HALLELUJAH IN THE STREETS

From the Grenzlandmuseum: The GDR’s promise—solidarity through surveillance. A call for unity etched in glass, while dissent was erased in silence. Photo: Jay Siegmann

FROM THE GRENZLANDMUSEUM TO THE STREETS OF AMERICA

I walked through the remnants of the border today. The watchtowers. The fences turned inward. The silence forced on a people monitored by their neighbors. The flags of ideology that looked different but functioned the same.

Germany lived through both extremes. The right devoured lives in fire. The left locked freedom behind concrete and glass. Indoctrination wore uniforms. Surveillance came in whispers. Dissent vanished in files. And I see it rising again—across the ocean, beneath familiar slogans.

Let this be a record. A resistance. A reckoning.

THE OTHER DICTATORSHIP

Not the Nazis.
The other one.

The red one,
with youth leagues instead of brownshirts—
FDJ, Thälmann-Jugend,
indoctrination by age ten.

They didn’t expand.
They imprisoned.
Built fences like camp gates,
turned inward,
to keep their own from fleeing.

Relocated dissenters from border zones,
labeled thought a threat,
trained children to report their parents.

The Stasi didn’t knock.
They listened through the walls,
sat at your kitchen table,
called it safety.

And now,
watching America inch toward control
dressed as protection,
I feel the wire pulling tight again.

It doesn’t matter if the flag is red or striped—
when obedience is demanded,
you are already behind the fence.

Postwar Germany: This was how it began—the lines drawn in ink, then guarded in blood. The Anglo-Russian demarcation sign stood not only for borders but for the splitting of futures. For some, the path led home. For others, to silence. Photo from the Grenzlandmuseum

HALLELUJAH IN THE STREETS

by

Gloria Horton-Young

Listen, People—my People,

I’m not going to sugarcoat this. We’re in a moment that would make Thomas Jefferson reach for the bourbon and Thomas Paine start building barricades.

This poem isn’t precious. It’s not asking for your approval. It’s showing up on your doorstep at 10AM with coffee, clipboard, and sensible shoes—because we have work to do.

Yes, it borrows from Leonard Cohen—and frankly, I think he’d approve of the repurposing. (If his people don’t, well, they can send me a strongly worded letter on Substack.) When things go sideways in a democracy, you use whatever tools you’ve got.

So, here is

Listen to this complete version as an actual song with lyrics by

Gloria Horton-Young

, recorded and performed by Sea Change (you find him here

Sea

). Based on Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.“ copyright – Leonard Cohen.

I heard there was a secret vote

With freedom hanging by the throat,

But you don’t really care for ballots, do ya?

It goes like this—the court, the lie,

The gavel falls, the people cry,

The shattered voice still sings out Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

Your faith is strong, you stand your ground,

You march when riot gear comes down—

They fired gas, but still we pushed right through ya.

We lit a candle in the square,

We wrote our names in tear-streaked air,

And every cry became a Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

Baby, we’ve been here before—

This bitter script, this blood-stained floor,

We carry signs where once we carried futures.

Our flag hangs limp from weathered poles,

They claim the land but not our souls,

And still we rise and whisper Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

They jailed the truth, they broke the press,

They told us silence equals blessed—

But we’re the truth that history can’t undo ya.

We bring the drums, we bring the light,

We bring our bodies into night,

And set the sky on fire with Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

There was a time we thought we’d won—

Rights passed down from hand to hand,

But now they hide the truth and legislate ya.

They drew the lines, they broke the vows,

They shuttered schools and stormed the House—

But we remember, and we shout Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

We link our arms against the tide,

Ten thousand strangers, side by side,

When power builds its walls to block and sue ya.

We face the guns with open palms,

We stand unmoved through false alarms,

Our bodies form a human Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

They mock our pain, they laugh at fear,

They call for cells to hold us here,

They praise the men who cage and hate and bruise ya.

But through the bars, beyond the wire,

Our voices join to form a choir,

A song that breaks the chains with Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

They took the books, they banned the page,

They passed the fear from age to age,

But we are louder than the dark they drew ya.

We spell our stories on the wall,

We will not kneel, we will not crawl,

We build a world that sings out Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

The streets are filled with beating hearts,

From countless homes, a movement starts,

When they brand us “threats,” they think that they can fool ya.

We cross the bridges, fill the squares,

Our voices rise like common prayers,

Each footstep echoes with a Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

Maybe there’s a light above,

But all I’ve learned from those I love

Is stand together, never let them rule ya.

It’s not a hymn you hum alone,

It’s not a law—it’s flesh and bone,

It’s marching feet that thunder Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

You say we speak the name in vain,

But we are fire. We are rain.

We’re countless voices rising up to move ya.

There’s a blaze of light in every word—

No law can silence what is heard

When we rise up and roar our Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

⸻

We hold the line, we face the storm,

With linked arms we keep each other warm—

No prison talk or threat can just subdue ya.

And though the path ahead seems long,

We’ll stand as one, ten million strong,

With nothing on our tongues but Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah… Hallelujah.

For God’s Sake, Do Something With This

Here’s what you’re not going to do: You’re not going to just email this to yourself, notgoing to bookmark it, not going to think “wow, how lovely” and then go back to binge-watching reruns of Law & Order: American Collapse Unit.

That’s not why this exists.

Print it out. On actual paper. Take it to that meeting where nobody mentions the elephant—no, the entire damn zoo—in the room.

Read it aloud. Watch what happens to people’s faces.

Text it to your college roommate in Florida.

Send it to your aunt who still thinks politics is a spectator sport.

Mail it to your senator with a sticky note:

I’m watching you.”

And when the church ladies whisper,

and your HOA president clutches his pearls,

and your high school friend posts “This is too political,”

you’ll know you’ve done something right.

Because this poem isn’t for gentle nodding. It’s meant to be a match. It’s meant to burn. If reading it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I’ve failed. If sharing it doesn’t make someone else uncomfortable, you’ve failed.

Now light the damn fuse.

Forward, always forward! Gloria

HALLELUJAH IN THE STREETS

Berlin, 1990: A flare lights the sky over the Reichstag as East and West Germany reunite in celebration. Below: the quieter courage—protests, prayers, and public vigils that marked the GDR's final days. Memory lives not only in fireworks, but in footsteps, songs, and refusal. Photo: from the Grenzlandmuseum

I grew up in West Germany, carrying the silence of our past—and watching, across the border, as the GDR stripped its own people of dignity, freedom, and voice. That, too, was a warning. And now I see it rising—again.

Damn it, I know this story.

The silence of guilt, of denial, of stories cut off mid-sentence. My Gen-X were taught to never let it happen again—and now I see the same patterns rising elsewhere. That’s why I will not be silent. Because Never Again Is Now.

I Was Born After

I was born after,
but I remember.

Not through timelines—
through tremors.

Through sirens in my marrow,
through silence sharpened into laws,
through papers checked,
names vanished,
truth rewritten in the margins.

I’ve lived this déjà vu:
The cold steel of control
draped in patriotic cloth.

I was born after,
but the smell of ash still lingers
on the hands of power
they call it order.

Call me survivor,
call me storm-bearer,
but never again
will I be silent.

Because I remember.
Because I see.

Thank you for walking the path beside us, from whichever part of the world you read this. This concerns all of us, not just the American people.

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contains an excerpts from

and Audio.com Leonard Cohen