We went to Salem, my companion and I, and met a man there.
We were under a heat dome, it was 95 degrees in the shade,
And he was sitting on the sidewalk outside the Hilton hotel.
He asked for spare change, and I had some.
I gave him five dollars, and we headed for the Memorial.
Four foot high granite walls round three sides of a square,
With twenty granite benches, one for each victim, with their name carved onto it, with the date and the manner of their death.
We read the names, my companion and I,
Susannah Martin
Margaret Scott,
Martha Corey,
Sarah Good…
And at the entrance their protestations of innocence:
“I know nothing of it”
“I have hurt nobody”
“I have done no harm”
And I wondered what had gone so terribly wrong in this tiny community,
Still so recently formed.
So recently formed in the hope it would prove to be at the very least a refuge from persecution,
And at best the New Jerusalem
And a paradise on earth.
What was it, I wondered, what was it had gone so terribly wrong
That the community, founded on the principles of godly love and truth,
Had turned against these innocents, scapegoated them, falsely accused them, and condemned them to death.
There was one particular name we were looking for, my companion and I:
Rebecca Nurse,
Hanged July 19th 1692.
We have a very special friend called Rebecca, very dear to the both of us,
Also from Massachusetts, who wanted us to look out especially for this memorial.
Because she is a nurse: a nurse practitioner who specialises in reproductive and gender affirming health care,
And who therefore is in danger of being scapegoated if Trump wins the election.
She fears for her livelihood, and maybe even her personal safety, will be at risk and wonders:
What will I do?
What will I do if…
She is not alone. She is one of millions who fear the same.
We send our loving thoughts towards her, my companion and I,
As we try to still our own fears for the world’s future.
We head back to our car:
And the man is still there.
Still lying in a tiny patch of shade on the sidewalk outside the Hilton Hotel,
Patiently enduring the stifling heat.
One of the stones we have seen commemorates Giles Corey, a farmer, who refused to plead and was pressed to death.
Heavy planks were placed on his body, and then heavy stones placed on the planks.
It took them two full days to kill him.
He was accused because someone testified he had come to them in a dream, and tormented them.
I don’t know what crime it is this man is supposed to have committed that have led to him becoming unhoused and begging on the scorching sidewalk.
I do know that he, too, is a scapegoat for the atrocious inequalities and injustice of the capitalist world.
And I know his plight could so easily be mine.
I do not know how long it will take him to die,
Tortured as he is by being slowly broiled to death on a baking hot sidewalk,
But I know his ordeal will considerably shorten his lifespan.
And when he dies, I know there will be no memorial to his life and his sufferings
And I wonder if anyone will even remember his name.
Thank you Jo for visiting and wondering and writing. This nurse named Rebecca prays for us all.
So glad to read this. I have played Rebecca Nurse and always wanted to pay my respects to her and now I have through you and your companion. Thank you . And blessings on the unknown man .