1. Requiem for My Brother
By Damon Waring
I remember you Walter Scott, zig- zagging through the hallways as you smiled at everyone you
knew between classes at St. Andrews Parish High School in Charleston, South Carolina.
You were an upperclassman, distinguishingly attired in Polo, Alexander Julian, Khaki pants in
almost every color, and crème colored leather nautical shoes. You wore your hair cut low and
faded at the temples; your rounded face symmetric with your round, clear eyes, dark brown
and proud complexion, and who on campus could forget your walk? Your glide, your slide, -
whatever the slang word for ‘swag’ was in 1984, it described you, my brother. All the way to the
gold crown on your front right tooth (or was it left? I can’t recall), you impressed upon us the
blueprint on how to dress “preppy”. You were the clean cut, upward bound, studious and self-
possessed, African American young man that came from a tightly knit and well known family
that the young women liked and the young men wanted to be like. I would learn during the
school year that you had enlisted in the Coast Guard, and after graduation you were looking
forward to becoming an active defender of our country.
But our country did not defend you, Walter. The WORLD has now seen how so many people in
positions of power are trained, even courted, to do just the opposite.
The constant and continuous loop on CNN is still taking me all out of my ‘peace and love’
element. Anger, hostility, and turbo charged adrenaline fueling aggression have replaced the
blue blood that one surged through my body. My “I knew it all along” has been confirmed in a
way I never imagined I would witness. It would be unspeakable to see anyone mowed down like
that, but we were schoolmates, man. You and my older brother would hang out sometimes and
you were not shy about how “fine” you thought my sister Cookie was.
A broken tail light at a traffic stop. You gotta be kidding me.
I don’t have to remind you of how many people’s tail light were/are bashed in by the police so
they can unleash the power and the fury on an innocent, unsuspecting driver knowing they will
be exonerated, whatever violent, unwarranted action they commit and do. The Klan, the mob,
government trained assassins- call the policeman who hurt but not help what you want- I say
there is a gutter of diarrhea, vomit and snot that is their back yard pump well water and
amniotic fluid. They are not only carried to term in it, they breed and bathe their young and
bury their dead in that same place. They eat and drink there, too.

2. A young man of color is your hero, Walter. Striking, articulate, ethical and brave; he filmed what
happened to you. Sent by the universe, he came to rescue you. I bet your spirit saw him before
we even knew he was there. I hate that it is you on that video, Walter. I absolutely hate it. So,
I’ll say this to you, my brother: Rest In Peace for sure. And raise all holy hell from your grave!