore, no surprise that the greatest composers have felt impelled to set poetry to music; and whilst the lyrics of much popular music are repetitive and banal, the works that will survive are those where the words tell a story or expres...

Our crime was anarchy. Ignoring laws, building fires, blocking streets, shouting, “NO! NO! in the market place. We climbed their walls, threw stones at their houses, sat at their gates and would not budge our hearts and minds. Again and again their soldiers came to drag us by our hair to dungeons, but could not keep us there. We were their sons and daughters, but had no homes. We could not pledge allegiance to their flag,...