The Mic

 

          The crowd sat in the small venue, smashed together like sardines to witness the performances. I myself sat on the floor, in what one may have considered an aisle way (but in reality was posing as my seat.) This was the Nuyorican Poets Café. The Nuyorican was a highlight of my time in the South Bronx because of the tangible way the experience expressed what I was learning that week. The slam consisted of about five talented poets who graced the stage, giving their all in words and then waiting for the scores from the audience. The person with the most points “won.”

          Slam poetry isn’t really about “winning,” though. It isn’t about making the cleverest, rhythmic rhyme (although that is incredible to witness when it happens). It is about having a stage all to yourself and expressing whatever it is that needs to erupt from within you—honest and raw realities. 

           Slam poetry is about having your voice heard.

           The poets on stage were all minorities in some way. There were women, people of color, people from different countries and religions, people of the LGBT community. And the poems that were “slammed” all in their own way addressed the poet’s minority aspects (so to speak.) Many poems expressed anger at some injustice or unfair treatment of the poet during their lifetime and the subsequent roller coaster emotions that came along with it as they processed the realities of their world. The stage was not only a place to express this anger; it was also a place to be heard.

           There were poems of empowerment from a black, gay man who embraced all of who he is. There were poems from a fierce woman and a more timid woman that both touched on being taken advantage of by a man, and the scars that manifested from that. There were poems from a black man expressing his love for his black sisters (in an encouraging way, not demeaning). There were poems from Palestine, the poet’s native land, about bodies bloodied and children losing parents.

           To me, it was beautiful to sit and just listen to each poet. During the entire show, all I could think about was how great it was to not have one single Euro-American perform on stage, as I got to hear the voices of people whose voices aren’t heard nearly enough. The poems I heard still have me thinking, and has inspired me to actively affirm each person in my life of their voice in the world and the journey to break down the barriers that stifle that voice. That night in the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, there was authenticity. Through every trivial or intense poem, there was an awareness of the pain and oppression in the world, but also an awareness of the empowerment and hope. This rich atmosphere has stuck with me ever since we left the Café; I desire to replicate it.

           I chose this picture because it is a slice of empowerment to me. Everyone needs an opportunity to share their story and to be listened to and affirmed in this way. Everyone needs an opportunity to step on stage, take the microphone, and speak from their heart about their experiences. What does it look like to implement this kind of ideology in our communities, above all cultural and personal differences?

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