The Oppressed in Uniform

They put the uniform on him

and it swallowed his history whole.

A Black man,

descendant of chains,

now breaking the bodies

of those who dare to resist.

This is how power survives:

divide the wounded,

hand one a baton,

tell him his paycheck

depends on silence,

on striking,

on forgetting.

Palestinian flags fall under boots

that should have known better.

But the badge erases memory—

and the state laughs quietly,

watching the oppressed

police the oppressed.

It has always been this way:

the overseer on the plantation,

the soldier in the colony,

the neighbour made enemy

by a border someone else drew.

Brother,

your fist is not your own.

It is borrowed violence,

rented loyalty,

a trick of empire.

And when the smoke clears,

you will find yourself

on the wrong side of history,

standing with the jailer

while the prisoners

still carry your name.