I add ergo sum.

Black Lives Matter, well Black is just a colour, a way of distinguishing dark from light, like the glimmer amid the ardour, from Johannesburg to Anne Arbour, Black Lives Matter because rather than being a colour extinguished by racial profiling and police zeal, we must respect the seal, of trust between the shining knights on the night's Plutonian Shore, quoth the Raven Black Lives Matter nevermore. For if we should seek the the true meaning of those words, amid the tumult and mayhem of Manhattan or Minneapolis, does it matter if you break a few omelettes to make an egg, or does the egg come before the omelette in a great homily of eucoamanical faith. I did cut down the cherry tree, and with my crossbow I shot down the Albatross, that mattered not to the Maritime tales that are worth words but not deeds, extreme feets on the Night's Plutonian Shore on the Island of Shalott, round a circle him twice and kiss the hand of dogs that bark at our very appearance, our colour, lo. Now is the summer, now is the summer where discontent and the seeds we have sown shall splatter around the Miller's wheel and those poppers will turn to Queens, and Fortune will be rode like how our body politic will erode, because, because, why? Because BLM matters, a movement shatters all records and anachronism becomes banal, Martin Luther King nailed that paper to the Church Door, and reform came back marked "Insufficient Funds" But we refused to believe that the coffers are there to merit the bright while us people of colour, us ethnic minorities, us who are not they insofar as Justice is concerned, we the people the brothers and sisters of the worlds have more than broken records and revisions of mysterious History as our only beck and call. And if we live out the true meaning of our Dream, perhaps to Dream, ay! There's the rub, free at last indeed, with the latter replacing the former, the pigs on Wall Street getting forever fatter, like a Mad Hatter, reviewing his solemn tea ceremony with solemnity, some tea, some feel the burn, like some blind chiliastic reverend paying deference, shall I say peaches? Stuffed men? Cactus men? Is this how the world, after a million deaths pays its homily? The words reduced twice on honeydew hath fed and drunk the milk of lands being annexed without a Permit? You speak of Rights? Civil or Human? You speak of Sparrows. African or European? How many more coffee spoons and the ladies coming in and out talking of Michelangelo in a chiliastic tobacco trance with the lofty and the beautiful with God as my witness. I do. I did cut the cherry tree and they did deface my monuments with some grievious portent, like a baby crying in the night, with no other voice but a cry, a whimper, sluts limber, MS13 pimp her, what's the matter? You don't like? Me love you long time? Can't get it up but it plays again, I'm telling you, there is chatter. It came, it crashed, it never went away, Jeronimo Jeronimo did nothing for me lately, if I may speak plainly in a straight forward Frank fashion before straightjackets become a fashion to follow my passion for Youth Against Racism, for people who want to make a difference to indifference, with sixpence and an eye of newt, bubble bubble toil and trouble fire burn and cauldron double. When shall we meet again, ask my hundred Bens with a dike and her friend, he was, and I buried him, so let it be. Salad it be with Caesar. Noble and just, like the rest of us, nevermore, the relics of post-apocaliptic lore, from times of Jersey Shore, and Boris Johnson on the Hospital floor, clutching at the latest Balenciaga upcycled straightjacket, because fever is in fashion they say, olives and lies and white supremacists must learn some manners, Madame Bouvier, on the margins of disaggregated data the Good Reverend Pastor Jackson, count on me for I am counted, pounce on me for I am accounted for, I have saved myself after many nights at the loom for Lancelot on his way to Camelot, but all he'll ever say to my besmirched corpse is "She had a pretty voice" HMV, BLM, 123, everything you want to be, Black, White, Yellow Fever getting leaner, trolls be getting meaner, have you met my wife? A proposition with a Hippo and a barrel of ink, switched for a barrel of gun. I am done. End Communication. EC. Easy.

Since the year 2000 Youth Against Racism has been an active voice at the United Nations. We represented not only Canadian and American youth at the World Conference Against Racism Xenophobia and Related Intolerances in Durban, South Africa, but we were represented all young people from all regions of the world insofar  as Justice was concerned.

Since we have been actively representing young people at the high commission for human rights. Be it at innumerable special committees, the Durban Review Conference (2009), a special conference on DPAD (where we spoke alongside Black Lives Matter (2017)), or leading the organization of the follow-up International Youth Summit Against  Racism for the upcoming WCAR review; YAR has been focusing on not abandoning any progress made by Youth Organizations at the international level.

At the grass-roots level we have been working on combating endemic racism in Correctional Facilities, have been engaged in active intellectual debates (Gilles Duceppe, Charles Taylor, Daniel Pipes, Claude Castonguay, Noam Chomsky, Amir Khadir, Desmond Morton, Hilary Putnam, Nima Arkani-Hamed, Brian McKercher, Yaser Arafat, Fidel Castro, Jesse Jackson, Mary Robinson, Yury Boychenko, Thabo Mbeki, Jean Chrétien, Preston Manning, Sydney Trudeau, etc).

We  are  currently  working  on  getting  the  follow-up  International  Youth  Summit  Against  Racism  off  the  ground.  If  you  think  you  can  be  of  help  please  let  us  know,  we’ll  partner  up  in  no  time.  

Thank  for  reading!