Way Down South

Several years ago I was in southern Georgia interviewing farmers and families and hearing their stories of discrimination in dealing with the USDA.  One particular name kept coming up again and again.  One day I walked through the cemetery there in town and recognized the name.  These words come to mind when I think about the farmers and the system that they had to negotiate there in their community.

Way Down South

Down South
Way down south if you know what I mean
There is a cemetery on the edge of town
That the whites work hard to keep clean.

The monuments

The big monuments you can surely see
Stand with pride in the sun
Perhaps for longer than eternity.

That tombstone

That one over there with the name I know
Looks to be a symbol for some important man
And surely that is more than just show.

That man

He owned that town often I was told
Set all those prices for seed and cotton
And now his bones lie cold.

His scales

Those big scales over there
Weighed light for the black folks
And to argue they didn’t dare.

His prices

The prices he set on the seed
Now those dollars were pretty high
That was all he’d need.

His control

His control of it all from start to finish
Of the seeds to the land to the price of the cotton
Served to keep them down, their souls to diminish.

No one argued

Not one argued or you’d pay a price
If they did their cotton was not bought
They learned that the man did not play nice.

Now that man

That man who owned this town
Lies buried beneath that big monument
His name of great renown.

That farmer

That farmer whose skin is black
Knew the bank was coming long before it did
And the land he loved he’ll never get back.

Such is life

Such is life when your skin is dark
Way down in the Bible belt south
Where Jim Crow still lives on in too many hearts.