Uvalde
Once upon a time in the United States of America, there was a ban on the sale of assault weapons. This was neither magic nor sorcery but simply common sense. Assault weapons are rightly called “weapons of war” and should be handled only by trained soldiers.
But there was a flaw, a curse: The assault weapons ban passed in 1994 by a bipartisan Congress wasn’t permanent. And thus in 2004 a band of Republican legislators, already in thrall to their increasing base and the National Rifle Association, voted to allow the ban to expire. They were supported by a dumb bunny of a President, himself a weapon of war, declaring two.
Que sorpresa! The mass shootings that had declined in number during the ban increased. And would eventually feature some of the sickest of all: Sandy Hook in 2012 which killed 20 6-year-olds and 6 teachers; Parkland in 2018 which killed 14 teenagers and 3 teachers; and now Uvalde on May 24th which killed 19 9-, 10- and 11-year-olds and their 2 teachers. These weren’t the only school shootings, merely the ones with the highest body counts.
“Ni Una Mas” read the words on posters the grieving families of the slain at Uvalde carried to the Texas State Capitol to meet an unhelpful and unreceptive Governor, Greg Abbott. “Not One More.” But the tragic truth is that there will inevitably be more unless and until we come to our senses and restore the ban on assault weapons. It can be done because it was once done. It simply requires a herculean effort of coordinated will.
I give my voice to this effort. I am a playwright and composer, and thus it is more than normal for me to consider human and even inhuman motives in my work. They are my raw material. I express this because what you are about to hear spares nothing about the tragedy of Uvalde, the slaughter of Uvalde, the atrocity of Uvalde. It does so because only when people are sick enough and angry enough do they find the will to make changes.
“Thoughts and prayers,” a very tired refrain, will not bring back the victims of Uvalde nor much comfort their families. Nor will they protect a next set of children victims. Only action will change the terrain, will lift the curse. So listen. Be horrified. And then do something.
Makenna Lee Elrod, 10
Layla Salazar, 11
Maranda Mathis, 11
Nevaeh Bravo, 10
Jose Manuel Flores Jr., 10
Xavier Lopez, 10
Tess Marie Mata, 10
Rojelio Torres, 10
Eliahna “Ellie” Amyah Garcia, 9
Eliahna A. Torres, 10
Annabell Guadalupe Rodriguez, 10
Jackie Cazares, 9
Uziyah Garcia, 10
Jayce Carmelo Luevanos, 10
Maite Yuleana Rodriguez, 10
Jailah Nicole Silguero, 10
Amerie Jo Garza, 10
Alexandria “Lexi” Aniyah Rubio, 10
Alithia Ramirez, 10
Irma Garcia, 48
Eva Mireles, 44
It was a violent day, and thus the imagery of most of the songs here is exactly that: violent. But not all.
The gun nuts are trusting that the usual amnesia that follows mass shootings of any kind will take over.
And so it seems to be. But we must not let it.
Can songs by themselves make change? No. Can songs fire the spirit to fury and then determination and then action? Yes.
So listen to the songs that are here at least once in their entirety. Feel them. Share them – share the fury.
And let these words never leave your ears: “Ni Una Mas.”
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas,
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas
Not one more, not one more child
Shot to death by something wild. . .
Not one more school, not one more day,
Not one more scene of devil’s play,
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
If we wish to live a life in which daughters and sons
Are not taken from us by insanity and guns,
Let us band together and do more than just demand,
But chase our politicians ‘til we make them understand
That there is no substitute to see the weapons banned. . .
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas,
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas
Not one more, not one more child
Shot to death by something wild. . .
Not one more school, (Ni una mas)
Not one more day, (Ni una mas)
Not one more scene (Ni una mas)
Of devil’s play, (Ni una mas)
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
Not one more school, not one more day,
Not one more scene of devil’s play,
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
Here is where our story begins,
A story in which tragedy wins,
A story in which evil is dominant,
Bad things happen when evil holds sway. . .
Here is where our story begins,
A story in which tragedy wins,
A story in which evil is dominant,
Bad things happen when evil holds sway,
When senseless killing rules the day,
When lives are taken, insanity’s prominent,
Yes, indeed-y! It all happened here:
The gruesome, the tragic, the slaughter, the fear,
All of it in one sickening event,
This much is so clear: It all happened here. . .
Knock, knock! Who’s there? It’s Salvador,
Nino, hombre, sick at his core,
Who’s come to capture every last child’s breath,
Hellhound hell-bent on Satan’s chore,
A faceless, witless, malignant spore,
Who’s here to cause every last child’s death,
Yes, he is a cheap matador!
Brandishing his weapon of war,
A lonely shooter and nothing more,
This much is so clear: Someone’s at the door. . .
It was so absurd, the thing which just occurred,
It was so absurd, the thing which just occurred,
It was such a clusterfuck!
Watching all the police duck!
Meanwhile kids are trapped inside,
In their nightmare of a ride,
All of them hiding under a table
Or under a desk,
All of them sliding, all of them gliding
Into the grotesque!
It was so absurd, the thing which just occurred,
It was so absurd, the thing which just occurred. . .
Desperate to be rescued,
Kids call 9-1-1,
Begging to be rescued
But there is no one,
No one except the police
Out in the hall,
As they stand there frozen
They’re no help at all!
The only savior here in the classroom
Is this Salvador,
Salvador Ramos, angel of death
And of life no more!
While the children are screaming
Here at the scene of the crime,
Salvador Ramos is streaming
The carnage in real time,
Salvador is not conflicted,
He’s here as the Devil’s own tool,
It’s just as he had predicted:
“I’ma gonna shoot up a school!”
“I’ma gonna shoot up a school!”
“I’ma gonna shoot up a school!”
It was so absurd, this thing which just occurred,
It was so absurd, this thing which just occurred. . .
How do we make sense of
Salvador’s rampage?
Aren’t we all complicit?
Don’t we set this stage
By allowing children
To acquire guns?
So that they can slaughter
Daughters randomly and sons?
Who is the author of this nightmare
In which we dwell?
Who is the reason for this nightmare
This vision of hell?
It was so absurd, this thing which just occurred,
It was so absurd, this thing which just occurred. . .
It was such a clusterfuck!
Watching all the police duck!
Meanwhile kids are trapped inside,
In their nightmare of a ride. . .
It’s a mystery why we let 18-year-olds
Buy their choice of weapons at the public store,
With no background check to make sure that he upholds
The rights of law-abiding citizens, not war,
There’s no explanation I can see:
It’s a mystery.
It’s a mystery when you are 18, Texas
Won’t let you buy beer but permit a long gun,
Meaning that a shooter can become the nexus
Between murder weapons and some lives undone,
There’s no way that this should ever be:
It’s a mystery.
It’s a vicious cycle that the media coverage
Makes its own impression on the young,
You can be a star with lots of media coverage,
You don’t have to lead a life unsung,
There’s a formula to make the media enter:
Shooting up a school is what you do,
People are deploring but who’s front and center?
Everyone is talking about you!
Everyone is talking about you!
It’s a mystery why people kill each other,
As if they enjoyed the act of taking life,
First thing Adam Lanza did was shoot his mother,
Went on plunging Sandy Hook’s school into strife,
There’s no logic in atrocity:
It’s a mystery.
It’s a mystery why we let 18-year-olds
Buy their choice of weapons at the public store,
With no background check to make sure that he upholds
The rights of law-abiding citizens, not war. . .
God, guts and guns made America great,
God, guts and guns took the real estate,
God, guts and guns cut the savages down,
And left us as a nation with a special renown. . .
God, guts and guns are all we need,
God, guts and guns, it’s a different creed,
God, guts and guns, we’re standing tall
When what this life requires is a hardier breed,
God, guts and guns! We’re the favorite sons,
We’re the greatest country on earth,
And guns have made it all that it’s worth!
It’s just a cryin’ shame sometimes,
But who are we to blame,
We got to have our guns
We got to take our aim,
We got to keep the government off our backs,
Keep the government off our tracks,
Guns all along the way,
It’s just the price you pay,
We’re the greatest country on earth,
And guns have made it all what it’s worth!
God, guts and guns made America great,
God, guts and guns took the real estate,
God, guts and guns cut the savages down,
And left us as a nation with a special renown. . .
God, guts and guns are all we need,
God, guts and guns, it’s a different creed,
God, guts and guns, we’re standing tall
When what this life requires is a hardier breed,
God, guts and guns! We’re the favorite sons,
We’re the greatest country on earth,
And guns have made it all what it’s worth!
God, guts and guns are all we need,
God, guts and guns, it’s a different creed,
God, guts and guns, we’re standing tall
When what this life requires is a hardier breed. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Lets kids have long guns,
Values mus’ be stunk. . .
Country can’t see straight. . .
Country can’t see straight. . .
Lets kids have long guns,
Drinking a dark fate. . .
Salvador will be your server,
Here at the Café of Death,
So let’s see: What’s on the menu?
A specialty: a child’s last breath!
Oh, yes, how about a cocktail?
How about a Bloody Student to start?
With some special ingredients
That come straight from the heart!
Oh, yes, it’s too real! The idea
Of this sick meal!
Cortesia del Diablo!
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Lets kids have long guns,
Values must be stunk. . .
Country can’t see straight. . .
Country can’t see straight. . .
Lets kids have long guns,
Drinking a dark fate. . .
People debate the existence of the devil
As if it was open to doubt,
Who do you think found Salvador Ramos?
Who turned the day into a rout?
Who found Pedro Arredondo?
Who found Governor Greg?
Who found these sin verguenzas
Guzzling from their adrenaline keg?
Oh, yes, it’s too real! The idea
Of this sick deal!
Cortesia del Diablo. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Country mus’ be drunk. . .
Lets kids have long guns,
Values mus’ be stunk. . .
“Do something! Do something!”
How the town pleaded,
“Do something! Do something!”
Sanity needed,
“Take from the hands of the shooters
The weapons of war that destroy us,
That rob us of joyous existing.”
“Do something! Do something!”
Parents are shrieking,
“Do something! Do something!”
Children are leaking
Their brains and their blood and their life force
Inside here in this act of madness,
This sadness that bears no resisting. . .
Bloodsport is a ritual,
First, the hunt and then the kill,
There will be blood everywhere
And Salvador without a care,
One by one he takes their lives,
And shot by shot their death arrives,
There will be blood everywhere,
And Salvador without a care. . .
“Salvador, Salvador,
Art thou forsaking?
Salvador, Salvador,
Where are you taking
The best and the brightest among us,
These angels of purity,
Where is security to protect them?”
“Padre, Dios, donde Usted?
Padre, Dios? Where have you fled?
Why have you left us to die here,
Left us to cry here, your babies, your children,
Left so many dead?”
You create the obscene with an AR-15,
You can control who lives, you can control who dies,
Power is thrilling! And so is the killing pristine. . .”
“Take from the hands of the shooters
The weapons of war that destroy us,
That rob us of joyous existing.”
Nineteen children who now are dead,
Nineteen families who grieve,
Nineteen cops who went home to bed,
What did they achieve?
Standing there in dread?
Leaving nineteen children
And two teachers dead?
Those two teachers who tried to shield
Their sweet babies from harm,
Now it seems that their lips are sealed.
‘Cause the pointless cops
Did nothing to disarm
The elusive madman and the weapon he could wield. . .
Aren’t we all those paralyzed cops?
Only ensuring that death never stops?
Only allowing our hands to be cuffed
While children’s lives are being snuffed?
Nineteen children who now are dead,
Nineteen families who grieve,
Nineteen cops who went home to bed,
What did they achieve?
Standing there in dread?
Leaving nineteen children
And two teachers dead?
Aren’t we all those paralyzed cops?
Only ensuring that death never stops?
Only allowing our hands to be cuffed
While children’s lives are being snuffed?
“I will carry your heart,” I would say to my child,
“I will carry your heart,” until she smiled,
Then she went to school with a confidence strong,
Hearing all through the day the words of the song:
“I will carry your heart inside of my own,
So wherever you are, you’re not alone,
I will always be there as I was from the start,
I will promise you this: to carry your heart!”
There’s my bundle of joy, there’s my burden of pain,
There’re the moments of life that life can’t explain,
So here is my prayer for a life that is sane,
That somehow we will be together again. . .”
Each night before bed, I would tell you a tale,
Of a witch or a queen or a guy in a whale,
Then I watched you asleep, your face filled with rest,
And my heart filled with love and how we were blessed:
“I will carry your heart inside of my own,
So wherever you are, you’re not alone,
I will always be there as I was from the start,
I will promise you this: to carry your heart!”
There’s my bundle of joy, there’s my burden of pain,
There’re the moments of life that life can’t explain,
So here is my prayer for a life that is sane,
That somehow we’ll be together again. . .
I will carry your heart. . .
“I will carry your heart inside of my own,
So wherever you are, you’re not alone,
I will always be there as I was from the start,
I will promise you this: to carry your heart!”
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas,
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas
Not one more, not one more child
Shot to death by something wild. . .
Not one more school, not one more day,
Not one more scene of devil’s play,
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
If we wish to live a life in which daughters and sons
Are not taken from us by insanity and guns,
Let us band together and do more than just demand,
But chase our politicians ‘til we make them understand
That there is no substitute to see the weapons banned. . .
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas,
Ni Una Mas, Ni Una Mas
Not one more, not one more child
Shot to death by something wild. . .
Not one more school, (Ni una mas)
Not one more day, (Ni una mas)
Not one more scene (Ni una mas)
Of devil’s play, (Ni una mas)
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
Not one more school, not one more day,
Not one more scene of devil’s play,
Not one more shattered family crying out in disbelief,
Not one more shattered family crying out in grief. . .
The Women of Kansas are making their voices heard
With a message so loud it’s a roar,
Questing for justice, so here’s the word:
Get with the program or get with the door!
The Women of Kansas are kicking some major ass,
Unpersuaded that men should decide
Who makes the call when a woman is pregnant,
What is permitted and what is denied,
The Women of Kansas! The Women of Kansas!
For centuries women have sweated the details
Of bearing the children, the hearth and the home,
Of looking away while their arrogant males
Voted themselves the right to roam,
For centuries women have played second fiddle,
Told to accept the short end of the stick,
Well, those days are through,
So here is what’s new:
We rule with the brain not the dick!
“Bodily autonomy” is such a big phrase,
But what it means is that I will come first,
I will decide where and when to be with child,
I will decide when to let my womb burst!
The women of Kansas are showing what you can do
If you commit both your mind and your heart,
If your desire is to be gettin’ somewhere,
Y’ain’t gonna get there unless you start!
The women of Kansas are struttin’ their stuff,
When we work together it’s really enough,
Showing some good ole boys what’s what,
Kicking some butts,
And yes their nuts!
The Women of Kansas! The Women of Kansas!
© Duncan Christy
The Women of Kansas are making their voices heard
With a message so loud it’s a roar,
Questing for justice, so here’s the word:
Get with the program or get with the door!...
(CHORUS): Make Earth Green again!
Make the skies so blue!
Make a pledge and then
It’s the best thing that you’ll ever do. . .
Dark days, dark clouds
Dark words, dark crowds,
All this darkness:
Can’t you see the planet’s a mess!
What’s wrong with this picture of distress?
Grave is the risk to the life that we cherish,
Grave is the nature of our jeopardy,
Grave is the truth that our planet will perish
If we don’t do something ASAP!
What can I do? I am so small,
To make some change just like someone who’s standing tall,
If I stand up, will you stand up, too?
Working together’s a labor of virtue,
Working together’s a labor so pure,
Working together will not ever hurt you
If what you’re seeking is something to cure. . .
(CHORUS):
[Optional verse:
Each of us in our way is just a smidgeon
Of all of life universally vast.
But each of us can be a carrier pigeon
Bearing the future away from the past. . .]
Healing our planet’s a labor of virtue,
Healing our planet’s a labor so pure,
Healing our planet will not ever hurt you
If what you’re seeking is something to cure. . .
Make Earth Green again!
Make the skies so blue!
Make a pledge and then
It’s the best thing that you’ll ever do. . .
© Duncan Christy
(CHORUS): Make Earth Green again!
Make the skies so blue!
Make a pledge and then
It’s the best thing that you’ll ever do. . .
Uvalde Strong Fund - The Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country, which serves 10 counties, including Uvalde, has established the Uvalde Strong Fund to support victims, their families, and others affected by the mass shooting incident. You can make a tax-deductible donation at: www.communityfoundation.net/uvaldestrong
For broader support against the scourge of gun violence, Brady United (or simply Brady) is named after Jim Brady, Ronald Reagan’s Press Secretary also wounded in the assassination attempt against the President in 1981. It is an excellent resource of both information and worthy action. https://www.bradyunited.org
Duncan Christy is a playwright and composer out of New York City. More about him can be learned at www.isthisamerica.info
“You will be remembered, I promise you!” Jazmin Cazares (older sister of Jaclyn, 9)
Nineteen children who now are dead,
Nineteen families who grieve,
Nineteen cops who went home to bed,
What did they achieve,
Standing there in dread?
Leaving 19 children and two teachers dead. . .”
(from “Nineteen Children”)