Why have you destroyed my peolple, Bonecrusher? Why have you taken the mud and instead of fashioning it into shape as the Potter does, you turned it into water and waste? Precious people have turned to dust in your hands, oh, Bonecrusher, you did not uplift them but destroyed them in your desire for slave labor and the fruit of their lands. And then you ask do they love God? When the question as posed by Rev. Cone to Bill Moyers is, "Do they love you?" For only God saved them by transcendence and transformation of them into reflections of His higher power. By loving Him they adorned themselves with His armor, protecting themselves from your wrath, Bonecrusher. You do not exempt even your children who walk in darkness, for as Baldwin said, "The murder of my child will not make your child safe." And why, Baraka asks, is it necessary to kill across the planet, who needs and desires this crushing of bones, the slaughter of souls, spilling of blood, who needs this, Mr. Bonecrusher? Yet you rejoice in the robbery and murder of the innocent. A million widows run through the streets of Iraq, but you are not satisfied until another million are fleeing the streets of Afghanistan, or maybe Pakistan and Iran. Will you be satisfied then, Bonecrusher? Even in your lands there is now mass homelessness, joblessness, depression and despair. All caused by your need to devour the precious people of God. And yet you do all that you do in the name of God, in the name of Jesus, Prince of Peace, you swallow retirement savings, investments of the poor and needy, you squander, even your rich brothers and sisters you rob, there is no end to your greed. Who will check you, who will humble you into submission to righteousness? No one can challenge your armies, your weapons of mass destruction, yet you claim to be concerned with proliferation while you are the chief proliferator, you and your allies, Mr. Bonecrusher.
Precious people only want to live in peace and work to secure their families, yet you tell them their national security is accomplished by foreign wars, yet when you were attacked you said it was without cause, totally unjustified? Have you not destroyed civilizations, buried cultures then dug them up for your museums? Just remember, Bonecrusher, when you look at the monkey, the monkey is looking at you! Yes, he sees you and seeks to attack you, even as you embrace him at the zoo and in your homes where you have made him a pet, treating him better than you treat the precious people in your midst, your own children even, who depart your mansions to whore in the streets of your cities, desiring street life to the comfort of your mansions, the golden handcuffs of your abusiveness. The lion breaks from his cage to attack you because you have turned him into a pussy cat who meows instead of growls.
Precious people cannot endure much longer, Bonecrusher. You have them in tent cities, homeless shelters and food lines. How long before they break, how long before they react, how long before they revolt against you, Bonecrusher?